“No,” she snapped. “It is not merely that. He does not fear to touch me. He does not retreat from me, but stays by, and even as he speaks to Katherine, he is alert to my worldly needs. His, Doctor, are hands that heal.”
“You are being taken in by his scars, Your Majesty.”
“So be it.” She stared down her nose at him, until the physician finally swept a bow and stomped away toward the village, jostling the boys who held the horses. “Now,” she began, turning to Elisha, “you will stay. Until this child is born.”
“Your Majesty, you do not understand—”
“No, Doctor, you do not understand. I am the empress here. You wish my husband to hear your tale. I wish you to attend me. If you do not, I can simply order that your journey is at an end. Right here.” She pointed to the ground at her feet, the soldiers growing still, hands to their sword hilts.
Elisha’s shoulders stiffened. “How long must I stay, Your Majesty?”
“A week at most.” Empress Margaret’s lips curled into a smile. “A woman knows these things, Doctor.”
Elisha bowed his head, the fur cloak dragging him down. At his left breast winked the goldsmith’s pin: a ram trussed for the sacrifice. Why did she show her steel? Why now? On the barge she had been firm, but always gracious. What had changed but the presence of the soldiers? Perhaps her steel was not a weapon, but armor against enemies she knew were near.
Accepting the offered horse, Elisha found his place in the procession, not far from the empress, a purple cape draping her dappled mount. His lonely ride to Heidelberg had been along narrow trails and through the thickest trees he could manage without dismounting, the better to hide from pursuit. Now, they rode wide paths, sometimes paved with ancient stone, that passed through villages of huts where peasants emerged to bow and to wave. Empress Margaret cast a few coins out to the poorest, and accepted sacks of chestnuts and peasant loaves of dark bread. After a time, Katherine slowed her mount to ride beside him, cocking her head at him. “What was it you wished to know?”
“Have you always been with the empress?”
She blinked at him a moment, probably expecting a more engaging topic. “My family and the royal house of Bavaria have been allied for years. It is the emperor we serve. Please, don’t take it ill—I am happy to accompany her Majesty. My mother was in service with Emperor Ludwig’s first wife, Queen Beatrice, before her untimely death.”
Beatrice the mother of Thomas’s wife, Anna. Elisha nodded for her to continue.
Katherine gave a shrug. “Even during Beatrice’s reign, there was a rival emperor, but Ludwig took care of him promptly. It was a few years later, after he’d married Her Majesty Empress Margaret that he tried to name his own pope.” Her voice dropped a little, and he reined closer to her to listen. “We almost broke with him then, in spite of his patronage. That’s when he became excommunicate.”
“I heard about that.” Elisha tried to fathom the power it took to proclaim a new speaker for God. Ludwig, already possessed of earthly power, tried to claim dominion over Heaven as well, or at least, over Heaven’s vicar on earth.
“The arrangement did not last long. It seemed rather unlikely to, without the approval of the cardinals, after all.”
Ludwig was even more mad than he seemed. “And your husband?” he asked lightly.
She stared off toward the forest. “It was an advantageous match, given his salt holdings.” Her presence chilled, and her hand rose absently to her chest, to where her husband’s shriveled hand lay bound beneath her breasts. “There were four children. One died young.” She crossed herself.
As he studied her profile, he saw the flitting of that slight shade beneath the edges of the darker shade of the child’s father. He wanted to know more, but the questions were those he dare not ask in the air.
“He died in a mine accident, killed by his own salt.” Her hazel eyes caught his glance. “Years ago, we dug out an older section and found a few miners in bright clothing with ancient tools—mostly worn away by the salt, of course, but likely they had been there for centuries, crushed, like he was.”
“Strange to be killed in a place known for healing.”
“Quite. The healing baths are simply runoff from the process of dissolving the salt to refine it,” she said with a conspiratorial air. “We are fortunate to be blessed with hot springs as well as mines.”
“A very healthful combination,” said the physician Emerick, spurring up at Katherine’s other side. “Salt is also efficacious in the prevention of witchcraft. So perhaps your new companion, with his unusual eyes, would be averse to such a place.” A hint of humor bubbled through his presence, his broad-lipped smile showing a flash of teeth. “I theorize that it is the very structure of salt, not to mention its purity of form, that prevents the intrusion of the diabolical.”
“We have a church carved into the mine, Doctor. Dedicated to Raphael, the angel of healing.” Her lashes dipped over her eyes, but her glance was for Elisha, and heat rose in his body.
“I understand you have come from England not merely to speak with the emperor, but also to explore the means by which your queen might be healed. Perhaps a shipment of the margravine’s salt might be efficacious in that regard.” Another smile. Elisha began to wonder if the young doctor himself wished to pay court to the wealthy and influential widow. “Describe for me her condition, sir, and I shall see if there is any knowledge I might impart. I am a graduate of Padua, you know.”
In the distance, another steeple rose, dwarfed by the mountains which drew slowly nearer, but it was Brigit’s lovely face that overlaid the clouded sky. “She lies like one asleep, her breath steady, her eyes in movement, though they do not open. Her skin is warm”—soft, creamy beneath his rough fingers—“her pulse slow, but even. She gives no response to voice, touch, or pin prick.” Though her presence still warmed to his. Elisha swallowed. “She takes nourishment—soups, almond milk—nothing that must be chewed.”
“The king must be quite distraught.”
If any conversation were calculated to separate him from Katherine, this would be it. Thomas. If the king were distraught over anything, it was Elisha’s own absence that worried him, but the lingering state of the woman he had newly married also prevented him marrying again, to get the heirs he still needed. “She was struck down during an act of treason against the crown. It’s fair to say the king’s feelings are mixed at best.”
“Then why feed her at all, if I may be so bold? Surely it were best to let her pass unto the Lord’s judgment.” Emerick used expansive gestures when he spoke, sweeping one large hand about and expertly guiding his horse with the other.
Both looked to Elisha, and he carefully controlled his presence, projecting disinterest as he replied, “She is with child, Doctor.” His child, though the world would know it as Thomas’s. A son, Elisha already knew; then his horse snorted as he gave an involuntary jerk on the reins. His son would not merely be claimed for the king’s son, but for his heir.
“Dear God!” Emerick said, crossing himself as Katherine did likewise, but her face now remained studiously blank, her gaze lowered, and Elisha knew he had revealed too much. “Well, then, Doctor, it seems that every effort should be made to rouse her. If she was engaged in treason, might it not be a demonic attack? The lingering effect of a satanic influence that held sway over her during a time of . . . well, of female weakness, if you’ll pardon my saying so, Margravine.”
“Some females are weaker than others,” she replied, but neither she nor Brigit would qualify as weak.
“What about the urine?” Emerick asked. “And do you know the sign of her birth?”
The leather reins bit into Elisha’s grip, and he forced himself to relax. This was his story, after all, the one meant to conceal his deeper motives—he should be prepared to discuss the matter, especially with other medical men. He took a deep breath. “Urine, clear.
Her birth sign: Scorpius, I believe.” He imagined the charts of the body, each organ governed by one of the signs. On every chart the scorpion ruled the genitals. That would suit Brigit’s fire, and her allure.
Emerick, given a worthy medical problem, began a recitation of poisonous plants that might be the cause of such a state, not to mention various other maladies. Elisha, who had brought about the state himself by magic, allowed the words to flow over him, adding a grunt of recognition or a sound of inquiry from time to time. Katherine rode stoically between them, ignoring Emerick’s gestures and invitations for admiration. By unspoken consent, they managed to slip his interest after the break for nuncheon, but this move placed them close to Empress Margaret and to Agnes, who was regaling her majesty with ribald songs that muted any attempt at conversation. At last, they reached the market town where they would spend the night, the royal entourage taking over the manor of a local lord who had gone off on other business. As the lord’s servants rushed about their preparations, Elisha stepped up to Katherine’s horse to help her down, his hand upon her waist, her face too close to his. She smelled of oranges and cinnamon.
“Is it true that the salt mines inhibit magic?” he asked through the contact.
“It can be contained there, but you cannot reach beyond. They hate the mines. Too many of their tricks don’t work down inside.”
“You can’t open the Valley?”
“What valley?”
“The Valley of the Shadow of Death.”
She frowned at his words, but he sent her the sense of what he meant, and her face cleared. “Yes, exactly—the dark road, they call it.”
A few grooms approached, saw their near-embrace, and scurried away again, eyes wide. Elisha stepped back, breaking the contact, considering. Not every magus could reach beyond the skin, except with direct contact—even if that contact meant a scrap of flesh or bone from a murdered victim. Even then, the strength of the contact depended upon the power of the talisman itself—for the mancers, apparently only murder would do, whereas, thanks to his sensitivity and his medical learning, Elisha could forge contact with life, with strangers, with distant places and people of whom he had little knowledge. Most could establish contact through water, some through rain, a handful through fire or earth. But salt was an element he had not tried. Such knowledge could be useful. For the first time, he looked forward to visiting the salt bath for its own sake.
By the manor steps, the empress dismounted with a stumble and a groan. Extending his senses, Elisha edged closer into the throng of servants from the manor. Margaret looked flushed as he approached and she caught his eye. “A private room, yes? For our . . . for . . .” She shook her head vaguely, her arm sliding to support her belly as her face crumpled in pain.
“Emerick!” Elisha shouted, and the doctor looked up from the far side of the yard. “Your Majesty, don’t worry over the room.”
“I have promised,” she hissed, pushing herself erect once more. “I won’t—” A gasp, and a shake of her head. “I must—”
Pain pulsed through her presence, an ache focused at her back, radiating outward. Elisha pushed by the servants and took the empress’s elbow. “Your Majesty, you must rest.”
“I’m here, Your Majesty. Sweet Mother!” Emerick stopped short at her other side, rising from a bow. “Are you quite well?”
With one hand, Elisha pulled off his cape and dropped it to the steps at the empress’s back. As her knees buckled, he eased her down to sit upon the padded step, supporting her back. “Contractions?”
“No,” she breathed, “not yet. Just . . . pain. Weakness.”
“Bleeding?”
She shook her head, shivering.
Emerick fussed behind him for a moment and returned with the long cape the empress used on horseback. He flung it over her, wrapping her gently. “Is it time?”
Elisha shook his head. “She says not.”
“She may be mistaken. Have you checked for signs?” Emerick lifted her wrist, pinching it between his fingers to test her pulse.
With a sense of bemusement, Elisha realized he no longer needed to resort to such obvious tools. “It is her tenth child, Doctor. I think she knows the signs.”
The empress smiled faintly. “Rest, yes.”
“And something to eat,” he said firmly. “You’ve barely eaten the last few days.”
Emerick’s brows rose. “Truly?”
“She pushes things around on her plate and casts them in the river when she imagines we don’t notice.”
“I thought you had eyes only for Katherine.”
“If that were so, Your Majesty, I was not doing my duty,” he told her. Her head rested against his chest as she tried to deepen her breathing, her dark hair rippling from beneath her traveling veil. “May I touch you, Your Majesty?”
She let out a breathy laugh. “Rather late for that question.”
Elisha reached down along the brocade of her surcoat to her waist at her back where the pain throbbed. Gently, he rubbed, as if he could stroke the pain out of her body, applying his strength and his comfort. Her furrowed brow eased, and after a moment, her eyes fluttered open again.
“We have prepared a chamber, Your Majesty,” said one of the servants, head ducked and hands clasped.
“I’ll bring up the herbals,” said Emerick. “We should elevate your feet, Your Majesty. Are you able to rise, or shall I organize a party to bear you to your bed?”
“Would that I could simply float up the stair, as I shall float at Bad Stollhein.” She sighed. “But I think I can walk.”
With Emerick’s help, she rose and let a servant take her weight. The doctor accompanied her up the steps, asking questions, murmuring comfort. A good man, if a little unwilling to trust the female sex. Elisha picked up his cloak and dusted it off, adjusting the pin as he draped it over one shoulder. The ladies bustled past in the wake of their queen, Katherine among them, a fist pressed against her talisman and her face set in fear. There would be no private talk tonight, likely not with either of them.
“Doctor?” said a voice from behind, and Elisha turned to find an aged woman approaching him, head cocked. Her glance flickered to the cape at his shoulder, then back to his face. “I was told to bring you word.”
He walked with her to the edge of the yard as the grooms led horses away and the place emptied out but for them and a scattering of golden chestnut leaves. “What news?”
“My son’s boat plied up the river not long before yours, with the rabbi’s message. I heard your party were to stay here and come along to wait. So. There’s a flagellant group come down to Augsburg—that’s between here and the baths.”
Elisha swallowed his curse. They knew through Katherine or Bardolph that he had volunteered to come on this journey. Now between the empress’s trust and Katherine’s need, he hated to leave before seeing to their safe deliverance. “Do you know the family of the Margravine at all?”
The old woman nodded. “My other son is a foreman at the mine. The old lord was not so kind, but his wife is a sound manager.”
“Their children?”
“Twin boys of about twelve summers, and a daughter perhaps sixteen. Pretty girl, smart, like her mother. Long dark hair.” The old woman’s hand spiraled down the side of her face in imitation of the girl’s flowing locks.
Sixteen, long, dark, flowing hair. Elisha’s throat went dry as he envisioned a corpse, half-flayed, a girl her mother might not have recognized. Unless her mother were a witch. Or a necromancer.
Chapter 21
“Doctor?”
Elisha shook himself. “Thank you. Did you have anything else to tell me?”
“Only that about the flagellants.”
“It was just what I needed.” He managed a smile for her, but her flat stare showed that he had not convinced her. She bobbed a curtsy and shuffled back through the arch.
Elisha bounded for the stairs, skidding on the marble of the floor, attracting the attention of a servant with a basket of bread. “The empress? Where does she rest?”
“At the back, on the left.” The servant tore her gaze from Elisha’s mismatched eyes, and he hurried away again.
Naturally, his haste did him no good. Her majesty was bathing, Agnes told him, with Katherine in attendance, along with some others. Agnes batted her eyes at him, making some remarks about his sudden urgency to see the margravine, but when his impatience did not yield to her humor, she grew solemn, and took him away to dine and find his own quarters. She would send Katherine when she could, and Elisha had little choice but to wait, or to intrude upon the rest he himself had prescribed. As he wrapped up in his cape, on a pallet of straw among the porters and other royal attendants, Elisha tried to dispel the dead girl’s image. What troubled him was something more. When Katherine revealed her children’s disappearance, he assumed it was to do with him, because he had not killed her, as an inducement to seduce him. But the girl was already dead before he turned hunter that night, before they sent Katherine as his distraction. Why kill their hostage early? Why would they have taken her in advance? What, in fact, had Katherine been repenting that night when he found her on her knees, in search of death?
He woke to her approach, picking her way across the hall, unerringly toward him in spite of the gloom imposed by the dying fire. Sinking wearily before him, she said, “Hold me,” and he drew aside the cape to take her to his chest, her head resting upon his arm. He made out the glint of her eyes in the darkness.
“How fares the empress?”
“Better, but the pregnancy pains her again.” Katherine sighed. “This should not be happening.”
Elisha stroked the hair from her face, sending her comfort, and maintaining close contact. “This has been a difficult pregnancy, has it not?”
“Yes,” she said, her teeth clicking shut on the word. She cringed away from him—minutely, but to his awareness, as clear as a sudden torch against the darkness.
Elisha Mancer Page 17
