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“Maybe so. None of us are without sin in this matter, I think. You yourself, Mother Scholastica—”
“I?”
“You crowned and anointed Sanglant, but at the same time it appears you were already in league with Duke Conrad and Lady Sabella. Theophanu knows by now that you were ready and willing to pass her over, although hers was the highest claim. Who will trust you, knowing you have shown two faces to those who sought your support?”
The abbess’ lips pulled back in a flash of teeth almost like a snarl. “I have remained loyal to Wendar and Varre. That has been my sole concern. Do you believe otherwise, Sister Rosvita? Of what do you accuse me?”
“Of what do you accuse yourself?” Rosvita asked mildly. Every gaze fixed on the abbess—every gaze, that is, but that of Rosvita. The cleric looked toward the lonely bier. In that moment, the light indoors changed markedly, from a pale filtered glow to a strong yellow glare, as the sun cleared the low-lying clouds. For the first time, Alain saw that the dead man was not, after all, alone and abandoned. The body was flanked by attendants: two nuns and a third figure so bent, doubled over by the head of the corpse, that he could not quite discern what it was. Sorrow whimpered. Rage turned tail and tried to slink away toward the door, but he snapped his fingers and she crawled back.
“Let us see it done quickly, then,” said Scholastica hoarsely. “We will hold a council immediately, to begin on the first day of summer, next year. I suppose presbyters, biscops, holy abbesses, and clerics can be called and make their way to Autun in so short a span of time.”
Rosvita nodded. “That is acceptable to me.”
“Autun?” Constance’s hands were trembling and her face was very pale. “Do you still hope for Conrad’s backing, Aunt? He remains duke of Wayland. It is Tallia who by right of birth is now duke of Arconia, and you will find her peculiarly sympathetic to the tale of the phoenix.”
“I have made my choice,” said Scholastica. Her face was white, and she groped for a cup of wine and drained it in one gulp. “Let messengers be sent. Now, I think we are done here.”
A tall, hawk-nosed Eagle crossed into the hall through the main doors, walked up to Rosvita, whispered in her ear, and retreated. Rosvita glanced toward Alain, and then raised a hand before Mother Scholastica could, by rising, call a halt to the conclave.
“That leaves only the question of the dead. Both Lady Sabella and Princess Sapientia were taken away last night by stewards and servants to be washed in preparation for their last journey.”
The man who had been pacing by the hearth stepped forward. “I am a faithful servant in Lady Sabella’s schola. We are only waiting now for the wagon and horses to be brought and her escort to be assembled. Best we leave right away. In summer, the flesh rots quickly. The lady must be buried in Autun, laid to rest beside her mother and her uncle—the last heirs of Varre.”
“Sapientia will go to Quedlinhame,” said Scholastica, “to be buried by her father’s ancestors, as is fitting.”
“What of Sanglant?” asked Rosvita.
“None dare touch him,” said Scholastica in a cruel voice, “for fear of his mother’s curse.”
“Many men wait outside who fear no such thing,” snapped Constance. Hathumod wiped her brow with a cloth, and after a moment the biscop went on. “But I would ask to hear the testimony of the holy mother who has sat beside his body throughout the last night.”
An ancient woman shuffled forward out of the shadows, held upright on either side by two nuns, women so thin they seemed more like cords of strong rope. She was so frail and bent that it was remarkable she could stand; a breath of wind might topple her. Age has its own authority. Even Mother Scholastica gave way before her, rising with every evidence of sincere respect to allow the old woman to sit in her chair.
Just as a child’s face hints at the adult visage to come, so the most aged and wrinkled bear in their face a memory of their youth. He saw her full in the light as she settled into the chair, and about the eyes and chin marked the family resemblance.
Heart-struck like a mute beast, his eyes swam with tears. His breath caught as in a cage so that he had to remember to breathe. His hands tingled. For an instant he felt himself weightless, as if his feet were no longer touching earth.
She spoke in a voice strangely powerful, corning from such a fragile, tiny frame. “I have sat vigil this night beside the body, for the sake of my granddaughter, as she would have done herself were she here. These are my observations. When I press a hand to his chest or against his throat, I feel no beat of his heart. No blood pulses from his open wounds. No breath eases from his lips or nostrils. A man cannot live whose heart is silent, and who has no breath. He is surely dead. Yet he does not stiffen or putrefy. He smells of rose water, as though he were but freshly washed. I swear to you that his wounds are healing, knitting and closing in a manner most unnatural.”
“Sorcery!” declared Scholastica. “So the curse remains, although his spirit is fled. This is the work of a maleficus, or of daimones out of the upper air. I say he shall be carted to Gent, where he ought to have died but did not. There is a crypt there that might hold him.”
Rosvita glanced again toward Alain, but she did not address him or otherwise indicate that she knew he was there and ought to be acknowledged. “Take him west, along the northern path,” she said, when he did not speak. “I will escort his body, if you will allow it.”
“West?” said Constance. “Why west?”
“What plot is afoot?” demanded Scholastica.
“I will attend the body as well,” said the old woman, “as is my right because of my kinship to this man.”
“Your kinship?” Respect for age was all very well, but Mother Scholastica had clearly swallowed her moment of humility and could endure no more. “Mother Obligatia, I pray you, forgive my bold speaking to a woman of your age and authority. But you are fled from your convent in Aosta and come to take refuge here in Wendar. What kinship do you speak of?” She looked accusingly at Rosvita. “Is there something I have not been told?”
Rosvita opened the topmost book of the three on her lap.
At long last, it was time.
Making ready to step forward, to fulfill his oath, Alain turned to command the hounds to accompany him.
Only to find that after all they had escaped him. He looked around, and saw Sorrow’s hindquarters vanish as the hound scuttled out the door. Rage had already fled. Aestan and ?agor stuck their heads out into the courtyard, staring after the hounds, and then ducked back in again. Aestan was scratching his beard in confusion. ?agor gestured to Alain, to alert him, and then both soldiers vanished outside.
