The Burning Stone

Page 143

“What is your name, my son?” asked Constance, coming forward.
He shook under the weight of so many eyes. Judith glared at him. Baldwin had reappeared and made frantic fluttering hand signs, as if to send a message, but he was too frightened to read the gestured words. “I—I am Ivar, son of Count Harl and Lady Herlinda of the North Mark.”
“A novice poisoned by heresy whom I’m delivering to the monastery of St. Walaricus in the marchlands,” added Judith in a loud voice.
Constance lifted a hand for silence. She had cool features and stunningly bright eyes. Her mouth had a displeased curve to it, as at a sour taste. “You were not among those brought forward to testify. What do you know of this matter in Heart’s Rest?”
“I remember when Liath and her father came to Heart’s Rest I befriended her, and so did Hanna, my milk sister. She’s an Eagle now.” Sapientia’s Eagle, flown with the princess to the east—and thereby another witness who could not testify.
“Is it true, as Father Hugh claims, that her father was known as a sorcerer? That people came to him for diverse spells and certain potions and amulets?”
“He never did any harm! No one had a bad word to say of him!”
Then cursed himself, because they all looked at each other as if to say: “So, there is all the proof we need.” Even kind Brother Hatto sighed and sat back in his chair, the way a man reclines after he’s made a hard decision and wishes to rest a moment before he takes action on it.
“Her father was a sorcerer, one who had turned his back on the church,” said Constance softly. She frowned. “It may even be true he meant no harm.”
“Bernard was a good man, if misguided,” said Hugh abruptly.
“He loved his daughter too well. He let her know too much too young. Ai, God, I fear she did not begin this way but that the promise of power was too much for her. The first step on such a journey may be made with the best of intentions.” He concealed his face with a hand. His shoulders shuddered.
The king spun, hand still clenched, and strode back to his throne. There he sat.
“Sisters and Brothers,” said Constance to the assembled council, “have you any other questions you wish to ask, or is it time now to confer on our judgment?”
They had no further questions.
“We must pray,” said Constance. “Clear the hall. Our judgment will come when God make the truth manifest to us.
The speed with which two of Judith’s burliest soldiers caught Ivar by the arms and led him out took his breath away. They hustled him out of the hall and through the biscop’s palace to the suite where the margrave had taken up residence.
She came in with her attendants, her husband, and her disgraced son at her heels, and the first thing she did was to hit Ivar so hard across the face that he reeled back, but only into the hard grasp of his escorts. At a sign from her, they beat him, and when he dropped to the floor whimpering and crying and begging for mercy, they kicked him in the stomach and the shoulders and trod on his hands until he could only bleat like a wounded animal.
After a while they stopped.
“How dare you speak out of turn, you who have eaten at my table and traveled in my train?” She towered over him in a cold rage, drew her boot back to kick.
“Mother.” Hugh knelt beside Ivar, shielding him with his own body. “The poor boy couldn’t help himself. I saw the way she wrapped her spells around him—”
“I’ll hear no more from you! Go and pray with just humility, which is all you’re fit for!”
He didn’t move. “He’s been beaten enough. He won’t forget this lesson.”
“Hush! I’m sick to death of your mewling, Hugh. It was done well, and I have no doubt the girl bewitched you in an unseemly way, but don’t think that I haven’t kept clear in my mind the incident in Zeitsenburg all this time. But you remain my son, and I will protect you as long as you obey me. I have my doubts as to how God would judge the matter, but I know perfectly well that the king hates the girl for stealing his son and in any case he knows how much he needs my support. The council knows well enough which way the wind is blowing.”
“They’ll condemn Liath to please the king?” gasped Ivar.
“Put him in the stables!” she said with disgust.
They hauled him away, and since he could barely walk, they dragged him along without caring that his shins bruised on steps and his head banged into corners. He was dizzy, dazed, and weeping when they dumped him onto a pile of straw and slammed shut a stall door. There he lay, stunned and aching, for the longest time.