Child of Flame
Page 323

“My good counselor!” Thus summoned, she cut a path through the crowd to his side, Hugh trailing modestly behind her. “Come, Sister, you will sit at my left hand while we eat.”
Supper was laid at the feasting tables, nothing magnificent, but sufficient for soldiers ridden in from the field. Adelheid sat at Henry’s right hand in splendid robes she had somehow contrived to be wearing—as though she had known he was coming. Maybe she had. The king could have sent a courier, but if he had, then why, Rosvita wondered as she took her place at the king’s side, had she and the schola not heard the tidings?
Had Hugh stopped her on the portico so she could witness the king’s arrival and understand that she had less power than he had, in his graceful speech, claimed for her?
Nay, she chided herself, you are grown too suspicious.
A steward brought a basin of water and a cloth so that Henry could wipe the dust of the road off his hands and face. Servants hurried in with a clear broth, followed by roasted game hens basted in mint sauce. When the first bite of hunger had been calmed, Adelheid rose with cup in hand. “Let there be an accounting of the summer’s victories!” she cried, to general acclaim.
Hathui recited a clear if undramatic account of the army’s successes: three packs of Jinna bandits put to the sword; seven sieges brought to a peaceful conclusion, although Lord Gezo was still holding out in Navlia; emissaries from Arethousan potentates who were not eager to fight the Wendish king’s army despite the fact that they were usurping lands in the south that belonged to the Aostan royal family; feasts and triumphal parades through a host of towns in central Aosta.
Henry remained somber throughout this recitation, and he left the feast early, taking a small coterie with him as he walked to his private apartments. They stopped to view the sleeping princess. As Henry leaned over Mathilda’s bed, admiring how much she’d grown, Rosvita bent close to speak softly in his ear.
“I sense that all is not as you wish, Your Majesty. Be sure that I am ready to listen, should you desire a counselor’s ear.”
He stroked Mathilda’s downy soft brown hair. The baby stirred, slipped her thumb in her mouth, and with a snort fell back to sleep. “Aosta is a thornbush, and the news from Wendar has not cheered my heart. Was I mistaken to leave Theophanu as regent?”
“You could not have known the Quman would invade, Your Majesty.”
“Am I chasing a dream, Sister?” His hands, callused from so many years of war, traced the curve of the baby’s ear; he had a delicate touch.
“Nay, Your Majesty. If the Holy Mother is right, then we must have a strong leader in the years to come. Taillefer’s crown would unite many who might otherwise refuse to march behind the Wendish banner.”
“If report is true, civil war rages in Salia. If I could only secure Aosta, then I might turn my eyes west to Salia next.”
The words startled her, and worried her. “You would never be regarded as anything but a usurper in Salia, Your Majesty, if you will forgive me for saying so. I must advise you to strengthen your position in Aosta first—and not to neglect the troubles in the north.”
His sharp gaze, his thoughtful expression, reminded her of the silent calculation, often unseen by others, at work in his mind. “Ought I to return to Wendar, do you think?”
“In truth, Your Majesty, I fear you are caught between the lance and the spear. If you leave Aosta now, all that you have accomplished so far may crumble. Yet if you do not return to Wendar, worse may follow.”
“I had thought to leave a peaceful realm at my back,” he said, not without bitterness, “but I see it is not to be. Yet I thank you, Sister, for your honest words.” He straightened up, smiling as he caught Adelheid’s hand and drew her to him. “Now, my friends, to bed.”
There was a great deal of merrymaking as they escorted the king and queen to their bed and at length retired to leave them in peace. Courtiers dispersed quickly to their own private revels, but before Rosvita could return to her chambers, she was waylaid by Helmut Villam.
“I pray you, Sister, a word.”
She smiled, genuinely happy to see him. “You’re looking well, Margrave. You have weathered the summer’s heat better than I have.”
“We weren’t cooped up within city walls. And I admit, Sister, that I found the women of Aosta most accommodating.” His smile turned abruptly to a frown as he drew her into an alcove backed by a hideously clever marble fountain carved in the shape of a medusa’s head, every hair a snake and each snake’s mouth trickling water like clear poison. “I am distressed by the reports I hear out of Wendar and the marchlands.”