“Aid any Eagle who is in need, and protect your comrades from any who might harm them. And last, abide by your faith in Our Lady and Lord.”
“I do so swear,” murmured Hanna, remembering the night when she had been given the badge that made her an Eagle, for now and for always. She winced at a flare of pain in her chest.
“Are you well?” asked Hathui, feeling her movement.
It had already subsided, vanished as if she had only imagined it. The king walked toward them.
“Hathui,” he called, and his servingmen came running. “Here.” He handed the rose to Hanna. “Take this one to my niece. Tell her that it would be well for her to remember that the thorns of those words which mislead without lying are small but persistent, and that the white rose which symbolizes purity is also veined with flaws.”
She bowed and retreated as he called for and had brought to him a little whippet puppy which he took on a leash to run in the garden. She had to ask among his servants and discovered to her surprise that Lady Tallia did not lodge with her husband in the count’s tower but rather in a pavilion pitched just outside the palisade wall, which she shared with the duchess of Varingia.
The duchess was a ruddy-looking woman with the massive presence of a high-ranking noblewoman. An infant old enough to sit up by itself held court on a gold couch, next to the duchess, who entertained the chortling baby by clapping her hands together and tweaking its ears. Tallia’s noble attendant had joined in the play as well, getting down on her knees to shake a gourd rattle for the child to grab. The conversation was nonsensical, conducted entirely by Duchess Yolande who treated Tallia little differently than she did the baby and chattered on in singsong rhymes directed at the baby interspersed with commentary on the dress and behavior of the court folk. Tallia said not one word. The baby was more talkative.
“Isn’t he sweet?” the attendant asked Tallia, but Tallia only stared at the baby as if it were a scorpion that had gotten loose among the carpets.
“Your Highness,” said Hanna, bowing. “Duchess Yolande.” In the lamplight she could better see the flower as she presented it to Lady Tallia: the silken white petals were indeed veined with pinkish-purple lines, so shot through with them that she could no longer see the rose as white at all. “His Majesty King Henry bids me give this to you, Your Highness, with this message: ‘Tell her that it would be well for her to remember that the thorns of those words which mislead without lying are small but persistent, and that the white rose which symbolizes purity is also veined with flaws.’”
Tallia did not move, made no effort to take the rose, only stared.
“A common whore,” she murmured, shuddering. She seemed to be talking mostly to herself. “That’s why he showed me the nail. He was trying to pollute my faith in God.”
There was, oddly enough, a sheen of dirt at her collarbone as if she had forgotten to wash. She wore a gold Circle of Unity around her neck together with a sachet, a little bag stuffed with herbs. The bitter scent tickled Hanna’s nose and made her want to sneeze. Up close, Tallia’s pale hair looked limp and stringy, and she had dark circles under her eyes. Her hands were thin and white and veined much like the flower’s, more blue than purple.
“Come now,” said Duchess Yolande, “it’s a terrible blow, I admit it, but he’s a good-looking and well-spoken young man, and I’ve met many a noblewoman who was scarcely less discriminatory in what manner of man she let into her bed.” She took the rose from Hanna and danced it in front of the baby. He grabbed for it, got it, and at once pierced himself on a thorn and began to sob. “There’s life for you!” exclaimed the duchess. She pried the rose out of the baby’s hand, kissed his reddened skin, and tickled him out of his misery. The rose, dropped to the carpet, was picked up by the young attendant; she glanced once around swiftly and then tucked it between her bosom and her gown, as if it were a precious keepsake.
“Lady Hathumod, you haven’t said what you think of this scandal.” Duchess Yolande lifted the child onto her lap as her own attendants gathered round to coo at him and tickle his chin. He gurgled happily at all the attention.
“Nay, my lady duchess,” replied the attendant in a grave voice, “I have not.”
“Surely after months living here with him you have formed some notion of his breeding. Do you suppose that one of the hounds sired him?” Her ladies laughed and laughed, but Lady Hathumod remained silent. “Ah! You’re such a tiresomely serious creature, Lady Hathumod. Perhaps you have some new revelation with which to entertain us?”
