The Gathering Storm (Crown of Stars #5)

The Gathering Storm (Crown of Stars #5) Page 82

“Do you come often into the lower city?” he asked in the tone of a man who is surprised to see a heathen worshiping at the Hearth of God in Unity.

“Nay, Your Excellency. I am not accustomed to its size. There are so many streets and alleys, and so many people.”

“True enough.” He looked toward the law courts, where the crowd gathered to receive grain and food was growing ever more restless as the day came toward its end. Many still stood empty-handed. “So many people, and not all of them with God’s best interests at heart. It is best to be careful. Even some of your own Wendish folk agitate in the shadows, weaving intrigue among the innocent and the gullible.”

“I am sorry to hear that my countryfolk are so wicked, Your Excellency.”

“As would any person be who trusts in God. There is one woman in particular, a servant who calls herself Aurea, who is no better than a goad on the flail wielded by the Enemy. Beware of those who bear false tales out of turn in the hope of stirring up trouble.”

Because her head was bent in respectful obeisance, the brim of the hat concealed her expression. Strange that he should mention Aurea, to whom she had spoken up in the attic only two days before.

“Have you spoken to this woman, Daughter?”

“I have. I am always happy to find those within the palace who speak my own tongue, Your Excellency, those who are my countryfolk.”

“Did she speak aught of conspiracies and treachery?”

Only of clerics hidden like rats in the dungeon. Eyes that could see through walls, and traveling Eagles. But perhaps Hanna was making a conspiracy where none existed. Perhaps the woman had hoped for nothing more with her tales than an appreciative audience. Brother Petrus could not know that Hanna had spoken to Hathui over a year ago in the southern forests of Wendar. He did not know what she knew.

Faced with her silence, he went on. “I hope you will come to me, Daughter, if there is anything you wish me to hear. You need only to ask for me at the skopos’ palace. You Wendish Eagles are said to see all kinds of things that the rest of us cannot. I know you are held to be loyal without measure to your king.”

He spoke a word in Aostan, and his servants carried him on.

She glanced around as she rose to make sure no suspicious souls approached them, but the young toughs had vanished into the crowd. His words chilled her. Hadn’t Aurea spoken almost exactly those same words: “an Eagle might see all kinds of things?” Was it a slip of the tongue or simply a chance similarity of phrase? Did he mean it as a warning?

“I don’t like it,” remarked Rufus, “when those high and mighty church folk know who I am. Where I come from, the old folks used to say that it’s better to be a pig foraging in the woods with hunger in your gut and no one to know your name than a fat-bellied rooster strutting in the farmyard and all eyes on you when feasting time comes around.”

“He saved us from a fight.”

“True enough. Never turn your back on small blessings.”

Nearby, the three clerics had paused while one among their number shook a stone out of her shoe. “Come, now, Sister Heriburg,” said one of her companions tartly in clear Wendish. “We shan’t get a place to sit in St. Asella’s chapel if you do not hurry. You know how crowded it gets when Brother Fortunatus gives his sermon.”

“I beg pardon, Sisters. We are Wendish Eagles, servants of the king, come to worship at St. Asella’s. May we accompany you there?”

“Any true servant of King Henry is welcome to keep company with those of us who are loyal clerics in his schola,” said the tall one in the same tart voice she had just used to scold her companion.

“I thank you, my lady,” replied Hanna politely. “We will keep company with you gladly. I am called Hanna, and this is Rufus.”

These were highborn girls, unaccustomed to chatting idly with commoners; the quiet one looked alarmed at the introduction of names, and the other two hesitated before hurrying on with Hanna and Rufus at their heels.

“You are clerics in King Henry’s schola, my lady?” Hanna prompted, an imp of mischief directing her tongue. She wanted to see how they would respond. “Did you march here with the king?”

“We have lived in Darre for over two years now,” said the tall one as they passed the portico of St. Mark’s and turned left down a side street. A tower marked an old church built on a more ancient foundation. Inside, a half dozen slits in the walls illuminated the interior. Two clerics lit sconces in the wall as these patches of sunlight faded.

There were benches set in the nave, most filled with sundry folk speaking Wendish. Their companions moved to the front to sit with their clerical brethren. Hanna squeezed in beside Rufus toward the back, resting her floppy hat on her knees.