The Cross and the Dragon (31 page)

“Hruodland was a good husband. He was a gift from God. I do not want to take my chances of being bound to a man who would push me down the stairs over the slightest thing to displease him.”

“Are you telling me you will let your gifts go to waste?” Leonhard asked. “We have our choice of men who will make a solid alliance. You need not consider Ganelon of Dormagen, even though he has expressed an interest.”

“Gerard told me Ganelon is seeking Gundrada’s hand.”

“I received a message from your mother yesterday. They are betrothed.”

Alda grimaced as her hand flew to her dragon amulet.
Too late. Too late.
A betrothal could not be broken.
Unless…
“Uncle Leonhard, is there anything you can do to stop the nuptials?”

“I will do nothing.” Leonhard crossed his arms. “Unlike you, Gundrada is showing some sense and obeying her family.”

“But, Uncle, Ganelon is a dangerous man. My sister is in harm’s way.”

“What concern is it of yours? Gundrada has consented to the marriage. According to your mother, she did so readily.”

“Then, she is readily going to her death.”

* * * * *

Alda stayed with Leonhard for five days, more than enough time to rest her animals. To her relief, he did not bring up the subject of remarriage again, and he sent a message to Theodelinda at Drachenhaus. After two days of travel, Alda and her followers arrived at the Drachenhaus village at sunset. She heard the call of a horn.

Although she was tired when she arrived, Alda was glad to see the village and castle. It was as if she was seeing an old friend. The castle, made with rocks once drenched in the dragon's blood, was silhouetted against a deep pink sky. Alda looked down at her amulet.
Why did this fail?

Villagers stood and called out words of comfort as Alda passed them. Alda waved and thanked them. She hurried the party along. Sunset was a perfect time for the kobolds and dwarves of the forest to work their mischief. Shadows lengthened and darkened as the party climbed the forest trail up the mountain. Alda saw movement in the underbrush, now bare of leaves. A hare paused in its nighttime foraging, and a stag peered at them among the near dark of the trees. At the top of the mountain, guards pulled the gate open.

Alda was barely inside the courtyard when she heard her mother call her name. Theodelinda ran to her. Alda had just dismounted when her mother held her in a fierce embrace.

“You have come home. I knew you would,” Theodelinda sobbed.

Alda realized she, too, was weeping. “I needed to come home. I needed to be with you and Werinbert.”

Theodelinda pulled back from Alda. Her face had more wrinkles and the hair that peeked from her veil was streaked with more gray. “Werinbert,” Theodelinda called, “come see your Aunt Alda.”

Aunt Alda
, Alda mused.
No child will ever call me Mother.

Werinbert looked up from the folds of his nurse’s skirt.

“He has Alfihar’s eyes,” Alda said. “I am glad to see him wearing the dragon amulet.”

Gundrada came out of the manor, and Alda immediately sensed the tension between her mother and sister-by-marriage. Gundrada walked toward Alda and stopped halfway.

“Was there no place for you in the March of Brittany?” Gundrada asked.

Alda’s hand flew to the dragon amulet. Gundrada might as well have asked why Alda was intruding. Alda seethed.

“This is Alda’s home,” Theodelinda spat. “She is more a part of this place than you will ever be. The people know it, and the servants know it.”

Alda gasped, pitying Gundrada.

“Surely, they would have looked after you,” Gundrada said to Alda.

Alda’s pity burned to ashes. “I needed to come home. To think.”

“About what?” Gundrada said, eyes widening.

Interesting question from one who has never thought about anything.
“Hruodland’s death, Alfihar’s death, Uncle Beringar’s death,” Alda replied.

“I stayed where I was,” Gundrada said with a sniff. “But, of course, I have a son. Too bad God did not bless you with children. But then again, it makes it easier to travel.”

“Of course.” Alda narrowed her eyes.

“You are free to leave whenever you wish, Gundrada,” Theodelinda said. “I can arrange for travel to Koblenz in an instant.”

“I shall be traveling to Koblenz two days hence and then to Dormagen.”

“So I have heard,” said Alda.

“Alfihar’s body is still warm, and she will marry another,” said Theodelinda.

“Alfihar’s body is cold in the ground,” Gundrada retorted.

Alda looked down and blushed, remembering how she let Gerard kiss her the night after she was told of Hruodland’s death. She cleared her throat. “Gundrada, I understand why you would want to marry another. You are still young. But Ganelon? Why would you consent to marry him? Already one woman in his care has died.”

“It was her time.” Gundrada shrugged.

“Are you certain of that?”

“Ganelon was so charming, so gentle when he was here,” Gundrada replied.

“He was here?” Alda asked.

“He brought us the news,” Gundrada said.

“He was well mannered — I will grant you that,” Theodelinda grumbled. “But to ask for your hand right after telling you of Alfihar’s and Beringar’s deaths?”

Alda’s jaw dropped.

“He was on his way to finish negotiations with my father in Koblenz. He wanted my consent.” Gundrada looked into the distance. “He is perfect. He is pious along with being wealthy and handsome.”

Alda shut her eyes tight and clenched her fists and teeth.
Mother of God, what a fool! How can Mother suffer her?
“Ganelon’s piety is twisted. In his piety,” Alda snapped, making the word “piety” sound like a jab, “he would have beaten me because I gave bread to one of his servants. If it were not for Hruodland…” Her voice trailed off. She swallowed back the tears at the mention of Hruodland’s name.

“You simply angered Ganelon. As long as I am a good wife, he will treat me well. I am so fortunate that he and my father completed negotiations so soon. Ganelon has offered a generous bride price.” Gundrada put her hands on her hips. “Alda, your jealousy of my betrothal does not befit a noble.”

“Jealous?” Alda laughed bitterly. “My brother was negotiating with Ganelon years ago, and I refused to consent to a union. Why would I be jealous now?”

She shuddered. All sorts of possibilities entered her mind. Beaten to death. Sealed in a barrel and drowned on trumped up charges of witchcraft. Driven to murder.

“And what will become of Werinbert?” Alda asked.

“Werinbert will stay here,” Gundrada said. “He is the count now, and I am leaving a portion of my dowry with him. He has good men to advise him, and Ganelon will send a trusted steward to Drachenhaus.”

“What a steward?” Werinbert asked his grandmother.

“A man who would take control of
your
land away,” Theodelinda spat.

Werinbert burst into tears. “I the count,” he bawled. “I the count.”

Theodelinda approached her grandson and knelt. He ran into her arms, still crying. “There, there, my little count,” she said, stroking his hair. “Of course, you are the count. Your mother’s new husband will
not
send a steward, unless he wants his servant to have boiling oil poured upon him at our gate. Come with Grandmother, dearling, and she will give you some cakes.”

Taking Werinbert’s hand, Theodelinda led him inside. Gundrada opened her mouth as if to say something and then closed it. Alda ordered her own followers to bring her belongings inside.

As Alda passed her sister-by-marriage, Gundrada muttered, “It is not my fault that the Lord has struck you barren.”

“I would rather be barren than to have given Ganelon ten sons,” Alda hissed.

* * * * *

When Alda entered the hall, a fire was blazing in the hearth, and servants were setting up a table and benches. Veronica followed Alda, and Gundrada came in shortly.

Gundrada slapped a manservant. “Why are you setting up the table? I gave no such order.”

The servant looked nervously from Gundrada to Alda, bowed his head, and mumbled, “The dowager countess ordered us to do so.”

“I am the dowager countess,” Gundrada snarled, slapping him again. “I give the orders.”

Alda shoved Gundrada. “I have had enough. That servant did not deserve to be slapped.”

“Who asked you to come here?” Gundrada snarled.

The servants hurried about their tasks, pretending not to notice.

“I want her here.” Theodelinda’s voice reverberated through the room. “Alda, Veronica, come to the table. You must be hungry.”

* * * * *

The women retired to the solar after the matins bells rang. Alda noticed a new bed and pointed at it.

“It’s a gift from Alfihar,” Theodelinda said, her eyes filling with tears.

Theodelinda wiped her cheek with her hand and removed her veil. As Alda took off her own circlet and veil, she beheld just how much grayer her mother’s hair had become.

The tapestry of Saint Mary cradling her infant Son caught Alda’s eye. It was half hidden in candlelight, yet Alda knelt before the tapestry and laid her hand on her cross.
Blessed Mother, why did God show His mercy to Ganelon and not my husband? Why did He allow Hruodland to die without heirs? Please come to my aid.

As Alda rose, she felt her mother’s hand on her shoulder. “I am glad you are home,” she said. “Losing Alfihar has been like having my heart torn from my bosom. It is a comfort to have you here.”

“Does the pain ever leave?” Alda asked in a small voice.

Werinbert’s nurse undressed him and put him in the bed with his mother. The nurse and her own son slept on two cots pushed together. Gundrada drew the bed curtains.

“I will be glad when she leaves,” Theodelinda muttered, looking toward the bed where Gundrada lay. “She has been insufferable.”

“She is a fool, but she does not deserve her fate,” Alda whispered. She found a strange comfort in Gundrada’s foolishness. Even if she had arrived in time, it would not have changed anything.

* * * * *

Two days later, Alda and Theodelinda stood in the courtyard and watched Gundrada leave. Gundrada called over her shoulder, “Ganelon and I shall return about two weeks hence.”

After the last of the carts departed from the castle, Alda turned to her mother. “Ganelon is coming here?”

“We are simply providing shelter and a chance to rest their animals for three days,” she said, waving Alda’s words away.

“But his parting words to me were…”

“I will watch him,” Theodelinda interrupted, “but with Alfihar and Hruodland dead, how can the old grudges possibly matter? This is an opportunity to make peace between our families, and the fewer enemies Werinbert has, the better.”

“But just yesterday, you were angry with Gundrada for marrying Ganelon,” Alda protested.

“I am angry with her for consenting to another marriage the same day she learned that Alfihar died, not for marrying Ganelon.”

Alda shuddered, already dreading Ganelon’s visit. She was certain of one thing: the passage of time and the deaths of her loved ones would scarcely quench Ganelon’s thirst for vengeance.

“You do have tasters for Werinbert?” Alda asked, clutching her iron dragon.

“The same ones Alfihar had,” Theodelinda said. “Honestly, Alda, do you think Ganelon would try to poison a child?”

“I would put nothing past him.”

Chapter 22

Each time Hruodland woke up, he found himself in a strange place, lying on a cot in a room bright with candles and a fire from the hearth, smelling of tansy, mint, and wormwood. In a panic, he called out, “Where am I?” and was surprised by the slur in his own voice.