“We are each granted liberty by God to do or not to do what we will,” Biscop Constance was saying. “We are not merely an instrument set in motion to do God’s will but rather equal to the angels. Yet the flesh is often weak, and temptation as certain as the rising and setting of the sun each day. Certain members of the church could not resist the blandishments of the Enemy and so delved into the darker arts. At the Council of Narvone a hundred years ago such practices were roundly condemned: the arts of the mathematici, the tempestari, the augures and haroli and sortelegi, as well as those more horrible arts of the malefici, whose names I will not utter out loud. Be sure that the Enemy still tempts those who are weak in spirit. Be sure that we in the church will root them out. Let the accused be brought forward.”
Ivar hissed in a breath when he saw Hugh. His heart thumped madly, like a hammer. Ai, Lady! How meek Hugh looked, barefoot and dressed in a humble robe fit for a novice undergoing his final vigil. But the plain brown robes rendered him no less elegant. Some penitents shaved their heads as an offering to God. Hugh had not touched a single strand of hair upon his handsome head except to trim it. He knelt humbly before the biscops, golden head bowed just enough—but not too much. A margrave’s son could not be too servile.
A cleric read aloud from a parchment. “These are the charges laid against Father Hugh of Firsebarg Abbey, formerly of Austra.” The cleric had a deep voice that rolled across the hall like thunder. “That he has trafficked in malevolent sorceries. That he has harbored unclean texts in his possession. That he has attempted to murder by sorcerous means Princess Theophanu—”
A murmur rippled through the crowd, spread and faded. There hadn’t been this good a show at court since Sanglant’s defiance. As people stirred, Ivar used his elbows to press closer to the front.
“—and further, that he laid certain ligaturas upon her body to bring the elf-stitch down on her as a fever which nearly killed her.” He then read, out loud, three documents: the testimony of Princess Theophanu as dictated to Sister Rosvita, the testimony of Sister Rosvita, and a letter written last spring by Mother Rothgard of St. Valeria’s convent to Sister Rosvita. Finally he described a sketch of a brooch molded in the shape of a panther and twined with certain unmentionable signs and sigils, which had been a secret gift from Hugh to Theophanu.
“What answer do you make?” Constance asked when the cleric had finished.
Hugh’s voice was low, but by now Ivar was close enough to hear. He had such a beautiful voice. “I am guilty of a grave sin. I have let myself be tempted by that which is forbidden and now I kneel before you and ask you to pass judgment. When I was young I attempted certain spells—” With a shake of his head, as at a painful memory, he went on. “But I was justly punished and sent into the north to do penance by working among the folk there, many of whom still worshiped the old gods. There, alas, I was seduced.” He drew in a rasping breath and for an instant could not go on. Brother Hatto leaned forward intently. Biscop Odila looked nervous, and the wizened biscop of Wirtburg looked as if she had just discovered that underneath the savory platter of fowl laid before her writhed a nest of maggots. The silence in the hall was absolute as Hugh struggled to control himself.
“God forgive me. I still dream of her every night.” Tears leaked from his eyes as he looked up beseechingly at the biscops and presbyters. “I pray you, Brothers and Sisters, release me from her spell.”
How could he be so beautiful and so hateful all in one? Ivar would gladly have leaped forward and run him through in that instant, if he’d only had a sword.
They began to ask Hugh questions, and he answered haltingly. He had first met Liathano in Heart’s Rest. Her father Bernard was commonly supposed to have been a monk who had lapsed in his vows and fled the church. Her mother was deceased. That her father was a mathematicus no one now doubted. Certain witnesses came reluctantly forward, Eagles, Lions, servants, to note that she often gazed up at the heavens and could name the constellations and track the movements of the wandering stars. Even Hathui came forward and, with a frown, testified that Liath had carried a book with her which she had tried to keep hidden.
“Sister Rosvita says you stole the book from the woman called Liath,” said Constance. “Where is it now.”
Hugh’s eyes widened with innocent alarm. “Sister Rosvita! I tremble for her soul, Your Grace. By her own testimony she betrays how she, too, was seduced by the maleficus, and yet she does not realize it.”
“What do you mean?” demanded Biscop Odila. It was the first time she had spoken. “What are you accusing Sister Rosvita of? No one has ever had any cause to reproach her for her service!”
