She quaked against him, in despair. Elisha slid his arms around her, the cold shock of her talisman pressing close between their hearts.
Chapter 19
By morning, Gretchen was gone—back to Bardolph in the nest of Elisha’s enemies, but unable to disparage him to the empress any longer. Empress Margaret’s return to the barge had interrupted his moment with Katherine, but he hoped for the chance to talk with her again, to find out all she could tell him about the mancers—surely she would give him that much, as sign of her repentance. The empress had raised her brows at her lady as the embrace broke apart, and though Katherine quickly explained that she’d only been overcome by fears for Gretchen’s prospects, the empress clearly believed none of it. Away from the shadow of her husband, the empress proved to be a formidable woman, the discomfort of her pregnancy offering little impediment to her mind.
That afternoon, talk turned to pilgrimage, and to the sorry state of Rome, the heart of the Church and the key to whatever the mancers had planned. Elisha listened intently. He knelt rubbing the empress’s feet with oil of lavender that perfumed the pavilion so strongly it masked the lingering scents of their nuncheon. “If Rome is so dangerous, why talk of going there?” he asked finally.
“Ludwig must be crowned emperor there, by the hand of the pope. The archbishop of Mainz has crowned him already, of course, but with the challenger gaining strength, Ludwig must be seen to have the support of both worldly and spiritual powers.”
Elisha cocked his head. “But the pope is in France, isn’t he?”
She radiated suppressed frustration. “For now, but he has declared a Jubilee just two years hence—he must return to Rome before then, and Ludwig hopes to be crowned at that same time. The last time he was in Rome, shortly after our marriage, I fear my husband undertook some tasks that made him unpopular with the Church. What better place for his reconciliation than the very place of his downfall?”
The city where Ludwig tried to proclaim his own pope, Elisha recalled.
“And anyone who makes the pilgrimage there shall be granted an indulgence against her sins,” Agnes offered, with a wink in Katherine’s direction. “Then you need not fear your confessions shall be overheard.”
Katherine laughed, but she cast a shaded glance at Elisha, as if they shared a flirtation.
“In any event, I shall go,” Agnes continued. “That madman who calls himself the tribune of Rome nonetheless seems to be making things safer. Already, thousands of people are planning their journeys, perhaps hundreds of thousands. I have seen maps for sale in the market.”
“I hope you shall be there in my company, Agnes, and that of my husband.” Empress Margaret shooed Elisha from her hem with one hand and found her goblet. “The tribune persists in inviting Ludwig to Rome, but he is lowborn for all of his claims. Even with the Holy Father’s support, a madman is still a madman. Do you know, he bathes nightly in the Emperor Constantine’s own tub, right outside the church that holds part of the very Cross itself?”
The ladies giggled at that, and speculated about the appearance and outlook of Cola di Rienzi, the innkeeper’s son who had liberated the city and claimed the title of tribune—what, precisely, he might do in that tub. Elisha thought of the mancers in the clearing, talking about Rome: who would be ready for it, and who would not. The Pope must return there before the Jubilee, and thousands would flock to the city. The mancers worked quietly now, securing the thrones of several nations, but it was the rabbi who pointed out the problem of the Church. In England, Brigit claimed she could deliver the nobility, and tried to do so by killing most of them with her magical connection to the past. Such a gutting of the natural order would cause chaos, but the people would turn to the Church, and, even with a few churchmen in the power of the mancers, the clerics were too numerous to gather and ruin in the same fashion. Or were they?
The Church, with its network of cardinals, archbishops, bishops, priests, and holy houses, held sway over the people of many nations even more surely than the kings. Any one kingdom might fall, any nation might make war upon another, but how could the mancers bring down the Church itself? Unless the pope himself were in their sway, summoning his flock to Rome to lay them out for the mancers’ pleasure.
Focusing his awareness on Katherine but keeping his eyes on the homely Agnes, Elisha said, “I should like one of those maps—I might have need of an indulgence myself.”
“You, Doctor? You have sins? Do tell!”
Katherine’s presence remained steady, unengaged in talk of Rome from what he could tell. “I used to work in Coppice Alley—the street of whores,” Elisha announced.
This elicited a gasp from the ladies, then they eagerly shuffled their seats forward, shifting their embroidery, to listen. He told of bawdy monks and cuckolds, even the incident that convinced his brother to marry the lovely whore Helena, when she was accused of witchcraft. His presence must have echoed the sad ending of that tale—the ending he did not speak of—for Katherine’s calm broke to a sympathetic warmth, her expression speculative.
“Ah, Doctor,” said Empress Margaret, “I am ever more glad you have joined our company. Tomorrow, we disembark and take to horseback to finish our travel. I shall arrange for a private chamber where we may speak of more important things.”
Elisha raised his own goblet to her and took a swallow of the rich red wine. As it filled his skull, he remembered the fight in the vintner’s and taking Simeon home. On the morrow, he could tell the empress what he knew. Should he wait to speak with Ludwig directly with her aid, or move on ahead of the mancers—to Rome? Anticipation rushed through his body—at last, he might outpace his enemies. He had a chance to break their plans before they could spring their trap.
During the evening meal, Elisha took an excuse to touch Katherine’s hand and communicate his desire to talk with her. After darkness fell, she crept to his place on the stern, motioning for him to stay down, then, trembling with fear and hope, she laid herself down with her arm wrapping his shoulder and her face pressed to his back. “We are chaste,” she said to his warming skin, “yet we make a fine picture for any who happen to see.”
Elisha swallowed hard, but still he responded to her touch, to her closeness. He thought of Thomas’s keen stare with a hopeless wish, and mastered himself to answer her.
Before he could frame a reply, she echoed his despair. “You have a love,” she said. “I’m sorry if I cause you grief for your—but it is not a lady.” Surprise stiffened her arm, even as he tried to bury his response.
“Please, lady, do not ask more of me than you already have.”
“No, forgive me.” Her fist relaxed, her breath sighing against him. “But you are not averse to ladies.”
Elisha pulled away from her, rolling to his back. “I did not ask you here for this—it is a convenient ruse, but no more. Do not ask it of me.” He spoke harshly, and for a moment, seeing her face made silver by the moon, he thought that she would cry again. He was not sure he could resist her tears, but she pressed her lips together, and tentatively settled her fingers on his wrist.
“They want me to seduce you.”
Their eyes locked across the gap between them.
“They wish me to use my body and my pain to distract you from your purpose, and to force you to reveal your knowledge and your skills.” She gave a tiny, tired laugh. “I am no seductress. I am no enchantress in the mountain ready to lure you away—I have no such power.”
“You say you repent, lady, and that you want my help to do so. Help me unravel their plans.”
Her breath quickened and she gave a nod, but her fingers tightened, just a little. “There is one among the soldiers on the far bank. He watches over me, over both of us. They worry already because you did not kill me—that’s why they believed this—my—my closeness—would affect you.”
“Do you tell them all? How much do they know about me?”
<
br /> “Don’t be angry—you knew I was one of them.”
His anger wasn’t for her, but for himself, for last night when he wanted to believe her, for the treacherous heat in his body when she drew so near. If he hadn’t been so lonely, eager for someone who could understand the burdens of magic, would he even let Katherine approach? He carefully steeled himself against her, building his walls, allowing only the contact of her hand upon him, his jaw clenched.
“They cannot know my thoughts, not like this. If I allow it, they can feel what I feel, through a talisman we share.”
A nudge of that talisman would get their attention, as he had done with the old man’s bones when he hunted down her colleagues that dark night. “Do they expect you to betray them?”
Her thumb pressed hard against him with a bolt of fear. “They have my children.”
For a moment, he couldn’t breathe, as if her grip had pressed the air from his chest.
“I have killed only once with them. I attended another, but I could not bring myself—they have gatherings, and a few of the more important mancers circulate among them, so that a few participate with the other gatherings and take more talismans. They take as victims those who will not be missed, or those who become suspicious. These gatherings, they link like rings of mail, like a great armor of horrors.” Her hand trembled, her presence still shot with fear as she babbled into his skin. “I have heard the leaders speak of Rome, but they say little to those who have only one or two murders. There is Eben, you’ve met him, yes? And a tonsured Frenchman, Renart. And a young Italian with very bright hair whose name I do not know.”
Leaders. He would need to see them. If she opened herself to him, she could send the images. Slayings. Elisha rolled to face her and caught her shoulder, their noses nearly touching. “Stop, Katherine, stop. They have your children?”
She gave a jerky nod. “Two sons and a daughter. I’ve searched, but I can’t find them. I should have taken more care. I was the only one from the murder I shared who survived the night when you went hunting. It worries them.” She turned her face to the deck, dodging his stare. “They—I must do what they say. I must try.” He sensed her stab of grief and despair. The enemy weighed the lives of children against Elisha’s heart, because he could not bring himself to kill a mancer who prayed for such release.
“Nudge your talisman,” he told her. “Send them this.”
She blinked at him in the darkness, her uncertainty palpable, though her hand crept toward a pool of death that hung at her waist. A hint of the Valley tingled between them, a hint of interest from beyond.
Elisha knotted his hand through her hair and rolled her to her back, his body pressing against her. He kissed her, sending her his need, his longing, his aloneness. Her heart soared, and a rush of gratitude flowed between them.
Chapter 20
Strange to have spent months loving those he rarely dared to touch, and now to spend a day in touching a woman he did not love. Each brush of their fingers conveyed their conversation and suggested to all that they grew in feeling for each other. She sent him images of the mancers she knew—not many, and most of these, aside from Eben, Conrad and Bardolph, were now dead by Elisha’s hand. The barge neared the dock where they would disembark and proceed by horse to the salt baths, and the ladies lounged with their needlework, speculating about the Empress Margaret’s baby and what it might be like. The empress turned wistful, saying, “I bid farewell to most of my children in Holland when I returned here to be with Ludwig, though I miss them dearly. The littlest is already three years old—she’ll be so grown when I see them again!” She stroked the fullness of her belly and smiled down at it. “This one shall be the tenth—I feel it is a boy.”
“Another Ludwig, then?” Lady Agnes inquired.
“Yes, I think so.”
“What about you, Katherine? Will your family ride down to meet us?”
“Not this time,” she murmured, but her throat worked.
“Your home is here?” Elisha asked, gently, with a touch that sent his concern.
“My husband held the land around the salt mines on behalf of the emperor.” Katherine’s eyes scanned the riverbank and the gathering crowd of soldiers, horses and porters. “Since his death, I am privileged to hold the lands as margravine in my own stead.”
“No privilege, Katherine, but merely a sound decision,” the empress said, then to Elisha, “She is an excellent manager of the estate and the mine.” Again, her gaze took on that cool speculation. “I thought you might know this. If, that is, you are courting my lady Katherine with honorable intent.”
“Courting is rather a strong description, surely.” Katherine laughed, but the pink warmth of her cheeks colored her denial.
“Your Majesty,” Elisha said stiffly, “I did not come here looking for either company or wealth.” He had no idea how to deflect the empress’s interest in this subject without damaging either his reputation or the lady’s.
“I can give you company,” Agnes announced, “but not wealth.” She shrugged broadly. “And there are few enough men who seek my company. Truly, sir, with my devilish nose and your witch’s eyes, our children would be quite remarkable.” She made a grotesque face, rolling back her own eyes, then grinning.
Everyone laughed at that, but Empress Margaret took a long moment to turn her gaze away from Elisha’s discomfiture. With a chatter of complaint about leaving their cushions and excitement about the salt baths, the ladies began packing away their stitching as the bargemen guided the ship toward the dock. Elisha emerged first from the pavilion, leaving the ladies and their awkward conversation. A church steeple of brown stone echoed the dark, spiked shapes of the forest encroaching against the town, murky despite the autumn sun. And beyond that rose a towering darkness, jagged at first with trees, then stone. Higher still, the stone turned misty, with pinnacles of white. Clouds drifted up there, some of them snagged on the peaks.
For the first time, Katherine gave a sparkle of genuine laughter. “The Alps. If you do wish to go to Rome, you shall have to pass them.”
“It can’t be done,” Elisha breathed, staring up at the forbidding slopes. Unless he had some way to forge a contact in Rome itself, and some knowledge of where that contact would bring him, he could not use the Valley to travel there. Instead, he would be forced to go as other men, to ride or climb through those terrible peaks. They must still be many miles away, and he hated to imagine how tall they must be in truth.
“You will find a way.” Then she took his hand. “That’s him,” she said within his flesh, as one of the soldiers made his way up the plank to the barge, giving a little bow.
“Margravine, please inform the empress that all is ready,” the soldier announced.
Katherine need not have pointed him out: a dozen or more shades hovered round the soldier, darkening his shadow and obscuring his hands.
“I’ll tell her,” Katherine replied brusquely.
The soldier bowed again, and departed with his entourage of spirits, apparently taking no notice of Elisha at all.
As the lady turned to go, Elisha caught her shoulder. “Will you ride by me? We still have much to discuss.”
Her brow furrowed. “It would be difficult to maintain contact.”
“The empress and Lady Agnes have convinced me that I don’t know nearly enough about you, Margravine,” he pressed.
“Of course,” she murmured, with a smile.
In moments, all the ladies issued down the ramp to the riverside dock and spread out to be helped to their mounts. The empress herself, holding her back with one hand and supported by Katherine, came after. Doctor von Stubben hurried along with her. “Please allow me to arrange for a carriage, Your Majesty. Surely you cannot mean—”
“I can, Doctor. I am perfectly fit to ride. If you wish a carriage, then take one for yourself and leave me in peace.”
“
But Your Majesty—”
“You are dismissed. I am sure that my other doctors are quite capable of attending me.”
Von Stubben’s bristly hair stood up around his pink scalp, his mustache protruding. “I am beginning to believe that the maidservant you sent away was correct about your English doctor. His eyes are the sign that he is not right in the head. I can see how his presence here amused you on your journey, Your Majesty, but I pray you, allow him to deliver his message and be gone!”
Elisha stared at him, for the first time in full light. His left eye revealed flitting shades. Not so strong and malevolent as those that clung to murderers like the mancers, and yet the doctor had lives on his hands, too. For the first time, Elisha feared to see his own reflection. How many dead must he be carrying? He rubbed his eye and banished his other sight. “The physician does make a point, Your Majesty,” Elisha said, causing a little stir among the party, and tipping his head, his fingers tracing the cross-shaped scar that parted his hair. Given that his enemies knew their destination, it might be better to circumvent their trap and simply never arrive at Bad Stollhein. “My changed eye is the result of surgery—but that’s not what I meant. I will be staying only to see Your Majesty to the baths, then I must continue my journey. Your need for care will go on, and you must have someone to see to the baby—”
“I would rather have you.”
Drawing back, Elisha gave a little shake of his head.
The empress set her shoulders. “Since you came, I have been less troubled by my pregnancy.”
“Herbs, Your Majesty. Such tonics as peasants rely upon,” said von Stubben. “I myself could have prescribed such things if I had not thought them beneath you.”
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