“Of course we do not wish to fight,” said Antonia with a heartfelt sigh. “Of course we wish for peace, Lord Villam. Duchess Liutgard. All souls wish for peace, for is that not the devout wish of Our Lord and Lady? But is it right for Sabella to allow Henry to continue on a throne that is rightfully hers?”
“She did not—”
“She has a child. Here is Tallia, before you. Henry has only the word of a heathen woman, if you can even trust the word of an Aoi. Is it not said that elves are children gotten by fallen angels on human woman?”
“In fact,” began Liutgard, breaking in as Antonia took breath, “if one studies the Dialogue on Fate, one reads that the blessed Diasan said that elves were—”
“I do not mean to discuss church matters here.” Antonia made a sharp sign with her right hand, as if she was lopping off her left hand at the wrist. Silence.
Duchess Liutgard whitened; she looked mightily annoyed, and her mouth tightened. Villam made a soft noise, and with an obvious effort the duchess kept silent.
“How can we know Henry earned his heir’s right?” Antonia continued. “How can we know Sanglant is his son at all? Sabella was Arnulf’s first choice as heir. Not Henry. Men may swear all they wish that any child is of their begetting and their blood, but only a woman giving birth before witnesses can prove a child is hers. No man can do that, for even if he locks a woman up, there are creatures not of human blood and earthly make known to have other methods of entry.”
“You are saying,” said Villam quietly but with real growing anger, “that Henry lied about Sanglant and his heir’s progress.”
“I say nothing about Henry. I say Henry can never know, and thus we can never know. Why do you think the church encourages inheritance to pass through the mother’s line, Lord Villam? Duchess Liutgard? The old Dariyans practiced adoption, bringing any kind of person into their houses, but the church outlawed that practice for inheritance purposes over three hundred years ago at the Council of Nisibia. So do some of us work today to ban inheritance through the male line.” Antonia had by now worked up real fervor. Always, she presented a benign facade. Alain had never before seen her so impassioned. “If Henry continues his reign, who will become sovereign after him? The children of Sophia and Arethousa? Will the taint of the East infiltrate our kingdom? Does this new heresy that has spread its tendrils into our fine pure faith not come from the lands ruled by the Arethousan emperors? Will our rulers be Arethousan, and not of Wendish blood?”
“They will be Henry’s children,” said Villam firmly. “And strong rulers, despite what you say, Biscop Antonia.”
“Beware Arethousans bearing gifts,” she replied, darkly. “Had Henry married a good Wendish woman of noble birth, I would not be so adamant in my cause. But he did not. Two women he is known to have consorted with, both of them foreigners and one not even of human blood.” She had finally and entirely lost that placid grandmother’s face. Beneath it, she was hard and cold. “I cannot trust such a man. Nor will I trust his offspring. Sanglant! His pet! A bastard child who isn’t even human and probably isn’t even his, since we have only the mother’s worthless word that she did not act the whore. And Henry makes a fool of himself—everyone knows; it is common knowledge throughout Wendish lands— because he favors such a child! I do not call this a kingly virtue. I do not think this shows strong judgment. Sabella married, as was her duty, a man of her own people. But Henry cannot be content with that, can he? He has his eye on greater things, does he not? He has his eye on the chair of the emperor, in Darre. He wants to follow in the wake of Taillefer. Well! Let Henry nurse his own lands before he sets off to heal others. Let him mate with a woman of his own people before he breeds with the whores of strangers.” Antonia was by now quite red and quite furious. Alain was both impressed and horrified.
Liutgard made as if to stride forward and confront the biscop physically, but Villam stayed her with a gesture. “I have heard enough insults,” he said. “There is no more to be said. Let this battle be on your head, then, Biscop Antonia. Let it be said, from this hour forward in all the chronicles that record this day, that Sabella rejected King Henry’s leniency when it was offered and chose to face his rage.” He mounted, reined his horse around, and set off up the hill.
Liutgard tossed her head, like a spirited horse, and met Antonia’s gaze with one no less hard. “You are like a sweet water well that has been poisoned by the venom of a guivre.” She turned and followed Villam, the Eagle bearing her banner trailing in her wake.
