No protest, even by Sapientia, could mitigate the king’s judgment. The two young lords left the hall in disgrace. Henry spent the rest of the day at Mass led by Father Hugh. In particular, the king prayed and gave thanksgiving to St. Valeria, whose day this was and whose miraculous intervention had spared his daughter worse harm than the fall she had taken. Before the feast he handed out bread with his own hands to the usual supplicants who had gathered outside the palisade. Hearing of the king’s arrival at this southernmost of his royal hunting lodges, they had come from villages at the forest’s edge. Some of them had walked several days on rag-clad feet hoping for food or a blessing.
At the feast, Theophanu begged a boon of her father. “I pray you, Your Majesty, let me undertake a pilgrimage to the Convent of St. Valeria to offer a proper thanksgiving for my deliverance from harm. Surely her hand lay over me this day.”
He was reluctant to let her leave after such an incident, but the miracle had been attested by a dozen or more persons.
“I will take an Eagle,” she said, “and thus any message can be sent quickly from my hand to yours.”
“As a sign of my favor,” he said, “you may take my faithful Hathui, daughter of Elseva, as long as you and she return in one piece to my progress by the end of the year. It should take you no more than two or three months to complete the journey.”
“I would not take such a loyal servant from you, Your Majesty,” she replied, as calm as if no arrows had sped toward her head and breast that morning. “But if I could take another Eagle—” Here her gaze came to rest on the young Eagle who stood several paces behind Sapientia’s chair.
Sapientia leaped to her feet, the gesture of anger made ungainly because of her increasing girth. “You just want what is mine!”
“Sit down,” said the king.
Sapientia sat.
“It is true,” said Henry, “that Sapientia has an Eagle, one whose service I gave into her hands, which I will not now take from her. But it is only right, Theophanu, that you be given an Eagle as well. Since you are going on a journey, two would be better. Hathui will choose among those who attend me now, at your pleasure.”
The feast went on. But the damage had been done to Rosvita’s peace of mind, for she suddenly recalled that Sapientia enjoyed the novelty of having an Eagle in constant attendance. Liath had been on that hunt and, surely, had seen the whole; someone had mentioned seeing her go to the princess after the fall. But no one had called her to testify when even the king’s foresters and huntsmen had given testimony after the noblefolk had finished speaking. How could such a lapse be possible? Why did the young Eagle not come forward on her own?
Why should Theophanu, inscrutable Theophanu, notice her now and, even, attempt to take her into her own retinue? Only to provoke her sister?
For that matter, why should Theophanu undertake a pilgrimage across the winter landscape when she could as easily send servants with gifts of gold and silver and an altar cloth to grace the convent’s church and treasury?
Two arrows bursting into flame in midair. Any soul would agree that it was a miracle wrought by the hand of a saint. But Rosvita did not believe in coincidence.
“In the guise of scholars and magi,” Brother Fidelis had said to her last spring, “tempting me with knowledge.” Why did his words come back to her now?
Theophanu knew as well as any why the Convent of St. Valeria was renowned: Its Mother Abbesses were known for their study of the forbidden art of sorcery.
5
It was raining, again. Rain made Sapientia irritable; she was only happy when she was active
“Fetch me wine, Eagle,” she said, although she had servants to fetch her wine. “And milk. I want milk.” Leaving the Thurin Forest had made Sapientia irritable. Riding south into the duchy of Avaria had made Sapientia irritable. Being pregnant made Sapientia irritable. “Read to me, Hugh. I am so bored. It isn’t right I’m not allowed to ride out to the hunt just because I have a little fever.” She yawned. “I am so tired always.”
Hugh turned away from the great hearth of the king’s hall in the palace of Augensburg. More restless than usual, for he was usually as smooth as cream resting in an untouched bowl, he had been shredding leaves and tossing them into the blazing fire. He did not look toward Liath nor even appear to notice her. He did not need to.
“I rather like Lord Geoffrey,” Sapientia continued, rattling on despite her protestations of being tired. “He’s a good hunter and he has very good manners. Father likes him so much he asked him to ride beside him on today’s hunt. Poor Brigida. I suppose you wish he wasn’t already married!”