“You believe Duke Conrad to be ambitious.”
“I do, Your Majesty. He is also strong-minded, a man of bold temperament.”
“And poor judgment?”
“That is harder to say. I would not speak ill of a man as powerful as Conrad without good cause. He has offered none yet.”
“Will he come to Theophanu’s aid?” A servant came forward with a tray to offer her wine. The cup was, like Adelheid, a thing of beauty: carved sardonyx decorated with a filigree of gold wire studded with cabochons, an echo of those in her belt. Like Adelheid, it looked delicate, easily broken should it be dropped and smash into the floor. But Adelheid’s youthful prettiness made her easy to underestimate.
“It would be foolish of any noble in the kingdom to let the Quman range freely,” said Rosvita.
“Won’t the Quman just return to their homelands come wintertime? Can’t they be bought off?” Adelheid sipped at her wine before setting down the cup restively. “If only it were true that such raiding could be easily squelched. Yet how can we spare any troops from Aosta? The situation remains troubled here. Even in Darre there are still disturbances on the streets, people calling for this cleric or that biscop to be named skopos in place of Mother Anne. Bandits rule in Tarveni, and the noble houses of Calabardia refuse to send representatives to pledge loyalty to our reign. Henry fights in the south, but even so, half the southern provinces still lie in the hands of Arethousan thieves. I have pledged troops to rid my subjects of the Jinna pirates who plague our coasts. If Henry returns to Wendar now, all this will fall apart.” Her passionate gaze would have broken a man’s heart. “I know what it is to be a noble child at the mercy of her relatives’ ambitions. When I became pregnant, I swore my child would not suffer what I suffered when I was young, thrown to the wolves. I swore that she would inherit what is rightfully hers, in a land at peace. What shall I do, Sister Rosvita? What do you advise?”
“Send the Eagle on to King Henry, Your Majesty.”
“I could go myself!”
“Nay, you are right, Your Majesty, in remaining in Darre while the king rides out to consolidate your allies.” And knock a few reluctant heads together, or frighten them into swearing allegiance.
“You must consolidate your power here so that the king can return to a place of firm ground. If you leave, Darre’s support may crumble. No one questions your right to reign as queen.”
“No,” agreed Adelheid, more calmly, “they do not.”
“Has there been news of the king, Your Majesty? As you know, I am but recently risen from my sickbed.” She did not feel it necessary to tell Adelheid that her clerics brought her gossip every day. No doubt the queen guessed as much.
“They have laid in a siege at Navlia. Lord Gezo had made certain pacts with Ironhead and now refuses to hand over the greater part of the treasure which he took from Ironhead in return for supplying mercenaries. Duchess Liutgard was lightly wounded in the fighting. I confess, there has been some talk of her marrying again.”
Something in Adelheid’s expression alerted Rosvita. She said, carefully, “Has there been? Shall there be an open competition or does the duchess have anyone in mind?”
Adelheid had the courtesy to blush. “I have suggested to Henry that Prince Sanglant might be an appropriate husband for a woman of Liutgard’s rank and lineage.”
“Ah.” To get hold of her thoughts, now whirling violently, Rosvita folded her hands and bent her head, the better to contemplate the neatly laid out zigzag flooring, white stone alternating with black, beyond the pillow on which she knelt. Rosvita was certain that neither Liutgard nor Sanglant would welcome such a match, but she did not care to say so out loud. Liutgard had come early to her duchy and would not suffer any man for a husband who might try to rule with or for her. “Any gesture that opens the path of reconciliation is a welcome gesture, Your Majesty. Princess Theophanu’s message said nothing about Prince Sanglant.”
Adelheid smiled thinly. “So it did not, Sister. There are some who say that the king was too lenient with his bastard son.” Her eyes were bright in the soft light of morning shining in through the eastern windows to illuminate the handsome murals along the western wall, all of them depictions of scenes from ancient tales like the Lay of Helen and the conquests of Alexandras, the Son of Thunder. “Indeed, there are some who say that Henry’s marriage to the Arethousan woman Sophia ought never to have been recognized as valid. There are some who say that her children, too, should have no rightful claim to the throne.”
