Rosvita shivered, thinking of the silence of the convent. No, indeed, she had not truly been at peace since the day the Vita of St. Radegundis had come into her hands. The mouse’s hunger gnawed at her, unceasing and implacable. She had so many questions, and too few answers.
Where had Sanglant gone? What had happened to The Book of Secrets? Had Liath bewitched him with magic, or had the prince overwhelmed the poor young woman with his attentions? Did Henry’s seeming calm only cover a furious heart that would fester and, in time, erupt in some other form?
“Sister.” Brother Fortunatus had sidled into the garden behind the king’s retinue. She bent close to hear his whisper. “I stood at the lower gate and observed every rider and every wagon. There was no sign of Sister Anne of St. Valeria Convent in Conrad’s retinue.”
“Sister Amabilia has found no sign of her in the lower enclosure either?”
“No, Sister.” She had never before seen him so grim. “She has vanished.”
“It is a mystery,” agreed Rosvita. “Draft a letter, Brother. We must inform Mother Rothgard as soon as possible.”
He nodded obediently and retreated, and his white-robed figure was soon swallowed in the milling mob of courtiers, who had expanded onto all the paths to exclaim over the beauty of the flowers and the grave little sculptures, mostly saints and angels, that populated the garden or waited with the patience of stone in niches carved into the walls.
Judith and the Ungrian ambassador had walked over to the outer wall to watch the last of Conrad’s impressive retinue pass from sight. Rosvita moved closer to listen.
The man spoke with the aid of an interpreter. “This daughter he has taken away, she is the granddaughter of the Alban queen, is she not? How does Duke Conrad gain for his wife a daughter of the Alban queen, when he is no king himself?”
Judith had a smile that softened her mouth and made her gaze quite hard. “If you wish your suit to succeed, I would not ask that question of the king.”
“So I did not do so,” he said, laughing. Cousin to the Ungrian king, he had a jovial face, long, dark mustaches that he greased with oil, and a wispy beard no thicker than that of a sixteen-year-old boy although his own hair had white streaking it. “But it is said that men work as slaves in Alba while women rest as queens, and that no daughter of their ruling house before this one left her mother’s side. So I wonder.”
“Many have wondered,” replied Judith, looking faintly amused. “Duke Conrad traveled to Alba when he was young. Some say he charmed the Alban queen into agreeing to the betrothal. Some say he charmed the daughter and ran off with her when her mother refused his suit.”
“But he do not run off with the Princess Theophanu, although the king refuse his suit.”
“Alba is an island. Henry will not need a fleet of ships to pursue Conrad, should Conrad displease him.”
“Ah, I see much truth in your words.” The Ungrian ambassador wore a fine silk tunic of Arethousan design but spoiled the elegance of his dress by draping a heavy fur cape over his shoulders despite the summer heat. He stank of a sickly sweet perfume that gave Rosvita a headache. “Will the king bless this wedding, or will he prefer the Salian prince?”
Judith only smiled coolly. “I, too, wish the Quman raids to end. My lands have been hit hard these last two years, as have yours, and if Wendish and Ungrian armies join together, then perhaps we can strike into the heart of Quman lands and put an end to their plundering. But of course there is the problem of worship, my friend. The Arethousan deacons you keep in your retinue do not adhere to the church practices observed by the skopos in Darre. A Wendish princess cannot marry an Ungrian prince who does not worship according to the correct manner. King Geza must recognize the primacy of the skopos in Darre rather than the illegitimate patriarch in Arethousa if he desires this alliance with King Henry.”
“Henry’s blessed wife was an Arethousan.”
“Blessed by the skopos in Darre.”
“As King Geza is willing to be, if Henry offers him this alliance.”
Judith shrugged to show that she was helpless in this matter. “Then you have done all you can. The king will speak when the king makes up his mind.”
The king did not speak that day, but the next night at the feast in honor of the birth of Sts. Iskander and Dawud, the holy twins, he rose to toast Sapientia and to announce her betrothal. Rosvita’s fingers were sticky with honey; it was traditional at the feast of the twins to drink honey mead and eat honey cakes because of the famous miracle of the bees. She licked her fingers hastily and grabbed the cup she shared this night with Princess Theophanu. Henry had not asked her advice as he usually did, but since the debacle with Sanglant four days ago Henry had spent his days and evenings carousing with no apparent thought for serious matters.
