THE WOMEN WERE PLEASED with their chamber, for it had its own hearth and so many beds that they would not have to bundle up four to a bed as they’d often had to do at other lodgings. Baldwin was on his way up M?nchsberg Mountain to Hohensalzburg Castle, having been told that Archbishop Adalbert was spending the night in that alpine stronghold. He’d promised the women that he would ask the archbishop to send a messenger on to Vienna, letting Leopold know that they’d reached Salzburg but they’d be resting in the city until Lady Aenor’s cough improved. Since one hundred fifty miles still lay ahead of them, this was very welcome news to them all.
They’d been served the best meal they’d had since leaving Chinon, and servants had brought up a wooden tub and lugged pails of hot water so they could bathe afterward. Anna found herself thinking that if this was how she and Aenor would be treated once they wed Leopold’s sons, life in Austria might be more pleasant than she’d anticipated. She was enough of a realist to appreciate the value of luxury and comfort, understanding that it was much easier to be unhappy in a palace than in a crofter’s hut.
Aenor was already in bed, as were several of their attendants. Anna had prodded Eudoxia into staying up to play chess with her, since she was not sleepy yet. When a knock sounded, Dame Rohesia assumed it was a servant bringing honeyed wine for Aenor’s cough. But as soon as she slid the latch back and opened the door, she sought to close it again, saying in shock, “My lord, you cannot come in here! We have retired for the night.”
As soon as she heard Baldwin’s voice, Anna rose quickly and hastened to the door. “Do not be ridiculous, Dame Rohesia. Lord Baldwin would not come to our chamber at such an hour if he did not have urgent news.” She got an indignant glare from the older woman, but she paid Aenor’s nurse no mind. She was sensitive to atmosphere, a necessary skill for anyone who’d lived with a hot-tempered lunatic like her father, and she’d begun to sense that something was amiss. The palace servants were strangely subdued, some even red-eyed, as if they’d been weeping, but since she spoke no German, her curiosity had been thwarted. Opening the door wide, she said, “Come in, my lord. What happened at the castle?”
Baldwin had impeccable manners and he apologized politely to the irate nurse, saying that Lady Anna was right and his news was urgent. By now all of the women were awake, several clutching their bedcovers close, looking scandalized to find a man in their chamber. Aenor blinked sleepily, and when she began to cough, Dame Rohesia hurried to the bed, glowering at Baldwin over her shoulder.
He never even noticed. “My news could not wait till the morrow. The Duke of Austria is dead.”
Midst the gasps and outcries, Anna was the only one to smile. “Tell me he suffered ere he died!”
Baldwin grinned. “Indeed he did, my lady. The day after Christmas, his ankle was crushed when his horse fell. The injury soon festered and when the flesh turned black, his doctors told him that his only chance of recovery was to amputate the foot. But all feared to do it—the doctors, Leopold’s knights, even his own sons. So Leopold held the axe against his ankle himself, and ordered a servant to strike the axe with a mallet. It took three tries to chop off the foot. It did not save him, though, for he died on the last day of December.”
Baldwin was belatedly realizing that he’d probably been too gruesomely graphic, for several of the women were looking greensick. Not Anna, though. She’d listened raptly and as soon as he was done, she began to laugh. “He dared to capture a king and now God has punished him as he deserved. Can you imagine Heinrich’s horror when he hears of this? He’s next!”
Baldwin was amused by her unapologetic vengefulness, and he laughed, too. “I hope so, Lady Anna; indeed, I hope so!”
Anna was fiercely loyal to the man she called Malik Ric, and she made a remorseless enemy, as she proved now, saying with great satisfaction, “Best of all, he died an excommunicate, so he cannot be buried in consecrated ground and will burn in Hell for all eternity.”
“Unfortunately not, my lady. Leopold’s son Friedrich sent at once for Archbishop Adalbert, realizing the gravity of his injury. But if Leopold thought the archbishop would show mercy because they were cousins, he was mistaken. Ere he would absolve Leopold of his sins and restore him to God’s grace, Adalbert made the duke swear that the ransom would be repaid and the hostages released, and he compelled Friedrich to agree, too, since he’d be the one fulfilling these demands. He told me that he made Friedrich swear another holy vow at graveside ere he’d let the funeral proceed. He said Leopold was buried in the habit of a Cistercian monk, but I do not think that will save him from spending a very long time in Purgatory.”
“God willing,” Anna said flippantly and as their eyes met, they both laughed again.
Aenor had been half asleep when Baldwin entered, but she was wide-awake now. She started to speak, had to wait until another coughing spasm passed. Almost afraid to hope, she said in a quavering voice, “Does this mean that I need not marry Leopold’s son?”
Baldwin nodded. “Yes, Lady Aenor,” he said gently, “it means exactly that. We will stay in Salzburg whilst you recover, and then we’ll go home.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
JANUARY 1195