The Gathering Storm (Crown of Stars 5)

The other riders remained beyond arrow shot. She rose, unstrung her bow, and climbed the steep steps carved into the rock face. She resisted the urge to look down, although she heard the sound of horses moving, hooves rapping on the earth, men calling out each to the others. Any soldier who sought to impale her with an arrow would find her an easy target, clinging to the rock well within range of their bows.

No one shot. She reached the next ledge to find Fortunatus waiting for her. Aurea and Ruoda struggled up the second ladder, on their way to the next ledge. The basket bobbed against the wall somewhat above and to the side of Aurea, and it scraped and jostled the rock as it was hauled upward. She could not see Rosvita from this angle but was happy enough to catch her breath, leaning her weight against the cliff, as she watched the basket rise away from her.

“We’ll not be rid of them easily,” said Fortunatus with a grin. He was red in the face from the exertion of climbing but his usual wry humor lightened his expression. “Look.”

The servants below had begun to set up a traveling camp.

“Why does Lord Hugh not wish to kill Sister Rosvita?” Hanna asked. “Can she not convict him if she testifies against him?”

“If any court would believe her.”

“Then what does it matter to him if she lives or dies? Better to kill her and have done with the threat.”

“So you would think,” he agreed, glancing up at the basket, now nearing the next ledge where anxious faces peered down, awaiting its safe arrival. “Were I in Hugh’s place, I would have disposed of her as soon as I could. Perhaps it was not Hugh’s choice that she remain among the living. Perhaps the skopos stayed his hand.”

“Do you think so?”

“I am only a simple cleric. I cannot presume to guess the thoughts of the Holy Mother or her favored presbyters. They are as far above me as … an eagle above the humble wren.”

“I would take you more for a starling, Brother. They fly in a flock. Wrens are more solitary, are they not?”

“We will be an evening’s tidbit for the eagle below if we do not fly, my friend.”

She insisted he go first. By now they were high enough that any archer might have trouble finding his mark. None tried: Hugh’s servants finished setting up camp as afternoon faded. One of them caught the goat while a score of soldiers took torches and fanned out to set up sentry posts around the base of the huge rock.

In the morning they would climb, as she had done. Then her party would be well and truly trapped, no better than Rosvita in her dungeon cell.

By the time Hanna reached the uppermost ledge, Sister Hilaria had already conducted the first arrivals within the safety of the convent walls.

“Well done,” Hilaria said as Hanna heaved herself over the lip and lay flat on stone, aching, out of breath, and greasy with sweat. Her heart hammered against the ground. A spasm stabbed through her right hand, and she lay there gritting her teeth as a wave of pain convulsed her hand and forearm.

After a while she could bend her fingers. Hilaria remained standing beside her, and Hanna rolled over onto her back, heaved herself up to sit, and stared blearily out over the gulf of air. A hammer rang on metal as an unseen servant drove a stake into the soil. She recognized the steady rhythm, the way the pitch flattened when the hammer didn’t hit quite head on. The sun had melted to a glowing reddish-gold ball, streaming pink and orange along the hills. In the east, the hills darkened, color leached out as twilight fell.

“They can’t climb at night,” said Hilaria. “We must hurry. If Sister Rosvita can do what she suggests, then tonight is our only chance. I pray Mother Obligatia is strong enough.”

“What does she mean to do?” asked Hanna, climbing to her feet, but Hilaria had already hurried inside and Hanna could only follow, aching all over, as Hugh set in his siege.

2

AS they pressed forward into the interior rooms of the abandoned empty convent, a sense of serenity settled over Rosvita as might a cloak thrown over her shoulders. The dimness reminded her of the two years she had spent in the cell beneath the skopos’ palace, yet here, she knew, she was at last entirely free. She had chosen her path, for good or for ill, and she had taken responsibility for those who followed her and looked to her for leadership.

King Henry remained a prisoner. She might never have the power to free him, but she had to try. If Hugh caught her and delivered her to Anne, all this would be in vain.

As the light grew dim, Gerwita clutched Rosvita’s hand, whimpering. “I’m frightened,” she said in a low voice.

They paused on a landing. Ahead lay the kitchens, but Sister Hilaria indicated the stairs that led down to the well.

“This way.”

“Do we not go on to that great cavern where Queen Adelheid and Princess Theophanu and their attendants sheltered?” Rosvita asked.

“Not today.” Hilaria set down the lamp she carried and, striking flint to stone, caught a spark on a scrap of dried mushroom. This tiny flame, coaxed along, lit the wick.

“Is everyone here?” she asked as she lifted the lamp to survey their party. “Follow me.”

As they edged down the steep stairs, their path lit only by that one flame, Gerwita clung to the back of Rosvita’s robes. She had borne up bravely enough in the weeks after they had escaped from Darre, but the final push to the convent had drained her, and now the poor girl wept incessantly. The others shuffled along flat-footed, feeling their way down the steps. The ceiling entombed them, although for a mercy they could easily walk upright, nor had they to squeeze through any narrow passages. Ruoda coughed; she had succumbed to a stubborn grippe two weeks ago that had taken root in her lungs. Like the others, she needed to rest. They all needed to rest. They had been on the run for forty days, hounded and scared. It was no way to recover one’s strength. That they had held out this long amazed her.

“Sister Rosvita!”