“Yes, Exalted One.” The man in the jade-green robes turned with a flourish and beckoned to a trio of men as beardless as he was, if not quite as elegantly dressed.
They were led to a tent whose dimensions and accoutrements seemed royal after the spare monastic cells in which they had remained confined all summer. The exhaustion brought about by unremitting anxiety and the stunned recognition of their changed circumstances, as well as their discovery of that unexpected passage of time within the crowns, made them a quiet group as they each found a place to sit on the chairs, benches, and pillows carried in for their comfort. Tea and honey cakes were brought, and bread, and a porridge of mashed peas spiced with rosemary, which was, in truth, overdry and had a bitter aftertaste. They ate in silence. Even Rosvita said nothing as she drank wine and, at intervals, rubbed her head as if it hurt her.
When all were sated and sitting slumped and slack-faced, Hanna dared speak. “What now, Sister Rosvita?”
Rosvita’s smile was more ghost than real. “It is an irony, I think, that we find what proves to be a kind of refuge with one who is enemy to our regnant.”
“Sapientia is his rightful heir!” protested Fortunatus.
“So she is, yet he has claimed Mathilda in her place, under the influence of Adelheid. Princess Sapientia has not necessarily made a foolish bargain with King Geza and the Arethousans, although she may come to regret it. It may be that she believes this to be the only way she can hope to restore herself to the position she has long assumed she would one day possess. Yet we know as well that the Henry who speaks and rules in Darre now is not our regnant but a puppet controlled by outside hands. Who, then, is the enemy, and who the ally?”
“Will you tell them so?” asked Hanna. “How much do we dare say to the regnant’s enemies?” Inside the walls of this pleasant tent, a finer bower than any place they had rested for the last many months, Hanna felt at ease, although she knew Rosvita was right. “It seems to me that we face enemies on every side. How are we to know what to do and whom to trust?”
“Sanglant claimed that the crown of stars would crown the heavens on the tenth day of Octumbre, in the year seven thirty-five. I do not know the means by which the mathematici arrived at that date, or if they are correct, but that date falls next month. We now camp in southwestern Arethousa, I believe, just north of Dalmiaka. This army plans to march into Dalmiaka, apparently to face the Holy Mother and Henry themselves. Yet I know not whether we must turn the Holy Mother Anne aside from her task at the crown in Dalmiaka, or aid her in succeeding to weave her mathematicus’ spell.”
Throughout this discussion Mother Obligatia had remained silent. Hanna had even thought her asleep. One of those shivering tremors shifted the ground beneath them, so that Gerwita cried out, then giggled nervously as the quake subsided as quickly as it had arisen. As if the earth had roused her, Obligatia lifted her head and braced herself up on her elbows. Sister Diocletia came to her aid, supporting her. They all turned respectfully to hear her.
“The old can be blinded by sentiment.” It was always a surprise to Hanna how strong a voice could issue from so frail a form. “I know this, for I have seen it. I have regretted it. Yet I do believe that I saw my son Bernard’s daughter, and that she saved us against the galla, although she was too late to spare Sister Sindula.”
“Liath!” whispered Hanna.
The abbess nodded toward her before continuing. The tent grew dim as shadows lengthened, as the sun set and the blazing temperatures abated with the coming of twilight and the promise of night. They had no lamps.
“If this woman, this skopos, who calls herself Anne is truly Liathano’s mother, then that is where Liath will go. Seek out the Holy Mother Anne, and we will find the one we seek. That is where I wish to go.” Tears glistened on the old woman’s cheeks, and Diocletia tenderly wiped them away. “I am content with this turn of events, my friends. I am old, at the end of my life. The world will end for me whether a storm comes or not, and now I see that all along I have been selfish.”
Although outside the tent’s walls the camp grew lively as night fell, inside a hush contained them. The twilight wind fluttered along the canvas.
“I want to meet my granddaughter before I die.”
XXIX
THE TRAP SHE HAD LAID
1
IN Verna, Liath used an arrow to weave a net of magic through the crown. The threads pulled down from the heavens thrummed through her arms. This was joy. She felt transported and alive; her body hummed with the touch of the stars and the music of the spheres, the ever-turning wheel of the cosmos singing through her from top to toe.
