“Well met,” he said without any seeming irony. “It seems you are a renowned weaver in this town, Mistress.”
“Yes, Your Highness.” Boldly, she lifted her gaze to look at him, before sweeping it around the chamber, marking Heribert, Zacharias, the youth Matto by the door, the three young hounds panting under the table, who had been given to the prince as a gift by the monks of St. Gall, and finally at the bed. Now she was startled, eyes widening as she recoiled slightly. “Is this your child, Your Highness?”
“So it is,” he agreed, still watching her. “That is my daughter, Blessing.”
Mistress Suzanne found the carpet a fascinating sight, compared, at least, to the child on the bed. Such currents ran between the man and the woman that Zacharias thought that probably he could trace them, had he only the ability to see emotion as light. “A handsome and well-grown child, Your Highness. Any child must be accounted a blessing.” She faltered as though brought up short by the snap of a whip. Her flush washed pale, but her voice remained strong. “Yet not every child is conceived in blessed circumstances. Some of us become pawns, Your Highness, to those whose worldly power is greater than their fear of God.” She glanced for the first time back at her little retinue, her eager household, who stood clustered behind her staring at the prince in awe and trepidation. The man standing at the fore nodded reassuringly to her in the way of a good companion tied by bonds of trust and affection. Nothing like as handsome as the prince, he had the broad shoulders and thick forearms of a laborer, and a certain grim fatalism lay on his shoulders as he eyed the prince.
His rival, thought Zacharias, knowing the thought for truth as soon as it surfaced.
Mistress Suzanne continued to speak, and as each word fell it seemed to make the next one easier. “After the fall of Gent I was given against my will to Lord Wichman, while he lived with his retinue at Steleshame and harried the Eika. After the Eika were driven out, I left my aunt and Steleshame and came to Gent to begin anew, and to escape Lord Wichman. I was already pregnant. In time I gave birth to his bastard child. Because he had taken up residence in Gent, as its lord, I feared letting him know of my presence in Gent because I did not want him to—” This was too much, and she could not finish the sentence.
“Knowing my cousin Wichman, as I do,” Sanglant said softly, “I can see that you would not have wished him to know that you lived close by him.”
She sighed gratefully, gathered her resolve, and went on. “Yet the child must be baptized, Your Highness. In this way, it came to the attention of Duchess Rotrudis. Before the babe was six months of age, a cleric came to our house and took the child away.” She remained dry-eyed and confident. “I confess I was thankful to have that burden taken from me. I am sure the duchess has given the child a better life than I ever could. Truly, I could never love it, remembering what I suffered in its making.”
Sanglant could never be fully still, yet even with one foot tapping quietly on the carpet beneath his chair he knew how to listen with his full attention. His attention became almost a second presence in the chamber, the cloak of power any great prince carries beside her. Even Hrodik dared not speak without permission. But the prince’s silence, like assent, gave the weaver leave to go on.
“My household has prospered, Your Highness. Duchess Rotrudis was generous in paying me for the trouble of bearing her a grandchild. I used that restitution to improve my workshop. I had already pledged myself to this man, Raimar. With our newfound prosperity we were able to make our vows of betrothal before the biscop. We will marry in the spring. Raimar was able to leave the tannery, for he was put there as a slave by the Eika in the last weeks of their occupation but had apprenticed before the invasion to a carpenter. With our servingman Autgar, he built two new looms and added on a wool room, as well as shelves and beds for the household, and other small projects.”
“Nay, nay,” said Sanglant, lifting a hand. She broke off, flushing hotly again. “Truly, you have earned the prosperity you now enjoy. I will not disturb you any longer. If Lord Hrodik can see to it that I am supplied with twenty stout wool cloaks for my company, then I will ask nothing more of you.”
“Do not think me ungrateful, Your Highness, I pray you.” At last, she lifted her gaze to meet his. With his words, she had allowed herself to relax. The play of lantern light over her face made the curve of her full lips and the quiet brilliance of her eyes most striking, so that even Zacharias felt a stirring of desire. Sanglant gave a sharp sigh. “Do not find me unmindful of the roses of summer,” she said, “which can never be reclaimed although we recall their scent and sweetness and beauty with an ardent heart.”
“You have my leave to depart,” the prince said irritably. “You as well, Hrodik.” But as they turned to go, he called out. “Nay, stop a moment. Who is that girl?” He indicated one of Suzanne’s party. The girl had nothing of obvious interest about her except an odd burnt butter complexion, as though she had been dipped in a tanning vat. Mostly grown, not quite a woman but no longer a child, she stepped forward fearlessly to confront the prince. The top of her head didn’t even come to his shoulder.
“I know you,” he said, almost dreamily.
Heribert stepped forward. “She was the child who followed you down into the crypt, my lord prince,”
“Nay, true enough, but I know her. I know her. What is your name, child?”
“She is mute, Your Highness.” Mistress Suzanne stood protectively behind the child, setting a hand on her shoulder. “Her name is Anna. She and her brother Matthias escaped from Gent long after the Eika had taken it. How they survived there for all those months I do not know, but they got free of Gent through the intervention of St. Kristine and came to Steleshame. I brought them with me to Gent as part of my household. Her brother Matthias is betrothed to one of my younger weavers. He’s now a journeyman at the tannery.”
“You’re the daimone,” said the girl suddenly in a voice as hoarse as the scrape of sandpaper.
Suzanne shrieked, and her family began talking all at once, crowding forward to touch the girl.
“Ai, God,” Suzanne said through tears. “She’s not spoken a word for two years.”
ival, thought Zacharias, knowing the thought for truth as soon as it surfaced.
Mistress Suzanne continued to speak, and as each word fell it seemed to make the next one easier. “After the fall of Gent I was given against my will to Lord Wichman, while he lived with his retinue at Steleshame and harried the Eika. After the Eika were driven out, I left my aunt and Steleshame and came to Gent to begin anew, and to escape Lord Wichman. I was already pregnant. In time I gave birth to his bastard child. Because he had taken up residence in Gent, as its lord, I feared letting him know of my presence in Gent because I did not want him to—” This was too much, and she could not finish the sentence.
“Knowing my cousin Wichman, as I do,” Sanglant said softly, “I can see that you would not have wished him to know that you lived close by him.”
She sighed gratefully, gathered her resolve, and went on. “Yet the child must be baptized, Your Highness. In this way, it came to the attention of Duchess Rotrudis. Before the babe was six months of age, a cleric came to our house and took the child away.” She remained dry-eyed and confident. “I confess I was thankful to have that burden taken from me. I am sure the duchess has given the child a better life than I ever could. Truly, I could never love it, remembering what I suffered in its making.”
Sanglant could never be fully still, yet even with one foot tapping quietly on the carpet beneath his chair he knew how to listen with his full attention. His attention became almost a second presence in the chamber, the cloak of power any great prince carries beside her. Even Hrodik dared not speak without permission. But the prince’s silence, like assent, gave the weaver leave to go on.
“My household has prospered, Your Highness. Duchess Rotrudis was generous in paying me for the trouble of bearing her a grandchild. I used that restitution to improve my workshop. I had already pledged myself to this man, Raimar. With our newfound prosperity we were able to make our vows of betrothal before the biscop. We will marry in the spring. Raimar was able to leave the tannery, for he was put there as a slave by the Eika in the last weeks of their occupation but had apprenticed before the invasion to a carpenter. With our servingman Autgar, he built two new looms and added on a wool room, as well as shelves and beds for the household, and other small projects.”
“Nay, nay,” said Sanglant, lifting a hand. She broke off, flushing hotly again. “Truly, you have earned the prosperity you now enjoy. I will not disturb you any longer. If Lord Hrodik can see to it that I am supplied with twenty stout wool cloaks for my company, then I will ask nothing more of you.”
“Do not think me ungrateful, Your Highness, I pray you.” At last, she lifted her gaze to meet his. With his words, she had allowed herself to relax. The play of lantern light over her face made the curve of her full lips and the quiet brilliance of her eyes most striking, so that even Zacharias felt a stirring of desire. Sanglant gave a sharp sigh. “Do not find me unmindful of the roses of summer,” she said, “which can never be reclaimed although we recall their scent and sweetness and beauty with an ardent heart.”
“You have my leave to depart,” the prince said irritably. “You as well, Hrodik.” But as they turned to go, he called out. “Nay, stop a moment. Who is that girl?” He indicated one of Suzanne’s party. The girl had nothing of obvious interest about her except an odd burnt butter complexion, as though she had been dipped in a tanning vat. Mostly grown, not quite a woman but no longer a child, she stepped forward fearlessly to confront the prince. The top of her head didn’t even come to his shoulder.
“I know you,” he said, almost dreamily.