PROLOGUE (66 page)

No one ever did. It wasn't that they didn't see her. Gazes marked her before moving away as easily as if she were someone expected. No one unusual. Not a stranger at all.

The corridor she had thought would lead her to the room of astronomies led her instead, unexpectedly, to a chapel elaborately decorated with gilded lamps hanging from a beamed ceiling and frescoes depicting the life of St. Lucia, guardian of the light of God's wisdom. Her knees bent as if of their own volition, and in this way she knelt behind a pair of clerics robed in white and cloaked with the scarlet, floor-length capes that in the world below distinguished presbyters in the service of the skopos.

Strange how her thoughts scattered every which way. Because she could not calm her mind enough to lift her thoughts to God, she listened. The two clerics kneeling right in front of her evidently did not have calm minds either, because they were gossiping in low voices while, at the front of the chapel, an elderly man led a chorus of sweet-voiced monks in the service of Sext.

"Didn't you hear? He saved poor Brother Sylvestrius a lashing." "Nay, how can Brother Sylvestrius possibly have given offense? He scarcely speaks a word as it is, and sometimes it seems impossible to me that he even knows the rest of us exist because he's so busy with his books."

"It was nothing he said, but what he wrote in the annals."

"Nothing deliberately disparaging, surely? That's more Biscop Liutprand's style."

"Of course not. Sylvestrius wrote a dispassionate account of the crowning, rather than a flattering one."

"And Ironhead couldn't abide it. He'd rather hear one of those noxious poets singing his praises as though he were the next Taillefer rather than what he really is."

"You know what a rage Ironhead can get into." "Truly, I do, and have the mark here on my cheek to prove it. Yet how then did Sylvestrius escape the lash? Nay, nay, you need not say. I know who must have intervened."

"Truly, Brother, he is the sole gentling influence now that the Holy Mother, may God grant her healing, lies ill. He is the one person who stands between Ironhead's coarseness and barbarity and the lives of so many innocents."

As if this thought struck them hard with a vision of God's mercy, they bent their heads in sincere prayer as the old presbyter in front began the Gloria.

Odd to feel that her body was not her own. She rose, quite unexpectedly, and edged backward, but there must have been another door into the chapel that she hadn't seen before because, instead of backing into the corridor she'd just come down, she found herself in a gloomy, dank passage illuminated by a single flickering torch. The light was bad, but with her salamander eyes she saw a trio of guards standing at a heavy wood door exactly like a dozen other such doors set into the corridor behind her. The stone walls seeped moisture. The floor stank of earth and cold. No fine lofty ceilings here. No skilled artisans had toiled to make this place a pleasure to look at or walk through.

"Ach, here's the key," said one of the guards.” Poor lads. I hate to think of their heads being stuck up on the wall just for stealing a bit of bread because they was too poor to buy none at market." "A bit of bread is one thing," objected the second guard, "but stealing the king's bread is quite another."

"Tchah! King's bread, indeed." The third guard laughed coarsely.” That basket was headed for the king's whorehouse, if you please."

"Still, what belongs to the king is meant for the king, not for beggars like these two."

They got the key turned in the lock and with some effort shoved the door open.” Come on out, lads," said the third guard.

Not more than fourteen, the two boys had the weary, pinched look of children raised in constant hunger, starved rats. One was weeping. His companion was trying to be brave.

"We was just hungry," whimpered the weeping one, a familiar refrain whicrfhad been sung once too often.

"Nay, give them not the satisfaction," hissed his companion.” We'll go bravely to our death—

"Bravely enough, lad," said the third guard.” I'm under orders to pardon you and turn you loose. Here's a silver
lusira
for your trouble. Use it wisely, and get you out of the city. My lord king has a long memory for people who have crossed him, and if he ever recognizes you, he'll cut off your heads right in the street."

The weeper wept copiously at this news of reprieve. The brave lad dropped to his knees, trying to kiss the hands of the third guard while at the same time clutching the precious silver to his breast.” I pray you, friend, how can we thank you? God will bless you for your mercy."

"It's not me you should be thanking. I would have let you hang. But there is one at court who chooses the rose of mercy over the sword of justice."

"Ai, Lord and Lady!" breathed the brave one in the tone of a child who has just recognized the visitation of an angel.” Was it that one, who we saw in the square next to the lord king?"

"Truly,
that
one. Don't forget that some walk closer to God than do the rest of us sinners. You can thank him in your prayers." Two of the guards, working together, dragged the door shut. It scraped noisily over the stone floor, the sound grinding and echoing down the corridor.

With a grunt, the first guard led the two boys away. Liath did not move while the others lingered.

"You could have kept the silver and let them hang," whispered the second guard.” How do you dare go against the king's wishes?"

"The king will have forgotten the incident in a week's time. Poor lads, they hadn't any harm in them. I remember being that hungry and desperate once. But don't ever think I'd have kept the silver, boy." The third guard's voice got tight as he chided the

other.” Not when you know
who
gave it to me to give to those poor lads. We get two meals a day in the king's service. They've nothing, all the poor wandering in the streets while the king raises taxes in order to buy more soldiers for his army."

"How would he have known, the one who gave it to you, if you'd have kept it? You could have let them go and kept it for yourself. That's a month's wages!" "Tchah! He'd know." "And he'd punish you?"

"Truly, so it would be punishment, to be called before him and have to look him in the eye who is a better man than any of us. I've no wish to go standing there before him while he forgives me for giving into temptation, not a word of blame from him, who knows how sinful humankind is and how we struggle with the evil inclination. I'd rather not sin than be shamed before him."

"Oho, is that why you've not been to Parisa's brothel in the last month?"

"So it is, lad, and I'll never go again. I'm courting a young woman who's a washerwoman down by the Tigira docks. I mean to marry her and live a Godly life."

"Once this war is over."

"Once this damned war is over. Have you heard the latest rumor?"

Moving from the corridor under a stone archway that led to a staircase, they vanished from her view, carrying the only torch. Their conversation was quickly muffled by stone and distance. Her legs carried her after them, but by the time she reached the staircase she could only follow the receding glow of torchlight. She climbed quickly, chafed by a sudden cold draft of wind. Between one breath and the next, the torch went out, leaving her in pitch-blackness. She climbed the stairway by touch, fingers brushing the dressed stone, feeling the cracks and flaking mortar smoothing away beneath her skin until it seemed to her that she was in a narrow stair with wood walls, wood floors, and a ceiling so low that it brushed her hair. She stumbled up against a latch. Though her fingers touched the latch, they hesitated.

Her jaw had gone tight, clenched hard, and the pain brought a rush of questions. Where was she? Had she unwittingly descended back to Earth?

Quickly vanquished and fled.” Walk through the door," her voice murmured, "and I will be one step closer to my heart's desire." Wasn't it true? Surely it was true. She set her hand on the latch just as she heard muffled sounds of weeping to her right. Startled, she jerked back as the latch twitched, turned from the other side, scraped against wood, and snapped up.

The door was thrown open.

A pretty young woman blinked into the darkness. She had a fresh scar on her upper lip and wore only a shift, the fabric so finely woven that Liath saw the blush of her nipples beneath the cloth.” Oh, thank the Lady," she said, grabbing Liath's wrist and tugging her out into a bright chamber where a rosy light poured in through four unshuttered windows.” You got her safely hidden."

The mellow light pooled over a parquet floor and set into relief a set of frescoes depicting such obscene subjects that Liath blushed. Her new friend pressed past her into the hidden cupboard—for such it was—and helped the weeping woman out from the shadows. She wore the long and rather shapeless wool tunic, dyed a nondescript clay red, worn by common folk, although unlike the Wendish style she wore also a tightly fitted bodice and a brown apron over it. Her hair was bound up in a crown of braids rather than covered by a light shawl, as a respectable Wendish woman's would be. Beneath the streaked tears and the frightened expression, Liath could see that she was remarkably pretty, black-haired with the kind of eyes one could stare into for hours. She shrank away from the sight of the huge bed and its silken canopy.” I'll not be abused by him without a fight!" she said in a voice made hoarse by screaming.” He may be king, but I'm a Godly married woman and I only come to pray at the cathedral to ask for God's mercy on my poor sick child."

"Hush," hissed the pretty woman.” He's gone now. What did you say your name was?"

"I'm known as Terezia. Ai, Lady!" She began to snivel again, overcome by relief.” I was just there in the Lady Chapel, praying, when in he come and grabbed me right out of there. What was I to say to the king? I never imagined—" She began to sob again while the pretty woman in the shift gave Liath a look to show that she'd seen this scene played over many times before, a shared glance of

commiseration and disgust.” —that he would try to rape me. If it hadn't been for that holy man who come in and put a stop to it—

"Yes, friend, if it hadn't been for him."

"I thought the king was like to run him through. Ai, Lady, how brave he was!" Her eyes shone with remembered admiration.” And so
handsome."

"And a holy presbyter, sister, not for the likes of us, so go back to your good husband and your sick child. Hurry, now, for the king might come back any time." Two doors stood open, one leading into an opulent hallway and the other to a narrow servants' corridor. She beckoned toward the servants' corridor.” Go on. That'll get you down to the servants' hall. My friend Teuda will get you out of the palace. She'll be waiting at the bottom of the stairs."

"What about you? Aren't you wanting to escape as well?"

The pretty woman laughed lightly.” Nay, we're the king's whores. We're paid well enough to want to stay."

"But you're so pretty." Terezia looked ready to faint again, and she hadn't even gotten as far as the door, stopping to lean on the back of a chair.” Why would he be coming down to the cathedral to abduct God-fearing women who've just come there to pray when he has lemans as pretty as you to warm his bed?"

"Poor innocent," said the whore with the slightest hint of contempt.” He does it because he can. Nay, listen. I hear someone coming."

Terezia bolted down the servants' corridor. Before the noise of her hasty escape had faded, the whore threw herself onto the bed with a chuckle. Rolling over, she reached for a silver tray, found a goblet, and raised herself up to sip at the wine contentedly.” Ai, Lady. When I think of those poor women slaving all day at their washing or cooking or raising a host of brats in a filthy hovel down by the marsh, I thank God that you and I lie here in silks."

"Beauty doesn't last forever," said Liath, feeling the headache coming back. What a sight she herself must look in her tunic, fallen loose because she had no belt, with her quiver strapped to her back. Yet the whore smiled as seductively at Liath as if she, too, wore a fine shift to mark her exalted status, as if they had shared other intimacies here in this light-draped chamber while they waited for the king. Liath even took a step forward, as if to go lie down on that bed beside the pretty whore, as if her body meant to do what it willed without consulting her. It was like fighting a stubborn horse, to grab hold of a chair and sit down solidly, with a thump.

"Oh, don't talk to me like that," said her companion now.” I've seen you eyeing him when he comes in with Ironhead." She laughed, not kindly.” Iron head, indeed. He's as elegant as an ax, is the king. Pump and grunt, that's him. Nothing like his presbyter, is he, darling? My Lord, now there's a true man, all bright and handsome, clever and kind, with such a beautiful voice as you can get all lost in, and the hands of a saint. Haven't you ever snuck into St. Thecla's Chapel to watch him praying? I have, and I know you have, too. I just wonder what it would be like to have those hands soliciting me. Haven't you just? Haven't you? All witty and elegant as he is, thoughtful and wise. But I see the look in his eyes. He's all lit inside, God's chosen one." She sighed so passionately, shifted so sensuously on the bed, that Liath felt all on fire, remembering the ecstasies known to the body.” Don't you wish he'd choose you?"