Behind the blank screen of the hut, Brother Fidelis coughed, a scraping sound made worse because he seemed to have so little strength to manage it. “We are like, you and I,” he said finally when he had recovered his breath. “I know what you are thinking, for I would be wondering the same thing, were I out there, and you in here. I have taken a vow of silence for many years now and shut myself in this hut so I would not be distracted by the world, but I feel that my time on this earth is coming to an end. So I will speak to you now, and answer your questions.”
She settled back onto her heels and set her hands on her thighs, letting him catch his breath. “I have come at the order of King Henry. He wishes to know if you have any knowledge of the laws during the reign of the Emperor Taillefer.”
“I was given as an infant to the cloister founded and ruled over by St. Radegundis, she who was the eighth and last wife and then widow of Taillefer. I served at that cloister among the brothers in the monastic quarters until her death, which occurred some fifty years after the death of Taillefer.” Here his voice quavered and she had to bend until her ear touched the wood in order to hear him. His labored breathing was louder than his words.
“That was a time of trial, and I did succumb, to my everlasting sorrow.” He took in a deep shuddering breath.
There was a long silence. Rosvita waited patiently. Behind, horses stamped. A bird trilled. The men-at-arms talked in low voices between themselves. Not even Villam dared approach the hut though Berthold was wandering restlessly along the outcropping, testing the rock for handholds.
“After that time I left the cloister to wander the world. With my voice I said that I sought more evidence of the miracles wrought by St. Radegundis, who in her merciful kindness and open-hearted generosity was the best and most pious among us. But in my heart I sought knowledge. I was curious. I could not find in me that detachment which we seek, those of us who are dedicated to the church. Knowledge tempted me too much. In the end I came here, when I became too weak to walk many miles at a stretch. At last I left even the monastery behind and was carried to this hill, to seek and find detachment. But I have failed in that also.” His voice was gentle, a little slurred. “It is well that Our Lady and Lord are merciful, for I pray they will forgive me these weaknesses.”
“I am sure they will, Brother,” she said, much touched by this vita, this brief history of his life.
“So I have some knowledge of the laws of Taillefer,” he finished. “Ask what you will.”
Here, she hesitated. But the king himself had charged her with this errand, and though she served the church, she also served the king. “King Henry wishes to know about the laws of succession among the Salians, during the time of Taillefer.”
“Taillefer’s influence once extended as far as these lands. But he died without naming an heir, as you must know, Sister, for you, like your sisters at Korvei, study the old chronicles. And without an heir, his great empire soon fell to strife between warring claimants for his throne.”
“He had living daughters.”
“Legitimate daughters, of whom three were in the church. But in the Salian tradition only men are allowed to be sovereign, and their women queen consort, not more than that.”
“Yet Our Lady and Lord reign together in the Chamber of Light.”
His breath whistled out, and she listened to him breathe for a bit, gathering strength again. “Did the blessed Daisan himself not say that ‘people have established laws in each country by that liberty given them by God?’ People do not lead their lives in the same manner. So is it with the Salians and the Wendish peoples.”
“So did the blessed Daisan remind us that we are not slaves to our physical nature.”
He wheezed out a soft laugh and then, again, she had to wait while he regained his breath.
“Some chronicles say,” Rosvita added, “that Queen Radegundis was pregnant when her husband died, and that it was this child—had it been a boy—whom Taillefer would have named as his heir. But no one knows what became of the child, whether it was stillborn, murdered, or not brought to term.”
“Radegundis never spoke of the child. Of all those who were at Taillefer’s court at that time, only one servingwoman by the name of Clothilde remained by St. Radegundis’ side throughout her years in the cloister. Perhaps she knew the answer to the mystery, but she kept silence also. It is that silence which brought about the end of Taillefer’s great empire. If a boychild had been born and acknowledged, that boy would indeed have reigned after him. If Queen Radegundis could have found support among the Salian and Varren nobility, for enough years, to raise the child to manhood.”
