The Gathering Storm
Page 337

She tucked her feet up onto the couch, curled up like the leopard it was rumored she had once kept as a pet—lost when she had fled John Ironhead’s siege of Vennaci. She was small but lithe and alert; no fool, indeed.
Antonia did not trust her.
“I respect Lord Hugh, Sister Antonia. He supports Henry and myself because he is Henry’s loyal subject, and because we allow him influence beyond that granted to most men who are dedicated to the church. I am not naive, although you may think me so because I have a pretty face. Lord Hugh recommended you to me. That is why I have admitted you to my councils.”
No other reason. Adelheid did not say the words; she didn’t need to.
“Lord Hugh is an ambitious man.”
“He is a bastard and a churchman. He cannot rise higher than presbyter. He can never hope to become skopos. He can never cast off his robes and become a lord and sire children to inherit after him. His sisters inherited Olsatia and Austra. He is trapped as he is now.”
“Do you not trust him, Your Majesty?”
“I know what he is, Sister Antonia. I think you do as well. I trust him as I did my beloved cat. Cats are not dogs. They serve you if they wish. Their claws are sharp.”
“They are among God’s most beautiful creatures.”
“Are they?” Adelheid’s smile was as sharp as the rake of a leopard’s claws. “I have never thought any man as desirable as my dear Henry.”
Maybe it was even true. Hugh had never had the power to give Adelheid an imperial crown.
Antonia swallowed a sigh of irritation and speared a slice of melon with her eating knife. “Let us be honest, then, Your Majesty. What do you want of me?”
“You are educated in the arts of the mathematici. Your knowledge can be of value to me and to the kingdom. I hope you will agree to go with my daughters to Tivura and educate them. Mathilda is destined for the throne. Berengaria, however, must go to the church. It would be better for Mathilda if the two sisters never quarrel over what is already ordained. The elder must go before the younger. That is the way of the world. Teach Berengaria what she needs to know so that she can support her sister when they have come of age and into the inheritance that Henry and I mean to leave them.”
The servants had retreated to the door, standing silently, heads bowed, as they awaited Adelheid’s commands. Only the woman fanning did not cease, as Antonia could not endure the heat if the air remained still. The tick of the fan’s rising and falling was the sole sound in the chamber. From outside there came a shout. Much farther away, the noise of people who had rushed out onto the streets in the aftermath of the tremor faded as folk retreated indoors. The sun’s hammer struck more mightily than their fear. They had grown used to the tremors, to the daily sight of the smoking mountain and its sparks and clouds of spitting, hot ash blown in by the west wind. The market would open as afternoon melted into dusk. In summer, the city was more lively in the evening than during the heat of the day.
In this way, the barrens were a practical people.
Horses whinnied in the courtyard below. Adelheid drained her cup, beckoned, and a servant hurried over to refill it. Antonia popped the melon into her mouth and savored its sweet moisture.
The infant Berengaria could walk and speak a few words. She seemed biddable and clever, although she was not yet two years of age. Adelheid’s plan had merit, although the empress might not comprehend the full magnitude of Antonia’s ambitions. Berengaria could serve her in many ways, as could Mathilda.
Yet they were so young, and she was old. She would be dead before Mathilda ruled.
Unless, of course, both Adelheid and Henry died untimely deaths.
“I will go to Tivura if you command, Your Majesty,” she said, bowing her head obediently.
“I trust my daughters with you, Sister, because you need them. Care for them as if they were your own, bring them safely through the days to come, and I will see that you receive that which you desire most.”
“What do you suppose I desire most?”
Adelheid made a sweeping gesture toward the unseen portion of the hill where the other palace lay. “I will make you skopos. Is that enough?”
“I have underestimated you, Your Majesty,” said Antonia with a curt laugh, because Adelheid had surprised her, and she did not like to be surprised.
There was silence, and for a moment Antonia thought she had offended the empress, but Adelheid made a little noise in reply, half laugh, half thoughtful sigh, as she rose and went back out onto the balcony. It was the vantage point she liked best. “I am a small flower, Sister Antonia, but a hardy one. Drought and sun and wind and snow will not kill me.”