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Constance moved forward, looking grim. “What of your other attendants, Biscop Antonia? Half of them are dead and the rest soon to die of a disease which strikes none but them, not even the holy nuns who have ministered to them as they lay dying.”
“I grieve,” said Antonia, “but even I cannot interfere with the hand of Our Lord, when with His sword He cuts the thread that binds us to life.”
“There are some who have accused you of sorcery,” continued Constance, determined to have this out now. She did not look at Henry for permission, nor did he attempt to stop her. She was the only other person here whose spiritual rank was equal to Antonia’s, and no secular power could intervene. “There are some who speak of amulets fashioned by your clerics at your order, and that their suffering is the mark of this cruel sorcery, the same sorcery that brought a guivre to the battleground and let Sabella’s soldiers walk free of harm from its gaze while Henry’s soldiers were stricken to stone.” Antonia unclasped her hands and raised them, palms up, in a gesture of innocence. “If their suffering is a mark of sorcery, and I the sorcerer who devised such amulets, then how is it I stand untouched by disease? How is it that Heribert—” Here she signed toward the young cleric who stood, as always, one step behind her. “—remains unstained as well? Many things cause disease, including evil spirits. I am sorry they are suffering, and I do what I am allowed to ease their pain, for it grieves me sorely, but what has stricken them comes from other hands than mine.”
“Enough,” said Henry suddenly, interrupting just as Constance took a breath to speak again. “We have gone over this a hundred times, and I no longer wish to speak of it. Biscop Antonia will be taken under guard to the skopos in Darre, there to stand trial accused of certain sorceries condemned by the church at the Council of Narvone.”
Antonia was led away with her retinue of one. But even from her vantage point to the left of the king’s throne, Rosvita could see no sign of fear or regret or repentance in the old biscop’s expression. She looked, indeed, as angelic as an ancient faultless grandmother who has seen all her children and grandchildren grow to adulthood.
Henry sat for a long while in silence. The crowd did not grow restless; indeed, they scarely stirred. They knew that next, surely, he would call his sister Sabella before him.
Finally, he made a sign, and young Duchess Liutgard came forward. “I will now agree to speak to the woman you hold in your custody,” he said.
Liutgard gave a curt assent and glanced once up at Rosvita, as if to thank her for her part in saving Henry from rash action.
When Sabella was brought into the hall, the hush was so profound that Rosvita thought she heard the barking of hounds in the distance. Perhaps she was hearing things, or perhaps some lord kept kennels nearby.
Sabella refused to kneel before her brother. Henry did not rise and go forward to greet her, nor did he extend his hand for her to kiss. Rosvita did not think Sabella would have granted him that honor, that homage, in any case.
“What do you have to say?” he asked instead, gaze jumping past her for a moment to linger on her entourage, whose expressions were certainly more contrite and fearful than hers was. A servant wiped spittle off Duke Berengar’s lips. Young Tallia stood pallid in a green silk gown, looking more like a captured fawn than the princess she was.
Rosvita glanced toward the other princesses, Henry’s daughters. Sapientia was, of a mercy, behaving circumspectly today, holding her temper, her tongue, and her enthusiasm in check. She sat as still as she was able and watched the proceedings with a dark and avid gaze, as if soaking it in, as if playing herself in the role of queen. The pool of stillness that surrounded Theophanu was of a colder kind; she had no expression on her face, nor did she react when each judgment was passed. Even young Ekkehard, who half the time looked as if he was about to fall asleep, had jumped and murmured in surprise at the clemency Henry had shown to Duke Rodulf’s heirs. Next to these three handsome and robust children, Tallia was a colorless bloom, lost in the glare of her mother’s ambitions.
“I have nothing to say,” said Sabella.
Henry’s wrath was evident though he did not lose himself now to his anger. “You have conspired against the rightful king of Wendar and Varre, anointed by the hand of the skopos, named by our father, Arnulf, as his heir, confirmed as such by the great princes of the realm. This is treason, and the punishment for treason is death.”
A gasp from the multitudes, quickly stifled. Every soul crowded into the hall strained forward. The air itself seemed not to breathe or to allow for any breath, for even the rise and fall of a single chest might stain the clarity of sight and hearing that reigned within the hall.
“But we are kin, and you wear the gold torque of the royal house.” Henry did not touch the one he wore at his neck, but Sabella—as if involuntarily—reached up to touch hers. “I will not stain my hands, nor the hands of my children, with the blood of my kin. But this I will do. This judgment I will pass.”
He rose.
“Your child, Tallia, I take as my ward and remove to my custody. Your husband, Berengar, duke of Arconia, I judge unfit to rule, and I strip from him his rank as duke. He will retire to Hetsford Monastery, where the holy brothers will care for him as is fitting. And you, Sabella—”
No one moved. No one spoke.
“From you also I strip the title of duchess, and from your heir I take this title, for all time. The duchy of Arconia is without a duke, and so it comes to me to dispose of this title and the authority it grants. I give it now into the hands of my sister, Constance, Biscop of Autun, and you I give into her custody, as you once held her unwillingly in yours.”
The crowd could no longer restrain its astonishment. They burst into a haze of noise so loud Rosvita could scarely hear herself think. Sapientia, echoing the crowd, leaped to her feet and a moment later, sheepishly, with her brother tugging on her sleeve, seated herself. Theophanu had not stirred, but she had a thin smile on her face.
Sabella said nothing, showed nothing except a deadly and bitter anger, but there was nothing she could do. She had gambled and she had lost. Duke—no longer duke!— Berengar was blowing his nose onto his sleeve, and at once his servingmen led him away. Poor man. He would be better taken care of in the monastery, Rosvita supposed. Tallia was crying. Tears made her fair skin blotchy and her nose red. Sabella turned and snapped angry words at her daughter, but it was too noisy for Rosvita to make them out.
o;Enough,” said Henry suddenly, interrupting just as Constance took a breath to speak again. “We have gone over this a hundred times, and I no longer wish to speak of it. Biscop Antonia will be taken under guard to the skopos in Darre, there to stand trial accused of certain sorceries condemned by the church at the Council of Narvone.”
Antonia was led away with her retinue of one. But even from her vantage point to the left of the king’s throne, Rosvita could see no sign of fear or regret or repentance in the old biscop’s expression. She looked, indeed, as angelic as an ancient faultless grandmother who has seen all her children and grandchildren grow to adulthood.
Henry sat for a long while in silence. The crowd did not grow restless; indeed, they scarely stirred. They knew that next, surely, he would call his sister Sabella before him.
Finally, he made a sign, and young Duchess Liutgard came forward. “I will now agree to speak to the woman you hold in your custody,” he said.
Liutgard gave a curt assent and glanced once up at Rosvita, as if to thank her for her part in saving Henry from rash action.
When Sabella was brought into the hall, the hush was so profound that Rosvita thought she heard the barking of hounds in the distance. Perhaps she was hearing things, or perhaps some lord kept kennels nearby.
Sabella refused to kneel before her brother. Henry did not rise and go forward to greet her, nor did he extend his hand for her to kiss. Rosvita did not think Sabella would have granted him that honor, that homage, in any case.
“What do you have to say?” he asked instead, gaze jumping past her for a moment to linger on her entourage, whose expressions were certainly more contrite and fearful than hers was. A servant wiped spittle off Duke Berengar’s lips. Young Tallia stood pallid in a green silk gown, looking more like a captured fawn than the princess she was.
