The Cross and the Dragon (7 page)

Alda winced. Not at the thought of Ganelon seeking the attention of other women. Other women would be a relief. Besides, a man’s sins were a matter between him and his confessor, not his wife. What made Alda wince was how he twisted divine commandments as he had when he had been about to beat her in Geneva.

“There is more,” the queen said. “The nurse continued to refuse him, and her refusal only seemed to increase his ardor. She was greatly troubled. I do not know what she feared more — Ganelon’s attention or a beating from her husband because he would think she was untrue. I became vexed, and I myself told him, ‘Let her be. The whores who travel with us will do whatever favor you ask.’”

“And how did he respond?” Alda asked.

“He bowed and said, ‘As you wish, my queen.’ I thought the matter was settled. And what happens but two days later?” Her fists hit the water. “He was standing over the nurse and rebuking her for my words. As soon as I yelled at him to leave her alone, he slunk away. Even so, I’d had enough of him and went to my husband.”

Alda suppressed a smile at the thought of the queen, who had seen perhaps sixteen winters, marching to the king. It did not matter if he was in the middle of war plans or a hunt. Alda knew from the queen’s manner that she could command her husband’s attention anytime.

“Only after I told my husband did Ganelon give us peace,” the queen said, her shoulders relaxing. “No woman should be bound to a beast like that, Countess. Surely, there are men who can offer your clan better.”

The prince’s nurse came in and said the toddler was asking for his mother.

“Children,” she muttered. “Well, I am finished here. Come,” she said to her maid.

Still vexed with her mother, Alda said nothing as Theodelinda and her servant hurried their toilette and left the bath. Alda watched as the maid combed her mother’s long gray-streaked blond hair and helped her mother dress in her best clothes, an embroidered dark green gown over a dandelion yellow tunic, paired with a black silk veil.

“Alda, do not forget about the rose oil,” Theodelinda called over her shoulder.

“Mother,” she chided, “I am not a child.”

Theodelinda shook her head and left the bathhouse.

Veronica dipped her fingers in the lavender water and sprinkled it on Alda’s forehead. Alda gave Veronica a puzzled look.

“Lavender water on the forehead preserves chastity,” Veronica said.

“Why are you worried about my chastity?”

“I saw you and Hruodland in the tower.”

Alda blushed. “We did nothing. We simply talked.”

“He was interested in more than conversation. I could tell by the look in his eyes. Be careful with him. Men do not desire unchaste wives.”

Alda shrugged and shook her head. As she relaxed in the steam and lavender, she imagined Hruodland naked on the other side of the wall.

“Perhaps, my mother should not have told you those stories when we were so young,” Veronica said. “I think you believe them. Do not let your fondness for him blind you.”

“I am not given to fancy,” Alda said, looking at the partition, wishing she could see Hruodland through it. “I simply want a husband who will not beat me to death. Or starve me.”

“Do not anger Count Ganelon.”

“I could more easily change the flow of the Rhine. I shall do anything to stop negotiations. I am not yet his wife.”

She looked at the partition again. The man she wanted was on the other side. Veronica grabbed her arm.

“Banish that from your thoughts,” Veronica scolded. “These men have lain with dozens of women. Lying with you will make the one you desire think you are not virtuous.”

“Virtue has nothing to do with marriage. As long as I have my wealth, they will court me, even if I were the wickedest woman on earth. As long as I am not with child, who would find out?”

They realized the voices on the other side of the partition had become quiet.

“They’d check the sheets,” Veronica whispered. She raised her voice. “Alda, you should not joke about such things.”

Veronica emerged from the bath. Alda bowed her head while her servant poured the bowl with chamomile rinse to lighten her hair. Alda rose from the warm bath and took a dip in the cold bath that smelled of mint before she followed Veronica to the warming room.

Alda and Veronica dried themselves, hung the linen drying cloths on pegs and threw on their shifts. Alda sat on a stool and spread her dripping hair over her shoulders. It almost touched the floor. Veronica parted Alda’s hair and dragged the comb through the dark blond strands, picking out an occasional louse and throwing it into the fire.

“I could lose my heart to Hruodland,” Alda mused.

“That is my fear,” Veronica said.

* * * * *

After Alda donned her jewelry in the solar, she and Veronica descended the stairs and entered the hall. The evening sun lit the hall and illuminated an embroidered tapestry of Siegfried standing in triumph over the slain dragon. Alda could hear the peasants celebrating in the courtyard, enjoying the old ox and bread Theodelinda had given them.

Inside the castle hall, the scent of lemon balm mingled with the smell of fresh rushes on the floor. Lit beeswax candles stood on the table, even though the day lasted long this time of year.

The hearth had a few glowing embers, just enough to keep the fire alive. The room was warm even without the flames. Musicians, both the king’s and Alfihar’s, sat in a corner, their hands caressing their flutes and the strings of their zithers while drummers tapped sticks against taut cattle skins.

In addition to bathing, the noblemen had shaved and donned clean clothes, borrowed from Drachenhaus. Beringar wore Drachenhaus’s largest tunic, and it still stretched across his broad chest and arms. He was speaking with Ganelon, who had found time for a bath and a shave. The borrowed clothes were a bit too short, but they flattered Ganelon’s muscular body.
Why can’t his heart match the fairness of his face?
Alda thought.

Alda distinguished the king, who was wearing his own clothes. Nothing in Drachenhaus could have fit his towering, hulking frame so well. As Hruodland had said, the king no longer wore the iron crown. With his arm around Queen Hildegard’s shoulders, he was chatting with Leonhard and Alfihar.

Alda scanned the rest of the crowd. She saw Hruodland standing by a window and talking to his brother. Gerard, a lanky young man perhaps a year older than Alda, wore white cleric’s robes and had his dark hair closely cropped.

But Alda’s attention was drawn to Hruodland. He wore a scarlet tunic the same shade as the bands of cloth that held his clean, blue leggings.

And she could understand why Veronica worried about her chastity.

Chapter 6

Hruodland stretched and enjoyed the breeze from the Rhine drifting through the narrow, arched window. He ran his fingers through his still damp hair, glad to be clean. The discomfort of a borrowed linen tunic a little tight in the shoulders was minor.

Spying Alda at the foot of the stairs, Hruodland forgot what he and his brother were talking about. He admired how her blue gown flattered her figure and how her long ash-blond hair hung in waves. Their eyes met. Her eyes were as green as the trees near the Rhine, as if the trees blended together to create them.

“Hruodland?” Gerard asked.

“Yes?” he said, blinking. “I shall speak with you later. Go practice your Frankish.”

Alda was walking toward Hruodland. They met in the middle of the room. Inhaling the scent of the lavender and roses, he beheld her for a few moments, speechless.

“Be seated by me at the meal,” Alda whispered.

“I do not think your betrothed…” Calling Ganelon her betrothed was like sticking his hand in a pile of dung, but he had to know her sentiment.

“He is not my betrothed. Not yet,” she added. “I did not take the vow, and the war, thankfully, took him away. And now he has returned.”

“You ought to be happy,” he said, wondering how far to take this matter. “God has shown His mercy.”

“God has shown His mercy to a wicked man. There are some who wish that the Lord would…” She bit her lip. “…have called Ganelon to be with Him.”

Hruodland leaned to whisper in her ear, “So do his men, except they would not expect him to be with God.”

Alda’s smile suddenly disappeared. Her hand flew to her dragon amulet. Following her wide-eyed stare, Hruodland beheld Ganelon, who wore the look of dog about to fight for a choice bone. Hruodland looked his rival up and down. The same size and experience in battles, they would be equals in a fight. When Hruodland’s gaze slid to Alda, the back of his neck tightened. That son of a whore’s cur would tear her to pieces.

“Why are you speaking with this man?” Ganelon demanded.

“This is my house. I can speak to whomever I please.” Alda’s voice was defiant, almost masking the tremor in her voice. Almost.

“You avoid me but tempt Hruodland,” he said sharply. “Is this the way to treat your betrothed?”

“I am not your betrothed,” she snapped, stamping her foot.

“When I have you, I shall tame you,” Ganelon spat.

“I am not yours to tame,” she cried.

“Hruodland, I thought you were stronger than this. So brave on the battlefield. To succumb to a mere girl.”

“Do not attempt to flatter me,” Hruodland said coldly. “Or use false praise. The Lombard who gave me this…” He pushed back the sleeve to show his scar. “…was a skilled warrior. I do not seek out and slay the youth who has barely learned to hold a sword and then boast about it. Nor do I threaten women.”

Hruodland stepped between Ganelon and Alda and crossed his arms. His dark eyes burned into Ganelon’s.
Strike me, Ganelon
.
I dare you.

Ganelon looked from Hruodland to Alda and back to Hruodland. He shrank back, muttering, “I will have my claim to her.”

“We shall see if you will have a claim to her,” Hruodland said to Ganelon. His voice stayed even. He stepped away from Ganelon and put his arm around Alda’s shoulders. “In the meantime, I will protect my friend from harm, no matter what guise it takes.”

* * * * *

To Alda’s relief, the music stopped for a moment, and Theodelinda called the guests to eat. While the guests took their seats, the flutes and zithers again wove joyous melodies. Glad to see Alfihar in his ornate chair at the head of the table, Alda sat next to Hruodland and five seats away from Ganelon. As servants brought in stews, roasts, vegetables, and countless other dishes for the first course, Alda savored the wine and found herself drinking more than usual. She chatted and laughed with Hruodland and ignored Ganelon’s stares. She expected her mother to ask to speak to her alone and berate her for treating Ganelon so poorly.

But Theodelinda seemed too busy to notice. She was talking and laughing, pleased with the guests’ compliments on the feast. After a while, Alda stopped watching her mother, and it felt like she and Hruodland were the only two people in the world.

The feast continued with hours of humorous stories and gossip. In the fading daylight, crumbs of bread and cakes littered the table. Alda gave bones and gristle to the servants who took care of the dogs.

The dowager countess rose from her seat. “My lord king,” she said, “the House of the Dragon would like to present you with gifts.”

Servants showed the king two casks of wine, incense, a bolt of silk, a bolt of linen, and a large, highly wrought, gold cross.

“We are grateful,” said the king. “In return, we will present gifts to your house.”

The king gave Alfihar two cups from which he had drunk, silver candlesticks for the chapel, and a tapestry of the ascension of Mary, Mother of God.

While Theodelinda watched the servants put the gifts away for safekeeping, Alfihar beckoned the guests to sit by the hearth. Musicians played the introduction to the first of many songs about Siegfried.

Alda watched Ganelon through sidelong glances. As she saw him rise from the table and leave the hall in the direction of the privies, she had an idea. She leaned toward Hruodland and whispered, “Would you like to see the garden before night falls?”