In the Ruins (32 page)

Then the curve of the road cut off the view, as it always did. Each path drew its own landscape. He understood that now. Something always got left behind, and sometimes it was even something you wanted to lose, but mostly the things you wanted to lose stayed with you.

He laughed, and Sigfrid, riding awkwardly astride a donkey, turned to look at him.

“How are you come to us, Ivar?”

“Let us ride until nightfall. Then I’ll tell the tale.”

They rode in silence, despite their joy, for it appeared Constance’s schola were too weary and exhausted to sing. Their pace was killingly slow, burdened by the grind of the two carts and the awkward seats of several of the monastics who, like Sigfrid, had never learned to ride and yet were too weak to walk far. Through stubbornness and God’s will they turned east onto a half hidden trail into the deeper forest and made it as far as that same clearing where Ivar had met Erkanwulf the previous summer. The thatched roof that covered the old stone chapel still held. They settled Biscop Constance and the weakest nuns in its shelter while the soldiers set up a half dozen traveling tents for the rest of them, in case it rained. The sergeant set out sentries and ordered a big fire built in front of the chapel. There was plenty of deadwood to be gathered and split for burning. Wind soughed through the leaves of the giant oak.

“Erkanwulf and I saw shades here,” said Ivar, chafing his
hands as he stood before the fire. “They killed some of the men pursuing us and drove the rest away, but they didn’t touch us. I don’t know why.”

“We heard no news of that,” said Sigfrid. “Do you mean to say Captain Tammus suspected all along and sent soldiers to fetch you back?”

“I must believe so. Did no one confront the biscop?”

They turned. She had come forward, leaning on her stick and supported by Sister Eligia, one of the survivors.

“We have heard nothing, no news at all from the outside world for the last nine months, Brother Ivar,” she said. A pair of soldiers rolled a log up behind her as a bench, and she sank down and thanked them graciously. “Sabella passed by to gloat that same day you left us, but she did little more than inform me of Tallia’s latest stillborn child as well as rumor from the south that the Wendish army had been lost in the east and that a cabal of malefici meant to cast a spell to drown the world in water. I could not make sense of her report. There came a night soon after when unnatural lightning coursed through the skies and a powerful wind ripped past us. Poor Brother Felix was crushed by a falling tree limb. Sister Gregoria broke her leg so badly that it festered and even Sister Nanthild’s medicines could not heal her. That was a grim omen, for soon after, the sickness struck us down one by one. Give us your report, I pray you, Brother Ivar. Did you reach my niece, Theophanu? Is it she who has sent you to aid us now?”

Except for the sentries, every soul there drew close to hear.

“Princess Theophanu sent word that she has no army and no treasure and cannot aid you, Your Grace.”

Sister Eligia cried out, but Constance touched her forearm to quiet her. “Go on. How do you come to us now, then, with Lady Sabella’s seal?”

“We took matters into our own hands, Erkanwulf and I.” He told the story at length, and was interrupted often. The soldiers who knew somewhat more of the matter offered comments at intervals. The sergeant brought around ale and cheese and days-old bread, and they drank and ate
with a will, and gratefully, for they were all so hungry. When Ivar had finished his story, Constance nodded. She lifted both hands in the manner of a biscop calling her flock to prayers.

“Let us sing in thanksgiving, Brothers and Sisters.” She had a light soprano, clear and true, and the others followed easily, accustomed to her lead.

But not delivered yet. Ivar brooded as the others settled down to sleep on blankets and furs. Having been cast out into the wilderness, they were content to be free. Ivar sat with knees drawn up and chin on knees. Beside him, Ermanrich snored softly.

“You are troubled, Ivar,” murmured Sigfrid.

“We must wait for Captain Ulric. It could all come undone if Lady Sabella suspects and sends another troop after us. If Captain Tammus rides quickly to Autun and discovers the truth.”

“A journey of some days. We are safe for the moment. That isn’t what troubles you.”

Ivar frowned, but it was Sigfrid asking: so frail in his body and so strong in his mind, a curious vessel for God’s favor but a precious and holy one nonetheless. “I wonder if I could have acted otherwise. I should have insisted that Hanna go with me when my father sent me south to Quedlinhame. I shouldn’t have spoken so harshly to her when we next met. What if Hanna won’t forgive me? Why was I so unfair to Liath as to think she might love me in the same way I loved her? Was I blind? And what of Baldwin?”

“Are you afraid of Baldwin?”

He shrugged off the question by turning it. “We would all be dead without his sacrifice.”

“Yes,” agreed Sigfrid calmly, “but he was only following the example of the blessed Daisan, was he not? Not every person is given the blessing of sacrifice, Ivar. We have reason
to hope that he will escape and reunite with us, do we not? God has rewarded Baldwin for thinking of others before himself.”

“Is that meant as a rebuke to me?”

“Only if you hear it that way.” Sigfrid chuckled. “I missed you, Ivar. No one else frets in quite the way you do.”

The words cut through the knot that had for many days been stuck in his throat. Before he knew it, he was weeping, tears streaming down his cheeks as he struggled not to sob out loud and wake Ermanrich and the two soldiers who were crowded into the tent with them and sleeping soundly.

After a while, Sigfrid asked, “What do you fear, Ivar?”

“I fear I lost something, but I don’t know what it is. That I’ll only recognize it when it’s too late.”

“Two days,” said Sergeant Hugo. It was agreed they dared wait so long in the clearing before moving east again through the forest. The first day passed quietly enough. Constance rested, yet was never alone. By turns, and as if by accident, each soldier approached her and spoke privately to her as a man might to his deacon when he had a trouble to confess. Some spoke at length, others more briefly.

Hunters returned with two wasted and sickly deer, which they ate anyway because their food stores were so low, and a grouse, whose meat was shared among the monastics. The nuns gathered morels and blewits, and Hathumod found an old stand of couch grass in a nearby clearing and dug up the now-bitter roots. With these victuals they ate well enough, although they had to drink water from a nearby stream and many developed a flux.

Sergeant Hugo and his soldiers went through all their tack, greasing and repairing it. They carved arrows out of stout shoots in case they ran out of metal-tipped ones. The nuns scoured the woods for anything edible that might be dried or boiled for carrying.

The second day Ivar spent most of his time with Constance
recounting again and again the story of his travels with Erkanwulf, repeating details or, on occasion, recalling ones he had forgotten or overlooked. Every utterance made by Theophanu, Rotrudis’ children, or their courtiers had to be reexamined. Had he been Liath, he would have recalled every word he had heard, but he was not Liath. He was the flawed vessel, and he worried that he had forgotten something important.

“Of the walls, again. There was building going on?”

“No, but there was one scaffolding. That would have been on the western wall, I think. I remember the light shining on it as we rode out. No one was working there.”

“Within the hall, was there any new work being done? Any repairs? Were the walls freshly whitewashed?”

A whistle shrilled from the woods, down along the trail where the string of sentries ran out farthest.

Sergeant Hugo jumped to his feet. Soldiers grabbed spears, swords, and bows. A bird’s trill rang out, and several among them whooped and clapped.

Captain Ulric rode at the head of his troop, his usually pleasant features creased with anxiety and a certain grim relief at seeing them. The rest of his men spread out so as not to overwhelm the clearing. Soon there were almost threescore folk gathered around the ancient chapel: Hugo’s dozen, the fifteen monastics, and about thirty men at arms, all mounted, with the captain. It was strange, though, since Ivar had thought that the captain commanded almost a century of men.

“We are at your service, Your Grace,” Ulric said after he dismounted and knelt before her. She extended a hand. He kissed her ring. “I pray pardon for coming so late.”

“That you have done this much was beyond my expectation, Captain. I know all among you have kinfolk. A few have wives and children of your own. What will become of them? My half sister Sabella is known to wreak her revenge on the helpless when she cannot find those who angered her.”

“This we knew, Your Grace. It is why we waited so long to act.”

“Why act now?” she asked him, but glanced at Ivar as the words faded and Ulric did not immediately reply. “Brother Ivar convinced you?”

“He gave me the means, but it was not his argument that convinced me. In truth—” He paused to grin at Ivar with a look that seemed half apologetic. “—there have been other portents and omens. Dissatisfactions and fears.”

“Stories of grace,” she said, “as I have been hearing these two days.”

He nodded. “Stories of God’s grace. Of the phoenix. We all know them, Your Grace. We know they are true. But the lady is reckless. She punishes those who work the land and shows mercy to those who are most cruel and greedy. The wars to the west have taken the lives of a score of my militia, but their families gained no bounty for their sacrifice, not even a payment for each lost man, as is traditional. The weather is wrong, Your Grace. I am no farmer, but I know the way of the seasons. First came that unnatural wind that blew down houses and smashed trees throughout the woodlands. We’ve had no sun for months, not since the autumn. We had untimely rain last summer and little enough this winter. The stores in Autun grow low. The lady has not husbanded them wisely, not as you would have done, seeing that each family received a ration to last them through the lean months and seed corn if they lost their store to wind and bad weather. Lady Sabella has lost God’s favor, so I believe. She has usurped what does not belong to her. Thus we are come. This one—Brother Ivar.” He nodded toward Ivar. “I took his plea as a sign that it was time to act. We have gathered our families and left behind our homes to follow you, Your Grace.”

“Where is Baldwin?” demanded Ivar. “Didn’t you find him? Is he lost?”

“Nay, nay, he is with the others, he and Erkanwulf, a few hours behind us. We rode ahead to find you. We must move rapidly, Your Grace. Our desertion will be known too soon. Because we are so many, and laden with carts and children, we will not move as swiftly as Lady Sabella’s mounted cavalry when they ride on our trail. We have
done what we can to cast doubt upon our road, but they will discover it.”

“I see.” All this time, Constance had held his hand. She let go, and he pressed it briefly to his forehead, gaze cast down. “You have stepped onto a path from which there is no turning back.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“You have put yourself into my hands.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

She was used to command. She had been born into the royal family, and had been younger than Ivar was now when the biscop’s staff had been placed in her right hand.

“I must ask of you and your company that you ride a more difficult and thorny path even than the one you have embarked on now. I have interviewed Brother Ivar at length. It seems clear to me that my niece Theophanu cannot aid me, perhaps will not aid me, and may not even have the means to feed and house my growing retinue. She may even see me as a threat, and certainly as a reminder of her weakness. Avaria is too far. While it is true I might find refuge in Fesse, I am determined to take the harder path.”

The captain blanched, as might a man preparing himself for worse news than what he has just heard. “Your Grace.” He bowed his head and thereby accepted his fate.

“Sabella usurped my place and imprisoned me because she rightly feared to murder me outright, although I am sure she hoped my injuries would kill me. They did not. Now I am free to act as I was not before. I will not ride into exile in Wendar. Henry set me as steward over the duchy of Arconia. No more would I trust a steward of my own who fled in time of trouble. I cannot act in a way I would myself condemn. We must rouse the countryside and fight to restore what is ours.”

Ivar was too stunned to speak, and yet his heart thrilled to hear her impassioned words. She was crippled by her injuries, but she was not weak. Examining her proud face and brilliant eyes, he saw that she was in some measure stronger than she had been before her fall.

“Your Grace.” Ulric clenched one hand. The other rested on his sword hilt.

The men murmured, their voices like the rush of wind through leaves. Farther away, a hawk
skreed
, and Ivar glanced up to see the bird glide away over the treetops. The fire popped loudly as a stick, burned almost to ash, broke into pieces. Sister Eligia coughed.

“I can offer nothing but uncertainty,” said Constance, “but this I promise: We will win Arconia back.”

Every man and woman knelt, and some sighing and some with a grin and one weeping and several with expressions of grim fatalism, promised to serve her and her cause.

Even Ivar knelt. How could he do otherwise? Still, he was a little disgusted that he had planned so well and now had to watch the arrow curve off target.

“Where must we go?” he demanded.

She nodded. “That, too, I have considered. We must circle north to avoid capture, and then west to a place where we will find support and refuge. We will ride to Lavas County and seek aid and comfort from Lord Geoffrey.”

“Best to travel as one group,” said Captain Ulric as they waited for the baggage train to arrive. “We might split into many smaller groups and hope to reach Lavas County undetected, but every small group will therefore be more vulnerable. Our trail is easily followed if we travel together, but we are also protected by our numbers. Lady Sabella will have to hear of our journey, and our road, and raise a large enough force to meet us without fear of being defeated by our numbers. That will take time and forethought, and may give us the advantage we need. Yet we must also consider, Your Grace, what we will do once we reach Lavas County. Of a certainty, Lady Sabella or Duke Conrad will send an army to drive us out.”