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“That will depend in part on the passes over the mountains. Some may be closed by snowfall.”
“If that’s so, we must bide here until next spring.”
“I’ve heard the western passes are still open,” she said.
“Which lead to Salia. That is no route for a Wendish king and his army.”
“Still, Their Majesties can campaign well into the winter if we’re forced to remain here. It may come about that Aosta will accede to their yoke before any decision must be reached about returning north.”
“So we must hope, Sister.” But as he took his leave, he did not seem optimistic.
At last she was free to return to her chambers, where she found Heriburg and Ruoda waiting patiently by the window, talking quietly together, while Aurea swept around the bed. Those two young faces, so eager and full of life, reminded her of her own youth, her first months at King Arnulf’s court. How strange and wonderful the king’s progress had seemed to her then! Yet despite the burdens that age and authority had brought in their wake, she woke every morning eager to be of service to the king.
Anne’s words echoed in her mind. To the king, or to God? To whom was her first allegiance?
“Fortunatus went out with Sister Gerwita,” said Ruoda, rising to kiss Rosvita’s hand. “Gerwita found something…. I don’t know what. He left this with me.” From her sleeve, she drew out the parchment map he had been given by Paloma.
“Aurea,” said Rosvita, “see that no one interrupts us. Let Fortunatus in, if he comes.”
“Yes, my lady.” She took her broom outside to sweep the corridor.
“I pray you, Heriburg, unroll this and hold it open.” Now she could compare this map with the one she had seen in the Tile Chamber. “There, you see, girls,” she said with mounting excitement. “We count perhaps fifty stone crowns recorded throughout the lands, but there are only seven marked with seven stones.” They corresponded, more or less, with the seven spots marked on the other map. “Seven crowns, each with seven stones. What can it mean?”
“Seven jewels in Taillefer’s crown,” said Ruoda promptly. “Six placed equidistant around the rim, just like this, and one in the center.”
“Seven stars in the constellation called ‘the Crown,’” said Heriburg.
“But they’re all jumbled together and it takes keen eyesight to see the seventh. I never have.”
“Seven Sleepers,” murmured Rosvita. “‘Devils afflict me in the guise of scholars and magi… if only I would tell them what I knew of the secrets of the Seven Sleepers.”
“They’re from St. Euseb?’s church history,” exclaimed Ruoda, “and maybe just a story told to reassure the faithful. What do they have to do with this map?”
“Hush,” whispered Heriburg. “She’s thinking.”
“She lied to me,” said Rosvita, letting her words lead her thoughts. “Lavrentia isn’t dead. Or wasn’t dead last year. Lavrentia became Obligatia. Obligatia, when she was Lavrentia, had two children, one a girl born to Taillefer’s only legitimate son, and the other a boy. What was it she said?” She placed a palm over the central stone crown marked on the map, concealing it. “She came to an estate called Bodfeld. There she met the nephew of the ruling lady, and in time they married and she gave birth to a child. Whom they named Bernard!”
This triumph of memory gave her energy, despite the lingering heat. She left the map and walked to the embrasure, leaning out where the breeze could touch her face. The city lay hidden beyond except for occasional torches bobbing along a dark street and the beacon fires ringing the outer wall. Could it be? Yet Bernard was not an uncommon name. She had to dig, and dig, recalling the few meetings she’d had with Liath. The time she had followed her outside at the hunting lodge, wondering how a common Eagle was so learned that she could read Dariyan fluently. Where did she come from? Following that path of memory, she found it. Liath herself had spoken the damning words.
Rosvita turned to survey Ruoda and Heriburg, who were regarding her with wide eyes and startled expressions. Lamplight played over their youthful features. “’I have been told I had cousins at Bodfeld!’ How could I have forgotten? Bodfeld.”
“Have you cousins at Bodfeld, Sister?” asked Ruoda. “I thought you came from the North Mark. I didn’t know the Counts of the North Mark had kin in eastern Saony.”
“Nay, they don’t, child.”
“Shhh!” hissed Heriburg to Ruoda. “She’s still thinking.”
“After the death of her husband, the child was taken from her and given to a monastery to raise. And the girl called Lavrentia was sent south—found by Wolfhere and sent south!—and so came by accident, or by God’s design, to St. Ekatarina’s. Maybe the only place she could have remained safe.”
“Safe from what?” asked Ruoda. Heriburg kicked her in the shin.
“That is the one terrible secret that would destroy her position. That would force the council of presbyters to revoke the ring.”
“Oh, my God,” said Heriburg, as though the words had been forced out of her. “You’re talking about the Holy Mother.”
She realized, then, that they were staring at her, aghast. “Daughters, you must speak of this to no one. Truly, you can see how ugly and destructive rumor can be. I have no proof. I have only suspicions. I may be wrong.”
“Wrong about what?” demanded Ruoda. “What is the terrible secret?”
