The Burning Stone

Page 193

She could not rise by herself. Two soldiers had to hoist her up, and every least movement sent an agony of pain lancing through her back.
“I can’t walk!” she whispered. She almost begged them to leave her, but she heard a sharp challenge, words exchanged, and a blessedly familiar voice.
Joy can ameliorate pain.
The parties mixed, melded, although there were few enough of the Wendish. She fought her way to Theophanu’s side and kissed her hand repeatedly.
“Your Highness!” She was aghast to hear what a croak her voice was, sanded away almost to nothing. “How have you come here?”
“These good Aostan soldiers led us on your trail,” said Theophanu. “My most valued teacher!” She kissed Rosvita on either cheek. It was too dark to see her expression, but her grip was strong, even passionate. “I feared you were lost, like so much else.”
“Sister!” From out of the darkness she heard Brother Fortunatus’ voice, rather wheezy but wonderfully real. “Sister Rosvita!”
They were separated by the press of the crowd as Adelheid came forward to greet Theophanu, as whispered commands raced through the company and they made ready to leave. Somehow she found her horse and, with the aid of an Aostan soldier, mounted, giving the reins into his care. Perhaps it would have been better to walk. She gripped the saddle and prayed; each least shift in the saddle made her back burn; she became quite light-headed. After a long while she realized that she could see the countryside in the gray light of early dawn.
They came to a forking of paths. Rosvita had somehow gotten to the head of the line. She heard a great deal of discussion behind her, and she desperately wished to look behind, but each time she tried to turn in the saddle so much pain tore through her back and shoulders that she literally could not move, and she finally gave up and just sat hunched there, enduring the pain and the awful curiosity, not sure which was worse. At last they moved on, but she could hear at her back a party moving off away from them.
After a while, Brother Fortunatus drew up beside her. “Are you well, Sister?” His expression betrayed his anxiety. “You are not wounded?”
“It is only the infirmity of age, Brother. I’m not accustomed to riding in this rash manner. My back is all a knot.”
“I have a salve that should help you, Sister.”
“What have you saved from the camp?” she demanded. “Where is Brother Constantine?”
He looked too tired to cry. “Brother Constantine took a turn for the worse after you left, Sister. I believe—I must believe—that the worst was over, that he was recovering, but he was simply too weak to be moved when—” Now he faltered. “We had to leave him behind. But I trust that Aostans respect the church and will care for him as God wish Their servants to be cared for.” He pressed a hand against the dust-coated saddlebags draped over the mule’s back, his only possession besides the robe he wore. “But I have your History, Sister, and the Vita of St. Radegundis, and Sister Amabilia’s copy. Such salves and ointments as were near at hand, and your eagle quill pen, neatly wrapped. Everything else we had to abandon.”
“Bless you, Brother.”
“Nay,” he said impatiently. “I was of no use. Princess Theophanu remained calm throughout the disaster, but it is only because of Captain Fulk and his men that we escaped with our lives. They did not let the passing days lull them into somnolence, as the rest of us did. Ironhead’s men are merciless. It is clear to me now that they had long planned to attack our encampment without warning. Indeed, we are lucky that Queen Adelheid chose to lead her escape when she did, or we would all of us have been lost, because I do believe Ironhead had made plans to wipe us out entirely. Only because of the queen’s gambit was he forced to pull many of his forces back to the city. He had already placed men beyond our lines in readiness for a night attack.”
Abruptly, above the ringing of harness and the steady clip-clop of horses and the whine of wind through the rocks, they heard the unmistakable clamor of battle joined.
“What is happening?” Rosvita exclaimed.
“Captain Rikard stayed behind with half of his men to ambush Ironhead and perhaps kill him, if God should favor them. That will buy us time.”
“At the cost of their lives.”
Fortunatus merely shrugged. They pressed on and soon the sounds of battle faded. Rosvita’s awareness contracted to the agonizing throb in her back and the presence of Brother Fortunatus at her side. She stopped seeing the landscape through which they rode. She did not dismount when they came to a spring but gratefully drank the water brought to her by a Wendish soldier in his upturned helmet. The water was warm and the helmet slick with sweat, but she minded neither of these things: it was moist and it gave relief to her dry throat. She was past caring about anything else.