Part 59 (2/2)
”Well, that didn't help. But Henry hated me long before that. He envied me my place at King Arnulf's side. Young men are p.r.o.ne to jealousies, my lord prince, and strange fancies. Yet Arnulf always knew Henry's worth. There was never any doubt in his mind which of his children had been born with the luck of the king.”
”What of Henry's children?” Sanglant glanced back toward the crowd of n.o.bles gathered to celebrate Bayan's victory. Sapientia stood beside her husband, bright and happy, handsome and s.h.i.+ning, yet beside the Ungrian prince she looked as light as a feather, ready to float away at the least puff of wind. She hadn't any weight.
”Ah.” Wolfhere smiled, baring his teeth as a wolf might when it snarls.” What o/Henry's children? Don't forget that he has another child now, the infant Mathilda, born to Adelheid. A strong, healthy girl, though she is still a suckling babe.”
”What are you suggesting?”
”That Henry's children by Sophia aren't the only ones who can inherit his throne, Your Highness. He has two others. The newborn Mathilda. And you.”
Sanglant glared at Wolfhere until the old Eagle fidgeted, looking curiously nervous in the face of the prince's obvious anger and grief.” Find my wife, Eagle. Why has your Eagle's sight failed you? Has she hidden herself from you? Where has she gone?”
Wolfhere had no answer for him.
”I pray you, my lord prince,” said Heribert quietly, ”it is like poison to the skin to handle it too much. Nor should you display it openly.”
Sanglant started, glanced at the silver medallion in his hand, and slipped it back under his tunic.
Only then, with the three men standing close together, did Zacharias realized that all three-prince, cleric, and Eagle-wore similar amulets concealed under their clothing, a protection against sorcery.
HOW long ago it seemed that she had had the leisure to sit in the scriptorium and work uninterrupted on her History of the Wendish People! It had been so long that the blessed Queen Matilda, of glorious memory, to whom the work was dedicated, had died without ever seeing a finished work. These days, Rosvita wondered if there ever would be a finished work.
As she moved through the sunny scriptorium, she noted the scribes busy at their work, clerics from the king's schola copying out capitularies, deeds, and charters as well as letters pertaining to the king's business here and in the north. So many rounded shoulders, so many busy hands. Now and again clerics looked up from their work to nod at her or ask for advice. More by accident than design, she was now in charge of Henry's schola. Queen Adelheid had her own schola, made up of clerics from Aosta and overseen by Hugh, who had been a.s.signed as the Holy Mother's official emissary to the Queen.
”Sister Rosvita, ought we to be writing this cartulary to establish the county of Ivria? Shouldn't that properly be done in the Queen's schola?”
”Nay, Brother Eudes, we mean to establish King Henry's right and obligation to rule in these lands so that none will protest if the skopos agrees to crown him as Emperor. Therefore, any grant must come from Henry and Adelheid together.” She walked on, pausing where light streamed in to paint gold over the parquet floor.
”Sister, we have heard another report of heresy, this time from Biscop Odila at Mainni. How are we to answer?”
”Patience, Sister Elsebet. The skopos has already indicated that she will hold a council on this matter next year. Write to Biscop Odila that she must confine those who will not recant so that they cannot corrupt the innocent, but by no means to act rashly. Avoid at all costs any public trial, until after the council, because it is in the nature of people to make martyrs where they can. We must beware making martyrs of these heretics. Can you render that in your own words, Sister?”
Elsebet had been with a schola for ten years, just the kind of cleric who did better if given a little independence to work. She smiled sharply.” Of course, Sister Rosvita. I am glad that the charge of the king's schola has fallen to you. In truth, the skopos' clerics and presbyters rule with too heavy a hand for my liking. I daresay the custom is different here in Aosta than it is in the north.”
Farther on, Ruoda and Heriburg sat side by side, one white-scarfed head and one pale blue one, intent on their copying.
”How comes the work?” Rosvita asked quietly as she paused beside them.
They had, open on the lectern above them, the Vita of St. Rade-gundis. Heriburg was continuing the copy started by Sister Ama-bilia, and Ruoda had begun a second copy, which Rosvita hoped to send to Korvei for safekeeping.
”Well enough.” Ruoda had blotted a word and now sc.r.a.ped the offending ink away with her writing knife.
Heriburg was ruling a blank sheet of parchment. She did not look away from her work as she answered, her voice so low that Rosvita had to bend nearer in order to hear.” We dared not speak to you this morning, Sister, because of the many visitors you had in your chambers. We have more gossip than you could possibly want- ”Never underestimate how much gossip can be useful to the king, Heriburg. Go on.”
Ruoda's smile flashed but she looked up only to read the next line from the Vita, above her, and to dip her quill in the inkpot.
”A Sister Venia came to the palace in the train of the Holy Mother, Anne, when she first appeared here last summer. An elderly woman with white hair and a pleasant, round face, well spoken, well mannered, well educated, and n.o.bly born. She was heard to say only that she came out of the n.o.ble lineage of Karrone. Soon after she arrived a presbyter was heard to claim that she was his cousin, a granddaughter of the Karronish princely family who had been made a biscop and then detained for black sorcery, but he died soon after of apoplexy and could not therefore substantiate his claim. No one liked him anyway, so we hear. But in any case, Sister Venia made no enemies while she was here.”
”Was here?”
Heriburg studied the newly-ruled parchment, frowning as she measured the s.p.a.ce and the amount she could fit into it and where she would break the words. She had left s.p.a.ce for an ill.u.s.tration, but that work would go to Brother Jehan.
”Now she is missing, Sister. She was last seen in those desperate days after the death of the Holy Mother dementia, may her memory be blessed, and before the arrival of Queen Adelheid and King Henry.”
”A strange thing, too,” murmured Ruoda, pausing to trim her quill, ”because until we reminded people of the woman, it was as if everyone had forgotten her.”
”I hope you did not draw attention to yourselves.”
Heriburg glanced up, her face as bland as pudding but her gaze as sharp as pins.” Have you ever noticed the similarity in Dariyan of the words 'forgiveness' and 'poison'? 'Venia' and 'veneni.' Many in the palace still wonder about Ironhead's death, and about the death of the Holy Mother dementia, may G.o.d have mercy on her. It is only a small slip of the tongue to introduce another name, and clerics are in truth the worst of gossips, given encouragement.”
”Have you told Brother Fortunatus this news? He's still waiting to meet with the lay sister from St. Ekatarina's.”
”We informed him last night, Sister. He hoped to meet with the lay sister just before Lauds.”
”I thank you, Sisters. You did well.” Ruoda grinned, as if expecting the praise, but Heriburg dropped her gaze humbly. A gem, and a jewel, as Mother Otta often said of her best novices, worthy to serve in the regnant's crown.” Now back to your work. It will not do for everyone to see you gossiping here with me.”
Farther on stood the stool and sloping writing desk set aside for her personal use. With a sigh of relief and hope, she settled down, trimmed four quills, and studied the words she had written out that morning, copying from her wax tablet: the final days of Arnulf the Younger.
At that time, having taken both Wendar and Varre fully under his control, he was called by his army Lord, King, and Protector of all. His fame spread to all lands, and many n.o.bles from other realms came to visit him, hoping to find favor in his sight, for truly it could be said of him that he denied nothing to his friends and granted no mercy to his enemies. Having at last subjugated the eastern tribes and having thrown the Eika raiders back into the sea, he announced his intention to make a pilgrimage to the holy city of Darre for the sake of prayer.
Yet within a week of this announcement, his infirmities so disabled him that he was forced to retire to his bed.
He called together the leading n.o.bles of the realm and in their presence designated his son Henry as regnant. To his other children he granted honors and lands of great worth as well as a share of the regnant's treasure, but Henry was made ruler over his sisters and brothers and named king of Wendar and Varre and the marchlands.
After his will had been made legal and all in attendance had acclaimed Henry as king, so pa.s.sed away that great lord, who had by his efforts united Wendar and Varre and, being first among equals and matchless in all those virtues governing mind and body, stood as the greatest of all regnants reigning in all the lands. He reigned for eighteen years and lived to see the age of four and fifty. He was buried in Quedlinhame before the Lady's Hearth. That day, many wept and all mourned.
She wiped away a tear. The memory of that bitter day, which she had witnessed as a young woman, still had the power to move her. She rubbed the parchment with pumice before taking up knife and quill to begin writing.
Here ends the First Book of the Deeds of the Great Princes.
She had to sc.r.a.pe away the last letter and write it again, but at last, with a quiet chuckle, she sat back and surveyed the final sen tence. Hard to believe that this portion was, at long last, concluded. Yet truly, there would be no rest for the wicked: she still had to write the second part, her chronicle of Henry's reign so far. Sometimes it seemed the work would never end. There was always more to tell than s.p.a.ce to tell it.
She dabbed her quill in the ink pot.
Here begins the Second Book- ”Sister Rosvita.” Fortunatus came up behind her. He bent as if to examine the parchment, keeping his voice low.” Paloma did not meet me this morning. She has been patient, but I swear to you that yesterday when I met her, she was frightened. I convinced her to remain one more day...but now I fear-” He broke off as a man wearing the red cloak of a presbyter walked into^the scriptorium, marked Rosvita, and headed along the aisles toward her.
”We'll speak later, Brother.”
The vault of ceiling made the scriptorium an airy place, filled with light. Watching Brother Petrus approach, Rosvita had leisure to examine the painted frieze at the far end of the room: martyrs and saints receiving their crowns of glory from the angels.
”Sister Rosvita.” He inclined his head. She hid a smile, regarding him somberly. She had the king's confidence, the respect of the schola, and the ear of the queen. A presbyter like Petrus, however n.o.bly born, did not wield as much influence as she did, and he knew it.” I have been sent by Lord Hugh to request your presence in the skopos' chambers.”
Rosvita sighed, setting down her knife and handing the still wet quill to Fortunatus. He could only nod, frustrated and helpless, as she left him in charge of her history.
They crossed out of the regnant's palace and into the gilded corridors of the skopos' palace, dense with silence as a mere handful of presbyters, clerics, and servants hurried along the halls on their errands. No wall here was untouched; murals, friezes, paintings, or tapestries covered every wall. Columns were inlaid with tiny tiles or painted bright colors. Sculptures filled the courtyards and lined the colonnaded arcades down which they walked, in blessed shadow, while the sun beat down on empty graveled pathways beyond. This time of year, even as afternoon drifted toward twilight, no one walked under the sun because of the heat.
It was as quiet as if a spell lay over the palace. Pausing once at a break in the wall where she could see out over the city, she marked how the river dazzled as it wound through the streets, crossed in four places by bridges. A stuporous haze hung over Darre. Had even the buildings fallen asleep?
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