The Burning Stone (Crown of Stars 3)

From the pool of darkness outside the lamplight, Brother Fortunatus ghosted into view to take his place at Rosvita’s side. “You are well, Sister?” The murky light made his face seem unnaturally pale, or perhaps it was only the poor soldier’s suffering.

“You are too anxious, Brother,” she said fondly. “I am recovering well for a woman of my years. I have nothing to complain of. Dear God, how could I?” She gestured. “What has happened to this poor man? Is he one of Queen Adelheid’s soldiers?”

Mother Obligatia dabbed a sharp-smelling ointment on his wounds, and the soldier began thrashing, moaning horribly. Rosvita had to look away as Captain Fulk knelt to hold the man down.

Brother Fortunatus shifted nervously before he spoke in a whisper. “There is magic here, Sister. It has been hidden from us until now.”

“You cannot believe that Mother Obligatia or any of these good nuns indulge in sorcery?”

“There is a secret hidden here,” he insisted stubbornly. “Look at him. He was brought in last night, just before Vigils. It seems odd to me that their attack should come only hours after Lord Hugh begged leave to speak with the queen.”

“What do you mean?”

The man gasped out a strangled croak, an unintelligible word, and then passed out. The threads of silver burned into his face gleamed, pulsing as if to the beat of his heart.

“He is one of Ironhead’s soldiers. A party of a dozen or more climbed the north face of the outcropping last night. They reached the stone crown at the summit at dusk. I suppose from there they meant to drop down upon us from above.”

She felt abruptly weak, shaken with memories of uninterpretable dreams. The ground seemed to rock beneath her like a boat shifting on the waters, and her stomach ached. “I must have been asleep.”

Fortunatus caught her elbow. His voice trembled. “You were very ill, Sister. I despaired of you.”

His concern steadied her. She could look at the poor man lying unconscious on the ground; Mother Obligatia worked efficiently. “What became of the other soldiers, then? Were they taken prisoner?”

“Nay. Some creature haunts the stone crown. It killed them. This man was the only one to survive, and he will not live long.”

Mother Obligatia rose with Captain Fulk’s help and stepped away from the dying man. “There is nothing else I can do,” she said to Fulk. “Has he taken any water?”

“He cannot keep it down, Mother.” Fulk’s expression was grave.

Obligatia nodded and at once made her way, hobbling slowly, out of the little side cavern with Rosvita, Fortunatus, and Fulk in attendance. Captain Fulk brought her a stool, and she sat between Adelheid and Theophanu, gesturing with a hand to show that the musicians should finish. Rosvita settled herself on the pillow at Theophanu’s feet, and Fortunatus in attendance behind her. When the soldiers’ song was done, Mother Obligatia turned to Rosvita.

“Sister Rosvita, I am pleased to see you looking so strong. You have seen our visitor?” Mother Obligatia was sharp without being proud, wise without being serene, and generous without being kind. As always, she came straight to the point. “He was sent by Lord John to negotiate an end to the siege. His companions from Wendar are being held as hostage for his good conduct. Do you know who he is?”

“Hugh of Austra,” said Theophanu in a tone as cool as if she were reciting the list of crops to be planted, “illegitimate son of Judith, who is margrave of Austra and Olsatia as well as a valued companion to my father, King Henry.”

“You are acquainted with him,” said Mother Obligatia.

“If I may speak,” said Rosvita quickly, and Theophanu nodded. After six weeks subsisting on Mother Obligatia’s charity, Rosvita saw no point in sliding around the truth. “I believe that both Princess Theophanu and I were sent south to Aosta so that we could not testify when Father Hugh was brought before a church council last autumn in Autun. He was accused of sorcery.”

Adelheid sat forward, expression bright and curious. “Would you have spoken for him, or against him?”

In the dim light, Theophanu looked more than ever like an ancient queen caught in paint on some ancient church wall, gilded with gold leaf, eyes darkened with kohl. She replied without emotion. “We have reason to believe that the charges laid against him were true. We must not trust him, whatever promises he makes.”

“Strong words,” observed Adelheid.

The ancient mother toyed with the polished walking stick laid across her thighs. Behind, half lost in shadow, Captain Fulk and the soldiers had hunkered down to listen. “It is difficult to know whom to trust when charges of sorcery are at hand,” she said.

“Have you had experience in these matters, Mother?” asked Rosvita.

“I have seen things I wish I had not. But nevertheless, in a week our stores will be depleted. It is time to make a decision. I am perfectly willing to starve for a point of honor, but I cannot ask my nuns to do likewise.”

“Then it appears we must speak to him,” said Adelheid. Her smile flashed like laughter. “My soldiers say he is a remarkably handsome man. Is that true, Cousin? I haven’t yet seen him.”

But Theophanu would not be drawn. “You must make up your own mind on that score, Cousin.”

“Then it is agreed that we will speak with him?”

“I am against it,” said Theophanu coolly. She glanced at Rosvita; they all did.