“If you return to Wendar, you must not let it be said that Aosta defeated you. Yet if you remain here, and your kingdom is weakened because you are not there to steady it, then your position here is lost. Wendar and Varre is the kingdom your father gave into your hands, Your Majesty. Do not forget that you are, first of all, a Wendishman, born out of a long and illustrious lineage to a bold and warlike people.”
“My queen,” he said, with a genuine smile, as Adelheid came up to them. Henry’s return had lightened the young woman; she laughed delightedly when he offered her the rose, although she was careful to check for thorns before she took it from his hand.
“Greetings to you this fine day, Sister Rosvita,” she said most cheerfully as she inhaled the fine fragrance of the rose. “I fear that you and the king are plotting, and that all my intrigue is for naught. You have seen the troupe practicing in the arena, have you not? I meant it to be a surprise.”
In this way, chatting amiably, Adelheid drew them back into the embrace of the court. Feasting followed that day and the next, food and drink like the flow of a river, never ending. Petitioners came and went. A troupe of acrobats entertained with rope tricks and hoops and balls, and poets sang the praises of king and queen.
Rosvita enjoyed a feast as much as anyone, but nevertheless she was relieved to escape late in the evening on the second day. She had no opportunity to speak privately with the king, or even with Villam, who seemed quite overtaken by admiring women, all of them young and most of them attractive. Even the king’s Eagle, Hathui, remained busy pouring wine, delivering messages, and serving at the king’s side. Tomorrow the feast would continue, but the royal court would cross the courtyard that separated the earthly from the spiritual palace and join the skopos in her great hall for a meal worthy, so it was whispered, of an emperor.
Fortunatus made small talk as they walked back to her chambers. “Do you suppose the acrobats will perform for the Holy Mother as well? Those girls might as well have been monkeys. I’ve never seen such tricks on a rope. And that juggling! Did you know that when I was a child, I saw a trained monkey perform? The harvest failed that year—you can imagine I recall that!—and we heard later that the traveling players had been forced to sell everything they owned to get out of Mainni, to escape the famine. The monkey was made into mincemeat, and every person who ate of the sausage made of its flesh sickened and died.”
“An edifying story, Brother. I do not know whether to feel more sorry for the hungry souls who suffered, or for the poor creature abandoned by its master and then slaughtered.”
“It bit me,” he added, lips quirking up mischievously. “I only tried to pet it. I couldn’t have been more than six or eight years of age. So I mink maybe the players sold it because it was a nuisance. Or perhaps it was just a story my sisters told me to make me cry, thinking I would be next to die because of the mark it left on my thumb.” He held up a hand and, indeed, a fine white scar cut raggedly across his thumb.
She laughed. “So it’s true you’ve always been the one getting into trouble, Brother. I thought as much.”
He had the sweetest grin; it was one of the things she loved him for. “Nay, Sister, I am innocent. It is only that I strive to follow your example in curiosity.”
Aurea saw them coming and opened the door but did not follow them inside, where Ruoda, Heriburg, and Gerwita waited, standing at the table with a large book open before them. They started guiltily as Rosvita entered, but Heriburg, at least, had the presence of mind to turn one vellum page slowly, as though she were only browsing. Once the door was shut, Heriburg turned the page back.
“We found it!” cried Ruoda triumphantly. “Or at least,” she added, with a blush, “Gerwita did.”
“What have you found?”
Gerwita, too shy to talk, indicated that Heriburg should explain. “These are the Annals of Autun from the years when Biscop Tallia held the biscop’s crosier. They end with the Council of Narvone, when Biscop Tallia lost the biscop’s crosier and the see of Autun by command of the Holy Mother Leah, third of that name. It seems the Holy Mother and her advisers were determined to break the power Taillefer’s daughters held over the Salian church.”
“A matter of great historical interest,” agreed Rosvita, “but what has that to do with the question we were speaking about two days ago?”
Ruoda sprang forward and pressed a forefinger onto the page. “We found Lady Gundara’s other children. See, here! A girl, called Thiota, was given to the church but died before she could take her vows. A younger son, called Hugo, betrothed at the age of four to the infant daughter and only child of the Count of Lavas, called Lavastina. So,” she finished triumphantly, “thus the hounds.”
