Authors: beni
"Do you think he means to rebel, as Sabella did? Surely any claim he might have to the throne isn't nearly as strong as hers."
"I don't know what the noble folk intend. Their concerns are different from those I grew up with. I hope," she added, "that King Henry finds a good margrave for Eastfall, a woman or man who can stop the Quman raids and protect the freeholders. A person who is not concerned with the intrigues of the court."
"Aren't all the nobles concerned with the intrigues of the court?"
Hathui only grinned. "I haven't asked them all. Nor would they answer me if I did. Hush now, chatterer. I want to sleep."
In the morning a messenger arrived from Count Lavastine
—a messenger who was not Liath. Sapientia reclined on a couch while her attendants fluttered around her and her new physician—on loan from Margrave Judith and newly arrived—tested her pulse by means of pressing two fingers to her skin just under her jawline. Hanna had observed that the princess liked commotion, as if the amount of talking and movement eddying around her reflected her
importance. Behind the couch Hugh paced, more like a caged animal than an amiable and wise courtier. He held Liath's book tucked under his arm. In the two and a half months since the disaster at Augensburg, Hanna had rarely seen him without the book in his hands; if not there, then he stowed it in a small locked chest which a servant carried.
"Why did she not return?" he demanded of no one in particular. Looking up, he saw Hanna.
Hanna froze. She could not bring herself to move, not knowing whether to bask in his notice or fear it.
Sapientia yawned as she rubbed a hand reflexively over her huge abdomen. "Really, Father Hugh, I prefer my Hanna. Her voice is so very calming. The other one was too skittish. She serves Gent better riding with Count Lavastine than with us."
Hugh frowned at Hanna a moment longer. Then, with a palpable effort, he turned his attention to the princess. "Wise advice to your own counselor, Your Highness," he said in an altered tone.
Sapientia smiled, looking pleased. "More fruitful to wonder if we will ride south to Wayland and Duke Conrad, or north to meet Lavastine at Gent. And what is keeping my dear Theophanu? Perhaps she has turned nun at St. Valeria Convent." Her favorites, surrounding her, giggled. Hugh did not laugh, but when the gossip turned to the latest news
—which was none—about Duke Conrad, he joined in with his usual elegance of manner, gently chiding those who were mean-spirited and encouraging those who supposed King Henry would find a peaceful solution to any misunderstanding which might arise.
"It is true," he remarked, "that force is sometimes necessary to win what is rightfully yours, but God also gave us equal parts of eloquence and cunning which we rightly point to as the mark of the wise counselor. We are better off hoarding our substance in order to fight off the incursions of the Quman and the Eika than wasting it among ourselves."
With this judgment King Henry evidently agreed. The court did not move south toward Wayland. But as the early spring rains began and the rivers swelled with the thaw, his advisers deemed the journey north toward Gent as yet too difficult to attempt. While they waited for the roads to open, they visited the small royal estates that lay in a wide ring
—each about three days' ride from the last—around Mainni. The court celebrated Mariansmass and the new year at Salfurt, fasted for Holy Week at Alsheim, and moved north to celebrate the feasts of St. Eirik and St. Barbara at Ebshausen. On the road from Ebshausen to the palace at Thersa, Sapientia felt her first birth pangs.
"But Thersa is so comfortable," she complained, looking both disgruntled and frightened when the king declared that they would go instead to the nearby convent of St. Hippolyte for the lying-in. "I want to go to Thersa!"
"No," said Henry with that look that any observant soul would know at once meant he could not be swayed. "The prayers of the holy sisters will aid you."
"But they can pray for me wherever I am!"
Hugh took Sapientia's hand in his and faced the king. "Your Majesty, it is true that the palace at Thersa is a grander place by far, more fitting for a royal lying-in
—
"No! The matter is settled!"
Sapientia began to snivel, gripping her belly
—and the king seemed ready to lose his temper. Hanna moved forward and leaned to whisper in Sapientia's ear. "Your Highness. What matters it what bed you lie in as long as God favor you? The prayers of the holy nuns will strengthen you, and your obedience now will give you favor in your father's eyes."
Sapientia's sniveling ceased and, once a birth pang had passed, she grasped the king's hands in her own. "Of course you are right, Father. We will go to St. Hippolyte. With a patron saint like Hippolyte, the child is sure to grow strong and large and of stout courage, suitable for a soldier."
Henry brightened noticeably and, for the rest of the damp ride to the convent, fussed over his daughter, who put up a brave face as her pains worsened.
Sapientia was taken inside the walls of the convent with only two attendants and Sister Rosvita to act as witnesses, as well as the physician who, being a eunuch, was considered as good as a woman. Everyone else waited in the hall, what remained of an old palace from the time of Taillefer, now under the management of the convent sisters. Henry paced. Hugh sat in a corner and idly leafed through the book.
"She's small in the hips," said Hanna nervously, remembering births attended by her mother. Not all had happy outcomes.
"Look here." Hathui examined the carvings that ran along the beams in the hall. Blackened with layers of soot, cracked from the weight of years of damp and dryness, they depicted the trials of St. Hippolyte whose strength and martial courage had brought the Holy Word of God to the heathen tribes who had lived in these woodlands a hundred years before. "A good omen indeed for the child who will prove Sapientia's fitness to rule and also ride as captain of the Dragons when he grows up."
Hanna surveyed the old hall. Servants swept moldering rushes out the door. Ash heaped the two hearths and had to be carried away by the bucket load before a fresh fire could be started. Even with all the people packing into the hall, the cold numbed her. At a time like this, the stables provided better shelter. She could still hear, like an echo, the soft cries of the sister cellarer of the convent bemoaning the loss of so many scant provisions
—it took a vast amount of food and drink to satisfy the king and his company.
"Why didn't the king want Princess Sapientia brought to bed at Thersa? Everyone is saying that Thersa is a grander place by far, and the steward there more able to supply the court."
"Look here." Hathui took a few steps away from the younger clerics who, clustered nearby, were muttering among themselves. She wet her fingers and reached up to brush away grime and dust from one carving. Deep in the wood a scene unfolded down the length of the old beam. A figure draped in robes advanced, spear in one hand, the other raised, palm out, to confront the tribespeople retreating before her: a stylized flame burned just beyond her hand. Behind her walked many grotesque creatures, obviously not of human kin, but it wasn't clear whether they stalked the saint or trod in her holy footsteps, seeking her blessing.
As the clerics moved away, Hathui dropped her voice. "It's better not to speak out loud of these matters. Henry's bastard son Sanglant was born at Thersa. So Wolfhere told me. The elvish woman who was the prince's mother was so sick after the birth that some feared she would die. The court couldn't move for two months, but when she did rise at last from her bed, she walked away never to be seen again. They say she vanished from this earth completely."
"But where could she have gone?" demanded Hanna. "Where else is there to go, for a creature such as that? To the island of Alba?"
"It's only what I heard. That doesn't mean it's true."
"That doesn't mean it's not true," replied Hanna thoughtfully, examining the next carving. The same figure
—she recognized the robes and the mark of fire before the saint's hand—approached an archway out of which emerged a man-sized creature with a circle of stylized feathers behind it that appeared to be wings; it also wore a belt of skulls. Following to the next scene, Hanna saw the same archway, made small now, standing among a circle of standing stones which were, apparently, in the act of falling to the ground, their power banished by the saint's holy courage.
"How was St. Hippolyte martyred?" Hanna asked.
Hathui smiled grimly. "Crushed by rock, as you see here." She indicated the last carving. They stood now at the far end of the hall. At the other end, fire flared, and Villam at last entreated Henry to sit down and take some wine.
The princess labored long into the night. At dawn on the next day, the Feast of St. Sormas, thirteenth day of the month of Avril, she bore a healthy girl child.
And there was great rejoicing.
Henry called Hugh before him. "You have proved yourself a good adviser to my daughter," he said, presenting him with a fine gold cup out of his treasury. "I have hopes now for her ability to reign after me."
"God has blessed your house and bloodline, Your Majesty," replied Hugh, and though the compliments came many over the rest of the day, by no act or word did he display any unseemly pride in an event he had helped bring about. Nor did he appear conscious of the new status this safe birth brought him.
That evening, at the urging of Sister Rosvita, he read aloud from the
Vita of St. Radegundis,
the happy tale
— somewhat startling to find in a saint's life—of how the saintly young woman, so determined in her vow to remain chaste and thus closer to heavenly purity, was overcome by
the great nobility of Emperor Taillefer. Wooing her, he overcame her reluctance. Her love for his great virtues and imperial honor melted her heart, and they were married as soon as she came of age.
"It is time to think of marriage for Sapientia," said Henry when the reading was finished. "The king of Salia has many sons."
"It might be well," suggested Villam, "to send Princess Sapientia to Eastfall once she has regained her strength. Then she would gain some experience in ruling."
"It is better to keep her beside me as we travel," said Henry in the tone which meant he intended no argument to sway him. "But Eastfall needs a margrave. Perhaps I should send Theophanu to Eastfall..." With the king musing in this way, the happy feast passed swiftly. For the first time in months, for the first time, really, since he had heard the terrible news of Sanglant's death, Henry looked cheerful.
The court feasted for three days, for it took a feast of such magnificence to properly thank God for Their blessings upon the royal house. Sapientia was as yet too weak to appear, and in any case it was traditional for a woman to lie abed for a week in seclusion before receiving visitors. That way she might not be contaminated by any taint brought from the outside or any unholy thoughts at this blessed time.
Hanna was astounded yet again at the sheer amount of food and drink the court consumed. She could only imagine what her mother would say, but then, her mother might well say that as the king prospers, so does the kingdom.
Ai, Lady, at this time last year she and Liath had just left Heart's Rest behind, riding out with Wolfhere, Hathui, and poor brave Manfred. She touched her Eagle's badge. Where was Liath now?
JLJLA. IJHL hunkered down, arms hooked around her knees. The ground was too wet to sit on, and everything was damp. Mud layered wagon wheels and dropped in clumps from the undersides when they jolted over the roads. Every branch scattered moisture on any fool sorry enough to touch it. The grass wept water, and the trees dripped all day even when it wasn't raining.
Though they had waited until the first day of the month of Sormas to leave, it was still a wet time to be marching to war. But that deterred no one
—not with such a prize within reach.
"Can you do it?" whispered Alain. He kept a cautious three steps back from her. Sorrow and Rage sat panting a stone's throw away.
She did not reply. That the hounds would still not come near her only made her wonder if they sensed the awful power trapped inside her.
Wood burns.
She shuddered. Would she ever learn to control it? She had to try.
"We don't have much time," he said. "They'll come looking for me soon."
"Hush." She lifted a hand, and he shuffled another step back. Behind, the hounds whined. In wood lies the propensity to burn, the memory of flame. Perhaps, as Democrita said, tiny indivisible building blocks, hooked and barbed so that they could fasten together, made up all things in the universe; in wood some of these must be formed of the element of fire. If she could only reach through the window of fire and call fire to them, they would remember flame
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