But Henry had business to conduct. He sat beside his sister and gathered his folk together. They waited in orderly lines, crowding in from outside, more even than the people who had marched with him, for many of the more prosperous natives of Autun had also come to see the king and pledge their loyalty.

On this occasion, Henry wore his cloth-of-gold robes of state, and in his left hand he held his scepter, symbol of the king’s justice, and on his right hand he wore the gold ring of sovereignty. On his silvering hair rested the heavy crown, studded with jewels. Biscop Constance blessed him and anointed him with oil blessed by the skopos herself and scented with attar of roses.

Thus was he confirmed in the eyes of his court and of the people of Autun as their king, chosen and approved by the divine wisdom of Our Lord and Lady.

“Let justice be served,” said Henry to the multitudes. He called before him the heirs of Duke Rodulf.

Rosvita felt some sympathy for the young man who came forward, his retainers cowering like frightened dogs at his heels. He had none of Rodulf’s bluff authority and was in any case barely past his majority. The duke had probably brought the boy along to get his first taste of war, only to have the poor child be forced to witness his father’s death.

“Who are you?” Henry demanded, although he knew perfectly well who the young man was.

“I am Rodulf, son of Rodulf and Ida.” The boy’s color was high, and his hands trembled, but he did not disgrace himself.

“Do you speak for the heir of Varingia?”

“I—I speak for my elder sister, Yolande, who was named heir by my father five years ago.”

“And where is she now?”

“A—at Arlanda Holding, the fortress built by my father.” Young Rodulf bit his lip and waited. The penalty for treason was, of course, death.

“Let her present herself to me before Matthiasmass,” said Henry. He extended a hand, as if beckoning, and the young man practically flung himself forward onto his knees before the king. “If she does so, I will demand these things from her in return for clemency. Fifty of Varingia’s finest horses, for my stables. Gold vessels and vestments to adorn the cathedral in Autun, as recompense for the insult given Biscop Constance. A convent founded in the name of my mother, Queen Mathilda. And you, young Rodulf, with ten young noblemen of good character, to join my Dragons and protect my kingdom.”

The boy began to weep. The crowd murmured, impressed by the king’s justice—and his mercy. Rodulf’s family was no kin of his, so he could easily have taken their lives in payment for their treachery. Rosvita nodded. This was the wiser course.

“I shall carry the message, Your Majesty,” said the boy. “We shall abide loyally by your side from now on. I swear it.” Constance brought forward a reliquary which contained the thighbone and a scrap of the robe once worn by St. Thomas the Apostle, and young Rodulf kissed the jeweled box and then the king’s ring, to seal his oath.

“Let Biscop Antonia be brought before me,” said the king.

Under heavy guard, Biscop Antonia was brought before Henry. She had her hands clasped in front of her, and she beamed as fondly on him as she might on a favored nephew.

Henry sighed. “You are under the protection of the church, Your Grace, so although you have conspired against me, I am forced to send you to Darre and let you plead your cause to the skopos herself. Let her judge your treachery.”

“I have not forsworn my oath to the church, Your Majesty,” said Antonia sweetly. “I doubt not the skopos will pass judgment in my favor.” She was attended by only one cleric, the one known as Heribert.

Constance moved forward, looking grim. “What of your other attendants, Biscop Antonia? Half of them are dead and the rest soon to die of a disease which strikes none but them, not even the holy nuns who have ministered to them as they lay dying.”

“I grieve,” said Antonia, “but even I cannot interfere with the hand of Our Lord, when with His sword He cuts the thread that binds us to life.”

“There are some who have accused you of sorcery,” continued Constance, determined to have this out now. She did not look at Henry for permission, nor did he attempt to stop her. She was the only other person here whose spiritual rank was equal to Antonia’s, and no secular power could intervene. “There are some who speak of amulets fashioned by your clerics at your order, and that their suffering is the mark of this cruel sorcery, the same sorcery that brought a guivre to the battleground and let Sabella’s soldiers walk free of harm from its gaze while Henry’s soldiers were stricken to stone.” Antonia unclasped her hands and raised them, palms up, in a gesture of innocence. “If their suffering is a mark of sorcery, and I the sorcerer who devised such amulets, then how is it I stand untouched by disease? How is it that Heribert—” Here she signed toward the young cleric who stood, as always, one step behind her. “—remains unstained as well? Many things cause disease, including evil spirits. I am sorry they are suffering, and I do what I am allowed to ease their pain, for it grieves me sorely, but what has stricken them comes from other hands than mine.”