“No one knows.”
“They must have gone to the convent at St. Valeria,” said Rosvita suddenly. Why else would Sister Anne have been with them? “Surely, Eagle, you know that is a good thing.”
He did not reply. He seemed distracted, discouraged.
“You had a special interest in her,” Rosvita continued, her curiosity wakened by his grim expression. “What did you mean to do with her?”
“To do with her?” he exclaimed indignantly. “I meant to help her. I freed her from that terrible situation—”
“Hugh,” breathed Theophanu.
He looked at her, startled. It was rare to see the old Eagle surprised. “Oh, yes, and Hugh also, of course.” His hands were in fists, and then he recalled himself, drew off his gloves, and fumbled at his belt pouch with fingers made stiff by cold. “I rode in haste, Your Highness, and crossed the mountains some weeks ago with this message from King Henry to Queen Adelheid, pledging his support.” The rolled-up parchment had water stains on it but was otherwise intact.
“But you have not delivered it,” observed Theophanu.
He held it out to her, and after a moment she took it from him, opened it, and smoothed a hand over the finely-written letter. Rosvita recognized the hand as Sister Amabilia’s. Had she reached St. Valeria Convent in time? Had she escorted Mother Rothgard to Autun for the council? Had she crossed paths with the prince and his concubine?”
“I could not,” said Wolfhere finally, starting back as if his thoughts had wandered again. “I found Queen Adelheid, but I could not reach her. She sits besieged in the citadel of Vennaci. John Ironhead, lord of Sabina, had settled his army outside the walls and his intent is to capture her, make her his wife, and crown himself as king over Aosta. But he is not alone in this wish, he is only the one who reached her first.”
“It is good you found me, Eagle. Now we know where we must march. Is there aught else we should know of the road ahead?”
“Your Highness, Lord John’s army is far larger than yours.”
“Well, we shall see. Queen Adelheid must have an army within the citadel. We can catch him between two pincers.”
“If you can find a way to get a message to her. Lord John has sealed all ways in and out up tight, or you can be sure I would have gotten in.”
“I feel sure you would, Eagle. It is well known that you are as cunning as the serpent, and you have had many years to hone your wisdom.”
His smile was brief but true, and he seemed about to chuckle, but he did not. “As for the road, you have crossed the worst of it. I had better weather than this, and if the rain stops, you will be well on your way.”
Theophanu had her captains summoned, and Wolfhere went on, then, to describe in detail the number and disposition of the lord of Sabina’s army as well as what information he had gleaned about the citadel itself and the various factions in Aosta, all of whom seemed set on fighting with each other for this prize like dogs over a bone. Rain had started up again and pattered noisily on the roof. It was getting smoky inside, and a servingwoman opened the door, which seemed to have little effect beyond letting in a blast of cold wind that eddied the smoke from the hearth into every comer of the shed.
Rosvita let herself out as the last downpour passed, and as she walked through the village searching for her clerics, a few last spitting drops wet her cheeks. Brother Fortunatus had found refuge in a stall, and she was relieved to see that their pens, ink, and parchment had come through the day unscathed. The Vita of St. Radegundis, wrapped in oilcloth, was dry, as was the incomplete copy that Sister Amabilia was still working on, and her own History. Now that the rain had stopped, they all trooped outside where the village folk had built a fire and there they took turns trying to dry their clothing.
She noticed the wink of a tiny fire away from the village. Even after the hardships of the road, she could not resist the prick of curiosity. Because the sodden ground cushioned her steps, she got out away from the village and was able to come up behind him without him noticing she was there. By the fire back in the village, soldiers laughed and began to sing.
The old Eagle sat on the ground, on his cloak, and stared into a small campfire with such intense concentration that he might not have noticed her even had she called out to him.
“Lady have mercy,” he said in a soft voice. “I am so weary.”
At first she thought he knew she was there, and that he had confided in her. His shoulders sagged, and his real misery cut her to the heart. She took a step forward—
The fire hissed. She stopped dead.