PROLOGUE (116 page)

"Tell me truly, Wolfhere, is this Eagle's sight illusion or real?"

"Alas, my lord prince, it has never lied to me in all my days."

"Then your sight is more truthful than your tongue, Eagle. Anne made skopos with my father's blessing!" He glanced toward Bayan. The Ungrian prince, as jovial as ever, was accepting the congratulations of various nobles from among Sapientia's train. No one begrudged him his victory; he had proved himself worthy, even if he was a foreigner.” Pray to God, Heribert," he looked around and saw Zacharias, "and you, too, Zacharias, no matter what you believe now. Pray to God to grant me patience to endure what I must for the sake of the kingdom, and the wits to learn intrigue." He laughed harshly, drawing his little retinue away from the crowd, seeking his daughter where she splashed merrily in the stream, pretending to be a bird rising from the water.” Bloodheart taught me well, although he never meant to do me any favors. If his dogs couldn't tear out my throat in Gent, then these dogs surely will not do so now. Ai, God, to think that my father offered me the kingdom and I turned it down!"

"Your Highness!" said Wolfhere, surprised.” What do you mean?"

"No matter." Sanglant lengthened his stride, moving out through the grass away from the rest of them as he called to his daughter. He wore a leather cord around his neck and now, restless, he pulled it out to cup his hand over a round leaf of silver engraved with various signs.” My father would not have named Anne as skopos and fallen victim to her lies if / had been at his side, advising him. She would never have gained such influence if it had been me who had ridden to Aosta with Adelheid as my queen."

He stopped dead as his daughter crowed in triumph, having escaped Thiemo's efforts to catch her, and turned on Wolfhere.” Or you could be telling Anne everything that you've learned while riding with me. You could be hiding from me what she tells you."

"So I could, Your Highness. And I could kill your daughter while she sleeps. Lord Thiemo is a good boy, but not my match."

"The old wolf; is wise and subtle. Tell me, Wolfhere, how does one learn intrigue?"

"What sort of intrigue do you wish to learn?"

"The intrigue of the king's court. It's said that you were my grandfather Arnulf's favorite. You, a common-born man. Folk must have hated you because he listened to you above all others."

"So they did. And your father most of all."

"Nay, truly? I thought he hated you because you tried to drown me."

"Well, that didn't help. But Henry hated me long before that. He envied me my place at King Arnulf's side. Young men are prone to jealousies, my lord prince, and strange fancies. Yet Arnulf always knew Henry's worth. There was never any doubt in his mind which of his children had been born with the luck of the king."

"What of Henry's children?" Sanglant glanced back toward the crowd of nobles gathered to celebrate Bayan's victory. Sapientia stood beside her husband, bright and happy, handsome and shining, yet beside the Ungrian prince she looked as light as a feather, ready to float away at the least puff of wind. She hadn't any weight.

"Ah." Wolfhere smiled, baring his teeth as a wolf might when it snarls.” What o/Henry's children? Don't forget that he has another child now, the infant Mathilda, born to Adelheid. A strong, healthy girl, though she is still a suckling babe."

"What are you suggesting?"

"That Henry's children by Sophia aren't the only ones who can inherit his throne, Your Highness. He has two others. The newborn Mathilda. And you."

Sanglant glared at Wolfhere until the old Eagle fidgeted, looking curiously nervous in the face of the prince's obvious anger and grief.” Find my wife, Eagle. Why has your Eagle's sight failed you? Has she hidden herself from you? Where has she gone?"

Wolfhere had no answer for him.

"I pray you, my lord prince," said Heribert quietly, "it is like poison to the skin to handle it too much. Nor should you display it openly."

Sanglant started, glanced at the silver medallion in his hand, and slipped it back under his tunic.

Only then, with the three men standing close together, did Zacharias realized that all three—prince, cleric, and Eagle—wore similar amulets concealed under their clothing, a protection against sorcery.

HOW long ago it seemed that she had had the leisure to sit in the scriptorium and work uninterrupted on her
History of the Wendish People!
It had been so long that the blessed Queen Matilda, of glorious memory, to whom the work was dedicated, had died without ever seeing a finished work. These days, Rosvita wondered if there ever would be a finished work.

As she moved through the sunny scriptorium, she noted the scribes busy at their work, clerics from the king's schola copying out capitularies, deeds, and charters as well as letters pertaining to the king's business here and in the north. So many rounded shoulders, so many busy hands. Now and again clerics looked up from their work to nod at her or ask for advice. More by accident than design, she was now in charge of Henry's schola. Queen Adelheid had her own schola, made up of clerics from Aosta and overseen by Hugh, who had been assigned as the Holy Mother's official emissary to the Queen.

"Sister Rosvita, ought we to be writing this cartulary to establish the county of Ivria? Shouldn't that properly be done in the Queen's schola?"

"Nay, Brother Eudes, we mean to establish King Henry's right and obligation to rule in these lands so that none will protest if the skopos agrees to crown him as Emperor. Therefore, any grant must come from Henry and Adelheid together." She walked on, pausing where light streamed in to paint gold over the parquet floor.

"Sister, we have heard another report of heresy, this time from Biscop Odila at Mainni. How are we to answer?"

"Patience, Sister Elsebet. The skopos has already indicated that she will hold a council on this matter next year. Write to Biscop

Odila that she must confine those who will not recant so that they cannot corrupt the innocent, but by no means to act rashly. Avoid at all costs any public trial, until after the council, because it is in the nature of people to make martyrs where they can. We must beware making martyrs of these heretics. Can you render that in your own words, Sister?"

Elsebet had been with a schola for ten years, just the kind of cleric who did better if given a little independence to work. She smiled sharply.” Of course, Sister Rosvita. I am glad that the charge of the king's schola has fallen to you. In truth, the skopos' clerics and presbyters rule with too heavy a hand for my liking. I daresay the custom is different here in Aosta than it is in the north."

Farther on, Ruoda and Heriburg sat side by side, one white-scarfed head and one pale blue one, intent on their copying.

"How comes the work?" Rosvita asked quietly as she paused beside them.

They had, open on the lectern above them, the Vita of St. Radegundis. Heriburg was continuing the copy started by Sister Amabilia, and Ruoda had begun a second copy, which Rosvita hoped to send to Korvei for safekeeping.

"Well enough." Ruoda had blotted a word and now scraped the offending ink away with her writing knife.

Heriburg was ruling a blank sheet of parchment. She did not look away from her work as she answered, her voice so low that Rosvita had to bend nearer in order to hear.” We dared not speak to you this morning, Sister, because of the many visitors you had in your chambers. We have more gossip than you could possibly want—

"Never underestimate how much gossip can be useful to the king, Heriburg. Go on."

Ruoda's smile flashed but she looked up only to read the next line from the
Vita,
above her, and to dip her quill in the inkpot.

"A Sister Venia came to the palace in the train of the Holy Mother, Anne, when she first appeared here last summer. An elderly woman with white hair and a pleasant, round face, well spoken, well mannered, well educated, and nobly born. She was heard to say only that she came out of the noble lineage of Karrone. Soon after she arrived a presbyter was heard to claim that she was his cousin, a granddaughter of the Karronish princely family who had been made a biscop and then detained for black sorcery, but he died soon after of apoplexy and could not therefore substantiate his claim. No one liked him anyway, so we hear. But in any case, Sister Venia made no enemies while she was here."

"Was
here?"

Heriburg studied the newly-ruled parchment, frowning as she measured the space and the amount she could fit into it and where she would break the words. She had left space for an illustration, but that work would go to Brother Jehan.

"Now she is missing, Sister. She was last seen in those desperate days after the death of the Holy Mother dementia, may her memory be blessed, and before the arrival of Queen Adelheid and King Henry."

"A strange thing, too," murmured Ruoda, pausing to trim her quill, "because until we reminded people of the woman, it was as if everyone had forgotten her."

"I hope you did not draw attention to yourselves."

Heriburg glanced up, her face as bland as pudding but her gaze as sharp as pins.” Have you ever noticed the similarity in Dariyan of the words 'forgiveness' and 'poison'? 'Venia' and 'veneni.' Many in the palace still wonder about Ironhead's death, and about the death of the Holy Mother dementia, may God have mercy on her. It is only a small slip of the tongue to introduce another name, and clerics are in truth the worst of gossips, given encouragement."

"Have you told Brother Fortunatus this news? He's still waiting to meet with the lay sister from St. Ekatarina's."

"We informed him last night, Sister. He hoped to meet with the lay sister just before Lauds."

"I thank you, Sisters. You did well." Ruoda grinned, as if expecting the praise, but Heriburg dropped her gaze humbly. A gem, and a jewel, as Mother Otta often said of her best novices, worthy to serve in the regnant's crown.” Now back to your work. It will not do for everyone to see you gossiping here with me."

Farther on stood the stool and sloping writing desk set aside for her personal use. With a sigh of relief and hope, she settled down, trimmed four quills, and studied the words she had written out that

morning, copying from her wax tablet: the final days of Arnulf the Younger.

At that time, having taken both Wendar and Varre fully under his control, he was called by his army Lord, King, and Protector of all. His fame spread to all lands, and many nobles from other realms came to visit him, hoping to find favor in his sight, for truly it could be said of him that he denied nothing to his friends and granted no mercy to his enemies. Having at last subjugated the eastern tribes and having thrown the Eika raiders back into the sea, he announced his intention to make a pilgrimage to the holy city of Darre for the sake of prayer.

Yet within a week of this announcement, his infirmities so disabled him that he was forced to retire to his bed.

He called together the leading nobles of the realm and in their presence designated his son Henry as regnant. To his other children he granted honors and lands of great worth as well as a share of the regnant's treasure, but Henry was made ruler over his sisters and brothers and named king of Wendar and Varre and the marchlands.

After his will had been made legal and all in attendance had acclaimed Henry as king, so passed away that great lord, who had by his efforts united Wendar and Varre and, being first among equals and matchless in all those virtues governing mind and body, stood as the greatest of all regnants reigning in all the lands. He reigned for eighteen years and lived to see the age of four and fifty. He was buried in Quedlinhame before the Lady's Hearth. That day, many wept and all mourned.

She wiped away a tear. The memory of that bitter day, which she had witnessed as a young woman, still had the power to move her. She rubbed the parchment with pumice before taking up knife and quill to begin writing.

Here ends the First Book of the Deeds of the Great Princes.

She had to scrape away the last letter and write it again, but at last, with a quiet chuckle, she sat back and surveyed the final sen tence. Hard to believe that this portion was, at long last, concluded. Yet truly, there would be no rest for the wicked: she still had to write the second part, her chronicle of Henry's reign so far. Sometimes it seemed the work would never end. There was always more to tell than space to tell it.

She dabbed her quill in the ink pot.

Here begins the Second Book
—

"Sister Rosvita." Fortunatus came up behind her. He bent as if to examine the parchment, keeping his voice low.” Paloma did not meet me this morning. She has been patient, but I swear to you that yesterday when I met her, she was frightened. I convinced her to remain one more day…but now I fear—" He broke off as a man wearing the red cloak of a presbyter walked into^the scriptorium, marked Rosvita, and headed along the aisles toward her.