Ermanrich gasped. “But that’s all the way east, in the marchlands.”
“Nay,” murmured Baldwin, “farther even than that. It lies in Rederii territory, outside of the kingdom.”
“Hush,” said Mother Scholastica, her tone more of a threat for its softness. “You have not been given leave to speak.
“Sigfrid,” continued Brother Methodius in the same cool voice, “will remain here at Quedlinhame, under our guidance.”
Cast to the four winds: Ermanrich to the west, all the way into Varingia, Baldwin south to the mountains of Wayland, and himself east beyond the marchlands into barbarian country, a dangerous place in the best of times.
“But what of Tallia?” asked Sigfrid. Lifting his gaze from his hands, he wore a resolute expression. Of them all, Sigfrid had remained most skeptical, and most torn, and yet his belief, once won, was probably unshakable. Ai, Lady, thought Ivar with a stab of foreboding, what would become of poor Sigfrid without his three comrades to look after him?
But at this moment Mother Scholastica looked kindly upon her favorite novice, even one who had disobeyed her order for silence. However severely she looked upon the others with her hair covered and her robes sweeping to the floor in all their white splendor, with her golden torque at her neck to remind them all of her earthly power and the abbess’ ring on her finger as a mark of God’s favor and authority, even her stern face softened when she looked upon Sigfrid. “Her fate is no business of yours, child. She has no place within these walls. The king may deal with her as he sees fit.”
Sigfrid cast his eyes dutifully to the ground again and said nothing more.
Ivar did not know what to think. He tried to think of Liath, but she slipped away. She had slipped away long ago, but Tallia had remained. Tallia had wanted to remain and Liath had not; she had not even been willing to escape with him. She had not had faith. When he thought of her, he remembered keenly the mystery of her, for she was not beautiful in an expected way but rather she was like no woman he had ever seen before. He remembered the way she had a warmth about her that drew the eye and held it; he knew he still loved her. But did not the blessed Daisan say that lust was a kind of false love and that it was only true love whose peace lasted until the end of days? It was not Tallia’s body he dreamed of at night but the zealous fierceness of her passion. He wanted to hold on to so fierce a love.