knowing what's underneath it."
But after one glance, Antonia no longer appeared to notice Hanna. As the guards escorted them out of the building and down the stony path to the infirmary, she kept up a one-sided conversation with Wolfhere. "I have been reflecting on the words of St. Thecla, in her Letter to the Dariyans, when she speaks of the law of sin. Is not God's law higher than the law of sin?"
Wolfhere grunted. His lips twitched as if he were restraining words. He turned so that the lantern light hid his expression in shadow.
"And yet do we not, in our ignorance, in our flesh, remain slaves to the law of sin?" she continued. "By what means do they judge who have not wholly united themselves to the life-giving law of the God of the Unities and the Holy Word?"
Wolfhere made no answer. They came to the infirmary steps. Here the Brother Infirmarian met them, lantern in hand, and showed them to a small cell where he had hastily erected a cot next to the single pallet. He bowed several times, bobbing up and down so that the lantern light rose and dipped nauseatingly; he was clearly distraught at the idea of closing a holy biscop into such mean quarters, but he obeyed the commands of his superiors —and Wolfhere carried letters from both King Henry and Biscop Constance as proof of his authority to carry out his mission.
Antonia and Heribert walked into the cell. The Brother Infirmarian shut and locked the door behind them and hung the key on a ring at his belt. Two Lions stationed themselves on either side of the door. Wolfhere directed two more Lion? to sleep outside on the ground beneath the shuttered and barred window that let air into the cell.
"On no account," Wolfhere finished, looking sternly at the Infirmarian, "is any person to enter into that cell without me beside him."
Then he and Hanna and the other six Lions returned to the stables. In the loft, Hanna kicked hay into a pile, threw her cloak over the prickly mound, and pulled off her boots before lying down and shaking her blanket open on top of herself. Wolfhere bedded down in the hay beside her. Already she heard the snores of the soldiers from the other end of the loft.
She waited for a long while but was not sleepy. The loft door stood open to let in air. Through it she saw the black hulk of mountain, a blot against the night, and a single patch of sky brilliant with stars.
"You don't like her," she whispered finally, thinking that Wolfhere, too, did not sleep.
There was a long pause and she began to think the old man was in fact asleep, that she had mistaken his breathing.
"I do not."
"But if I didn't know what she had been accused of, if I hadn't heard her speak that one time, at the parley with Lord Villam, then I would never suspect she was —" She hesitated. Wolfhere made no comment, so she went on. "It's just hard to imagine she could do such terrible things—murder a lackwit in cold blood so she could raise creatures to control Count Lavastine's will, cast a spell on the guivre to put it under her power, and send her servants to catch living men for it to feed on. It's just that she seems . . . such a good and generous soul, so mild and compassionate. And she is a biscop besides. How can the Lady and Lord allow a person with such an evil heart to be elevated in Their church?"
"That is indeed a mystery."
This answer did not satisfy Hanna, who frowned and shifted on her makeshift pallet. Under the cloak, hay poked through the cloth against her back, tiny blunt pinpricks. She wiped the dust of old hay and last summer's straw from her dry lips. "But you must have some idea!"
"She is related on her mother's side to the reigning Queen of Karonne, and her kin on her father's side had land near the city of Mainni, where she was some years ago elevated to the episcopal chair. Do you suppose the skopos nominates only the most worthy?"
"I thought women and men who entered the church entered to serve God, not their own desires and ambitions.
But after one glance, Antonia no longer appeared to notice Hanna. As the guards escorted them out of the building and down the stony path to the infirmary, she kept up a one-sided conversation with Wolfhere. "I have been reflecting on the words of St. Thecla, in her Letter to the Dariyans, when she speaks of the law of sin. Is not God's law higher than the law of sin?"
Wolfhere grunted. His lips twitched as if he were restraining words. He turned so that the lantern light hid his expression in shadow.
"And yet do we not, in our ignorance, in our flesh, remain slaves to the law of sin?" she continued. "By what means do they judge who have not wholly united themselves to the life-giving law of the God of the Unities and the Holy Word?"
Wolfhere made no answer. They came to the infirmary steps. Here the Brother Infirmarian met them, lantern in hand, and showed them to a small cell where he had hastily erected a cot next to the single pallet. He bowed several times, bobbing up and down so that the lantern light rose and dipped nauseatingly; he was clearly distraught at the idea of closing a holy biscop into such mean quarters, but he obeyed the commands of his superiors —and Wolfhere carried letters from both King Henry and Biscop Constance as proof of his authority to carry out his mission.
Antonia and Heribert walked into the cell. The Brother Infirmarian shut and locked the door behind them and hung the key on a ring at his belt. Two Lions stationed themselves on either side of the door. Wolfhere directed two more Lion? to sleep outside on the ground beneath the shuttered and barred window that let air into the cell.
"On no account," Wolfhere finished, looking sternly at the Infirmarian, "is any person to enter into that cell without me beside him."
Then he and Hanna and the other six Lions returned to the stables. In the loft, Hanna kicked hay into a pile, threw her cloak over the prickly mound, and pulled off her boots before lying down and shaking her blanket open on top of herself. Wolfhere bedded down in the hay beside her. Already she heard the snores of the soldiers from the other end of the loft.
She waited for a long while but was not sleepy. The loft door stood open to let in air. Through it she saw the black hulk of mountain, a blot against the night, and a single patch of sky brilliant with stars.
"You don't like her," she whispered finally, thinking that Wolfhere, too, did not sleep.
There was a long pause and she began to think the old man was in fact asleep, that she had mistaken his breathing.
"I do not."
"But if I didn't know what she had been accused of, if I hadn't heard her speak that one time, at the parley with Lord Villam, then I would never suspect she was —" She hesitated. Wolfhere made no comment, so she went on. "It's just hard to imagine she could do such terrible things—murder a lackwit in cold blood so she could raise creatures to control Count Lavastine's will, cast a spell on the guivre to put it under her power, and send her servants to catch living men for it to feed on. It's just that she seems . . . such a good and generous soul, so mild and compassionate. And she is a biscop besides. How can the Lady and Lord allow a person with such an evil heart to be elevated in Their church?"
"That is indeed a mystery."
This answer did not satisfy Hanna, who frowned and shifted on her makeshift pallet. Under the cloak, hay poked through the cloth against her back, tiny blunt pinpricks. She wiped the dust of old hay and last summer's straw from her dry lips. "But you must have some idea!"
"She is related on her mother's side to the reigning Queen of Karonne, and her kin on her father's side had land near the city of Mainni, where she was some years ago elevated to the episcopal chair. Do you suppose the skopos nominates only the most worthy?"
"I thought women and men who entered the church entered to serve God, not their own desires and ambitions.
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