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.



“A good day to you, Your Highness,” Sister Hilaria said, seemingly unwinded by her climb. “Sister Rosvita, it is good to see you on your feet.”



They stood aside to let her pass before them into the kitchens. Smoke stains decorated the walls above the kitchen hearths where huge ventilation shafts let in light and let out smoke. A fire burned on the middle hearth, tended by poor Sister Lucida, who was not only crippled but not quite right in the head. At the single table, Gutta and another woman kneaded dough, in flour to their elbows. Gutta wore a crude burlap apron to protect the queen’s fine gown. Two other servants made themselves busy, stirring a thin soup flavored mostly with horse fat and patting out flat cakes.



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.”



“For this hour!” groaned one, but Theophanu and Paloma had already gone on, and Rosvita hastened after them. She was still weak and didn’t trust her legs, so she went cautiously down a steep ramp that rang with strange echoes. It grew dark quickly, and because the nuns had no oil to spare for lamps they had to feel their way. Rosvita noticed the change: a yeasty scent, a roughening of the walls under her seeking fingers. She stumbled on the lip of a little ditch dug into the rock, and Theophanu took her by the elbow to steady her. Groping, Rosvita discovered a millstone set on its side, rolled away into a recess cut into the rock.



“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.”



“Oh, no,” said Paloma with surprise. “The nuns didn’t carve these chambers. They’ve always been here, so the story goes. The nuns and Teuda and I just live here. Even Mother Obligatia doesn’t know how far into the rock the labyrinth goes. I’ve taken a candle and gone down to explore, but there’s never time to get far before the candle burns low. Come. It’s just around this corner.”



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.