The Gathering Storm (Crown of Stars 5)

“I thank you,” he said, turning the full force of his limpid gaze on her innocent face. Ivar thought she might swoon, or perhaps he was the one who was dizzy because the bread smelled so good and he was really so desperately hungry.

“Come, come.” Brother Felicitus herded his charges toward the gate. “Let us not linger here, but if you will come with me I will see that you are fed.”

o;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.

“I thank you,” he said, turning the full force of his limpid gaze on her innocent face. Ivar thought she might swoon, or perhaps he was the one who was dizzy because the bread smelled so good and he was really so desperately hungry.

“Come, come.” Brother Felicitus herded his charges toward the gate. “Let us not linger here, but if you will come with me I will see that you are fed.”

As they retreated, Hathumod begin to speak. “How I came here is a long tale. If you have the patience for it, it will change you utterly.”

“No tale can be too long if it is also exciting,” retorted Beatrix, “for we bide ungodly quiet here. We get so few visitors—”

“She’s very young,” said Brother Felicitus as he closed the gate, cutting them off from the women’s enclosure. The men followed him through a gate in the log fence marking out monastic ground from the unhallowed buildings set up between the inner and outer fence. “But her parents are dead, her elder brother rode east with Princess Sapientia, and her elder sister died at the battle to recover Gent. Duchess Liutgard is her distant kinswoman, but the duchess has been called south by the king on his great expedition to Aosta, so it fell to her cousin Ortulfus to give her guidance.” Having established his abbot’s noble credentials, he felt free to eye Baldwin distrustfully, as if he feared Baldwin intended to lure poor young Lady Beatrix into a life of debauchery. Baldwin was too busy tearing up the loaf into four equal portions to notice.

“I feel sure Father Ortulfus is a Godly man,” said Ivar.

“So he is. Here is the laborers’ dormitory.” Felicitus indicated a long hall with a porch set outside the inner wall. “Those who are servants of the abbot, or of the king—” He nodded at the two Lions. “—reside here. Our circatore, Brother Lallo, will take care of you. Here he comes.”

Brother Lallo was brawny and immaculately groomed. For a circatore—the monk set in charge over the manual laborers—his hands were remarkably clean.