The Answer in Ink

The demand from Selbrun had been read aloud twice before Hartwig asked for the chapter register.

It lay open on a table in the cathedral's outer hall, beside the record of Adelais's arrival. The chapter clerk had left a broad space beneath that entry. Hartwig stood over it in his red vestments, his hands resting on the table's edge.

“His Grace asks for the child and the crown to be returned,” said Canon Ulrich. “He gives the Emperor's authority as his reason.”

“He gives his own seal,” said Hartwig.

The clerk kept his eyes on the page. “The letter says the Arch-Steward acts in the Emperor's name.”

“Then we should record that he says so.” Hartwig looked at the waiting canons. “And record what we have seen.”

Adelais stood with Lambert beside her. The boy had slept poorly and had begun to fuss when the hall filled. Ortwin held him for a time, but Lambert kept turning toward his mother. Adelais took him back. His fingers caught in the embroidery at her sleeve.

She had wanted this hearing. She had also wanted Hartwig to make the answer before she had to stand in front of a roomful of men and ask for it.

The crown chest stood on a trestle at the far end of the table. Its iron bands were dulled from the road. The chapter seal hung at the hasp, dark red wax pressed with the mark of Selbrun's cathedral. Hartwig had agreed to verify the seal and the record of custody. He had not agreed to name the crown's rightful keeper, or to cast his vote for Lambert.

“Bring the book from the treasury,” Hartwig said.

A junior canon carried it from the adjoining room. The chapter clerk compared the entry with the names and marks in the book, reading each aloud. Adelais's signature was there. So were the signatures of the treasurer and two witnesses who had watched her take custody of the sealed chest.

The canons listened without comment. Hartwig asked the clerk to turn to the page recording the seal's design. He checked it himself, then looked at the wax on the chest. No crack crossed the impression. The cord was still knotted as described in the record.

“Write that the seal is intact,” he said. “Write that the record names the Empress as custodian. We have verified both.”

Canon Ulrich shifted his weight. “That will be read as acceptance of her claim.”

“It will be read as what we saw.”

Adelais looked down at Lambert. His face was pressed to her shoulder, and his hand had closed around the edge of her collar. She could have told the assembled canons what the crown meant to her. She could have made the case for a son before a grandson, for the child in her arms against the boy Wierach kept at Selbrun. Instead, she held still and let Hartwig speak for the record.