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“But she’s educated. They all say so. It was all the clerics were talking about when we arrived. Don’t you remember?”
“Do they really speak so much about a common Eagle?” he asked, and his tone was the very model of a reproof disguised as quiet amazement.
She shrugged, recalling her dignity and position.
“Let me discover if it is true that she is educated,” said Hugh. “I will question her.” He inclined his head toward the king. “With your permission, Your Majesty.”
Henry signed, and the young Eagle came and knelt before him. She looked to Rosvita rather like a field mouse forced into the clutches of an owl. The prospect of such entertainment excited the interest of the court almost as much as did the quarrel—now denied them—between the royal sisters. Those who had slipped away to warm themselves by the other hearth or to try to claim beds for the night in one of the sidechambers now returned.
“Let me see.” Hugh tapped fingers together as he considered. Liath kept her gaze fixed on the king’s boots. “You can read Dariyan, can you not, child?” he asked kindly.
“Y—yes,” she murmured, keeping her eyes lowered.
“Yes?”
“Yes, Father Hugh.”
“Do you consider yourself well educated?”
Now she hesitated.
“Come now,” said the king. “You need not fear any word you speak plainly and honestly in front of me.”
“So my da told me,” she said finally, still staring at the king’s boots.
“Is that a yes?” asked Hugh, evidently puzzled by this answer—or wanting her to state it plainly.
“Yes.” And though she said it softly, Rosvita detected—perhaps—no small amount of pride.
“Ah. Well. To what work of the ancients might I be referring? ‘As had been noted, there are roots and shrubs that have many powers affecting not only living bodies but also bodies without life.’”
Again she hesitated. Courtiers leaned forward. Was there something of reluctance in her expression? Was she afraid to reveal her knowledge? Where had she gotten that book, and what did it contain?
“You would not wish to lie before the king, I hope,” said Hugh mildly.
“It is from the Inquiry Into Plants by Theophrastus,” she replied finally, her voice scarcely audible.
A murmur rose from the crowd, and there passed among them a certain amount of nudging and winking and a few sly glances toward Helmut Villam. Rosvita wondered if it was true that Villam had propositioned the handsome young Eagle. Indeed, the old margrave was gazing with rapt attention at the young woman.
“From whence does this come? ‘To one desiring to know by what path blessedness is reached the reply is, “Know thyself.”’?”
Startled, she looked up. “I don’t know,” she admitted.
He nodded, expecting this answer. “So writes Eustacia, repeating the words of the oracle at Talfi: ‘Gnosi seaton.’ But of course you do not know Arethousan, do you?”
“The one who taught me knows how much Arethousan I know,” she said with such an odd inflection that Rosvita wondered who had taught her Arethousan—and why.
Hugh lifted a hand in a graceful gesture that suggested there was more like this to come. “You have some knowledge of Dariyan. Does the word ‘Ciconia’ mean anything to you?”
“It means ‘stork,’” she said instantly as if, bested once, she meant to defeat him now.
“Nay, child, I refer to Tullia Marcia Ciconia, the great orator of ancient Dariya. Which works of hers have you read?”
“Which works of hers?”
“De officiis? De amicitia? Can you speak to me some of the wisdom contained in her words?”
“I—I don’t know those works. I mean to say, I’ve heard of them, but—” She faltered.
