Elliott, Kate - Crown of Stars 3 (104 page)

Ivar flushed. Ermanrich rose, leaning to whisper in his ear. "He's just jealous of you because Baldwin loves you. Don't mind it, Ivar."

But he did mind it. He finished his meal in silence, shunned by the others now that Ermanrich and Baldwin were gone. They all despised him because Prince Ekkehard despised him, and yet hadn't the blessed Daisan forgiven his enemies? Hadn't He reminded his followers that we who live in flesh are all weak and subject to temptation? Each person certainly was glad when she acted rightly, and yet the body, born into the tainted world, often did not walk hand in hand with the unstained soul.

It was so hard to be good all the time.

It was so hard that night when he woke up from an uncomfortably vivid dream of Liath, and it took him a moment, panting to ease himself, to realize he'd been jostled by a foot. In the warm late spring night both shutters and door had been left open, and by the light of a nearly full moon he saw the pale shape of a woman dressed only in her undershift ease down onto the bed shared by Ekkehard, Baldwin, and Milo. Milo was a heavy sleeper under any circumstance, and Ekkehard had been dosed with juice of poppy because the pain as he shifted in his sleep made it difficult for him to rest.

But Baldwin was awake.

"My lord prince!" she whispered. "Your Highness—!" She lay a hand on Baldwin's naked chest.

"I'm not the prince," he murmured, although he did not attempt to remove her hand. "That is Prince Ekkehard, beside me."

"But you're so beautiful, my lord. Like an angel." She reached inside the neck of her tunic. For an instant Ivar saw the pale expanse of her skin as she drew the cloth aside, and he had to close his eyes, he was so flushed everywhere and still aching from the dream that he thought he might lose himself entirely.

"I got me a feather, my lord" she was whispering. "An angel feather."

He couldn't help but look. She hadn't exposed herself but rather a golden feather whose mellow glow set Baldwin's handsome features alight and made the girl seem the prettiest he'd ever seen, dark hair, a small nose, a mole on her right cheek that moved as she smiled. "I knew it were a sign. I've had so many strange dreams ever since I saw them lights in the old stone circle, before the beast come. I dreamed that I'd be visited by an angel. So did Rodlinda and Gisela and Agnes, and she's even been married since last autumn. Isn't that you, my lord? Aren't you the angel? Didn't God send you to come in unto us and give us a revelation?"

Ivar had remained chaste since the day of his revelation, but God surely knew it hadn't been easy.

"Ah!" Baldwin's exhalation made him sound more pleased than surprised as the young woman, not waiting for his answer, moved down over him.

Ivar rolled up and away from snoring Ermanrich, who wouldn't have woken up if a herd of stampeding horses had thundered past, and scrambled outside before he did that which would brand him forever or at least give Ekkehard another thing to make fun of him for. Mercifully, the moon's light allowed him to trudge out of the village through orchard and wood until he reached the pyre, although he stepped on more stickers than he could count and his face and arms got scratched up by low-hanging branches.

Sigfrid had fallen asleep and some kindly soul had thought to drop a ragged blanket over him. His thin fox-face, in repose, was so innocent and sweet that at once Ivar's doubts and desires evaporated and he could kneel with a clear heart. He didn't know why, but he thought it important that someone pray beside the pyre of that brilliant creature which had killed nothing more than food for itself until it had been attacked by lustful men misled by fearful ones. Certainly it had frightened the villagers who, so they'd said, had come across the eviscerated corpses of deer, but wasn't it natural for such creatures to feast on meat? Unlike humankind, animals had no liberty to change what they were and how they acted. Even a creature molded by God needed to eat. It hadn't truly harmed anyone, and maybe it never would have.

Yet perhaps those visions he'd seen rising from the smoke off the pyre had been hallucinations, visions sent by the Enemy. Maybe it was only a matter of time before the beast would have begun preying on the villagers and their livestock. But he doubted it. He had been driven by fear and lust, too; by his own actions, he had helped to kill it.

He wasn't sure of the time. Unlike Sigfrid and Ermanrich, he hadn't learned how to chart by the rising and setting of stars when to begin Vigils, but when he heard a distant cockcrow, he began to sing, chanting the night prayer.

"Why do the wicked prosper, Lady,while the pure of heart suffer torments on this earth?

Why do they who wear violence as their robe and talk nothing but malice live in glorious wealth, untouched by trouble?"

Aurora came as he sang the Benedictus, and Sigfrid stirred and woke, kneeling to pray beside him although, of course, he could utter no words. They saw it long before anyone came to find them: a tiny red-gold fledgling bird fluttering among still-glowing coals. As the light rose, it buried itself deep among the ashes.

At midmorning Milo came to fetch them, looking angry that he had had to make the trip and a little nervous as he examined the still glowing pyre from a safe distance. "Prince Ekkehard wants you," he called. "Isn't that thing out yet? Why do you keep praying out here? It's dead, isn't it?"

Back at the village, Baldwin looked utterly exhausted, as if he hadn't slept at all. He couldn't stop yawning, and perhaps the prince would have noticed something wrong, but he was still woozy, recovering from the poppy juice.

"Perhaps Brother Sigfrid can explain it," Ekkehard was saying as they came in.

Certain members of the village had gathered, come to complain about dreams and disturbances that had plagued them since the mysterious arrival of the beast.

"In truth, good Brother," said the old crone who seemed appointed as their spokeswoman, "we thought these visions would go away once the beast was dead, but it in't any different now.

Worse, maybe. What does God mean by this? Have we done aught wrong? Are we being punished?"

Ermanrich had grown adept at communicating with Sigfrid, with or without writing, and Sigfrid was so far ahead of them all in his understanding and interpretation of God's will that they had tacitly agreed to defer to him on matters of doctrine and scripture.

"What is a soul?" Sigfrid asked, although Ermanrich spoke for him. "It is all that we are, and yet we cannot live on this earth without a body. The blessed Daisan wore a. mortal body that was inhabited by an immortal soul, for God so loved the world that She gave to us Her only son, that He should take upon himself the measure of our sins. So He came before the Empress Thaisannia, she of the mask, and He would not bow down before her, for He knew that only God is worthy of worship. The empress had Him flayed, as they did to criminals in those days, and His heart was cut out and thrown onto the ground where it was torn into a hundred pieces by the dogs, for are we not ourselves the dogs, who unthinkingly devour God's treasures in the course of our growling and fighting?"

Baldwin was trying not to yawn again. The villagers present were beginning to look nervous.

Prince Ekkehard was actually able to bend one arm at the elbow so he could rub his nose with the back of a hand. "I think that's enough for now," he said.

"I pray you, believe us!" cried Ermanrich, loud enough that a number of people including some of Ekkehard's other companions jumped. "His blood washed away our sins!"

Sigfrid tugged on Ermanrich's robes and made a complicated signal of signs and grunts, sweeping rushes aside so he could trace letters into the dirt floor of the longhouse.

"Oh!" said Ermanrich, startled enough that for the first time he looked anxious. "Are you sure—Prince Ekkehard said— Sigfrid nodded his head emphatically. "Uh, well," continued Ermanrich, stuttering only a little. He glanced once at Sigfrid, his good-natured face drawn down in a frown, but Sigfrid's expression was as fixed as adamant stone. "My good Brother Sigfrid says that you who have no faith in the truth of our words will see a miracle at dawn tomorrow, and then you will believe."

Ekkehard called them aside after the villagers had straggled out to spread the news. "What are you talking about? I don't want to lose the goodwill of these villagers by having you babble on and scare them! Baldwin!" Obviously the poppy juice was wearing off, but his arms had more flex and movement in them than they'd had the day before, and he submitted to having his bare shoulders bathed in pine oil water as he scolded Baldwin. "What if we reach my sister and she sends us all home because of your ranting? Ai, God! Nay, leave off!" he snapped at the servant who was probing the bruises on his shoulders. "I will ride out tomorrow. I can ride well enough, I'm much better. Lord protect me! All night I dreamed of naked succubi sighing and moaning beside me in the bed until I thought I'd go mad. I made a promise not to touch any of their daughters, and I don't want to look bad now, not after I made Wichman look so bad in front of them, but we've got to get out of here."

"Truly spoken, Your Highness," said Ivar with a nasty glance at Baldwin.

"Let us go pray at the beast's pyre, my lord prince," said Baldwin. "The villagers stay away from it now, and we'll be at peace."

Ekkehard regarded Ivar with suspicion, as if he'd used sleight of hand to tempt Baldwin away from his rightful lord, but because he wanted to avoid trouble he agreed. Ten of the young men in Ekkehard's company accompanied them back to the pyre.

"This is a change of heart," muttered Ivar as they trod along the path. "I haven't seen you praying much the last few months. Too busy kissing the feet of my lord prince."

"Is this how I'm thanked?" retorted Baldwin. "With your petty grumpiness? Haven't I been protecting you all this time? Didn't I save us from Judith? God help me but I hope you can return the favor, for I can't take another night like the one I just suffered through! They kept sneaking in through the window, one after the next, raving about angels and revelations." He shuddered, but not even a grimace could mar his perfect features. Walking this close to him, Ivar smelled oil of jessamine lingering on his skin, A sprig of dried lavender was caught in his brilliant hair, and Ivar plucked it out and crushed it between his fingers. A faint scent burst, then dissipated.

"God protect us," exclaimed Milo, who was walking at the front. Where the pyre lapped the stream, steam boiled up, and all the ashes and coals were hidden by the churning mist. A scent like flowers distilled to incense permeated the air. A whispery crackling came from the shroud of mist, melding with the babble of water over the stones and the curdling hiss of steam.

"I—I don't like it here," said Milo, taking several steps back, but Baldwin marched right up as close as he could stand and plopped down on his knees.

"Nothing could be worse than what I endured last night!" he proclaimed. "I would rather die than go through that again." Sigfrid nudged him, and he added hastily: "Although of course I know that God protects us. We are meant to be here." He grabbed Sigfrid by the sleeve and jerked him closer, lowering his voice. "Aren't we?"

In this way, somewhat anxiously, the second day passed. Sometimes villagers came to look in on them, as if to make sure they weren't getting up to any mischief, but mostly they were left alone although once or twice Ivar thought he heard giggling at the edge of the distant wood, far enough away that, when he looked back, he only saw pale flashes moving among the trees, dogs or goats, or poor Baldwin's tormentors.

Baldwin prayed more beautifully than anyone, and he could lead them at prayers as long as Ermanrich prompted him.

"They who wander far from God are lost, and they are destroyed, who forsake Her. But if I desire nothing on earth, then God shall be my refuge forever."

In this way, twilight came, and Prince Ekkehard joined them at dusk as they sang the service of Vespers, all of them joining in. Their voices blended sweetly, light tenors and strong ones, and a few deeper voices that still cracked sometimes.

"It stinks in that village," said Ekkehard as the time of silence came upon them, although this night the moon was full and merry. "I'd rather sleep out here. Isn't the fire warm?"

The fire was warm, and it hadn't ceased bubbling in that odd way, but no one else seemed to think anything weird was going on. Ivar felt torn in two: frightened and yet unable to slink away because deep in some unlikely core of his being he could not shake the feeling that something very strange and wonderful was about to happen.

He slept as the moon swept upward to midnight. The crowing of a cock woke him. He lay on the dew-dampened ground with his cheek smashed against a hummock of cold earth and a piece of grass half stuck up his nose. Something was crawling on his face, and he cursed and flicked at it before he pushed up, hoping to get the kink out of his neck.