“She’s not lying, Hathui. I saw her carried in that day, when she miscarried. I know what he did to her. And he stole her book.”
“Some would say the book became his when he bought off her father’s debts. She was his slave.”
“And many’s the man or woman who uses a slave as they see fit, and no one would ever fault them for it. It still doesn’t seem right to me. She never welcomed his attentions. Is it right that she be forced to accept him just because he’s a margrave’s son and she has no kin to protect her?” Her tone came out more bitter than she intended.
“Some would say it is,” remarked Hathui. “You and I would not. But you and I do not rule this kingdom.”
There was more Hanna wanted to say, but she was ashamed to say it out loud: Hugh was a selfish, arrogant lord with the faultless manners of a cleric and a voice like that of an angel—but sometimes beautiful flowers are the most poisonous. “Yet we can’t help admiring them,” she murmured.
“What?” Hathui looked at her sidewise, then mercifully turned her horse aside. “Come, here is the king.”
They made way, letting the king’s standard bearers and then the king himself pass before them, and fell in behind, singing.
King and court celebrated the Feast of St. Herodia at Wertburg, with the biscop of Wertburg presiding. After a week eating from the biscop’s table, they continued north for three days to Hammelberg, on the Malnin River, where they sheltered at a monastic estate. From here they cut across overland by the Helfenstene Way, a journey of four days, until they rejoined the Malnin Road at Aschfenstene. Turning northwest, they followed the river for five days until they reached the city of Mainni, where the Brixian tongue of the kingdom of Salia bordered the duchy of Arconia and lapped up against the duchy of Fesse. Once Biscop Antonia had presided over Mainni. Now, upon arriving, King Henry installed Sister Odila, a relative of the local count, as biscop.
Their arrival in the city coincided with the feast day celebrating the conversion of St. Thais. She had been a prostitute before embracing the God of Unities and walling herself up in a cell—from which she did not emerge for ten years, and then only to die. Hanna heard more than one cleric comment that Henry had offered the biscophric first to Sister Rosvita, but that the cleric had remarked that she was not yet ready to wall herself up when there were many more places she needed to visit for her History. She had suggested Sister Odila as a suitable candidate, and Henry had taken her advice in this as in so many other things. The appointment, of course, was contingent on the approval of the skopos, though as yet they had no news from Darre about the case brought against Antonia.
“I wonder how Wolfhere fares,” Hanna asked Hathui many nights later after the feast celebrating the miracle of St. Rose a’lee; the saint, a limner in a humble village outside the city of Darre, had painted a set of murals depicting the life of the blessed Daisan that had so pleased the Lord and Lady that a holy light had shone on the images ever after.
“Wolfhere fares well enough, I have found.” Hathui heaped the dwindling winter fodder in the biscop’s stables into a plush heap, over which she threw her cloak, bundling herself up in her blanket. With so many animals stabled below, the loft was a warm, if pungent, resting place. “I wonder how Liath fares. It’s almost the end of the year and we’ve had no word from Count Lavastine.”
“You don’t think the count will refuse to march on Gent?”
“I think it unlikely. The question is whether the king will be able to meet him there.” Hathui settled herself comfortably in the straw. “From Mainni, we can follow the road north to Gent—or the road south to Wayland.”
“Why would the king want to go to Wayland?”
“Answer that yourself, Hanna!”
“Duke Conrad’s soldiers turned me back from the Julier Pass. Is that a grave enough offense that the king would march against the duke?”
“Picking a fight—without the king’s permission—with the Queen and King of Karrone? Remember, the King of Karrone is Henry’s younger brother. And Duke Conrad also wears the golden torque that marks him as born of the royal line. His great-grandfather was the younger brother of the first Henry.”
“Do you think he means to rebel, as Sabella did? Surely any claim he might have to the throne isn’t nearly as strong as hers.”
“I don’t know what the noble folk intend. Their concerns are different from those I grew up with. I hope,” she added, “that King Henry finds a good margrave for Eastfall, a woman or man who can stop the Quman raids and protect the freeholders. A person who is not concerned with the intrigues of the court.”
