Child of Flame

Page 357

“Nay,” said Gerwita faintly, “for the Lavas hounds didn’t come into the possession of the Counts of Lavas until Count Lavastina’s son Charles Lavastine inherited after the death of his mother. Most said it was a curse set on him by the Enemy, that Charles Lavastine killed his own father and mother because he feared they would have a daughter to supplant him.” When everyone looked at her, she clasped her hands tightly before her and seemed eager to shrink into the bedcovers. “The story is well known in northern Varre, Sister. My family comes from that region, near Firsebarg Abbey.”
“Was it never spoken of that the Counts of Varre were therefore related to the Emperor Taillefer?” asked Rosvita.
Gerwita shrugged, looking horrified to be the center of attention of fully four persons. She wrung her hands nervously. “No.”
“That seems unlikely, given that Taillefer had no other known legitimate descendants,” said Fortunatus.
“In Salia, daughters cannot inherit a title, only sons,” said Ruoda, “and in Varre, sons inherit only if there are no daughters.”
“Gundara would have been wise to settle her younger son in a place where he could be easily lost, and easily retrieved should his older brother die without an heir.” Rosvita drew the lamp closer to the old pages of the Annals. Her eyes weren’t as keen as those of her young assistants. She admired the refined minuscule common to annals written during the reign of Taillefer, but the words themselves told her nothing that her clerics had not already mentioned: the boy, Hugo, betrothed at the age of four. No indication of his upbringing or later career graced these pages, intended as they were to vindicate the actions of Skopos Leah as she brought down the power of Taillefer’s most powerful daughter, Biscop Tallia. Perhaps the child was sent to Varre to be raised with his intended bride, hidden in plain sight, the emperor’s grandson who by reason of his birth to one of the emperor’s daughters could never contend for the Salian throne. But his children, should he survive, might still marry back into the royal lineage.
“Was Charles Lavastine the only child of Lavastina and Hugo?” Rosvita asked of Gerwita.
“Nay, Sister. Count Lavastina died in childbed almost twenty years after the birth of Charles Lavastine, giving birth to her second child, another boy, called Geoffrey.”
“Ah, yes.” Rosvita remembered the story now. “He would be the grandfather of the Geoffrey whose daughter became count after Lavastine’s untimely death. There was a trial—”
Ruoda, it transpired, had a cousin who had witnessed the trial for the inheritance of Lavas county. She would have spent all night telling the particulars of the strange behavior of Lord Alain and the Lavas hounds and the victory of Geoffrey and his kinsfolk, but it was late, and there was much to do in the morning when, Rosvita supposed, Henry would at long last announce his intention to return to Wendar before snow closed off the mountain passes.
They made ready for bed, Fortunatus retiring to the adjoining chamber while Aurea laid down pallets for the girls and a straw mattress for herself by the door.
It seemed to Rosvita that she had scarcely fallen asleep when she was rudely awakened.
“Sister Rosvita! Wake up!” A single lamp lit the dark chamber, hovering and cutting the air as the person holding it shook her.
“I pray you!” Rosvita swung her legs out from under the linen sheet, all she needed on a warm night like tonight. Her shift tangled in her legs as she squinted into the darkness. Amazingly, none of the girls had woken. Perhaps that thumping wasn’t a fist pounding on her door but only the hammer of her heart. “What is it?”
“Come quickly, Sister. A most terrible act—”
Abruptly, Rosvita recognized the voice, shaken now, warped by horror and tears. “Is that you, Hathui? What trouble has brought you to my chambers this late in the night?”
“Come quickly, Sister.” It seemed the pragmatic Eagle was so overset that she could only repeat these words.
Frightened now, Rosvita groped in the chest at the foot of her bed for a long tunic and threw it on over her head. She had only just gotten it on, and it was still twisted awkwardly sideways, when Hathui boldly grabbed her wrist and tugged her urgently.
Rosvita got hold of a belt and stumbled after her, banging a thigh against the table, stubbing her toe on the open door, and at last hearing the door snick closed behind her. Hathui lifted the lamp as Rosvita hastily straightened her tunic and looped the belt twice around her waist.
“Do you trust me, Sister?” the Eagle whispered hoarsely. In Hathui’s gaze, Rosvita saw terror and a passionate rage, reined tight. “You must trust me, or you will not credit what I have seen this night. I pray you, Sister, it may already be too late.”