Prince of Dogs (Crown of Stars #2)

Prince of Dogs (Crown of Stars #2) Page 110

Out here the stars shone with brilliant clarity. The waning crescent moon had not yet risen. This sky was perhaps her favorite, winter’s sky. The Child and the Sisters, second and third Houses of the zodiac, rode high in the heavens; the Crown of Stars, just outside the grasp of the Child, stood almost at zenith. Below, the Hunter guarded them from the Guivre, whose yellowish eye gleamed directly overhead. But it was not the Hunter who was fated to vanquish the dreadful Guivre but rather his unseen companion, the Huntress, valiant Artemë. In Andalla one could just see her where she rested among the southern stars, and Liath had even once glimpsed her golden boot, known to the Jinna as the star Suhel, the handsome one. Here in the north only her Bow and its fire-tipped Arrow star, blue-white Seirios, could be seen above the horizon.

She searched for the planets and found three. Wise Aturna, eldest and slowest of the wandering stars, moved through the Sisters, the third House, and stately Mok through the Lion. Red Jedu, the Angel of War, shone in sullen grandeur in the Penitent. A baleful influence, according to the astrologi. But Da scorned the astrologi. He called them street merchants and ignorant tinkerers and claimed they knew nothing of the true knowledge of the heavens. That knowledge hadn’t saved him.

She shivered again in the wind’s chill and put more sticks on the fire, building it until flame licked and popped up a lattice of branches. Smoke stung her nose and eyes. She chafed her hands to warm them and tugged her cloak more tightly about herself, prepared to wait out the night. The stables were close by, but even there among the horses and servants she could not feel safe. In any enclosed place he might corner her. Only out here, under the winter sky, did she have room to run.

The debate entertained Rosvita and to some extent surprised her. The subject was well worn, of course: Is it better to be useful or to be good? From his earliest days as sovereign, King Henry had encouraged such debates; his younger sister Constance, now Biscop of Autun, had excelled at them during her time at court.

No, indeed, this time it was the participants who surprised her. For once, Princess Sapientia showed wisdom and kept her mouth shut, letting others argue while she sat in the chair of honor at her father’s right side and basked in the attention of the courtiers. Her younger sister Theophanu sat beside Rosvita in silence, her expression as smooth as cream; she, too, kept quiet, although she never spoke recklessly under any circumstances. Henry’s youngest child, Ekkehard, actually listened to the debate, mouth half open. Like his elder sister Sapientia, he stared wide-eyed and worshipfully at the younger of the two debaters. Ekkehard had been seized with one of his admirations and this time Rosvita could not deplore his choice.

Three years ago she would have, had Ekkehard stared in this way at this particular man. But Hugh, abbot of Firsebarg and the bastard son of Margrave Judith, had altered so greatly in the five years he had been absent from the king’s progress that it was only by his lineaments, his actual face and hair, that she knew him.

“The Rule of Saint Benedicta commands abbot and abbess to do good rather than to govern,” said Hugh in response to Cleric Monica—she had for many years now taught all the young folk in the king’s schola, where he had once been a pupil.

“But if our stewardship is given us for the profit of many, then must we not learn to govern in order to benefit our subjects most usefully?” A vigorous elderly woman who had disliked Hugh when he was her student, Monica was softening as the debate wore on. Rosvita recognized the gleam in her eye and the quirk of her lips with which she favored only her most exemplary students. Hugh had been brilliant, but he had also known he was brilliant and wished others to acknowledge it, and that sort of arrogance had never been tolerated by a teacher such as Monica.

Now, however, Hugh smiled gently. “But of course,” he said mildly, “I must bow before the wisdom of my preceptor. Is it not true that the teacher is an artist who molds her students as clay is fashioned into vessels of glory? A good student will imitate his teacher’s example and strive to become her image in excellent and sublime qualities. We learn to govern, and the first person we learn to govern is ourselves. Then virtue without creates virtue within, and thus we become both good and useful.”

How had Hugh, as brilliant and handsome and arrogant as he had once been, become so gracious, witty, and charming, if no less beautiful in form? His voice was moderate, his gestures composed, his manners amiable and elegant. Only this morning, when the king’s progress had left the manor house at which the king had rested overnight, Hugh had distributed bread with his own hands to a family of beggars standing alongside the road. By no sign did he betray that he had any interest in Princess Sapientia except that of a well-mannered courtier privileged to ride with the king’s progress.