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“I am not sure it is wise to bait your sister in this fashion.”
“If she would only think before she speaks—” Theophanu broke off, turned, and took several steps forward to greet the man who emerged at that moment into the courtyard. Like the two young women, he wore a gold torque, braids of solid gold twisted into a three-quarters circle, around his neck. Theophanu knelt. “Father.”
He laid a hand on her dark hair.
Rosvita knelt as well. “Your Majesty.”
“You must rise, my most valued cleric,” said the king. “I have an errand for you, which I am assured only you can accomplish.”
Rosvita rose and faced King Henry. As a young man he had been, like his elder daughter, rash at times; now, as always these days, he wore a grave expression that contrasted well with the bright lights of his silvering hair. “I am your servant, Your Majesty.” She could not quite restrain a smile. “Your praise honors me.”
“No more than it should, my friend. You will indulge me, I hope, by carrying out this errand at once.”
“Of course.”
“Father Bardo tells me there is a hermit, a holy monk, who lives in a cell in the hills above the monastery. He is old and was once, I am told, a scholar.”
Despite herself, Rosvita felt her heart beat faster. An old man, and a scholar as well! Always there were new things to be discovered from the testimony of such people.
“He is known to be well versed in the laws of the Emperor Taillefer, to have knowledge of capitularies of those times that have been lost to us. But he is reluctant to break his contemplation, so says Father Bardo.”
“Then ought we to ask him to break his contemplation, Your Majesty?”
“There are some things I need to know about inheritance.” His tone, barely, betrayed agitation. Theophanu looked up sharply at her father, but said nothing. “As for you, Rosvita, Father Bardo says this holy monk has heard of your work compiling a history of the Wendish people for my blessed mother and might be willing to speak with you. Perhaps his curiosity outweighs his serenity.” He said it with the secular lord’s fine disregard for the pursuits of those sworn to the church.
Or his meditations on the Lady’s and Lord’s Holy Works had not yet quieted his passion for learning. But Rosvita did not voice this thought out loud.
“You are thinking the same thing,” said the king, with a smile.
“I am, indeed.”
“Then you must speak your mind freely in front of me, or how else will I benefit from your wise counsel?”
Now, Rosvita did smile. She had always liked Henry, as much as one allowed oneself to like the heir and later king; in recent years, however, as he had drawn her more tightly into his orbit, she had also come to respect him. “Then I must ask you if there is some certain thing you are hoping to discover from such an interview.”
The king lifted his hand from Theophanu’s head and glanced around the courtyard. Behind a hedge of cypress, Rosvita saw two courtiers waiting in discreet attendance: One, the elder man, was Helmut Villam, the king’s constant companion and most trusted adviser; the other was hidden by the leaves.
“Where is your sister?” Henry said to his daughter. “I was told the two of you walked here together.”
“She has gone inside.”
“If you will wait, then, with Villam, I would have you come riding with me.”
“I will attend you, Father.” She rose and retreated obediently to stand with the others. Rosvita caught a glimpse of Berthold Villam. Evidently he had slipped out after her to find out what all the fuss was about. The other person in attendance, now visible, was the formidable Judith, margrave of Olsatia and Austra. Behind the margrave hovered several servants.
The spring sun, glaringly hot in the enclosed garden of stone and hedge and roses, suddenly vanished, cloaked by a cloud.
“You know what is whispered,” said Henry. “What none of them will say aloud.”
The dukes and margraves, counts and biscops and clerics and courtiers who populated the king’s progress spoke freely and volubly of the great concerns of the day: Would Henry’s sister Sabella break into open revolt against him? Was this to be a summer of raids along the northern coast, or would the Eika land, as was rumored, with an army? What did the skopos in Darre mean to do about the whispers of heresy taking root inside the church?
But on one subject they were silent, or spoke in circles that surrounded but never touched the heart of the issue. In the terrible arguments that had raged yesterday afternoon and in the tense feast that had followed, where whispers and glances continued the dispute, one name had not been spoken so that it could be heard.
“Sanglant,” she said, pronouncing it in the Salian way: sahnglawnt.
“And what is it they say about Sanglant?”
“They speak not of Sanglant but of you. They say your sentiment has overreached your reason. They say it is time to send Sapientia on her progress so she may be judged worthy or unworthy of being named as your heir. And if not Sapientia, then Theophanu.”
