“You will have it.” Adelheid gestured to her servingwomen, and as they came forward to assist her to rise, the two noblewomen moved back into the crowd of courtiers, each one immediately surrounded by a faction eager to hear her side of the dispute. Adelheid’s women robed her in the southern style in an overdress heavily embroidered at the neck and elbow-length sleeves and belted three times round with a supple cloth-of-gold belt ornamented with cabochons.
She settled herself into the queen’s chair and gestured. “Sister Rosvita.”
“Your Majesty.” She knelt, and her three clerics hurriedly followed her lead. For all her timidity, Gerwita had a particularly graceful way of moving that would serve her well at court. “I trust Princess Mathilda is recovering?”
“So she is. The physicians say she will be healthy in another week. She is still a little feverish, but she is nursing well again.”
“God be praised, Your Majesty. What news from Wendar?”
Adelheid’s frown made her forehead crease slightly, presaging lines to come. She was still too thin. The birth, followed two months after by the fever, had weakened her more than anyone publicly admitted, but her color was good. “That is why I have called you to attend me, Sister. I need your counsel.” She beckoned. A travel-worn Eagle came forward from the cluster of women attending the queen. “I pray you, Eagle, repeat your message for the good sister.”
The Eagle was about the same age as Aurea, older than Adelheid, and unusually tall. She had big, callused hands and surprisingly delicate features, weathered by hardship. “As you please, Your Majesty,” she said obediently before closing her eyes, marshaling the words she had memorized. Her voice was high, at odds with her height and broad shoulders.
“Her Highness, Princess Theophanu, sends greetings to her most honored father, King Henry of Wendar and Varre, and to her beloved cousin, Queen Adelheid of Aosta. Ill tidings stalk the land. There have been reports of plague in the south. Varingia suffered a bad harvest last autumn, and there is drought in the land this spring. A Quman army has struck west through the marchlands and has been reported as far west as Echstatt in Avaria. They burn and pillage, leaving nothing behind but ruin. No news has come from Sapientia’s army since last autumn except rumors of a battle. I fear for the marchlands and indeed even for the heartlands of Wendar if this tide goes unstemmed. To this end, I have left Biscop Constance as regent in Autun while I ride with what forces I can muster to the east. Yet I lack troops, with so many taken south to Aosta. Duchess Rotrudis has taken ill, and her children are quarreling over their portions, all but her son Wichman, who rode east and vanished with Sapientia’s army. Prince Ekkehard left Gent in Wichman’s train and has also been swallowed up by the fighting in the east. Duchess Yolande claims that the Salian war for succession has bled away her fighting force, since many of her nobles have been forced to defend their borders from renegade bands pushed east by the fighting in Salia. Duke Conrad has pledged his aid, but there is further news that makes me hesitant to trust him. He has married Princess Tallia. That is why he was not in Bederbor last winter. The deed was done while Constance was riding progress through Arconia, and when she returned Lady Sabella had already given Tallia into Conrad’s hands. It is rumored that the girl is now pregnant. I pray you, Your Majesty. Let matters be settled quickly in Aosta. We need the army here in the north.”
Despite the questions burning to be asked, Rosvita remained silent a few breaths longer, in case the Eagle had not done. She knew better than to interrupt; an ill-timed interruption might jumble an entire message.
“What do you think?” asked Adelheid at last. A servant brought a cup of wine for the Eagle, who retired gratefully to a bench.
So much ill-starred news made Rosvita’s head spin. “I am thinking that King Henry will not be glad to hear of this alliance between Conrad and Tallia. Conrad should have asked Henry’s permission to wed the girl, since Henry is Tallia’s guardian, in default of her mother, Sabella.”
“The one who is imprisoned at Autun,” mused Adelheid, who had until six months ago been ignorant of Wendish intrigues, “for leading a rebellion against her brother.”
“Even so.”
“Is this alliance an advantage to us?”
Rosvita had to shake her head. “I fear not. Tallia has a claim to the throne of Wendar, just as Conrad does. Some would argue—as did the Varren nobles who followed Sabella’s revolt—that Tallia’s claim to the throne of Varre is stronger than Henry’s.”