“As am I!”
She was dressed like any humble pilgrim in a robe of coarse, undyed linen, with head and feet bare despite the cool spring weather and damp ground. “You killed them cleanly. I did not.”
“We can all pray in the church for forgiveness, Liath. This …”
“This shows the church mothers that I am not afraid to stand barefoot before God even though I am a mathematicus and—the manner of creature I am. I am not a heretic. I am not afraid to be humble before Them. It’s the proud who won’t kneel before God’s truth. It’s those who fear to question who are the ones who don’t truly believe. God do not fear our questions. Otherwise why would They have made the world with so many mysteries?”
“I can’t argue with you!”
“Not in these matters.”
He paced, but his protests and his discomfort did nothing to alter the pace of her preparations. She would go, as she had at Quedlinhame, much to the surprise of Mother Scholastica. In truth, he had to admire it as a good tactic, unexpected and effective as a counterblow.
“How long will this go on?” he asked. “Will we ride the breadth of Wendar and Varre with you kneeling on the church steps at every stop?”
“If I must. Until the excommunication is lifted.”
His own splendid clothing had not yet been unpacked from its chest. He would not approach Gent’s cathedral until after midday. It took time to ready his retinue.
“You’ll continue to ride with me on my progress! You’ll not go into hiding! Or into a convent!”
Though somber, she smiled. “Be assured that every soul in this army is aware that you bed me every night without the sanction of the church. That you married me despite your father forbidding the match.”
“That you use your sorcery to seduce me and keep me as your prisoner. I know. I know.”
“I do not fear what others may say of me or think of me. They can’t harm me. Let me do this without having to struggle against you as well, Sanglant.”
She did not wait for his answer. After she left the chamber, he surveyed the room. In this same chamber he had resided for many weeks when he had last bided in Gent about two years ago. It was hard to keep track of the time, although he recalled that it had been a cold winter when he and his retinue had arrived. The tapestries on the wall depicting a hunt, a feast, and an assembly of dour clerics and biscops were the same ones he had gazed on before. The handsome Arethousan carpet that covered the floor had the same bright red-and-yellow flowers and green vines as the one he remembered. No reason for the mayor to have changed it, since Arethousan carpets were treasured for their rarity and quality. A copper basin and pitcher rested on a side table. Whatever chests had rested against the wall had been replaced by those he traveled with. Years ago, Liath had appeared to him in this very chamber through an aetherical gate, and she had stolen Jerna, and vanished.
God, he had been so angry. He began, again, to pace.
The latch jiggled. The door opened a handspan.
“Your Majesty?”
“Come in, Hathui.”
She entered, followed by his crowd of intimate attendants. Captain Fulk and Captain Istvan the Ungrian represented his guard. To create ties of kinship between the great lords of the realm and his personal guard he had taken in a quintet of young lords, one each from the retinues of Liutgard, Burchard, Gerberga, Waltharia, and a cousin related by marriage to the deceased Duchess Rotrudis. A trio of clerics from his schola were led by Sister Elsebet, and she had with her a young monk named Brother Ernoul whom Mother Scholastica had attached to his household so that Sanglant might offer the worthy, clever, and affable youth advancement in the world. He had also acquired four honest servingmen, sons of stewards, chatelaines, or castellans, each one a relative of one of his soldiers who had died. Den’s younger brother swept dust from around the braziers and refilled them with hot coals, while Malbert’s cousin and Johannes’ uncle laid out his robes and finery on the bed so that the seamstresses could repair any last moment’s snags or frays. Chustaffus’ older brother brought a covered pitcher of hot water which he placed beside the basin, waiting until his services were needed.
“Your Majesty,” said Hathui, “there is a cousin of Lord Hrodik whom Biscop Suplicia wishes you to interview. She believes that this lady, a widow without surviving children, would serve you well as chatelaine of your progress.”
“The biscop comes out of that same lineage, does she not?”
“So I hear, Your Majesty.”
“She is putting forward her own kinswoman in hope of gaining influence.”
“Of course, Your Majesty. Yet you must have a chatelaine and stewards in the same way an army needs soldiers and captains. Duchess Liutgard will leave you in Fesse. Duke Burchard is already gone. Their capable servants cannot serve you forever.”
“Let me interview her, then. But I pray you, Hathui, continue asking among the other noble lords for worthy candidates. Alas that so many of Henry’s court died in Aosta.”
Prayers were murmured among the assembled. In their wake, he heard a slight noise from outside the chamber whose direction he could not fix.
“Where is Lord Wichman?” he asked.
They looked around. Hathui answered. “He was with us a moment before, Your Majesty.”
He went to the door, which Fulk opened. “Don’t follow me.”