“You bring no tidings at all,” replied Liutgard caustically. “I have already heard the news.”
Even this disrespectful greeting did not jolt Scholastica’s composure. Sanglant indicated that the abbess should sit in the camp chair to his left normally reserved for Liutgard. The stool to his right sat empty. He noted Liath’s entrance with a glance, but otherwise kept his attention on his aunt.
“Where did Henry’s death take place? In what manner did you find him? How can you verify that he was in thrall to this daimone? What of Queen Adelheid? Whose blow killed him? Where is his corpus now?”
“We brought his heart and bones from the south.”
“His remains must be buried at Quedlinhame beside his mother.”
“Naturally. Why else would I have come here, Aunt?”
“To be anointed as regnant. Do not trifle with me, Sanglant. Liutgard and Burchard support you. Yet rumor has it that you abandoned Sapientia in the wilderness.”
“Never did any sour soul deserve that fate more!” laughed Wichman from the corner.
“Silence!”
It was startling to see Wichman cowed as he ducked his head and murmured, “I pray for your pardon, Aunt.”
“Do not mock. I will not tolerate it What of Sapientia, Sanglant? Are you responsible for her death?”
“We do not know if she lives, or is dead.”
“Among the Quman savages, living is surely like death. We are not like the Salians or the Aostans or the Arethousans. We Wendish do not kill our relatives in our quest for power.”
“I do not seek power, Aunt. I seek order, where it seems there is no other who can grant it. You witnessed the events of last autumn. We felt its effects most bluntly. I have soldiers who are scarred from burns they suffered in that wind and others who died coughing with ash in their lungs. I did what had to be done. That it is not worse with Wendar’s army is due to my efforts. I will not have it said otherwise.”
“So I witnessed.” Liutgard stood with shoulders locked back, arms and neck rigid. “So I will swear, as will all of my soldiers and attendants.”
“So I will swear,” said Burchard wearily, “although my own daughter perished.” He paused to touch Liutgard on the arm before continuing. “What became of Princess Sapientia I do not know, only what reports have been spoken of, but she could not have held the army together. Henry willed the kingdom to Sanglant on his dying breath. This I witnessed. This I swear.”
Liath had by this time crept around the wall of the tent as nobles and guardsmen shifted to make way for her, not betraying her by giving her more notice than they would to a faithful hound seeking its master. She wasn’t sure whether their deference annoyed her or placated her. She would never become used to this life. Never. But as Scholastica examined Burchard’s seamed face, Liath slipped onto the stool beside Sanglant and hoped no one would call attention to her arrival, which no one did. There were five sturdy traveling lamps placed on tripods and another four hanging from the cross poles. The light gave every face a waxy quality, too bright, but there also gleamed on one wall the unfurled imperial banner. Gold-and-silver thread glinted in the crown of stars, which was embroidered on cloth and stained with tracks of soot that no one had been given permission to wash out. Even the rents and tears in the fabric had been left. The Wendish banner had been washed and repaired, but not the imperial one.
ce raised in protest. “I pray you, Holy Mother, do not venture forward. The beasts could tear you to pieces.”
“God will watch over me.”
Liath remembered that pragmatic voice well enough; she watched from the anonymity of Argent’s shoulder as Mother Scholastica dismounted from a skittish white mule. The torchlight illuminated her. Her stern face had grown lean and lined in the manner of a woman who has had to make many difficult, distressing decisions, but her back was still straight and her stride measured and confident as she approached the tent with her attendants scuttling behind. She did not glance even once at the griffins, although her attendants could not stop looking. The entrance flap swept open and Sanglant emerged to wait for her beneath the awning.
“Aunt,” he said graciously. “You honor me.”
“Where is Henry?”
He gestured toward the interior of the tent, but certainly he turned and went inside first, and she allowed him to do so, giving him precedence. A trio of clerics scurried in after her. Others waited outside, huddled under the awning as they whispered and, at intervals, cast glances into the night where the griffins waited. After a moment Liath realized that naturally they could see only shadows; she could see them because of the pair of lit lamps hanging from the awning and, of course, because of her salamander eyes.
She gave Argent a last vigorous scratch and went back to the tent. The clerics stared at her, but the guardsmen nodded and made no comment as she slipped past them.
“I bring unwelcome tidings, Liutgard,” Scholastica was saying.
“You bring no tidings at all,” replied Liutgard caustically. “I have already heard the news.”
Even this disrespectful greeting did not jolt Scholastica’s composure. Sanglant indicated that the abbess should sit in the camp chair to his left normally reserved for Liutgard. The stool to his right sat empty. He noted Liath’s entrance with a glance, but otherwise kept his attention on his aunt.
“Where did Henry’s death take place? In what manner did you find him? How can you verify that he was in thrall to this daimone? What of Queen Adelheid? Whose blow killed him? Where is his corpus now?”
“We brought his heart and bones from the south.”
“His remains must be buried at Quedlinhame beside his mother.”