“You do not think Prince Sanglant might be raising an army to fight the barbarians?”
“I do not know the mind of Prince Sanglant. Wendar is plagued by much unrest in these days, which comes in many guises. A wise mind recognizes these troubles as a sign of the cataclysm to come, for the earth itself shifts and trembles, knowing the dreadful fate that awaits it when the Lost Ones work their terrible magic to force their return.”
“It is difficult to argue against you, Holy Mother, considering the extent and depth of your knowledge.”
“So it is,” agreed Anne. She lifted a hand. At once several servants, previously unseen, hurried out of the shadows. The cleric reclining on the couch was lying, it now transpired, on a litter, which made it easy for the four servants to carry her out of the chamber. Even so, Rosvita could not quite get a glimpse of that person, only that she was small and dark. How strange that she should observe the whole and yet never speak or be spoken to. Yet it was too late to discover who she was now.
Brother Severus retreated, as did Hugh, with a smile and a bow, and at last the servingwoman went out and shut the door behind her. The black hound yawned, displaying fearsome teeth.
“Now you will tell me, Sister,” said Anne, facing Rosvita, “why you persist in not trusting me. I have served as Holy Mother for only one month. Have I given offense? Have you heard aught of me that leads you to believe that I am plotting evil?”
For an instant Rosvita felt the thrill of panic, but she knew how to think fast. “Only this, Holy Mother. Hugh of Austra was sent south to face charges that he had soiled his hands with black sorcery. Now he stands as an intimate in the queen’s counsel and you have allowed him exceptional authority within the college of presbyters.”
“Most of which he had already earned by his own efforts during the last days of my predecessor, Clementia, may her memory be blessed. Is it my trust in Hugh that you do not trust?”
It was hard to judge Anne’s age. She might have been about forty years of age, as Rosvita was, or ten years older. Time had not marked her smooth face but neither did she look young; the weight of time, wisdom, and rank cloaked her. She had power, bone-deep and solid, and if she chose to support Henry, then truly there was nothing he could not accomplish. For that, Rosvita was willing to forgive much, if it were true that Anne meant to support Henry rather than merely use him for her own purpose, to thwart the return of the Lost Ones.
Rosvita knew better than to voice such doubts aloud. There were, after all, so many other questions that could be answered, now that she had the opportunity to ask them. “I am a historian, Holy Mother. The good abbess at Korvei, where I received my education, said I would be both saved and damned by my curiosity. I confess freely that I have read the chronicles, and I do not entirely understand your genealogy. I beg pardon if what I say appears rude. Pray trust that it is only the sin of curiosity that leads me to ask.”
“You doubt that I am the descendant of Emperor Taillefer?” Was that a flicker of anger, or of amusement? Impossible to tell. The hound growled rather louder than before. Its whipcord tail thumped once against a table leg, almost rocking it.
“I have in my possession the Vita of St. Radegundis, as you know, Holy Mother.” It wasn’t easy to keep her voice even, not with that huge hound glowering at her.
“I have seen it.” How coolly she spoke those words, considering that the Vita had been written by her own father, a man she had never met. “When you have finished the copies your clerics are making, I will gladly take such a blessed work into the library here, Sister.”
Rosvita knew how to swallow regret, although it hurt. “That would be most fitting, Holy Mother. But although I was blessed by God as the vessel through whose hands the Vita would pass on its way to you, I am puzzled by the circumstances surrounding Fidelis’ marriage. That he was hidden in the cloister and raised as a monk, I can understand. That he succumbed in his autumn years to temptation, I can understand and in truth I pity him, for despite his great age and wisdom it seemed to me that he still thought of the woman with affection and regretted to the end of his life any harm that might have come to her because of his weakness.” It was a long speech, and a convoluted argument. She had to choose her words carefully. “But I have never fully understood the identity of your mother, or what happened to her after. How were you then raised, and in what secrecy, with what education, to find you awake to your ancestry, so learned and so wise, and yet unknown to those of us who have studied the chronicles for all of our lives?”
o;Why indeed?” Rosvita glanced away to see Severus examining the map while Hugh listened with obvious interest. “Yet I have not forgotten the Eagle sent by Princess Theophanu, who spoke of troubles at work in the land, including Quman raiders.”
When Anne straightened, her features displayed as impassive a mask as ever. “Be assured that I have looked, Sister Rosvita. I have seen no Quman army.”
“You do not think Prince Sanglant might be raising an army to fight the barbarians?”
“I do not know the mind of Prince Sanglant. Wendar is plagued by much unrest in these days, which comes in many guises. A wise mind recognizes these troubles as a sign of the cataclysm to come, for the earth itself shifts and trembles, knowing the dreadful fate that awaits it when the Lost Ones work their terrible magic to force their return.”
“It is difficult to argue against you, Holy Mother, considering the extent and depth of your knowledge.”
“So it is,” agreed Anne. She lifted a hand. At once several servants, previously unseen, hurried out of the shadows. The cleric reclining on the couch was lying, it now transpired, on a litter, which made it easy for the four servants to carry her out of the chamber. Even so, Rosvita could not quite get a glimpse of that person, only that she was small and dark. How strange that she should observe the whole and yet never speak or be spoken to. Yet it was too late to discover who she was now.
Brother Severus retreated, as did Hugh, with a smile and a bow, and at last the servingwoman went out and shut the door behind her. The black hound yawned, displaying fearsome teeth.
“Now you will tell me, Sister,” said Anne, facing Rosvita, “why you persist in not trusting me. I have served as Holy Mother for only one month. Have I given offense? Have you heard aught of me that leads you to believe that I am plotting evil?”
For an instant Rosvita felt the thrill of panic, but she knew how to think fast. “Only this, Holy Mother. Hugh of Austra was sent south to face charges that he had soiled his hands with black sorcery. Now he stands as an intimate in the queen’s counsel and you have allowed him exceptional authority within the college of presbyters.”
“Most of which he had already earned by his own efforts during the last days of my predecessor, Clementia, may her memory be blessed. Is it my trust in Hugh that you do not trust?”
It was hard to judge Anne’s age. She might have been about forty years of age, as Rosvita was, or ten years older. Time had not marked her smooth face but neither did she look young; the weight of time, wisdom, and rank cloaked her. She had power, bone-deep and solid, and if she chose to support Henry, then truly there was nothing he could not accomplish. For that, Rosvita was willing to forgive much, if it were true that Anne meant to support Henry rather than merely use him for her own purpose, to thwart the return of the Lost Ones.
Rosvita knew better than to voice such doubts aloud. There were, after all, so many other questions that could be answered, now that she had the opportunity to ask them. “I am a historian, Holy Mother. The good abbess at Korvei, where I received my education, said I would be both saved and damned by my curiosity. I confess freely that I have read the chronicles, and I do not entirely understand your genealogy. I beg pardon if what I say appears rude. Pray trust that it is only the sin of curiosity that leads me to ask.”
“You doubt that I am the descendant of Emperor Taillefer?” Was that a flicker of anger, or of amusement? Impossible to tell. The hound growled rather louder than before. Its whipcord tail thumped once against a table leg, almost rocking it.
“I have in my possession the Vita of St. Radegundis, as you know, Holy Mother.” It wasn’t easy to keep her voice even, not with that huge hound glowering at her.
“I have seen it.” How coolly she spoke those words, considering that the Vita had been written by her own father, a man she had never met. “When you have finished the copies your clerics are making, I will gladly take such a blessed work into the library here, Sister.”
Rosvita knew how to swallow regret, although it hurt. “That would be most fitting, Holy Mother. But although I was blessed by God as the vessel through whose hands the Vita would pass on its way to you, I am puzzled by the circumstances surrounding Fidelis’ marriage. That he was hidden in the cloister and raised as a monk, I can understand. That he succumbed in his autumn years to temptation, I can understand and in truth I pity him, for despite his great age and wisdom it seemed to me that he still thought of the woman with affection and regretted to the end of his life any harm that might have come to her because of his weakness.” It was a long speech, and a convoluted argument. She had to choose her words carefully. “But I have never fully understood the identity of your mother, or what happened to her after. How were you then raised, and in what secrecy, with what education, to find you awake to your ancestry, so learned and so wise, and yet unknown to those of us who have studied the chronicles for all of our lives?”