The Burning Stone
Ai, God, what had happened to Liath at the judgment at Autun? Her head throbbed.
Theophanu nudged Rosvita, and with Paloma they backed up along the tunnel until they emerged into the main corridor. She had to rest because her legs trembled and ached as if she’d just climbed the rock itself, but when she had recovered her strength, they walked in silence past the chapel where hump-backed Sister Carita knelt in prayer. Beyond the chapel lay the tiny library whose vertical shafts gave enough light that Rosvita could see all the shades of color in the soft rock, gray and pink and cream, that striped the walls. Sister Petra sat at the scribe’s lectern, situated so that the light from the ventilation shafts striped her work. With practiced strokes, she drew her quill across parchment. Rosvita paused. Weeks ago in the throes of the worst of her fever, she had asked Mother Obligatia to continue the copy Sister Amabilia had been making of the Vita of St. Radegundis. Was Sister Petra copying Brother Fidelis’ work?
Theophanu and Paloma had gone ahead, so she hurried after them instead of going in to ask. Many hands had worn the walls smooth, and the ground slid like finest marble under her slippers, burnished by the passage of many feet over the centuries. They descended stairs and here, deeper in the rock, they came to a landing so dim that they almost ran into Sister Hilaria, who emerged from the broad stairs that led down to the well. Two full buckets swayed on the yoke set over her shoulders and a third balanced on her head on a base of rolled-up cloth. She smelled of water and dripping rock. Behind her, two of Adelheid’s servingwomen staggered onto the landing and set down half-full buckets as they caught their breath and shielded their eyes from the light.
Sister Hilaria emptied the water into a barrel. She patted Sister Lucida on her shoulder, and the crippled nun bobbed her head happily and said a few slurred words which Rosvita could not understand. Sister Hilaria laughed. “Nay, I shan’t let you have all the onions. You’re a glutton for onions, and I won’t be the one to lead you into sin!” Lucida honked out a laugh, and with a cheerful grin Hilaria set yoke and buckets over her shoulders for another trip to the well just as the other water-bearing women finally made it to the barrel. “Just one more trip, friends!” Hilaria cried enthusiastically, “and we’ll be done.”
“Careful,” said Paloma. “It can be rolled across the passageway to block it.”
“In the event of an attack,” said Theophanu. “The nuns who built this place surely had little trust in human kindness.”
It took Rosvita a moment to identify the sounds echoing around her as music, and then they rounded a corner and came into a cavern so high that she couldn’t see its ceiling for darkness. A single lamp burned, revealing Queen Adelheid seated at her ease while soldiers entertained her. One had a battered lute, decently tuned, and he strummed a cheerful tune while a companion played the tune on a pipe. A trio slapped out drum patterns on their thighs and another man trilled birdcalls as a counterpoint to the melody. At the edge of the light, half a dozen soldiers stamped and spun in intricate little turns, dancing. It was odd to see Queen Adelheid smiling and clapping as if this rustic display pleased her as much as an elegant court entertainment. Her noble companions stood behind her, some enjoying themselves, others looking strained and tense. Adelheid saw Theophanu and beckoned to her, indicating a chair next to hers. As soon as the soldiers saw Theophanu, they faltered and ceased their playing.