The Cross and the Dragon (40 page)

“When I return home, I shall send gifts to you and your order,” he said.

“We have no need for gifts,” she said. “We are sisters of charity.”

“I am a noble, not a beggar.”

“The Gascons took everything they could find. You needed our help. We gave it to you.”

“And I shall repay you.” He cleared his throat. “In two days hence, I will begin my journey home.”

“Stay here,” the abbess interrupted, touching his hand. “You are safe here. I could make you very happy. The March of Brittany will go on without you.”

“The March of Brittany is my home.”

Judith looked down, hurt.

Hruodland could not understand her reaction. Yes, they had lain with each other, but that was years ago. He had been nothing but a plaything to her.

“You are beautiful,” he said. “But you are an abbess, and I have a wife, whom I love, and she is waiting for me.”

Hruodland gritted his teeth, wondering about that last thought. Alda had a lot of explaining to do. How could she be so cruel as not to send a message?

“Th-there is something I have not told you,” Judith stammered. “When the scouting party brought you here, we… we all thought the Lord would take you any day.”

“So I heard,” Hruodland said, reaching down to scratch the dog behind the ears.

“We were trying to spare your family some grief,” she blurted. “We had the best of intentions.”

“What are you talking about?” Hruodland stopped petting the dog.
 

“The nobles decided to tell the world you were slain at Roncevaux.”

“They told the world I was dead, and you allowed this?” He felt as if he had been punched in the chest.

“We… we thought you were dying. Bishop Leonhard had given you last rites, and we were waiting to give you a Christian burial. We… they… did not want your uncle to think you had suffered.”

“So they left me here to die and lied about it.” Fury rose from the pit of his gut.

“You were dying — we thought you were dying — from your injuries at Roncevaux,” Judith pleaded. “If you had died here, to say you were slain there would not be a lie. They needed to join the king’s army. They brought you here to assure your journey to heaven. We would have buried you in the hallowed ground of our orchard, held Mass for you, said prayers for you. Would you have preferred to be buried at the side of the road?”

“But I did not die.” Hruodland forced the words through clenched teeth.

“You still breathed. Your heart still beat. But you did not move for a month. Your eyes were open, but they did not see. Perhaps, it is because they left you in our care that you have recovered.”

“You did not send a message to the king or my wife when it became apparent the Lord would spare me, did you?”

“I cannot write.”

“You have a clerk,” Hruodland spat, his word slurring.

Judith looked down but said nothing.

Staring at a grave, Hruodland was too angry to speak.
The world thinks I am dead. Alda thinks I am dead.

“Say something, Hruodland,” Judith begged. “I find your silence difficult to bear.”

“Leave me alone,” he snarled.

Weeping, Judith rushed out of the orchard. Hruodland did not care if she was in tears. He wanted to be alone among the graves, where he should have been but for the grace of God.

Hruodland wandered among the apple and pear trees of the orchard. For a long time, fury clouded his thoughts.
Why did she not send a message to somebody, anybody — even my wife?

He leaned against an apple tree, petting his dog and staring at the seedlings covering the sodden graves. Outside these walls, the world thought he was dead. It was like he was a ghost.

Should he stay here as Judith asked? His grave would be in sanctified ground, in an orchard, forever watching the trees bloom in the spring and the fruit ripen in the fall. Alda thought he was dead. Judith had some affection for him. He could pretend to have tender feelings for Judith and be in her favor.

He grimaced as if he had just bitten into a rotten apple. Why was he even thinking such a thing? Surely, God did not spare his life to corrupt an abbess or himself. He could not stay here. That much was certain.

But what did God want him to do? Join a monastery? Perhaps, that was it, even though he was born to fight, trained to fight since he could hold a wooden sword when he had seen three winters. Gerard was the count now and intelligent and capable enough to govern the March of Brittany.

And what about Alda? She thought he was dead. Rage jolted through him. If Alda thought he was dead, she must have married another by now. She was still young — and wealthy. What cur of a man had she married? How dare she marry again when he had provided for her in his will?

He pressed his palms to his temples to silence the voices of wrath. He had no idea. Perhaps, Alda was true. But how was that possible? Surely, her family would be urging her to marry, even if she did not want to. He slammed his fist into his hand. Was she lying with another man at this moment even as he stood in the orchard?

He had to return to Rennes, pray to the relics of Saint Melaine for answers, and reclaim his wife. That much was certain.

* * * * *

Hruodland drew himself to his full height and threw back his head as he entered the abbess’s residence. He felt not even a trace of guilt about what he was going to ask her. She owed him this. He found Judith warming herself by the fire.

“I am leaving for the March of Brittany two days hence,” Hruodland said.

“I see,” she said, looking down at her hands.

“I shall need a horse and a cart and a sword and…”

“We cannot spare them,” she interjected.

Hruodland blinked back his surprise.

“My order and my tenants need all those things,” she said. “Have you any idea how difficult it is to acquire horses and the few weapons we have?”

“No more lies,” Hruodland roared. “You have ruined my life. If you think you can trap me here, you are mistaken. God did not spare my life so that I could become your plaything
.
”

“You ingrate,” she spat, her face flushing. “Leave. Leave now.”

“Very well, I will leave,” he said evenly. He strode to the door. Fidelis followed him.

“You cannot take that dog,” Judith shouted.

Too angry to speak, Hruodland shrugged and kept walking. He ignored the questions buzzing through his mind. How was he going to eat? How was he to protect himself from bandits? Was he truly going to walk all the way to Rennes? As he slammed the door, he noticed the dog ignored Judith as well.

Hruodland marched toward the gate, wondering why Judith was not following him and begging for his forgiveness. Once outside the abbey, he told himself,
This is foolhardy. Go back to the Abbey of Saint Stephen. No, I cannot go back. I will not humble myself to her.

He made his way through the marshes, barely noticing the long-legged birds fishing in the pools in the high grass and the seagulls flying overhead. He paid no heed to the music of birdcalls and cries.

By dusk, Hruodland had entered the forest and was looking for shelter. Although the days were warmer, nights were still cold. Most of the trees were still bare, and the ground was damp. He spotted an old tree with a hollow near its roots. He crouched on wet leaves and wrapped the cloak around himself and the dog. Through the tree branches, Hruodland could see the full moon on the horizon to his left. He fell asleep listening to frogs call for their mates, wolves howling to one another, and hares and deer foraging in the brush.

* * * * *

Hruodland awoke from a dream of Ganelon forcing strong wine and hemlock down his throat. He did not know for how long he had slept. Among frog calls and wolf howls, he heard the creak of wheels and the clop of horses’ hooves against the stone in the road.

The moon was high in the sky as he stood and drew his eating knife. It was no defense unless he could convince whoever it was that he was seeing a ghost. Fidelis, too, stood. Hruodland expected the dog to bare his teeth and growl. Instead, he was wagging his tail. What sorcery had afflicted the hound?

If whoever it was intended to rob him, he was not making any haste. In the moonlight, Hruodland saw the silhouette of a mule and rider, a riderless horse, and a horse-drawn cart.

“Hruodland?” a woman’s voice called.

“Sister Elisabeth, what are you doing here?” Hruodland sheathed his knife.

“Saints be praised, you are well,” Elisabeth said, dismounting. “When I watched you storm out of the abbey, I thought at any moment you would come to your senses and return. I underestimated your pride.”

“I shall
not
return to the abbey,” Hruodland said.

“I am not on an errand for the abbess. Illuna and I are going on a pilgrimage, and we need the protection of a man.”

“But your hospital…”

“It is in good hands with the lay sisters. No doubt the abbess will find sisters to replace us.” Sister Elisabeth looked over her shoulder and then back at Hruodland. “I wish to pray to the relics of Saint Melaine at Rennes and then visit Rome. I am an old woman, and if I am going to make this pilgrimage, now is the time.”

“But a pilgrimage is not safe for a woman.”

“Neither of us is young,” Sister Elisabeth said with a laugh. “But we sought you out for your protection.”

“If a thin man with no sword is protection. I am still not as strong as I once was.”

Illuna stepped down from the cart and beckoned Hruodland. She lifted a blanket, revealing a sword in a leather sheath, a throwing ax, and a leather-covered wooden shield.

“These will help you protect us,” she said.

Hruodland picked up the sword and drew it. It was not as high
 
quality as Durendal or his father’s weapon, but it was adequate. The sword felt heavy in his hand. If he held it too long, it would make his arm ache. Still, he could practice with it and regain his strength.

He sheathed the sword and lifted the ax. Few warriors used these anymore, but this one was sturdy. Weighing the ax’s head in his left hand, he nodded his approval. After tucking the ax into his belt, he strapped the shield on his back.

“Where did you get these?” he asked.

“One of the guards used them. Elisabeth and I believe weapons that belong to the abbey should protect its sisters within and without its walls.”

“I will do my best.”

As Elisabeth approached him, Hruodland could make out a sly expression on her face.

“Why are you leaving for a pilgrimage in the middle of the night?” he asked.

“As I said, I am not on an errand for the abbess. Since she often sleeps through matins prayers, she will not likely find out we are gone until after prime.”

Hruodland peered inside the cart. It had a barrel of beer, several loaves of bread, a basket of greens, another basket with salted pork, a pot, and a locked chest.

“The abbess is providing the means for our pilgrimage,” Elisabeth said. “I was on a walk when I heard what she told you in the orchard.” She snorted. “Illuna and I didn’t fight to bring you back into the world only for her to deny it to you.”

“So Judith wishes to atone for her guilt by providing for us?” Hruodland asked.

But that did not make sense. If the abbess wished to atone, Illuna and Elisabeth would not leave at such a strange hour. Some piece of this riddle was missing.

“What is in the chest?” Hruodland asked.

“The abbess’s jewels,” Elisabeth replied, proud as a cat ready to drop the mouse at her master’s feet.

“You stole them?” He tried to force his face into a stern expression, only to find himself laughing.

“It is a pious fraud,” Elisabeth said, brushing back a lock of silvered hair. “I took enough to equal my dowry. She owes us all a debt — you, me, Illuna, Denis, a most beloved lay brother — and will provide for our pilgrimage and your journey home.”

“She will be displeased,” Illuna said.