The Burning Stone (Crown of Stars 3)
Then, with Alain and Tallia kneeling beside the bier, the deacon sang the mass for the dead, and led the congregation in hymns. The bells rang to conclude the service, and as the assembly filed out, each one of them touched one or the other of Lavastine’s feet before leaving the church. Tallia went away with her servingwomen to see about the funeral feast being readied in the kitchens.
Alain found it hard to leave. Somehow, leaving Lavastine alone in here meant he was truly, finally, dead. “Ai, God,” he prayed, “let him not lie in darkness. I pray you, Lady and Lord, let hope arise out of sorrow.” He touched the cool forehead, as hard and as smooth as granite. “I promise you,” he whispered, “that I will see your rightful heir installed as count after me.”
“My lord count!”
For an instant he didn’t reply, waiting for another voice. Then he brushed a finger over the pale stone lips, turned, and acknowledged one of his stewards.
“A messenger, my lord! Duchess Yolande arrives today with full forty folk in attendance!”
s cautious with her, but he made it clear to her that once she had recovered, they would, they must, make a child between them. She only stared at him with those huge, delicate eyes.
Like a bitter joke, Rage came into season. He penned up Sorrow and let her run with Fear, but she didn’t settle. As with Tallia, he would simply have to wait.
Fevrua was understandably known as the month of hardship, with winter stores run out and spring not yet arrived. But under Lavastine’s stewardship, there were provisions enough for his own people, and Alain managed well, leaving to Chatelaine Dhuoda that which she did best and for his own part judging disputes: a rock wall had fallen and now the two house holders quarreled over the exact boundary line; a young man had gotten a young woman pregnant and they wanted to marry, but his parents had already arranged a good match for him and they wanted the pregnant girl’s family to either desist in their claims or else provide an equivalent dowry; a laborer had murdered one of his comrades, but they had both been drunk; mold had ruined a precious store of rye and the farmer in question accused his neighbor of working a charm against his grain because she was mad at him for not letting her son marry his daughter, even though in truth her son was a good-for-nothing slut. Winter disputes, Aunt Bel always said, had a flavor of boredom about them, petty and sullen. He did his best to resolve these disputes with common sense and a clear eye.
By the Feast of St. Johanna the Messenger, Tallia had recovered sufficiently to walk out among the poor who came and went in the shantytown built in the woods to the west of Lavas village. Many of them had trudged north away from Salia in the hope of finding shelter here. Every ragged family gave a different story, drought, famine, fighting among lords, Eika raids, and in truth none of them really knew what was going on, only that in Salia there was suffering, no work, and nothing to eat.
There was not enough for everyone. There never would be.
Often he wept at night, having seen another tiny corpse. It seemed so horrible. It seemed so unjust.
Often he set aside a loaf from his own platter, little enough, and himself passed out those loaves late in the evening when he took the hounds out for their last run. And those poor souls had so little that the next day they might speak of one loaf having become twenty, enough to feed forty people; and then some few of his own people might grumble, hearing such rumors, saying he wasted their living on strangers while others would retort that his own folk had plenty and it was the sign of a generous lord who didn’t hoard what he didn’t need.
Often he prayed by Lavastine’s stony corpse, but he never received an answer.
Come Mariansmass and the first day of spring, the snow melted off, violets bloomed in profusion, and the bier in the church of St. Lavrentius was at last complete. It seemed appropriate to lay Lavastine to rest on such a fine day, with a nip in the air that, like his cool way of showing approval, refreshed one’s heart, and with a sky evenly composed of high, light clouds and blue heaven, neither too dark nor too bright.
It took all morning to get the body down the stairs on a sledge. Instead of rigging up horses, they simply tied stout ropes to the sledge and a dozen men gladly volunteered to haul the body to the church. A short walk under normal circumstances, it took an hour to drag the heavy corpse to its resting place, while in the church the deacon led the congregation in the Mass celebrating the martyrdom of St. Marian the discipla. The congregation looked on in silence as workmen used a combination of levers and ropes, stones and pulleys to hoist the body onto the bier. Afterward, they placed Terror at his feet and Steadfast above his head, to accompany him in death.
Then, with Alain and Tallia kneeling beside the bier, the deacon sang the mass for the dead, and led the congregation in hymns. The bells rang to conclude the service, and as the assembly filed out, each one of them touched one or the other of Lavastine’s feet before leaving the church. Tallia went away with her servingwomen to see about the funeral feast being readied in the kitchens.
Alain found it hard to leave. Somehow, leaving Lavastine alone in here meant he was truly, finally, dead. “Ai, God,” he prayed, “let him not lie in darkness. I pray you, Lady and Lord, let hope arise out of sorrow.” He touched the cool forehead, as hard and as smooth as granite. “I promise you,” he whispered, “that I will see your rightful heir installed as count after me.”
“My lord count!”
For an instant he didn’t reply, waiting for another voice. Then he brushed a finger over the pale stone lips, turned, and acknowledged one of his stewards.
“A messenger, my lord! Duchess Yolande arrives today with full forty folk in attendance!”
The snow had melted, but a blizzard of activity met Alain when he hurried back to the hall. He had little enough to do but wait: his people knew their jobs, and he allowed them to perform them without interference.
In the late afternoon, after the service of Nones, the retinue marched into view, fine banners and polished spears, bright tabards and merry songs. For a moment he forgot himself, recalling that time—so long ago—when he had first seen a noble retinue, when he had seen Lady Sabella’s progress. It had seemed like a vision sent from heaven to him, then; now, he could not help but calculate how many days they would stay, how much meat and bread they would eat—leaving less to distribute among the poor—and how much mischief they would cause with their gossip and intrigue.
The cavalcade wound its way to the gate amidst much laughter and shouting. His own people lined the road to stare as he waited on the porch of the hall with the westering sun on his face, Tallia at his side, and Sorrow, Rage, and Fear sitting obediently at his feet.
“What do you these long faces mean?” cried Duchess Yolande as she dismounted to kiss Tallia’s cheek. She looked stout, well-fed, and cheerful. Despite her weeks of recovery, Tallia looked thin and sallow beside her. “It is spring, and we should rejoice. Ah, Count Alain. See whom I met on the road! I have brought him to you so that you may celebrate spring together.”
Riding at her side as if he were her kinsman was Lord Geoffrey. He greeted Alain with dutiful politeness, kept carefully back from the hounds, and paid his respects to Tallia. By then, Yolande had heard about their day’s work, and she insisted on being taken to see the bier.
She chattered on as they walked. “I meant to come earlier, indeed, but I was brought to bed early with this child. Thank God he has proved strong despite his small size.” Alain had seen no sign of the child, who seemed to be in the care of a nurse back with Yolande’s entourage. “So we rested a while at Autun, where I was brought to bed. I was so grateful for the prayers of the biscop that I named the child Constantius, in her honor. He’s quite dark-haired like his father, more’s the pity. Ah, well. But Autun was quite the maze of gossip. I would hear one thing one day and then quite the opposite the next. Henry is discontented with his children. He banished Sanglant from court for consorting with one of his own Eagles, but then the Eagle was excommunicated and outlawed for malevolent sorcery. It seems she cast a spell on the prince because Henry meant to set the bastard up as king after him and she wanted to be queen. But Sanglant was such a womanizer anyway that I wonder if it can be true. More likely he seduced her than the other way around!”
“I pray you,” interjected Alain, startled by these tidings. “What was her name?”
“Whose name? Meanwhile, the king is marrying Sapientia to some barbarian, and sent her east to fight the savages. That can’t bode well for her chances at the throne. He would never have married her to an Ungrian had he meant her to rule after him. He sent Theophanu south to Aosta, so perhaps it’s her he favors, but she’s so coldhearted. She never shows her feelings like a true person. It’s her mother’s blood that marked her, I swear to you. The boy he sent off to Gent to be abbot. What make you of these tidings, Cousin? It seems to me that Henry thinks none of his legitimate children are fit for the throne.”
Tallia started, flushing. She had a way of listening without listening; Alain recognized it now. Yolande’s talk had flowed over her like water over a stone, and she hadn’t even realized how all of it was directed at her.
Finally, with a nervous glance, she responded. “What of my mother?”