The Cross and the Dragon (9 page)

“We have wild goats, stags, monstrous boars, and a few bears,” Alfihar added. He pointed to the wall nearest the hearth, where a pair of antlers resembling large branches were mounted. “Those are from a stag I slew.”

“It will be a welcome diversion while the army’s stores are replenished,” the king said.

Alda, too, welcomed a hunt. Drachenhaus had not had a good chase since she and Alfihar had left for Geneva. During the winter, the huntsmen had brought in hares or a doe, but Alda longed to hear the hounds baying at their prey and feel the horse carrying her into the forest at a gallop. The gleam in Alfihar’s eyes told Alda he felt the same longing.

As the cupbearer made trip after trip to the wine cellar, the nobles turned their attention to the musicians. The singer began another song, recounting Siegfried’s loves and heroic deeds. Guests started nodding sleepily while the fire burned down to embers. The musicians ended their song at Siegfried’s murder in the city of Worms, upstream of Drachenhaus. The bells at Nonnenwerth and Drachenhaus rang to announce matins, the sixth hour of night.

Alda looked around the hearth. To her relief, Ganelon had fallen asleep on the bench. The king stretched and yawned.

“I should retire,” he said.

“My lord king, your beds have been assembled in the solar, where your queen and children already sleep,” said Theodelinda. She picked up a candle. “I shall show you the way. Alda, Veronica, you should retire as well. You need to rest for tomorrow’s hunt.”

Alda looked to Alfihar, although she knew he usually would not go against their mother’s will. Alfihar drained the cup and shook the shoulder of the slumbering cupbearer.

“Fetch more wine,” he said. He looked toward Theodelinda. “Let her stay, Mother. I shall send her to the solar soon.”

“Very well,” Theodelinda said to Alda’s surprise.

Theodelinda looked almost too tired to stand, let alone to argue. Veronica was slumping and nodding off.

“Veronica, you should retire as well,” Alda said.

Veronica straightened and looked from Alda to Hruodland and back to Alda in silent protest. “Alda,” she said weakly. “Perhaps…”

“You are falling asleep. Go to the solar,” Alda ordered.

Veronica joined Theodelinda, but she looked over her shoulder at Alda and Hruodland several times before climbing the stairs.

As the musicians played Psalms, the nobles dropped off one by one. Alfihar finally fell asleep on the bench. One of the musicians looked toward Alda. She nodded her permission for him to stop.

Realizing she and Hruodland were the only nobles still awake, Alda got an idea.
If I were carrying another man’s child, Hruodland’s child, Ganelon would no longer want my hand.
She looked from Ganelon to Hruodland
. Yes, it just might work. It’s worth the risk.

“I am too weary to climb the stairs tonight,” she said. “The servants have set up a few pallets in the hall.”

It was mostly true. She wanted to sleep.

“Yes,” he said, with a mischievous grin, “it is late.”

He picked up one of the candles and helped her to her feet. She leaned on his arm, realizing she truly could not stand without his support. She reminded herself not to drink so much wine ever again. Even with the help of his arm, she staggered. They found a pallet. Another pallet was close by.

“Perhaps you should be seated,” he told her.

Alda sat on the pallet. She could barely keep her chin up. “With all these men here, I would feel safer if you were close,” she mumbled.

As Alda watched Hruodland lift his pallet, her eyelids felt heavy, too heavy to keep open.
Just for a few minutes,
she thought, closing her eyes and falling over.

* * * * *

Hruodland looked around, hoping they were the only two awake. He smiled with anticipation and then worried.
Why is she so eager? Is she truly a virgin?
he wondered.
What if her kin discovers us?

Hruodland looked toward Alda. She was asleep. He gently placed his pallet close to hers and sat across from her.

“Alda,” he whispered, shaking her shoulder. “Alda?” He dared not raise his voice and risk waking the others. She did not stir. He felt as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold, muddy river water on him.

“If you wish to seduce me, you must be awake,” he pleaded.

In the candlelight, he admired her pale face and the curves of her hips and breasts. She was not plump, not like other counts’ daughters, but he could tell by the way she walked and ate that she was healthy.

He stroked her cheek and lips. Still, she did not stir.

Too much wine.
He shook his head.
Now what do I do?

Hruodland felt unsteady himself after traveling all day and drinking so much wine that night. Even if he could carry her up the stairs, he did not think he could find his way to the stairs with only the light of a low fire, a few candles, and the moon streaming through the windows. And since he was not lord of this castle, he did not know how the women would react to his entering the solar unannounced.

Hruodland yawned and set the candle on the floor. He, too, wanted sleep. He lifted Alda and laid her on the pallet. She moved a little but remained asleep.

Perhaps in a couple of hours, I can wake her, and she can join the women upstairs
.

He pulled off his boots, lay on the pallet beside her, and blew out the candle. He reached toward her. His hand found her thigh. He stroked her, hoping one last time to revive her. No response.

“I will know you,” he promised. Yet he did not know how to interpret her eagerness to lie with him.
Is she simply enthusiastic? Or would she be hungry for any man, especially while I am away at war?

He had never coupled with a virgin, only whores who followed the army, whores in the cities—and Judith of Bordeaux, a countess in his uncle’s court who complained that her husband was too old and infirm to fulfill his marital duties.
Why did I let myself be seduced by that?
Of course, she is pretty and plump. Any excuse to lie with her would have worked. But Judith was lust. Alda is…

He stopped himself short, afraid to finish the thought. His hand rested on Alda’s hip. He grimaced at the thought of Alda becoming anything like Judith, and not just because the children might not be his.

Even if you are a virgin, Alda, will you remain true?
He stared into the dark until sleep finally overtook him.

Chapter 7

A sharp whisper startled Alda awake. Her eyelids felt heavy, and her head felt as if it would split. She opened her eyes just enough to see Veronica holding a tallow candle, silhouetted against an open window, where the first gray-white rays of daylight broke the horizon of the dark sky. Despite the pain, Alda turned her head and saw Hruodland on the pallet close to hers. The candlelight flickered over his scarlet tunic.

“Have you lost your wits?” Veronica hissed. “What have you done? If anyone finds out… It’s time for Mass. You must make your toilette upstairs. I pray you are not with child.”

Alda sat up, her left hand on her belly. She grimaced, fighting back a wave of nausea. She made the sign of the cross then clamped her hand over the nail of pain above her right eye.

“Alda!” Veronica whispered. “Come quickly, before someone sees you. Do you want everyone to find out?”

Alda scrunched her eyes shut and bowed her head. “There is nothing to find out,” she murmured. “Unfortunately.”

“What do you mean, ‘unfortunately’? Are you trying to inflame Ganelon’s jealousy even more?”

They both heard a moan. Alda opened her eyes again and looked toward the sound, despite the candle’s searing light. Hruodland rolled on his back, covering his eyes with his arm.

“Hruodland? Are you well?” Alda asked, her own voice ragged.

“Take the light away,” he barked.

Veronica tried to shield the light with her fingers.

Hruodland sat up. His face was pale. He looked about and took in his surroundings. “Is it morning?” he asked.

“It is almost prime,” Veronica replied, straightening. “I must take my lady to the solar.”

Hruodland nodded and made the sign of the cross. He hunched over, leaned on his elbows, and held his temples.

“Hruodland?” Alda asked.

Hruodland looked up and watched her rise. He steadied himself as he stood.

“I meant what I said last night,” Alda said, her tone of voice as much a question as a statement.

He pulled her close and kissed her tenderly. Alda wanted to linger in the kiss. “So did I.”

* * * * *

Following Veronica upstairs to the solar, she tried not to think of the pounding in her head. She realized she still wore her jewelry and boots. In the solar, the royal family finished dressing and descended the stairs. Alda discovered her mother was already awake and dressed.

“Alda, what happened?” Theodelinda asked.

Veronica looked at Alda wide-eyed.

“I fell asleep in the hall,” Alda mumbled, her hand again on her forehead as if she were trying to keep that spot from bursting.

“I knew you should have retired when I did,” Theodelinda said, shaking her head. “Alfihar should have heeded me. Are you well, Daughter?”

“Yes,” Alda whimpered, fighting back another wave of nausea.

“You are not,” Theodelinda said. “I can see it in your face. Do not drink so much wine.”

Alda winced at the harshness of her mother’s voice.

“My poor girl,” Theodelinda sighed. “You should rest after Mass.”

“But the hunt…” Alda pleaded.

“I shall have Veronica wake you in time to change clothes.”

Alda nodded, too ill to say anything more. In the dawn’s light, her gaze fell on the tapestry of the Virgin and her Child, which always brought her comfort. Dazed, she made the sign of the cross and then washed her face with water in a clay basin and smoothed her hair and the wrinkles in her dress.

“Time to leave,” Theodelinda said.

Veronica held the candle and led the way down the stairs. Theodelinda and Alda followed.

Many of the men had slept on the floor and on benches. A few had made it to the cots and pallets. Alda noticed Ganelon was among the sleepers, but Hruodland, his brother, and her uncles were not.

“I cannot rouse the count,” a servant told Theodelinda.

“When is that boy going to learn?” Scowling, Theodelinda marched up to Alfihar and called his name shrilly. “Do you realize this makes you look like a sluggard?”

Alda grimaced at the tone of her mother’s voice and clamped her hand above her eye. Alfihar did not stir. Alda envied his ability to sleep through such a noise.

“Come,” Theodelinda snapped.

As they walked, Alda’s own footsteps crashed inside her head. When they entered the chapel redolent with incense, Alda noticed some of the peasants had slept here after last night’s celebrations.

The bell rung by the priest clanged overhead. Usually, Alda welcomed the call to Mass and thoughts of heaven. Today, she braced herself against the sound slamming in her mind. The now-awake peasants cradled their heads and rocked. The first red-gold rays of the sun slipped through the chapel’s narrow windows and made the Crucifixion mural on the west wall seem especially bloody.

Alda stood next to her mother. A few paces away, Hruodland stood with the royal family. The village priest descended from the bell tower. Bishop Leonhard walked to the altar and opened the Mass with “
Dominus vobiscum
.”

“
Et cum spiritu tuo
,” Alda chanted in reply with the rest of the worshipers. She didn’t know what the Latin chants meant, only that they were the language of the Church, beautiful and mysterious. Alda could tell Leonhard, too, was miserable. His face was pale and sweaty.
He always has put duty above comfort
.

Alda snuck a glance at Hruodland. Their eyes met. Alda thought she saw, in the corner of her eye, that her mother was smiling. But when she turned, Theodelinda was looking at Leonhard.
Was Mother watching me and Hruodland?
Alda wondered, following the Mass.