The Gathering Storm
Page 124

Many times Ivar had glimpsed her holy presence through the gap in the fence in the novices’ courtyard in Quedlinhame. There she had dressed in sackcloth and ashes. Now she was arrayed in queenly robes made rich with gold thread embroidered in the shape of leaping roes. She it was who had brought the truth to them all. Her wheat-colored hair shone with health, and her thin face had filled out. Even her fingers, once nothing more than skin stretched over bone, had fat on them.
As she moved to touch Duke Conrad’s hand in a gesture of anxious affection, one could see why she was noticeably plumper than she had been at Quedlinhame when she had scourged her earthly body with fasting and hair shirts in order to prove her holiness.
Lady Tallia was far gone in pregnancy.
Hathumod leaped to her feet with a wild look on her normally mild face. “Liar! Fraud! I saw the nail you abused yourself with. I know with what lies the Enemy tempted you, and how you turned your back on the very one who showed you honor. And now this! This! You betrayed every holy promise you made to him—”
Ermanrich grabbed his cousin and wrestled her down, although she fought him, so in the grip of this unlooked-for frenzy that she seemed unaware of everything around her. It was already too late.
Tallia shrieked hysterically, hiccuping cries interspersed with bleating moans that made Ivar want to slap her if only it would shut her up.
“For God’s sake,” said Sabella, “control yourself, Tallia.”
“I can’t! I don’t care! I won’t have her here. She betrayed me when I needed her! She abandoned me! Everything she says is a lie. She’s an evil, wicked woman—”
Conrad rose with the massive grace of a bull and slapped Tallia right across the face. His young daughter winced at the sound, but her lips pulled tight with satisfaction. Tallia stopped screaming so quickly that Ivar flinched, thinking she might drop dead on the spot, but instead she started sniveling. Conrad put an arm around her.
“Hush, Tallia.” He sounded as disgusted as might a man who, receiving a prized pup from the regnant, discovers that it has a habit of peeing in the bed. “Calm down. What is it you wish?”
Tallia shuddered and, finally, gazed up into his face with a look as abjectly worshipful as that of his hounds. Remarkably, after all that wailing and moaning, her eyes were dry. “She’s an evil, wicked woman.” Ivar recalled her voice so clearly from Quedlinhame. Who else spoke in such pure and monotonously zealous tones? That voice, the stigmata that had miraculously appeared on her hands, and the miracle of the rose; these had whipped him into the arms of heresy. But it was her voice more than anything that had driven like a spike into his heart. “An evil, wicked, wicked woman.”
“So you said,” observed Conrad. “What’s that to do with us?”
“She lied about the nail!” shrieked Hathumod, breaking free of Ermanrich’s grip. “God never came to her and tore her hands. She did it to herself! She’s the broken vessel that the Enemy cast down upon this Earth to harm God’s holy messenger—!” Then Ermanrich had her again, this time with Dedi’s help, because she was writhing and fighting and ready to fall into a frothing fit. Ivar had never imagined that Hathumod, soft little rabbit that she resembled, could contain so much fury. And he had a bad feeling that it was unwise to insult a great prince’s daughter so publicly.
“Take that madwoman out of here,” said Sabella coolly. “I won’t have my court disturbed in this way.”
“Nay, let me go with her,” pleaded Ermanrich. “She’s my cousin. There’s no harm in her—”
“Go!” commanded Sabella. “Ai, God! Take the others, too.”
“Kill them!” shrieked Tallia, cowering in the shelter of Conrad’s massive arm. “Kill them! Just kill them!” She began to sob, and as the guards jerked Ivar roughly away, he heard her mutter, “No one must ever know.”
“An execution might serve to keep the troops in line, those who aren’t sure of their loyalty,” remarked Sabella.
“Stop there at once!” barked Conrad.
Captain Ulric halted the line of prisoners. He had the look of a good soldier, the kind who doesn’t make mistakes because he’s slack. His men regarded Conrad with respect as the duke continued speaking. “I will not be party to slaughtering two innocent Lions. I hate wasting good soldiers.”
“And indeed,” remarked Sabella as she studied Baldwin, “it would be a shame to put an end to such beauty.”
“I haven’t seen his ‘end,’” said Conrad, laughing now as his arm tightened warningly around Tallia, “but I’m sure you’d find it to your taste, Cousin.”