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“She would have done better to come with us. The displeasure of the king is a hard path to walk.” Lavastine considered the road in silence. His milites were already moving into their new positions around the riders, and two of his clerics had lit censers to purify the road before and behind with incense. “Tell King Henry that if this disgraced woman has no other place to go, the count of Lavas will take her in.”
“Are you sure that is wise, cousin?” demanded Geoffrey.
“I am sure it is prudent, and farsighted. I know danger when I see it, and she is no danger to us. There is something there …” He trailed off, drawn away down an unknowable path; a moment later, blinking, he shook himself. “Who holds her holds a strong playing piece.”
But as the Eagle rode off and their retinue lurched forward again into their new marching order, the words Tallia had spoken on their wedding night rang in Alain’s ears as though she had only spoken them moments before:
“I am merely a pawn, nothing more than that. As are you, only you do not see it.”
2
AT the palace of Werlida, Queen Sophia had commissioned a garden to be built in the Arethousan style. Shaped as an octagon, it had eight walls, eight benches, eight neatly tended garden plots that bloomed with brilliant colors in spring and summer, and eight radial pathways leading in to the center where stood a monumental fountain formed in the shape of a domed tower surrounded by eight tiers of angels, cavorting and blowing trumpets. According to legend, the fountain had ceased flowing on the very day Queen Sophia died.
In fact, the fountain had ceased flowing years before that because the Arethousan craftsman who had devised the cunning inner workings had died of a lung fever one winter and no one else knew how to repair it.
But the story persisted, as such stories do.
Now Rosvita made a leisurely circuit of the fountain together with half a dozen of Theophanu’s young companions, noble girls who had gravitated around the princess as part of her entourage. Theophanu stood on the lowest tier with her feet on the stone wings of one angel and a hand clutching a trumpet on the third tier for balance. Standing thus, she could get a better view over the retaining wall out to where the road branched at the base of the lower enclosure.
From the garden a magnificent vista opened before them. The land spread out as fields and villages, pastureland and scrub brush and woodland, and finally the distant march of forest. The river wound south, a ribbon vanishing into the haze of trees.
From the gravel path, Rosvita watched as Duke Conrad’s entourage reached the branching road and his banners turned south. From this distance, she could only guess which figure was his.
Was Conrad thinking about Theophanu? Did he truly regret that Henry had forbidden the match, or was his anger for the insult implicit in Henry’s refusal?
Did Theophanu regret the lost chance for a betrothal, or was she relieved? Rosvita could not tell. Another person might rage, or sulk, or weep. Theophanu either did not have the heart for it, or concealed her heart too well.
“Theophanu!”
Prince Ekkehard marched down a path at the head of a gaggle of boys. The schola had only arrived in Werlida yesterday.
“Are you happy to see Conrad go?” demanded Ekkehard as he scrambled onto the stonework beside Theophanu. “I wanted to go with him to Wayland, but Father says I’m to go to Gent and become abbot of the monastery he means to establish there dedicated to St. Perpetua in thanks for Sanglant’s rescue. But I don’t want to go to Gent and certainly not just because Father is so mad that Sanglant ran away with that woman. I don’t know why he’s punishing me for what Sanglant did.” Ekkehard talked more than he thought. But perhaps he had stumbled on the heart of the matter nevertheless: the change in Henry’s behavior that had come about since the morning they had all risen to discover Sanglant and Liath gone.
Theophanu’s inscrutable smile did not change as she answered. “He isn’t punishing you, Ekkehard. He’s giving you authority of your own. Remember that we are royal children. Father will use us as he sees fit, to strengthen the kingdom.”
Was there a trace of irony in her voice? Even sarcasm? Rosvita could not be sure.
The gates into the garden opened again, and their quiet contemplation was completely overset as the king and his courtiers entered in the wake of Ekkehard. The chatter of the mob irritated Rosvita. What had happened to unbalance her equilibrium? Didn’t she always pride herself on her cleric’s amiability and even temper? Hadn’t she gained the love and trust of king and court, not to further her own ambition but because it was her duty as one of God’s servants? She had not felt so much disturbance in her mind for many years. Like Henry, she desperately wanted to know what had happened to Sanglant and Liath, but until Henry mentioned the subject, no one else dared to.
Courtiers fluttered around the king, chief among them the Salian and Ungrian ambassadors. Sapientia clearly preferred the elegant Salian lord who had journeyed here on behalf of Prince Guillaime, but Henry hid his leanings and let himself be courted. As he reached the fountain, he turned away from the Ungrian ambassador to help Theophanu down from her perch. Ekkehard leaped down after her.
“Will I get to ride out to hunt with you tomorrow, Father?” he demanded.
“Of course.” But Henry was distracted by the sight of Conrad’s entourage crossing into the forest. Was he thinking of Sanglant as he watched them go? He drew Theophanu to him, and a moment later he and Villam and several other lords began to discuss the situation in Aosta, leaving Ekkehard to stand helplessly at the edge of their discussion.
“My lord prince. I hope I don’t intrude.” Judith’s young husband Baldwin slid into the vacant space beside Ekkehard. “Perhaps you’ll recall that we met last night.”
“You’re Lord Baldwin, Margrave Judith’s husband.”
“So I am,” agreed Baldwin guilelessly.
For an instant a smirk hovered on the young prince’s lips, but Ekkehard had learned manners in a hard school, and he recovered himself. “Of course I remember you.”
“I’ve heard nothing but praise for your singing, my lord prince. Perhaps in the days to come you might honor us with some songs.” Baldwin was, truly, an exceptionally handsome young man, and Rosvita watched with some amusement as Ekkehard melted under the combined flame of prettiness and flattery.
“I see no reason to wait! We’ll go now. And perhaps you’ll ride out to hunt with me tomorrow.”
“Of course, my lord prince. I am yours to command.”
