Prince of Dogs

Page 202

Ermanrich gasped. “But that’s all the way east, in the marchlands.”
“Nay,” murmured Baldwin, “farther even than that. It lies in Rederii territory, outside of the kingdom.”
“Hush,” said Mother Scholastica, her tone more of a threat for its softness. “You have not been given leave to speak.
“Sigfrid,” continued Brother Methodius in the same cool voice, “will remain here at Quedlinhame, under our guidance.”
Cast to the four winds: Ermanrich to the west, all the way into Varingia, Baldwin south to the mountains of Wayland, and himself east beyond the marchlands into barbarian country, a dangerous place in the best of times.
“But what of Tallia?” asked Sigfrid. Lifting his gaze from his hands, he wore a resolute expression. Of them all, Sigfrid had remained most skeptical, and most torn, and yet his belief, once won, was probably unshakable. Ai, Lady, thought Ivar with a stab of foreboding, what would become of poor Sigfrid without his three comrades to look after him?
But at this moment Mother Scholastica looked kindly upon her favorite novice, even one who had disobeyed her order for silence. However severely she looked upon the others with her hair covered and her robes sweeping to the floor in all their white splendor, with her golden torque at her neck to remind them all of her earthly power and the abbess’ ring on her finger as a mark of God’s favor and authority, even her stern face softened when she looked upon Sigfrid. “Her fate is no business of yours, child. She has no place within these walls. The king may deal with her as he sees fit.”
Sigfrid cast his eyes dutifully to the ground again and said nothing more.
Ivar did not know what to think. He tried to think of Liath, but she slipped away. She had slipped away long ago, but Tallia had remained. Tallia had wanted to remain and Liath had not; she had not even been willing to escape with him. She had not had faith. When he thought of her, he remembered keenly the mystery of her, for she was not beautiful in an expected way but rather she was like no woman he had ever seen before. He remembered the way she had a warmth about her that drew the eye and held it; he knew he still loved her. But did not the blessed Daisan say that lust was a kind of false love and that it was only true love whose peace lasted until the end of days? It was not Tallia’s body he dreamed of at night but the zealous fierceness of her passion. He wanted to hold on to so fierce a love.
The murmur of voices sounded beyond the door. It cracked, swaying open, and Brother Methodius stepped outside. A moment later he returned together with the sister guest-master, a normally unflappable woman who now looked flustered.
“I pray your pardon for this interruption, Mother,” said the sister guest-master, glancing at the novices with a frown.
“You would not come if you had no reason to. What is it?”
“You know of our guests, who sent a servant ahead this morning to warn of their coming?”
Mother Scholastica nodded. She took up her owl feather quill and set it to lie parallel to the parchment leaves on which she had been writing. “All was ready for them, as befit their rank?”
“Of course, Mother!”
The abbess glanced up, evidently startled by this evidence that the guest-master was so shaken by the turmoil that had driven her here, to this study, that she could not respond with humor to this mild sally. “Rest easy, Sister. I have no doubt they, and their mistress, return to the king’s progress. Indeed!” She looked at Brother Methodius and as one mind with two bodies they looked together toward the closed door that let onto the sickroom of the old queen. “She can take Tallia back with her.”
“And Ivar as well,” added Methodius, “since she will eventually return east. Then we can charge her with the lad’s safety, and her own people will make sure he reaches St. Walaricus safely.”
“Yes. I will warn her myself of the heresy, and she will know to watch out for it and to keep them isolated from those weak of heart who might be tempted.”
Still Ivar heard voices outside, one louder than the rest, impatient and startlingly loud in the quiet of the cloistered grounds where silence and humility reigned.
The sister guest-master gestured helplessly toward the door, even now swaying open again. “But she waits outside, Mother. Now. I could not dissuade her though I told her you were in the midst of a conference of grave importance. Though no other would be so brash …” Here she faltered, recalling prudence and the strictures of a woman sworn to the church. “She claims to have other business—urgent business—with you.”