Child of Flame (Crown of Stars 4)

“Nay, Sister, do not say so. You are respected by all. It is well known that your judgments are made without any regard to your own personal inclinations. I cannot think of any person in the church who is as widely trusted as you are.” They stepped onto the portico that framed the entrance, three monumental arches, that led from the skopos’ palace into the forecourt of the royal compound. Rosvita had never gotten used to the speed with which the sun set here in the south; no long, lingering twilights common to summer days in the north. Darkness was already falling, drowning them in shadow beneath the heavy arches. She could barely make out the elongated figures of saints carved into the facade, pale forms looming above them, stern but merciful.

“I am troubled, Sister,” said Hugh softly. Brother Petrus waited obediently behind them, just out of earshot. In the forecourt beyond, torches were being lit, placed in sconces around the court, light flaring and smoke streaming toward the heavens. A dozen grooms hurried out from the open gate that led in to the stable yard. Distantly, from the direction of the road that led down into the city, she heard shouting and cheers.

She said nothing, only waited, and after a moment Hugh went on. “What would you do if you discovered an ancient text in whose words you read an account of the very heresy that even now pollutes the kingdom?”

“What do you mean? It’s well known that the Arethousan church remains in error on certain matters of doctrine. At least one of these—these arguments over the nature of the human and divine substance of the blessed Daisan—are part of the heresy as well. Everything I have heard indicates that the heresy comes out of the east.”

He stood in profile, visible in the twilight only as a shade, like a man caught between the living world and the dead. “I do not know where to go. I believe I have found an account written by St. Thecla herself in which she describes the flaying and redemption of the blessed Daisan, just as it is said to have happened in this poisonous heresy.”

“A forgery.” But she could barely force the words out. That such a statement should come from Hugh, of all people, set her completely off-balance. She was either a fool, or he was a consummate actor, but he seemed to her eyes, and to her instincts, to be truly distraught.

“I have labored to prove exactly that, but I fear—”

“Make way for King Henry!”

Soldiers raced to stand at attention in the spacious forecourt. Cries of acclaim rose from the city below as the king and his retinue neared the gate.

“This is unexpected.” She had to yell to be heard over the clamor.

“Come.” He drew her forward by the arm.

Queen Adelheid appeared, framed by the huge bronze doors that opened onto the entryway of the great hall, just as the first horsemen rode into the forecourt. They bore the banners of Henry and Adelheid. Behind them came the king himself and his closest companions: Duke Burchard of Avaria, Duchess Liutgard of Fesse, Margrave Villaim, several Aostan nobles, and of course his stalwart Eagle, Hathui. No man there, nor woman either, outshone Henry. He was hale and healthy, not one bit the worse for the wear after a summer campaigning in Aosta’s brutal heat. He dismounted, handed his reins to a groom, and hurried to greet Adelheid. But even as he led his entourage into the hall, he spotted Rosvita.

“My good counselor!” Thus summoned, she cut a path through the crowd to his side, Hugh trailing modestly behind her. “Come, Sister, you will sit at my left hand while we eat.”

Supper was laid at the feasting tables, nothing magnificent, but sufficient for soldiers ridden in from the field. Adelheid sat at Henry’s right hand in splendid robes she had somehow contrived to be wearing—as though she had known he was coming. Maybe she had. The king could have sent a courier, but if he had, then why, Rosvita wondered as she took her place at the king’s side, had she and the schola not heard the tidings?

Had Hugh stopped her on the portico so she could witness the king’s arrival and understand that she had less power than he had, in his graceful speech, claimed for her?

Nay, she chided herself, you are grown too suspicious.

A steward brought a basin of water and a cloth so that Henry could wipe the dust of the road off his hands and face. Servants hurried in with a clear broth, followed by roasted game hens basted in mint sauce. When the first bite of hunger had been calmed, Adelheid rose with cup in hand. “Let there be an accounting of the summer’s victories!” she cried, to general acclaim.

Hathui recited a clear if undramatic account of the army’s successes: three packs of Jinna bandits put to the sword; seven sieges brought to a peaceful conclusion, although Lord Gezo was still holding out in Navlia; emissaries from Arethousan potentates who were not eager to fight the Wendish king’s army despite the fact that they were usurping lands in the south that belonged to the Aostan royal family; feasts and triumphal parades through a host of towns in central Aosta.

Henry remained somber throughout this recitation, and he left the feast early, taking a small coterie with him as he walked to his private apartments. They stopped to view the sleeping princess. As Henry leaned over Mathilda’s bed, admiring how much she’d grown, Rosvita bent close to speak softly in his ear.

“I sense that all is not as you wish, Your Majesty. Be sure that I am ready to listen, should you desire a counselor’s ear.”

He stroked Mathilda’s downy soft brown hair. The baby stirred, slipped her thumb in her mouth, and with a snort fell back to sleep. “Aosta is a thornbush, and the news from Wendar has not cheered my heart. Was I mistaken to leave Theophanu as regent?”

“You could not have known the Quman would invade, Your Majesty.”

“Am I chasing a dream, Sister?” His hands, callused from so many years of war, traced the curve of the baby’s ear; he had a delicate touch.

“Nay, Your Majesty. If the Holy Mother is right, then we must have a strong leader in the years to come. Taillefer’s crown would unite many who might otherwise refuse to march behind the Wendish banner.”

“If report is true, civil war rages in Salia. If I could only secure Aosta, then I might turn my eyes west to Salia next.”

The words startled her, and worried her. “You would never be regarded as anything but a usurper in Salia, Your Majesty, if you will forgive me for saying so. I must advise you to strengthen your position in Aosta first—and not to neglect the troubles in the north.”

His sharp gaze, his thoughtful expression, reminded her of the silent calculation, often unseen by others, at work in his mind. “Ought I to return to Wendar, do you think?”

“In truth, Your Majesty, I fear you are caught between the lance and the spear. If you leave Aosta now, all that you have accomplished so far may crumble. Yet if you do not return to Wendar, worse may follow.”

“I had thought to leave a peaceful realm at my back,” he said, not without bitterness, “but I see it is not to be. Yet I thank you, Sister, for your honest words.” He straightened up, smiling as he caught Adelheid’s hand and drew her to him. “Now, my friends, to bed.”

There was a great deal of merrymaking as they escorted the king and queen to their bed and at length retired to leave them in peace. Courtiers dispersed quickly to their own private revels, but before Rosvita could return to her chambers, she was waylaid by Helmut Villam.