Part 51 (1/2)
”Now wait a moment, Enguerrand,” began Ilsevir, who, until then, had stayed silent.
”We are about to enter into talks with the new Arkhan,” continued Enguerrand, determined not to be interrupted. ”He is of a more scholarly, peaceful nature than his father. I believe an understanding can be reached between our two nations that will bring an end to the bloodshed. And as a gesture of our goodwill, I want the statue returned, along with the other relics.”
Girim nel Ghislain bowed his head, but not before Enguerrand had glimpsed the expression that distorted his face: anger mingled with dismay.
”We are moving into a new age,” Enguerrand said, addressing the court. ”An age of hope, even an age of enlightenment. I want to encourage the study of the sciences in our universities. I want to encourage the expansion of our nation, working with our new ally, the Emperor.” Exhausted by the effort of speaking for so long, he sat down. Yet to his surprise, he heard the sound of applause; his courtiers had received his speech with approval.
”An inspiring speech, your majesty,” said Chancellor Aiguillon in his ear. He was beaming approvingly. But Enguerrand's gaze was drawn to a portrait he had ordered hung in the hall. It depicted Ruaud de Lanvaux, dressed in his ceremonial robes as head of the Francian Commanderie, with the Angelstone on a gold chain around his neck.
”I think you'd have been proud of me today, dear Maistre,” he said under his breath.
”Are you certain, Doctor?” Adele, sitting up in bed, gazed keenly at Doctor Vallot.
”Absolutely certain, majesty.” Vallot said, smiling at her as he packed away his instruments.
”Oh, but now that my brother has returned, you mustn't call me 'your majesty' anymore,” she said.
He looked horrified. ”Forgive me, highness-”
”No, forgive me; it was rude of me to tease you so, and just when you've delivered such excellent news.”
”Excellent news?” Ilsevir had just entered the bedchamber. Ever since Enguerrand's return he had been plunged into a depression, hardly saying a word to anyone, and she looked at him anxiously. ”Is my wife fully recovered, Doctor?”
”I don't believe she was ever ill, highness, unless pregnancy can be counted as a disease.”
”Pregnancy?” Ilsevir's face altered instantly as he let out a shout of delight. ”But-but that's wonderful!” He hurried over to her bedside and kissed her. ”When is the baby due?”
Adele felt herself blus.h.i.+ng with pleasure at his reaction. ”Early autumn.”
”Nevertheless, given the princess's delicate state of health, I don't recommend that she undertake the journey back to Allegonde until the pregnancy is well established and there is no risk of another miscarriage.”
”I may have lost a kingdom”-Ilsevir took her hand in his- ”but, G.o.d willing, it looks as if I have gained an heir.”
Adele glanced up at him anxiously but saw that he was still smiling. She squeezed his hand. The union between Francia and Allegonde had been annulled by the Francian Council and she knew that he had felt deeply humiliated. Yet the Emperor had managed to allay some of his grievances by setting up some carefully negotiated trade treaties that would bring new revenue to Allegonde.
”Is there anything you would like, Adele?” Ilsevir said anxiously. ”You have only to ask...”
”I really would like to tell Celestine,” she said with a little sigh. ”Is there no news of her yet?”
Adjutant Korentan checked his orders again. The instructions came direct from Captain nel Ghislain and were succinct: ” The statue The statue is to be returned to Ondhessar straightaway. Make all necessary arrangements.” is to be returned to Ondhessar straightaway. Make all necessary arrangements.”
From time to time he had crept back to the secret place where Girim had ordered the disintegrating statue of Azilis to be stored while the copy was displayed in the Basilica shrine. He had felt it his special duty as a Rosecoeur Guerrier to watch over her even as she decayed. The statue was no longer a thing of beauty but to him it represented something infinitely more precious: a direct link with his beloved saint, Elesstar, carved out of marble that came from the land of her birth. It saddened him to see the ravages that the impure air of Allegonde had wreaked upon her perfection. Left in the dry desert air where she was first carved, she would not have begun to crumble away, he was certain of it.
He made his way through the musty cellar, lantern raised high to illuminate his path. Why, he wondered, did it feel as if he were lifting a sheet from a dead body?
”Forgive me, Blessed Elesstar,” he murmured as he raised the heavy cloth. Then the cloth fell from his grip as he took a step back, astonished.
Pale stone glimmered in the lantern's flame.
”Is someone playing a trick?” Korentan, recovering from his initial shock, stripped the cloth away and stared. For the Azilis statue lay there as if she were freshly carved from semitranslucent marble, whiter than milk, a vision of purity in the dank, musty cellar. Tentatively he put out a hand and touched the statue's cupped hands, his fingertips grazing hers.
The prince must have arranged for the statues to be switched overnight again. How else to explain this unmarred perfection where all had been discoloration and crumbling decay? Unless a miracle had occurred...
Acir Korentan dropped to his knees in the dust before the statue.
CHAPTER 16.
On a summer's day of brilliant suns.h.i.+ne, Enguerrand of Francia attended Saint Meriadec's, accompanied by the Duke and d.u.c.h.ess of Provenca and the king's betrothed, their youngest daughter, Aude. Grand Maistre Friard arranged a special escort of Guerriers of the New Francian Commanderie, led by Captain Philippe Viaud, all resplendent in their new uniforms of black and gold.
They had been specially invited by the Maistre de Chapelle to hear the first performance of his new work, which was dedicated to his patron, the king.
The players of a chamber orchestra, strings and woodwind, were seated before the altar, between the choir stalls, bows at the ready, reeds well moistened.
The Maistre de Chapelle stood in front of his musicians, twisting his baton to and fro between his fingers. He was not yet entirely accustomed to conducting. He would have felt far happier to be back in his old place, out of sight in the organ loft, but he had come to realize that the damage to his left hand meant he might never achieve the agility and accuracy of which he had been so proud. It could take years of patient practice to meet his own exacting standards at the keyboard but he was determined not to give up.
Until then, he had decided to concentrate on composing and conducting.
Suddenly he felt nervous and unsure. Suppose he made a mistake and gave the wrong cue to the singers or players? Worse still, suppose the king hated his composition?