The Burning Stone (Crown of Stars 3)

Lavastine signaled to the grooms, and they set off. They followed a broad path through the fields and up into woodland heavily harvested by the villagers for firewood, small game, and herbs. In late summer the sun seemed to bleed until the air itself took on a golden sheen. Pigs scurried off into the brush. They flushed a covey of partridges, and the huntsmen ran off in pursuit. Alain had to whistle Steadfast back when she loped after them. The path branched, narrowed, and they climbed onto steeper slopes into old forest untouched by human hands. Tallia’s deacon entertained them with a story as they rode.

“‘At that time, the savage Bwrmen marched west on the rampage that eventually led them to the great city of Darre, then called Dariya.’”

“Didn’t the Bwrmen destroy Dariya?” asked Hathumod, who was inclined to ask questions.

“They did, indeed. Laid it waste, burned it, killed every male above the age of twelve, and made all the women and children their slaves. But the reign of Azaril the Cruel lasted only five years, for God’s mercy is great and Their justice swift.”

“But what about the visitation of the angel?” Tallia spoke quietly, but Alain was by now so sensitive to every twitch she made that he could hear her as clearly as if she rode beside him.

“Let me return to my story.” Cleric Rufino was as bald as an egg and had ruddy cheeks from working so many hours out in the sun supervising construction. “As they marched west toward Dariya, the Bwr army besieged a town called Korinthar. Now the people of Korinthar had been visited by St. Sebastian Johannes of Eisenach in the course of his holy travels, but although he sang the mass most sweetly, the townsfolk had not heeded his preaching. Instead they mocked him, and when the Bwrmen approached, these same townsfolk thrust him outside the gates into the path of the Bwr scouts. In this way God granted St. Sebastian Johannes the glorious martyrdom he desired. Mean while, the people of Korinthar readied themselves for the final battle with the savage Bwrmen. Although they knew they would lose, they believed it better to die fighting than to beg for mercy from an enemy they hated. But the angel Raduerial visited the chamber of young St. Sonja, who alone in that town had heeded the preaching of St. Sebastian Johannes. The angel blessed her with the gift of song.

oming home had lifted both impatience and despair from his heart. As Aunt Bel would say: “If you want to start a fire, you must chop wood for it first.”

He had not forgotten the Life of St. Radegundis, which they had listened to while on the king’s progress and which Tallia had so admired. So as quiet day succeeded quiet day, as crops ripened and came to harvest, he walked with her every morning among the poor laborers who had come to Lavas in hope of work and bread. When she spoke of founding a convent in honor of St. Radegundis, he encouraged her. Together with her favorite lady, Hathumod, they spent many pleasant hours with the builder she had brought with her, a cleric educated in Autun, who discussed the traditional design favored by St. Benedicta in her Rule as well as certain modem innovations devised by the brothers at St. Galle.

At night, when they lay down together, he remembered the nettles.

“What of the old ruins the people here speak of?” Tallia asked Alain one day. “Wouldn’t it serve God to build over an old temple and reconsecrate the ground for holy purposes? My attendants tell me that the servants here say there is an altar stone there where terrible sacrifices were performed. They say you can still see the stains of blood.”

She looked so eager at the mention of sacrifices. When she was in this mood, she would often touch him, brush her fingers over his hand, lean against him, all unconsciously. He wanted to encourage that, and yet it would be a lie to agree with her when he simply didn’t know. “It’s laid out with defensive walls. I think it was a fort.”

“But they must have worshiped their gods there. Such people always do.”

“We’ll go ourselves. You can make your own judgment whether the old ruins would be suitable for a convent.”

The next few days he spent with Lavastine overseeing the harvest. It was usual for the lord to bend his own back to cut the first sheaf of grain in each field, for luck, and Alain did not mind the work. It reminded him of his childhood. But Lavastine never let him labor in this fashion for long; that was not a lord’s place.

The expedition was set for the feast day of Raduerial, the angel of song. By the time servants, attendants, and grooms assembled, Alain felt as if they were going on progress, not just a short way up into the hills. Tallia’s ladies chattered excitedly.

Lavastine observed their laughter and gossip with a shake the head. “I do believe,” he said to Alain, “that King Henry selected only those girls who were as empty-headed as possible. If they have brothers, I expect they think of nothing but hunting, hawking, and whoring.”

“Lady Hathumod is not like the others.”

“True. She’s a sober girl, but she came from Quedlinhame with Tallia. I suppose they rid themselves of her because of the heresy. She’s the only one who can pray for as many hours as can your wife.”

“Prayer to God is never wasted,” retorted Alain, a little stung.

Lavastine whistled back Terror, who had gone to investigate a fresh pile of horse manure. “I am more inclined to believe that God values good works above prayer, but let us not argue this point, Son. Lady Tallia is generous to the poor. The king chose wisely when he picked these girls to serve his niece. Tallia will make no useful alliances here.”

Lavastine signaled to the grooms, and they set off. They followed a broad path through the fields and up into woodland heavily harvested by the villagers for firewood, small game, and herbs. In late summer the sun seemed to bleed until the air itself took on a golden sheen. Pigs scurried off into the brush. They flushed a covey of partridges, and the huntsmen ran off in pursuit. Alain had to whistle Steadfast back when she loped after them. The path branched, narrowed, and they climbed onto steeper slopes into old forest untouched by human hands. Tallia’s deacon entertained them with a story as they rode.

“‘At that time, the savage Bwrmen marched west on the rampage that eventually led them to the great city of Darre, then called Dariya.’”

“Didn’t the Bwrmen destroy Dariya?” asked Hathumod, who was inclined to ask questions.

“They did, indeed. Laid it waste, burned it, killed every male above the age of twelve, and made all the women and children their slaves. But the reign of Azaril the Cruel lasted only five years, for God’s mercy is great and Their justice swift.”

“But what about the visitation of the angel?” Tallia spoke quietly, but Alain was by now so sensitive to every twitch she made that he could hear her as clearly as if she rode beside him.

“Let me return to my story.” Cleric Rufino was as bald as an egg and had ruddy cheeks from working so many hours out in the sun supervising construction. “As they marched west toward Dariya, the Bwr army besieged a town called Korinthar. Now the people of Korinthar had been visited by St. Sebastian Johannes of Eisenach in the course of his holy travels, but although he sang the mass most sweetly, the townsfolk had not heeded his preaching. Instead they mocked him, and when the Bwrmen approached, these same townsfolk thrust him outside the gates into the path of the Bwr scouts. In this way God granted St. Sebastian Johannes the glorious martyrdom he desired. Mean while, the people of Korinthar readied themselves for the final battle with the savage Bwrmen. Although they knew they would lose, they believed it better to die fighting than to beg for mercy from an enemy they hated. But the angel Raduerial visited the chamber of young St. Sonja, who alone in that town had heeded the preaching of St. Sebastian Johannes. The angel blessed her with the gift of song.

“St. Sonja offered herself at the gates in the hope of saving her people, even though they ridiculed her for her faith. Because of her youth and beauty, she was taken to the tent of the cruel king, Azaril, where she sang so sweetly that his heart was softened. He spared Korinthar and all those people who lived inside its walls. At this sign of God’s grace, the entire town wept and prayed at the tiny church built by St. Sebastian Johannes with his own hands, and pledged from that time forward to follow the faith of the Unities.”

“What happened to St. Sonja?” asked Hathumod.

“No one knows,” admitted the cleric. “Some say the Bwrish king took her captive and later had her killed when she refused to become his wife.”

One of the girls squealed. “But it’s said that the Bwr people aren’t people at all but—”