He had dismissed her then. She was only a common girl. He might recognize her face, because of her link to Liath, but she doubted he remembered anything else about her.
It was better when they didn’t know your name.
“We heard news of an Eagle come from Princess Theophanu,” he said, walking forward. She remembered to kneel; she found another bruise that way, on her right knee, that she’d gotten without knowing. He paused beside her without looking at her, because he was examining the choir with a mild expression of surprise. “Are you the last one here?”
Rufus stood behind him, looking puzzled as he, too, stared at the choir and the writhing tapestries. She turned her head. The four clerics were gone.
“The other clerics—” Rufus began.
“—fled with the rest, in fear of their lives,” she interrupted. “We are all that is left. Your Excellency, if I may rise, there is an injured deacon and the two criminals who assaulted her. She is gravely injured.”
Hugh knelt beside the deacon, lifting the bloodstained pad of cloth from the wound. He frowned and set fingers carefully along the curve of her throat, and shook his head. “She is dead. May God have mercy on her soul.” After murmuring a blessing, he looked up. “Do you know her name?”
“I do not, Your Excellency,” she lied. “My comrade and I came here to St. Asella’s today because we were told we might hear the lesson delivered in Wendish, which our souls craved to hear after so many months in a foreign land.”
“Ah.” He dabbed a smear of blood off his forefinger onto the deacon’s robe and rose. “Eagle.” He indicated Rufus. “Certain of the king’s soldiers wait outside. See that these criminals are taken away to the regnant’s dungeon. I will send clerics from the queen’s schola to take away this poor deacon’s body and prepare it for burial.”
At the Hearth he studied the holy lamp set on the bare stone floor, the scattered vessels, and the altar cloth spilled carelessly over them. “A grave crime,” he said as he picked up the altar cloth and the vessels and set all to rights, smoothing the gold-trimmed cloth down over the Hearth and placing holy lamp and precious vessels in the precise arrangement on its surface, reflecting the glory of the Chamber of Light, which awaits all faithful souls.
“It is a grave crime to assault and conspire against those who serve God and the regnant.” His gaze marked her, who was waiting only for his permission to go. He had beautiful eyes, a fine, dazzling light blue, but in their depths she saw a splinter of ice. “Isn’t it, Hanna?”
“Your Excellency.” It was all she could say.
“You will accompany me. Their majesties King Henry and Queen Adelheid will wish to hear your report. And so will I.”
2
Hersford Monastery had the slightly run-down look of an estate that has been neglected by an incompetent steward, but as Ivar and his companions approached the main gate, they saw scaffolding around the church tower and men laboring on its ladders and platforms, whitewashing the walls. Beyond the low double palisade that fenced off the monastic buildings from the surrounding estate, a group of lay brothers bound new thatch on the roof of the monks’ dormitory. Outside these walls men sawed and hammered, constructing benches and tables, while a trio of laborers built a kiln with bricks.
The gatekeeper had big hands, a big nose, and a relentlessly cheerful disposition once he realized he had visitors of noble lineage. “Come in, come in, friends. We’ll be glad to hear tidings from the east.” He called to a scrawny boy climbing in an apple tree. “Tell the guest-master I’m bringing visitors up.”
The child raced ahead. They followed more slowly, since the gatekeeper had a pronounced limp. His infirmity had not weakened his tongue. “The old abbot died last year, may he rest peacefully in God’s hands. Father Ortulfus has come new to us this spring, and though I do not like to speak ill of the dead, I will say that he has been setting things right, for I fear the monastery got run down. Father Ortulfus has even sent to Darre to see if a craftsman can be found to repair the unicorn fountain, which I’m sure you have heard of.”
“I fear we have not—” began Ivar, but the gatekeeper chattered on as he directed them to a side gate that opened into an enclosure surrounded by a high fence and populated by a tidy herb garden, a gravel courtyard, and three square log blockhouses, each one freshly plastered.
“Nay? You’ll see it soon enough. Here my lady must retire, for women aren’t allowed within the monastery walls. Father Ortulfus has brought his cousin to preside over the guesthouse and with her a few servingwomen to ensure the comfort of any ladies who may come by in traveling parties or with the king’s progress. Alas, under Father Bardo’s abbacy I fear that women were let walk as they wished in the monastery itself, but that shan’t be happening now.”
A pretty young woman with a fair complexion and an almost insipidly sweet smile emerged from one of the cottages. “What have you brought us, Brother Felicitus?” She couldn’t have been more than fourteen. “We haven’t had a visitor in ages, although I fear, my lady, that you look in need of a bath.”
She clapped her hands. Three equally young women rushed out in her wake, followed at a more stately pace by an elderly matron who had the visage of a guard dog, ready to strike first and growl later.
“I am Lady Beatrix,” continued the first girl. “Cousin of Father Ortulfus. He’s my guardian now that my parents are dead, and he’s brought me here until—Oh!”
“Oh!” echoed her young companions.
They had seen Baldwin.
“Best you be getting on, Brother Felicitus,” said the matron threateningly, setting herself between her charges and temptation.
Hathumod stepped forward with a martial gleam in her eye. “I thank you for your welcome, Lady Beatrix. I am Hathumod. My grandmother was a count in the marchlands. I was first a novice at Quedlinhame—”
“How come you here, then, my lady?” interrupted Lady Beatrix, although she hadn’t taken her gaze off Baldwin, who stared soulfully at a table set under an awning and laden with wine, bread, and cheese. “Who are your companions?”
“I pray you, friends.” Brother Felicitus cleared his throat for emphasis. “Let us retire to a more appropriate place.”
“I’m so hungry,” said Baldwin plaintively. “We haven’t eaten for two days.”
Lady Beatrix dashed to the table and brought Baldwin an entire loaf of white bread, still smelling of the oven.