“My good counselor!” Thus summoned, she cut a path through the crowd to his side, Hugh trailing modestly behind her. “Come, Sister, you will sit at my left hand while we eat.”
Supper was laid at the feasting tables, nothing magnificent, but sufficient for soldiers ridden in from the field. Adelheid sat at Henry’s right hand in splendid robes she had somehow contrived to be wearing—as though she had known he was coming. Maybe she had. The king could have sent a courier, but if he had, then why, Rosvita wondered as she took her place at the king’s side, had she and the schola not heard the tidings?
Had Hugh stopped her on the portico so she could witness the king’s arrival and understand that she had less power than he had, in his graceful speech, claimed for her?
Nay, she chided herself, you are grown too suspicious.
A steward brought a basin of water and a cloth so that Henry could wipe the dust of the road off his hands and face. Servants hurried in with a clear broth, followed by roasted game hens basted in mint sauce. When the first bite of hunger had been calmed, Adelheid rose with cup in hand. “Let there be an accounting of the summer’s victories!” she cried, to general acclaim.
Hathui recited a clear if undramatic account of the army’s successes: three packs of Jinna bandits put to the sword; seven sieges brought to a peaceful conclusion, although Lord Gezo was still holding out in Navlia; emissaries from Arethousan potentates who were not eager to fight the Wendish king’s army despite the fact that they were usurping lands in the south that belonged to the Aostan royal family; feasts and triumphal parades through a host of towns in central Aosta.
Henry remained somber throughout this recitation, and he left the feast early, taking a small coterie with him as he walked to his private apartments. They stopped to view the sleeping princess. As Henry leaned over Mathilda’s bed, admiring how much she’d grown, Rosvita bent close to speak softly in his ear.
“I sense that all is not as you wish, Your Majesty. Be sure that I am ready to listen, should you desire a counselor’s ear.”
He stroked Mathilda’s downy soft brown hair. The baby stirred, slipped her thumb in her mouth, and with a snort fell back to sleep. “Aosta is a thornbush, and the news from Wendar has not cheered my heart. Was I mistaken to leave Theophanu as regent?”