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“But he was only a fighter,” said Brother Constantine. “Surely he could not have cut such a fine figure, so elegant and charming in manners, so affable and benevolent, so even-tempered, so learned, as Father Hugh.”
Amabilia sniffed. “Father Hugh ought to be tending to his monastery rather than playing the courtier. But I have been with the king’s progress for eight years, Constantine—”
“As you are ever reminding me,” muttered the young cleric.
“—and I recall Frater Hugh when he was at the schola here. A bird’s feathers may change in color, but it’s the same duck inside!”
“And you will be at your task another eight years, Sister,” Rosvita said gently, “if you do not set yourself to work.”
For all of Amabilia’s tart character, she had a remarkably sweet smile, which she used now to good effect. She had also the finest hand Rosvita had ever seen, master of the Litteras Gallica and Tulay-tilah as well as knowing the antique Scripta Actuaria. For this reason, though she was not of the highest nobility, she had become a fixture in the king’s chapel; she also taught writing to the most promising students in the king’s schola. “I beg your pardon, Sister Rosvita. You are right to reproach me for my unseemly attachment to the amusements the world affords.”
“To the amusements people afford,” said Constantine reprovingly. He really was too serious given how very young he was, not above fifteen.
“God gave us eyes so that we could observe and a tongue with which to speak our minds!”
“And humility teaches us to cast our eyes to the ground and to keep silence!”
“My children,” said Rosvita without raising her voice. “Attend to your tasks.”
Constantine flushed and bent back to the muller, now mixing white of egg and a bit of gum arabic into the vermilion powder. Amabilia did not look chastened; for all that she had a wicked eye for human foibles, she was at peace with herself. She sharpened her quill and returned to her work: making a copy of the precious Vita of Saint Radegundis for the library at Quedlinhame. The other clerics, some listening, some not, worked on in pleasant silence. Rosvita bent back to her History.
She read over what she had most recently accomplished: the crowning of the first Henry, Duke of Saony, as King of Wendar and of his wife, Lucienna, Count of Attomar, as queen; his speech before the nobles and their acclamation of his rule; certain small rebellions and battles as well as armed struggle with the Varren queen, Gisela. With red ink she wrote in the initial line to a new chapter, then changed to black.
“To Henry and his most renowned wife Lucienna were born these children, the first called Arnulf, beloved by all the world, the second, brave and industrious, called Otto, while the third, Kunigunde, Mother of Quedlinhame Convent, was a woman of singular wisdom and authority. Henry had also another daughter, named Haduidis, who married Immed, Margrave of Eastfall. Lucienna had another child, a son named Reginbern. This son rode as captain of the Dragons. He fought against the Eika who were at the time laying waste to Saony, and so ruthlessly waged war against them that they were driven away and feared even to sail within sight of the Wendish coast for many years.
“When all these wars ceased, there came into the east country of Saony an army of Quman horsemen, burning cities and towns and monasteries. They worked such slaughter that it is better to pass over this destruction in silence rather than set it all down again in words. However, it happened that one of the Quman princes was captured. Margrave Immed brought him to the king, but he was so esteemed by his kin that the Quman offered to King Henry as much gold and silver as ten wagons could carry for the prince’s ransom. But the king despised their gold and demanded peace, which they gave him in return for the prisoner and certain other gifts.”
From outside she heard the return of the hunters and the clamor of horses, hounds, and voices in the forecourt. She rose, needing an excuse to stretch her back, and crossed to the door. In the yard beyond, King Henry laughed at a comment by his trusted companion, Margrave Helmut Villam, while Father Hugh dismounted and turned to help Princess Sapientia dismount. Behind, courtiers crowded around; farther back, servants carried in a number of deer, several brace of partridge, an aurochs, and a boar.
Sapientia hurried away toward the necessarium and, as smoothly as a silk robe slips down over a body, Hugh turned to assist Princess Theophanu in dismounting—though, as good a horseman as she was and with a servant already prepared to take her foot in his hands, she scarcely needed such aid. But Hugh offered kindnesses to every person, regardless of rank. Did Theophanu’s hand linger longer in his than was necessary? Was that blush in her cheeks from the wind, or his touch? Turning away from the door, moving back to make room for the king’s entrance, Rosvita wondered what Brother Fortunatus might say had he witnessed that little scene and was then irritated with herself for even thinking such a thing.
The courtfolk flooded into the hall, brash with their success at the hunt. Ekkehard followed at Hugh’s heels like a love-smitten puppy. King Henry seated himself in his chair. Servants brought water and linen and wiped his hands clean of dirt and blood. Luckily, this hall—the third at which they had stopped—was the largest of the royal hunting lodges in Thurin Forest; though the crowd of people entering was large, it did not overwhelm the gabled hall. Sapientia entered and shed her cloak, then seated herself in the place of honor beside her father. Now poor folk who had walked a half day from the forest’s edge were let in to receive alms from the king. As they left through a side door, Hugh assisted Ekkehard in dispensing bread to them while Sapientia, from across the hall, watched with greedy eyes.
Theophanu came, as she always did, to sit beside Rosvita. Her cheeks were still flushed.
“I hope you have not taken a fever,” said Rosvita, setting aside her work.
Theophanu flashed her a startled glance, then, as quickly, composed herself. “I trust I have caught no fever from which I cannot recover.” She played with the fabric of her riding tunic, rolling the cloth up between thumb and forefinger.
Amabilia looked up from her copying on the other side of the long table but, mercifully, did not speak.
“Where is my most valued cleric?” asked the king after all the alms seekers had been led back outside. “Rosvita.” She rose obediently. “Read to us, I pray you. Something eloquent and pleasant to the ear that may yet educate us.”
Rosvita signed to Amabilia and the younger woman set aside her pen so that Rosvita could take up the Vita. “Shall I continue to read from the Life of Saint Radegundis, Your Majesty?” she asked.
He nodded.
Ekkehard, settling himself at his father’s feet, piped up. “Let Father Hugh read. He has such a fine voice. I am sure I learn more than I might otherwise just from listening to his cadences as he reads.”
Theophanu’s cheeks burned. The king looked startled. Sapientia gloated.
Hugh stood over by the door next to the young Eagle, Liath; he was wiping crumbs from his hands but he looked up and smiled gently, giving the cloth into the care of a servant before walking forward. “Your notice would flatter any man, Your Highness,” he said to Ekkehard, “but I am unworthy of such praise. Our esteemed Sister Rosvita has by so far outshone me in every branch of knowledge and in good manners that I know only too well how poorly I compare to her. ‘To one desiring to know by what path blessedness is reached, the reply is, “Know thyself.”’” He bowed respectfully toward Cleric Monica, who was seated on a bench near a shuttered window, close by the hearth and yet out of the worst of the smoke. But Rosvita thought for one instant that his gaze skipped to and halted on the figure of the young Eagle, Liath, hovering by the door as if she wanted to escape outside.
Interestingly, the Eagle’s expression seemed composed of equal parts loathing, fear, and humiliation, though she struggled to maintain a blank facade. No one else was looking at her, and by now Hugh’s gaze had traveled on. Only Rosvita kept half an eye on her, still curious about that book—Had she stolen it?—and her ability to read.
“Your humility is a good example for the others, Father Hugh,” said Cleric Monica.
“Do please read to us,” said Ekkehard.
