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Rosvita was too wise to protest. She presented the book to Hugh. “I, too, hope that you will read to us, Father Hugh.”
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.
Rosvita was too wise to protest. She presented the book to Hugh. “I, too, hope that you will read to us, Father Hugh.”
“You are too generous,” he said, but he took the book.
“Indeed,” muttered Sister Amabilia.
Rosvita sat down again. Theophanu, restless, was still playing with her gown, her gaze fixed on her elder sister’s face.
Henry gestured to the seat beside him, opposite Sapientia. If he was taken aback at this change, he showed no sign on his face; he seemed as pleased by Hugh’s presence as he would have been at Rosvita’s—which unpleasant thought she berated herself for immediately.
Hugh opened the book, cleared his throat softly, and began to read.
“Here begins the Life. The most blessed Radegundis was born into a family of the highest earthly rank. She came of the royal bloodline in the barbarian nation of the Athamanni, youngest daughter of King Bassir and niece of Queen Hermingard, for it was the custom of that country to set brother and sister to rule together. But the Enemy works as cunningly as any burglar who wishes to divine the treasures most worth stealing out of a house, yet work in utter darkness. This the burglar accomplishes by tossing a fine sand into each corner of the room so that she may deduce the value of the object by the sound the sand makes when it strikes that object. So, too, do the creatures of the Enemy toss a fine sand of evil suggestion among the treasures of the human heart and by this means divine what they may steal.
“In this way Queen Hermingard suddenly lost her natural feeling of kinship for her brother. Inviting him and his guests to a banquet, she had them all murdered. It happened that among his guests were several Salian lords, and when news of this treachery got back to Salia, their kin were so outraged that they gathered together a host and descended upon the Athamanni and wiped them out. Only some few of the children survived, among them the saintly Radegundis. It was her lot to be quarreled over by certain lords as part of the plunder, each of them desiring her to come into his grasp. When news of her terrible plight reached the great emperor Taillefer, he had her removed from their keeping and placed under the care of guardians at his royal villa in Baralcha.
“Here she was taught her letters and became familiar with the treatises on agriculture by Palladius and Columellina, and learned to maintain inventories, and other things suitable to a lady who will manage an estate. She would often converse with other children being raised at the villa about her desire to become a martyr. She herself brought the scraps left from table to the poor assembled outside, and with her own hands she washed the head and hands of each poor beggar child. Often she would polish the pavement by the Hearth with her own dress, and the dust that drifts around the altar she would collect in a napkin and place reverently outside the door rather than sweep it away.”
Abruptly Sapientia choked down a giggle, then blurted out, “God help us. She sounds much like Lady Tallia. Do you suppose Radegundis is Tallia’s great-great-grandmother?”
Henry, frowning, turned to his daughter. “Do not speak so lightly of a blessed saint, Sapientia. No child came of the marriage between her and the emperor, and after his death she cloistered herself in the convent for full fifty years. It is unseemly to suggest she might have lapsed from her vows.”
There was a sudden profound silence while everyone in the hall attempted not to look at Father Hugh, whose lapse so prominently showed in the swell of Sapientia’s belly. Brother Fortunatus squeaked and snorted, stifling a laugh.
Theophanu stood up and went forward. “I will read now, if you will,” she said, and for this rescue was rewarded with a charming smile from Hugh.
