The Burning Stone

Page 111

“You’re thinking of Sanglant.”
“My father has thought of nothing but Sanglant these last four days. Can you not tell by his manner, and by the way he never mentions him? I am not blind.”
“Blindness comes in many guises.” Rosvita watched Sapientia drink in triumph and kiss her father, the king, on either cheek as the assembly roared with approval.
Blindness comes in many guises and a furious heart overflows down unexpected channels. Rosvita had cause the next morning to reflect bitterly on this theme. The king sent for her early.
He sat in the forecourt watching his stewards oversee the loading of wagons, such provisions and in particular gifts of treasure and fine stuffs that Sapientia would present to her bridegroom as the seal of their alliance. Now and again he raised a hand to show that a certain item should not be loaded; now and again, he gestured, and a certain item, held aside, was placed in one of the chests being filled for the dowry.
Courtiers attended him, among them Helmut Villam and Judith.
All three of his children stood behind him. Sapientia looked smug, Theophanu calm. Ekkehard shifted restlessly from one foot to the other, looking for someone in the throng of nobles. He would have been a handsomer boy had he not frowned so much.
“Ah, my faithful counselor.” She knelt before Henry and was allowed to kiss his hand. He had a glint in his eye that made her uncomfortable.
“There will be more partings on the morrow.” Henry beckoned to Theophanu. “You, Daughter, will ride to Aosta as my representative. Aid Queen Adelheid as you can and if you must.”
“Gladly. But surely, Father, I will ride south only after the council at Autun.”
“Nay, Daughter. You must ride now if you mean to cross the Alfar Mountains before the passes close. Our cause will be lost if we wait too long. You will start south tomorrow.”
“But you know I must testify at Autun at the trial of Father Hugh!”
“I have spoken,” said Henry without raising his voice.
“But if I am not there to testify at Autun—!” Red stained her cheeks and she broke off, glancing toward Judith.
Rosvita recognized the look of a campaigner who knows that both her flanks are protected and that her center will hold: Judith wore it now.
“You will ride to Aosta, Theophanu. It is the place of the biscops to judge one of their own, not yours.”
“But my testimony—!”
“You may dictate what you wish to the clerics. That way your voice will still be heard at the council.”
There was nothing Theophanu could do unless she meant to defy her father—as Sanglant had done. But Theophanu was nothing like Sanglant. She recovered herself, murmured cool words of agreement, and retreated. But the look she shot Rosvita was anything but mild.
“Promise me,” she whispered, stopping beside Rosvita, “that you will yourself read my words aloud at the trial. The biscops will listen to you!”
“Sister Rosvita.” Henry’s mild voice wrenched her attention away from Theophanu. “So that my daughter need not negotiate the treacherous paths in Aosta alone, I would send you along with her to advise and counsel her.”
“Y-your Majesty.” She was too shocked to stammer out more than that.
“Is there something wrong, Sister?” he asked gently.
It took no educated cleric to envision the scene: with both Theophanu and Liath gone, and Rosvita not there to argue their case, the accusations against Father Hugh would carry little weight. Especially not if Judith brought her own witnesses to argue for Hugh’s innocence.
Who suspected her? What did Henry intend by this sudden change of plans?
“I have never seen the holy city of Darre,” Rosvita said, stumbling, all eloquence lost. She could only register Theophanu’s eyes, bright and fevered, and a look on her face that made Rosvita think the princess was about to shriek in frustration.
But there was nothing she could do.
*   *   *
Rosvita took Theophanu’s testimony herself that afternoon, wrote it down in her careful hand, and sealed the parchment. Then she wrote a letter and took Sister Amabilia aside.
“Amabilia, I wish you to personally deliver this letter to Mother Rothgard at St. Valeria Convent. Fortunatus and Constantine will come with me to Aosta, and I regret you will not set foot with us in the skopos’ palace, as you deserve. But you must serve me in this way. If Mother Rothgard will not heed the words I have written, then beg her yourself to come to the council at Autun. She can give testimony of what she observed when Theophanu lay sick at the convent.”