“He was always one for the Mass, but I think he’s grown more fervent. He’s been that worried lately, the more so since he came home. You know that he was sent on a charge for the emperor?”
“It’s how we met,” Elisha answered, carefully avoiding a lie as the keeper’s anxiety and warmth edged around him. “I gather he had a hard time of it.”
“Oh, he did, sir. Came back with that injury. Don’t know what happened, exactly, and he won’t say.” She tilted her chin, watching him in the mirror. “Do you know what happened? Seems he’s been praying even more now.”
As well he would, since the churches he attended were his connection to the other mancers. “It’s not for me to tell you of his trouble, mistress, but I can say Bardolph’s lucky to be alive.” Elisha’s blue eyes stared back at him from the mirror, his face leaner than it had been. He turned the other cheek to shave. “Is he family?”
“Was a time I thought he and Gretchen might be a match. May still be,” she chuckled, then her mood sobered, her presence radiating worry. “Even so, there’s few enough of us that we’re all like family here. Used to be more.”
Elisha cleaned the razor, watching her in the mirror. “What happened?”
“Hard to say.” She wrung her hands in her apron. “Seems like some of our friends moved away. Don’t know where. I’d’ve thought they’d just go upriver.”
“So that they could still talk with you,” he said softly, and she gave a nod.
He thought of the dead girl in the forest, and the remnants of the others slain there. How many had been magi? Love, loyalty, betrayal made their awful talismans that much stronger. How many had been taken there by those they trusted, those few who shared their magical secret—or rather, who they thought shared it? In France, the king’s assassin targeted the magi, weakening any force that might stand against the mancers, sowing distrust among those who might recognize what was happening. This woman knew Bardolph as a magus, but the more she spoke, the more he felt certain she did not know the depth of his secrets.
“Do you know something of this, sir?”
Drying his hands and face, Elisha pulled his tunic back on. “It’s hard for me to know how much to say, mistress. My guess would be your friends are dead.”
She flinched back from him, bumping the door, her dark eyes wide and every force of her awareness bent upon him.
“In France the king campaigns against us, at the behest of others who are no friends of his, not if he knew them truly.”
“What has that to do with us? The French are always squabbling among themselves, or, if you’ll pardon my saying it, with you English.” Her hands tucked into her apron, the lines around her eyes deepening.
“I came here to warn the emperor that these enemies are spreading, that they have designs upon his throne, as they have claimed the throne of France, as they have tried to claim England. There is a larger plan at work here, and I have set myself to discover it, to stop it if I can.”
“I don’t care for France or England, or even—God help me!—the emperor. I want to know what’s become of my friends.” A ripple of power stirred the air around her, and Elisha suddenly realized she had a talisman worked into her apron, as Mordecai had woven hairs of his dead family into his prayer shawl.
He put up his hands. “Don’t send me your anger, mistress. Have you seen the mobs who go about beating themselves? They are harnessed to magic, and they are not alone.”
“Harnessed?” Her eyes widened. “Can it be so? Like living talismans. That’s awful!” She crossed herself.
“Bardolph,” he began, still debating with himself how much to say. “I fear he may have fallen in with bad company, mistress.”
“Oh, Good Heavens—he’s in danger?”
Elisha replaced the razor, lying it atop the toweling, dodging the mirror, his black hair sliding damp over his shoulders. “He knows his danger, mistress. He’s brought it on himself.”
“Beg pardon?” Her power crackled in the air around him, an impending storm. “What are you suggesting?”
He turned, arms folded, pressing his own linked talismans close against his chest. He could accept her hospitality and send Bardolph his good wishes, but the thought soured his stomach. She and her daughter were good people, they deserved warning—especially if he were right about what was happening to the local magi. “Whatever he was to you before, mistress, Bardolph has been complicit in crimes in England, and here as well. Be wary of him and of anything he tells you. If he calls for Gretchen, don’t let them go anywhere alone.”
Her lips parted, and she shook herself. “I thought you were his friend, and here am I gossiping away. Are all English such two-faced fiends?”
“How can I know whom to trust, mistress? Have you felt any lie in me?” He offered her his hand. “Come—tell me what you feel.”
She thrust out her hand and laid it over his. “You masked yourself to come here.”
“Bardolph’s friends will kill me if they find me.”
“As you would kill him.” She stared back at Elisha, her flesh humming with power.
“The bell at Vespers last night called him to a murder, mistress, a murder he seemed sorry to miss.”
“Are you mad?” she asked, but at a murmur. She could feel his urgency, his fear, above all, his sincerity. Tempted as he was to send her the scene he had witnessed, he feared that would be too much—revealing his own power and its source, and likely convincing her she had been duped by a witch much stronger than she.
“Take me how you will, mistress, but take care with Bardolph.”
Shaken, she pulled back her hand, then yanked open the door at her back. “I think you’ve stayed your welcome here, sir.”
Taking a coin from his purse, Elisha gave a slight bow. She snatched the coin and coldly escorted him back to the door.
Still tired, aching and hungry, Elisha faced the day having alienated the only magi he had met who weren’t trying to kill him. It must be time to meet the emperor.
Chapter 12
The market provided him a meal he could take in hand while he joined the line of folk trudging up toward the emperor’s castle, shining red and distant upon its hill. Apparently, the guards had received no orders to keep him out, and he was brought to a passage to wait with a number of people—all clad in velvets and silks, with sleeves that swooped to form pouches heavy with coin. Elisha’s own garb barely suited the marketplace, and then only if he were a laborer. Among this company, he wished he had taken the time to purchase new clothes. They’d have been used and fit poorly, but he would stand out less. As it was, the others glanced him over as he passed, sometimes sending servants from their little groups to ward him off in case he wanted something from them.
“—heard the empress is faring poorly with the baby. Shouldn’t wonder if court is delayed,” one lord remarked.
At the door, a man clad in heavy woolens stained from travel argued with the guards, trying Latin and another language before he sputtered in poor German, “The tribune of Rome send me with invitation for your king! He is not to keep waiting.” At his side, the Italian mancer, Conrad, stood tall and resplendent in velvets, his presence utterly courtly, though shades of the dead slithered in his wake.
“You cannot demand entrance from an emperor,” said Conrad. “Even I could not do so,” but his tone implied that was exactly what he wished to do. A mancer, yes, but one clearly on the outside of the emperor’s circle. Elisha buried his awareness deeply, grateful that Conrad had left last night before he could have seen Elisha’s face. Nonetheless, he quickly moved further from the door where Conrad waited.
Across the way, a cluster of merchants eyed their betters with speculation. Another joined them breathlessly, still straightening a cap. “Did you hear about von Werner? Found in the street this morning he was, stone cold dead!”
“Holy Mary,” murmured one,
and crossed herself.
“Murdered for coin, I’ll warrant,” said another, drawing his blue robes closer at his chest, his other hand resting over his purse.
“Nay, that’s the madness of it, his wallet was full, and his sleeve, too. Rings and chains and all, still there for any to see. Looks as if he’d died of pure fright, and with a saintly relic in his fist.”
Elisha paused to rearrange his shirt, listening.
The man in blue snorted, but the woman crossed herself again. “Visited by the devil himself, I shouldn’t wonder if he’d made some bargain, with how busy his shop’s been lately.”
“No need to speak ill of the dead, Mateza,” the man in blue said dryly, “or it might be we’re scrutinizing your success now that von Werner’s passed on.”
Snapping her mouth shut, she looked away, shooting a frown at Elisha who moved to a space across from a lesser door. A servant approached Conrad and the messenger with him, escorting them away down the corridor, and Elisha relaxed a little.
“Are you following me?” demanded an acid voice from Elisha’s right, and he found himself face to face with Jacob’s surly relation whom he’d met on his descent the day before.
“If I were, I might’ve slept better. Did they bed you here in the castle?”
The stranger stiffened—as if it were possible for him to be more tense—and replied, “As it happens, I was given leave to pass the night. I am a craftsman, summoned here by their majesties. As such, I have their respect.” His lips parted as if to say more, and Elisha caught an edge of fear.
“You think I would spoil that respect?” Elisha shook his head. “Good God, why should I make any man’s life more difficult? I don’t know why you’ve taken against me, or against our mutual acquaintance in Trier. If you’re so concerned, then feel free to pretend we’ve never met.”
“That suits me well,” the stranger replied, turning from Elisha.
A booming voice announced Brother Gilles’ approach, his friar’s robes carrying him through the crowd. “Ah, my dear doctor! But you seem to have fallen in status, my friend.” He put out his hands to clasp Elisha’s hand between them and shake it vigorously.
“You don’t know the half of it, Brother.”
“My relics and I have just arrived, and I even gathered a few more on my journey. Here.” He reached out to pin something to Elisha’s shirt. “A gift for you! A nail trimming of Santa Lucia! Don’t trouble yourself,” he said as Elisha reached as if to remove it, “I have more. I paused to make this trade, but the emperor sent a man on ahead to meet me. It’s the arm of Saint Brendan he’s wanting.” The friar grinned, and Elisha wondered what price might be set upon the arm of a saint. “I understand he’s sent for the finest goldsmith of Aachen to make the reliquary, but I’ve yet to—”
The caustic stranger, Jacob’s relative, who had begun slipping away once the friar began to speak, checked his movement, squared his shoulders, and executed a sharp pivot that left his long over-sleeves swinging. The others faced him, Gilles with confusion, Elisha with a sinking feeling that the fellow was about to confirm. “That would be myself, Brother. Isaac Burghussen, at your service.” He gave a short bow, introducing himself by the name of his town in the German tradition.
“Well met!” cried the friar, seizing Isaac’s hand. “And you’ve already met the good doctor. Excellent. Perhaps this evening we shall have a merry feast together, and my friend shall tell me what brings him to this lowly state.”
Immediately, both of them started to shake their heads. “We have met, Brother, but he doesn’t like me,” Elisha said.
Isaac scowled. “That’s not it at all, I simply—”
“Peace, Friend,” Elisha interjected, touching the man’s sleeve. “I have no intention of coming between you in your business.”
“There are other goldsmiths,” the friar said, “if his spirit is not suited to such a holy task.” He managed to look stern.
Isaac’s face turned a sickly shade, his mouth twisting. “Please, Brother, we’ve only just met. I have children at home, and this commission could mean a good deal to my family.” His presence echoed with old shades that hovered near him with fear. No mere transaction should set a man so on edge.
“Peace,” said Elisha again, this time projecting the word, letting the sense of peace fill his touch and radiate from his presence. “Herr Burghussen is an excellent goldsmith, Brother, and the emperor will be well-pleased with his work, as will the Lord and the saint it honors.” He pointed toward the goldsmith’s chest where a rich gold pendant dangled on a chain. An intricate pattern of tiny beads edged a cross of exquisite workmanship. “See for yourself, Brother. Don’t let our journey together affect your judgment when it comes to the work of God.”
“Amen,” said the friar, leaning forward to squint at the cross. “May I?”
“Yes, of course.” The goldsmith slipped the chain over his head and laid the piece on the friar’s hand. “This technique is called granulation. It requires very careful soldering.”
“And to add it to a work already so finely wrought. One twitch of the flame and all of your work would be ruined.” The tonsured head and the curly one nearly touched as the two of them bent over the cross.
Elisha edged to the right, leaving the pair to their excitement over the work to come. The great doors groaned open and Harald stepped through, clad in his royal tabard, his entrance silencing the hall at once. “His Majesty, by the Grace of God, the Holy Roman Emperor thanks you for your patience, and is pleased to say that his good queen fares much better. She appreciates your prayers and good wishes.”
A cheer greeted this pronouncement and the assembled nobles and merchants began to press forward toward the chamber beyond, but Harald had not moved from his place and two pikemen stood to either side.
“His Majesty begs your patience a little longer. There is one among you who should be dealt with and sent off with no further delay.” Harald swept the crowd with a hard stare. “Elisha Physician, approach!”
Elisha’s teeth ground at the tone of this summons. Brother Gilles murmured something soothing while Isaac merely stepped away, once again distancing himself. Had he been allowed through the gate only to suffer this humiliation before all those expecting an audience? God! He wouldn’t blame Thomas if he had deliberately snubbed his father-in-law. Elisha stalked forward past the silent, supercilious faces. “Attend the emperor!” Harald called out as they marched forward together, then dropped to one knee.
A painted lattice, marked with stars of gold, spread up the walls and covered the beams of the high ceiling, with chevrons of blue draping down toward the thrones of their majesties. The emperor leaned back in his seat, glaring. “I should have sent you away without seeing you, but for this.” He tipped his head toward the empress, who smiled.
“My girl Gretchen brought me a basket of herbs this morning,” she said. “Among them was a packet labeled in English, from you. I have not heard before about the use of ginger. Of course, we have some in our own kitchen, and I shall be sure to keep it well stocked. It is the first thing that has settled my poor condition.” She gazed down at him, and the steward gave him a nudge.
“I am pleased to have been of use to you, Your Majesty. It seems my visit has not been entirely in vain.”
“No, indeed, Doctor. You give me hope for the child.” Her smile turned tremulous, and she flicked a glance at her husband, but he stared sternly ahead as if carved in stone.
“If you are strong enough, Your Majesty, try to walk daily,” Elisha offered.
At this, she lifted an edge of her gown to reveal her feet propped on a little stool before her, her ankles swollen above the slippers she wore.
“May I?” At her nod, Elisha moved forward on his knees to come to her feet, gently working the slipper from one foot, then the other, wincing at the sight of the bands worn into her hose from the tight
shoes. Calling upon the talisman of Martin’s friendship, Elisha summoned warmth to his hands, and comfort.
“My physician von Stubben says that he would bleed me but not during the pregnancy.”
“Certainly not,” Elisha said, a little too harshly, then clasped his hands gently over her other foot, calming himself to send her his healing. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. Have one of your girls rub them lightly with oil of roses and lavender. And don’t let vanity keep you from larger shoes,” he said more quietly.
“No,” she said, “You’re right.” She gazed down to where he knelt at her feet, touching her. “You defy what I imagine of physicians, Doctor.”
Elisha stiffened, expecting the usual criticism of the barbering trade. “My training has been more in the practical than in the philosophical, Your Majesty. If I affront you, please forgive me.”
“No, Doctor, you do not. It is rather a relief to speak with a medical man who considers my feet and not merely my stars. They prescribed a visit to Bad Stollhein for the healing salts. Do you agree?”
Elisha thought furiously, wondering how to parlay the empress’s favor into a chance to stay near and keep watch over the emperor and his family. “Salts are known to have a good effect, Your Majesty, and a salt bath, in particular, can support the body in a way that you may find soothing to your back and legs.”
“Plans are made to proceed there on the morrow,” the emperor said. “Are you satisfied now, my dear?”
Sending comfort and vigor into the empress’s feet, Elisha took his chance. “Your Majesty, if you would have me, I should be willing to accompany you there and assist in your care during the journey.”
She let out a sigh and nodded. “I would be delighted, good doctor, to have your advice.”
The emperor’s lips formed a straight line in his thick beard, and he growled low in his throat. Empress Margaret’s face colored, but she lifted her chin. “Pray you join my barge at the river in the morning. We shall not sail too early, I fear, but you will be welcome at any time you arrive.” She said these last words with precision, and Ludwig’s hand tightened on the arm of his throne. “Before you depart . . .” She motioned to Gretchen, who knelt by her daïs along with a few other servants and ladies, and whispered something in the girl’s ear that sent her hurrying from the room.
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