The Cross and the Dragon (17 page)

Alda turned to Hruodland and whispered, “I did as you said, but she is still offended.”

“She is accustomed to having her way,” he said. “I thought she would see how well-mannered you were…”

“I never had the chance,” Alda interjected. “As soon as you said ‘wife,’ she and your uncle started quarreling.”

* * * * *

The next day, the king established his court. There was much business to attend to. Bishops, abbots, and abbesses had died over the past year, and the king had to appoint new people to watch over those properties.

Over the passing days and weeks, Alda watched nobles arrive at the villa and ask the king to name one of their kin a bishop or an abbess. They had brought ox-carts laden with gifts for the royal family and the courtiers.

“This gossip is vicious,” Alda told Hruodland one morning after prime Mass as they walked in one of the gardens. She pulled her skirt away from the thorns of a rose bush. “These courtiers are like wolves circling a wounded deer, except wolves show more civility.”

“I forget how new this is to you,” he said. “Rumor-mongering has no limits here.”

“But the tales they tell,” Alda said, her eyes wide. “Why, just last night, I heard…”

“Wife, you are not to take part in any of this,” Hruodland interrupted. “I will decide the alliances we make.”

“Do not use that tone of voice with me,” Alda retorted. “I am not one of your soldiers. A good wife listens to gossip. How else am I to learn of the important families? Even if I had no desire to hear it, I cannot avoid it. The courtiers seek me out.”

“Of course, they would. They cannot tell Uncle Charles directly, so they will tell anyone who listens, even an innocent new to the court. You are not to repeat any of these rumors.”

“I am a grown woman, I can decide…”

“You have a sweet mouth,” he said, tracing her lips with his finger. “I do not want it polluted with lies.”

“I
must
listen to rumors,” she said, stroking the stubble on his chin. “Other wives
will
tell their husbands about the gossip, and it might sway them. I cannot do my duty as a wife if I do not know what is said. Don’t you want me to be a good wife?”

“I am trying to protect you. The courtiers are wolves, and you are a lamb. Listen to their stories, if you must, but do not repeat them.”

Alda kissed him. “Except to you. You can sort truth from a lie. But,” she added, trying to sound meek, “is there a harmless thing I can disclose to encourage people to talk to me? I can make it sound valuable like my mother and I do when we trade pottery with the merchants.”

Hruodland laughed. “Tell them how I got my latest scar. A Lombard warrior twice your size charged at me on horseback…”

As Hruodland continued his story, Alda considered telling him what she had heard about Judith of Bordeaux, who was now a widow, but decided against it.

That night, while Hruodland and Alda sat side by side near the hearth and listened to the musicians, Judith approached them. She reeked of imported sandalwood perfume, and the firelight flickered on a ruby girdle along with her bracelets, rings, necklaces, and a jeweled headdress that secured her silk veil. Envying Judith’s plump figure, ivory skin, and sky-blue eyes, Alda reached for Hruodland’s hand and held it tightly. Hruodland patted Alda’s hand.

Alda heard Judith say something to Hruodland in Roman. Hruodland answered with one word, and Alda felt her jealousy sink deeper.
Not only is she beautiful, she can also speak his language
.

Chapter 13

Judith spoke again in Roman. But Alda relaxed when she heard Hruodland answer with the Roman word for “no” — that much she had learned on the journey between Drachenhaus and Aachen. Hruodland added in Frankish, “I shall be neutral in this. It is my uncle’s decision.”

When Judith started speaking again in Roman, Hruodland interrupted in Frankish, “We are at the court, Countess. We should speak its language.”

Judith pouted and cast a worried look at Alda.

“She is my wife, as you have no doubt heard by now,” Hruodland said. “Anything you say to me can be said to her.”

“I was telling Hruodland, now that my beloved husband is gone and left me childless, I wish to devote my life and my dowry to the Church,” Judith said with an Aquitanian accent.

Alda’s jaw dropped. Hruodland was barely suppressing a laugh.

“The affection you show your husband
after
his death is touching,” Alda said. “Surely, you do not need my husband’s help to join a cloister.”

“Not just any cloister,” Hruodland said, managing a serious look. “She wishes to lead the Abbey of Saint Stephen.”

That explains why she has been the target of all those rumors,
Alda thought.

Judith took a seat to Hruodland’s left, while Alda remained at his right and tightened her grip on his hand.

“Hruodland,” Judith said, her voice sweet as honey, her hand caressing his shoulder, “I could return the favor when your brother seeks a bishopric.”

Alda turned to face Judith. “Begone!” she yelled. “Away from my husband, or I will repeat everything I have heard about you.”

Other nobles in the room turned toward them. Alda immediately regretted her outburst.
I have embarrassed Hruodland
, she thought, wincing.
But I will not let her steal him right before my eyes.
She stiffened and then glared at Judith.

“Wife, hold your tongue!” Hruodland barked.

“Yes, Husband,” Alda whimpered, staring at her knees.

“You must forgive my wife,” Hruodland said. “She is new to the ways of the court.”

Alda nodded numbly, still looking down.
Wait. Is this the way for a daughter of Drachenhaus to act?
she asked herself. She grabbed her iron dragon with her free hand and straightened her spine. She narrowed her eyes and leveled an angry gaze straight at Judith. Judith’s hand shrank from Hruodland’s shoulder.

“What is your will,
Husband
?” Alda asked.

“My will is that you remain discreet while I consider what Judith has said.”

“Very well.” Alda did not take her eyes from Judith.

“Judith,” Hruodland said, “my wife and I must discuss a private matter.”

Judith rose from the bench. As she walked away, she called over her shoulder, “Hruodland, I have yet to take the veil.”

Frowning, Hruodland turned toward Alda. His dark eyes scorched her.

“I apologize,” Alda murmured, swallowing angry tears, hoping to stave off the scolding she was to receive. “That outburst will not happen again.”

“No,” Hruodland said coldly, “it will not. You are so willful.”

“Willful?” Alda blinked and then looked up at him. “But a few moments ago, I asked you for your will, and I will obey. I will not repeat all the rumors unless you tell me otherwise.”

“What have you heard?”

“You said you hate gossip.”

“I do,” he said, turning toward her. “But this is an exception.”

“Before a fever claimed him last winter, Judith’s husband, he was an aged man?”

“He was old even in my early years at the court. He was old enough to be Judith’s grandsire.”

“What I heard is that he could not do his duty as a husband and that she met with many men while he was alive.”

“Is that all?”

“I could tell you the names.”

“What you have heard is nothing new.” He shrugged. “Perhaps, it is fortunate Judith knows that you have heard rumors. It will allow me to remain neutral about the abbacy she seeks. The brothel is more apt than the convent for her, but I do not wish to make her family my enemy. Our family will need allies once a bishopric in the March of Brittany has need of a bishop. But you should have been more discreet. Now Judith’s rivals will seek you out and wish to know what you have heard.”

“They are the ones who told me the stories.” She gave him a sly smile. “But if they wish to tell me more, I will listen, so I can tell my husband, if it is your will.”

“You tell only me,” he said sternly.

“Who else would I tell — besides Veronica?”

“You are not to divulge anything to your servant,” he ordered. “Gossip among servants is even more rampant than the courtiers.”

“Veronica is my foster sister.” Alda bristled. “I never withhold anything from her.”

“Make an exception when it comes to matters of the court.”

“What I say to my foster sister is not your concern,” Alda said defiantly.

“You are my wife. Everything you do is my concern.”

“Yes, Husband.” Alda was tired of arguing. She would do what every other wife had done. Defy her husband’s will and hold her tongue about it.
Not tell Veronica what I hear? That is absolute nonsense.

Hruodland stared at her, his brow furrowed, but he said nothing more about the matter. In fact, he barely spoke to her the rest of the night.

* * * * *

A week later, Hruodland accompanied his uncle to the hall after prime Mass. The queen and Alda walked ahead of them, whispering and giggling. He thought he heard Judith’s name.

Judith got her abbey, and they still gossip about her
, Hruodland thought and shrugged. He had more important matters to consider.

“Uncle,” Hruodland said, “I have a request. My men and I need your leave so that we can return home before winter and make sure the Bretons have not caused mischief in our absence.”

“You have my leave,” Charles answered. “I will send you word of where to meet in the spring.

“We will need tribute from the Bretons and gifts from the March of Brittany to help us with our campaign against the Saxons next spring. Damned heathens! Burning churches while we were defending Rome!”

* * * * *

The next morning, Alda and Gerard were helping Hruodland into his armor, a leather jerkin with small overlapping metal plates. With a smaller party, he had said last night, the armor was necessary to deter any brigands in the forest.

Wearing rust-stained woolen padding, Hruodland bent at the waist. Alda’s arms strained just from holding her half of the armor, the left side. Alda and Gerard held the neck and arm holes open as Hruodland wriggled into his metal skin.
How can he wear this?
she wondered, amazed at how gracefully he bore the armor’s weight, about as much as a large hunting dog.

Alda could not stop staring at him as he rubbed his neck and shrugged. After menservants strapped leg guards to his thighs, he donned his belt and hooked on his sword and seax. He slung his shield across his back, then pushed back his hair and put on a crested iron helmet. Alda laid her hand over her heart, admiring her powerful husband.

“If that doesn’t frighten bandits,” she said, “nothing will.”

* * * * *

With Alda, Hruodland, and Gerard at the front of the procession, the party set off for Nantes, one of the cities in the March of Brittany. The language of the villages and cities changed as the travelers wove their way west among trees and brambles, around hills, through dust and mud. People did not speak the Frankish Alda grew up with. They, like the soldiers Hruodland led, spoke Roman, a musical language, sounding close to Latin. Alda had learned only a few vulgar words of Roman and hoped her Roman could be as good as Gerard’s stilted Frankish.

After weeks of travel, they reached Angers. At the bishop’s residence, Hruodland dictated a message in Roman to the clerk, who was transcribing it into Latin.

“Who is the message for?” Alda asked, warming herself by the fire.

“Two messages,” Hruodland replied, “one for Uncle Guillaume — he is the bishop of Nantes — and one for my father.”

“What do they say?” she asked as Gerard stepped to the fire and warmed his hands.

“By the grace of the Good Lord, we have victory in Lombardy and have secured Rome.”