The Cross and the Dragon (48 page)

Alda pouted. She knew it would be useless to press her mother. They were keeping something from her. Alda reasoned that Hruodland was doing something that would make her angry with him. Perhaps he had gone to seek solace with the village slut. Alda shook her head. She loathed the thought of him lying with another woman but blamed herself. She had released him from his vow with her. Still she wished he had not sought a whore so soon.

A shadow fell on her heart. Did Hruodland already set off for the March of Brittany so that he could annul their marriage? Why was it her fate to arrive too late, always too late? Perhaps she was not following the will of God as she had thought.

Alda was pulled from her thoughts when she heard her mother say half to herself, “I should have sent more wheat.”

“Mother, the wheat you sent staved off starvation,” Alda said.

“You have lost much flesh.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Alda said, gazing at her bony hands.

“Some things never change,” Veronica said.

As they approached the castle, Alda noticed the gates had been thrown open and servants had assembled in the muddy courtyard.

Alda heard a sharp cry as she rode into the courtyard and dismounted. “Auntie!”

Werinbert ran toward her, splashing mud in his wake.

Alda embraced the boy. “My dearling nephew, how you resemble your father more day by day. And you have a wooden sword, how wonderful! You shall make a fine warrior.”

“Look at what Uncle Hruodland taught me last night.” He stepped back and brandished the sword.

“Where is your uncle?” Alda asked.

“He set off for Dormagen,” Werinbert said and then looked behind him.

Alda whirled around toward her mother and Veronica, who stared at Werinbert with wide eyes.

“Dormagen?” Alda asked. “The abode of Ganelon?”

“We will tell you about it during the evening meal,” Theodelinda said. “You must eat before you do anything else.”

“You will tell me about it now,” Alda demanded. She and the others walked through the twilight shadows toward the light and warmth of the hall, where servants were setting the table.

“Hruodland is going to avenge us,” Theodelinda said, smiling.

“And you let him?” Alda asked.

“You want vengeance, don’t you?”

“Of course, I want vengeance,” Alda said. “But not at the price of my husband’s life.”

“Hruodland is a practiced warrior,” Theodelinda said.

“Ganelon is not an honorable man,” Alda snapped. “He will not face Hruodland man to man in a duel. He will call for his guards, and even the most gifted warrior is no match for ten or twenty guards.”

“Even if I asked him not to go, do you think I could have stopped him?”

“No,” Alda said softly. Her hand flew to where the dragon used to be. When she felt only her cross, she asked, “Does he have the dragon amulet?”

“Yes.”

“When did he leave?”

“This morning, after prime prayers.”

“I must follow him,” Alda said.

“You will do no such thing,” Theodelinda cried. “You have endangered yourself enough. Wait for him here and grow plump.”

“I shall not lose him a third time,” Alda said defiantly.
 
“Do not try to stop me.”

“I am not going to lose you again, either.”

Mother and daughter stared at each other while the servants scurried about their duties and pretended not to notice.

Alda spoke first, “Did he tell you he would return to Drachenhaus?”

“No,” Theodelinda said.

“He does not know I have left Nonnenwerth,” Alda said, again grabbing her cross. “What is there to stop him from returning to the March of Brittany and annulling our marriage?”

“I shall send a messenger.”

“I am going to him. He will believe me only. I will go to him with or without your leave. Danger does not matter to me.”

“You are so willful,” Theodelinda said, exasperated.

They stared at each other in silence again.

“Very well,” Theodelinda said, gritting her teeth. “Allow me to send guards with you, and promise me you will not put yourself in harm’s way.”

“I shall watch for my safety.” She held her cross tightly.

“You should. Your husband will not be cheered if he finds you dead at the side of the road.”

* * * * *

Because it was already late, Theodelinda persuaded Alda to eat and stay at Drachenhaus rather than risking travel overnight. After prime prayers the next morning, Alda set out for Dormagen with five guards. To make haste, she decided not to use a cart and had minimal provisions carried by five packhorses.

The men can eat salted pork for a few days
, she thought.
I survived on less for a whole winter
.

She had to stop this duel at any cost.
Vengeance can wait
.
I cannot let him die.

Chapter 32

Rage burned in Hruodland’s eyes during the five days it took to travel to the town of Dormagen. Now that Alda was lost to him, vengeance was all he cared about. If he died in the attempt, he could at least blind or maim his blood enemy.

He and his followers arrived at the edge of the town in the late afternoon. Rather than take the road through the town where they would be seen, they slowly made their way through the forest, Ganelon’s hunting grounds. Sometimes, they had to stop and push the cart over a large tree root or cut through brush. Close to sunset, they arrived at the edge of the forest, where shrubs and trees hid them, but they still had a clear view of the castle’s great gate.

Hruodland dismounted and told his guards and the servant with the cart to tarry. They watched and waited. As twilight approached, the postern, a man-sized door near the great gate, opened, and ten men left through it, walking toward the town. Already full of drink, the men laughed, sang, and talked loudly.

“Who are they?” one of the guards whispered.

“Ganelon’s guards,” Hruodland answered, keeping his voice low. “About half of them, I believe.”

“Why are they leaving at such a late hour?”

“Seeking pleasure, I guess. Perhaps, they wish to get to the brothel before dark and stay for the night.”

As soon as Ganelon’s guards were out of sight and earshot, Hruodland handed the reins of his horse to one of his men. It was now twilight, an in-between time, not yet the end of day or the beginning of night, when restless spirits came to earth.

“The Lord has given us an opportunity,” he said. “But I must go alone from here.”

“Why?” the guard asked. His face had a look of horror. “Don’t you want every fighting man?”

“We are too few to storm the castle.”

“Then how will we get in?”

“
I
will get in through the guards’ own fear,” Hruodland replied. “Terror is my greatest weapon. A ghost has no need for guards.”

“Will they recognize you?”

“If not, I shall tell them. They know who Hruodland of the March of Brittany is — just as you know of the enmity between us and Dormagen.”

He strode toward the castle with Fidelis trailing him. He glanced over his shoulder and saw his men frowning and looking down. Looking ahead again, he reached the postern and pounded on the heavy door. A small window in the door opened, allowing Hruodland to see the guard’s face. He looked vaguely familiar, but Hruodland could not remember when or where he had seen him.

“I am Hruodland of the March of Brittany,” he shouted. “Your master has disturbed my peace.”

The guard blanched and made the sign of the cross. “Please, have mercy,” he begged.

“I have come for Ganelon. Open this door,” Hruodland ordered, “and no harm will come to you.”

To Hruodland’s surprise, the guard did as he was bidden. Hruodland suppressed a smile. He did not have to lie. Simply let the guard think that he was dealing with a ghost and be too terrified of a spirit’s wrath to disobey or even ask questions.

With Fidelis at his heels, Hruodland marched across the courtyard toward the hall. As he entered, he noticed servants, some of whom he recognized, shrinking away and making the sign of the cross. Even the guards cowered. The servants were living skeletons, their eyes sunken, cheeks hollow. Perhaps that was why none stood in his way, but merely stepped back and whispered, “That is the master’s blood enemy, who fell at Roncevaux.”

“Ganelon,” Hruodland roared, “it is I, Hruodland of the March of Brittany. Show yourself.”

Hruodland heard a woman pleading, “But I am faithful. I am faithful. The child is yours.”

Hruodland looked about, trying to find the source of the sound.

He heard a slap, and then Ganelon shouted, “I will not suffer a bastard in this house.”

“My lord, no!” the woman screamed.

Hruodland heard a crash and turned toward the sound. In the firelight at the foot of the stairs, he saw a woman heavy with child and ran to her.

“Fetch a physician and a midwife,” he barked to the nearest maid.

He knelt near the woman and turned her face toward him. He gasped. “Gundrada.”

He barely recognized her. Except for the swelling of her belly, her beautiful plump figure had wasted away. Her drawn face was scratched as if from a ring.

“Am I dying?” she whimpered.

Hruodland held her hand. “Do not give up hope. Help is coming.”

Blood stained the floor beneath her hips.

One of the maids clutched the cross at her bosom with a trembling hand and hesitantly approached Gundrada. “Sh-she is my lady,” the woman stammered.

“Then tend to her,” Hruodland snapped.

The maid lifted her lady’s gown, ripped cloth from her own skirt, and tried to staunch the blood. “It’s no use,” the woman cried. “The baby is lost.”

“The child was his,” Gundrada mumbled. “He did not believe me. He said I was untrue — like his first wife. But I
was
faithful.”

“Of course, you were true,” Hruodland said. Not that it mattered. No one deserved this fate.

“Pray for me,” Gundrada murmured, closing her eyes. Her hand went limp.

“Gundrada? Gundrada,” he yelled.

No response.

Hruodland bowed his head and made the sign of the cross. As he rose, he looked up and saw a pair of icy blue eyes staring at him from the top of the stairs.

“Ganelon,” Hruodland shouted, “ravisher and murderer of women and children, come down here.”

Ganelon withdrew into the shadows. Hruodland waited for a few moments for Ganelon to descend to the hall. He heard guards shuffling toward him as it became clear Ganelon was not going to answer his challenge.

Hruodland let out a stream of obscenities, all in Frankish to make sure Ganelon understood. From the corner of his eye, he saw the servants shrink back further and the guards hesitate in their approach. One hissed, “That’s Hruodland’s shade. Only he would call the master such vile names.”

“If you cannot face me like a man,” Hruodland bellowed, “I will come up there.” He turned to the wolfhound. “Fidelis, stay.”

Hruodland bounded up the stairs. The solar was illuminated by candles and reeked of dank rushes on the floor. Ganelon was kneeling before a tapestry of the Mother of God and her Child.

“What want you from me?” Ganelon blubbered.

“Justice,” Hruodland answered coldly. “Gird yourself with a weapon. I shall not slay an unarmed man.”

“Hruodland, have mercy,” Ganelon begged.

“What mercy did you show my wife, you dung-eating cur?”

“She tempted me.”

“Do not lie,” Hruodland spat.