“I was the only novice Clothilde ever brought to St. Radegundis’ convent,” said Obligatia suddenly. “Does that not seem strange to you? Doesn’t it seem strange that she looked the other way when Fidelis and I met? That she herself witnessed our pledge of consent and, because she witnessed, gave legitimacy to our union?”
“She must have desperately wanted Taillefer’s legitimate son to sire an heir in his turn.”
“But if the Eagle’s part in this tale is no coincidence, then Clothilde’s actions must be equally suspect. If this is all true, then she must have known who Fidelis was. She must have agreed to keep his birth secret. But why wait so long, then, for his marriage? Why not sooner, before all those who might have supported him were dead and a new lineage established on the throne of Salia? Why wait until he was full fifty years of age?”
The answer came in an instant. It was obvious, if you believed the fantastic premise. “She waited until Queen Radegundis was dead.”
“‘Radegundis swore to marry no earthly prince.’ And swore the same for her son, perhaps. Ai, God, poor Fidelis. He was a man with a full heart. If that’s so, if Queen Radegundis wanted to spare him the chains of worldly power, then Clothilde did not serve Queen Radegundis as well as the tales sing, did she? Yes, I can well believe it, having suffered her attentions.”
“From this distance we cannot know what was in either woman’s mind.”
“To randomly pluck a foundling girl from an obscure convent and carry her so many leagues and across two realms on such a subtle conspiracy that in the end came to nothing. It seems incredible.”
“But it didn’t come to nothing. Where is your daughter? What happened to her? I mean to find out.”
The last of the horses had crossed, and the rear guard, fallen into a robust drinking song perhaps to lend themselves courage, marched two abreast into the archway.
“Hurry, Sister!” cried Mother Obligatia, clutching Rosvita’s hand briefly, then thrusting her forward. “Find out what you can!”
Rosvita hurried forward with her heart pounding like a hammer and her breath short and painful and her knees ready to give out. The dirt was all churned and scuffed, and she kicked fresh manure in her haste, but the pungent scent exploded and gave her strength somehow to hasten on as the last soldier vanished through the shining archway. A leather pouch lay discarded on the ground just beside the glowing arch. She bent to pick it up and felt the familiar lines of the Vita together with the unbound pages of her History. Fortunatus had taken the copies and gone on, had left these for her, and with a gladdened heart she hastened after him only to hear her name,
“Rosvita,”
voiced as softly as a whispered curse, behind her. Light flared as she turned to look back, standing with one foot within the circle and one outside it on night-soaked earth, hoping to see Mother Obligatia, but she only saw Hugh. He stood with his staff dangling from his hands, staring after her with an unreadable expression as the threads burned and tangled and the swelling moon bloated like a dead thing until it encompassed the entire sky.
Ai, God, what had she done? She had agreed to let him proceed with his plan. She had persuaded Theophanu to allow it to happen. With her complicity, at her urging, she had caused forbidden sorcery to flower in this holy place. Horrified, she stepped backward and was instantly awash in light, disoriented, pathless.
But Sister Amabilia met her there in the light, smiling although her throat was cut and blood ran down the front of her cleric’s robes.
“Dear God, Sister,” cried Rosvita, hurrying to embrace her. “Where have you been?” But she could not catch Amabilia in her arms; no matter how close she came or how fast she hurried after her, Amabilia remained always the same distance away.
“I am murdered, Sister. They came upon me out of the forest and slew me and my escort, but they took nothing but the letter I carried for Mother Rothgard and the Circle of Unity I wore at my heart. I thought I would live to be as old and wise as you, Sister, but it was not to be. Yet do not mourn for me, for I have been granted God’s embrace. Only beware, Sister. You are in danger as well.”
“Ai, God, Amabilia! Can this be true?” She wept, and her tears became slivers of ice in the cold wind. “No one writes as beautifully as you do. How can I work without your jesting and your kind heart beside me?”
“Guard yourself, Sister. Guard those we love. Stay on the path.”
Amabilia was gone. There was no one there. It had only been a vision, and no doubt a false one at that, and the road was gone as well, only her tears turned to ice beneath her feet that burned and pierced her, each step an agony. The leather pouch tucked under her arm grew hot, blistering her skin, and she swung it out and away from her and drew out the Vita to save it. But it was the book itself that cast off light and heat. Sigils woven into the cover of the book ignited like coals come alight, magical bindings and protections sewn into leather and into the parchment itself, strange symbols and familiar ones, the signs representing the planets and the sun and the moon, the Circle of Unity, Arethousan letters and other ones she did not know, peeping here and there from within Fidelis’ meticulous hand.
