The Iron Tempest (41 page)

“Don’t be a fool,” she snapped. “Of course it’s him. D’you think I could be mistaken about that?”

“Well, then,” the Moor replied, unfazed, “what’re we lingering here for? Let’s welcome him as a sister and a lover ought to!”

“You know I can’t do that!” Bradamant said, horrified, involuntarily stepping back a pace.

“Wait!” Marfisa cried, as though her companion were pressing forward instead of cringing behind her back. “Look what the Emperor’s doing!”

Glancing past the dark woman’s broad shoulders, Bradamant saw something astonishing. The knights had fallen to their knees below their emperor, as was proper, but now Charlemagne had descended the steps and, taking Rashid by his arms, had raised the Moor to his feet and was embracing him. A tremendous cheer rose from the crowd, a thundering roar that beat at the surrounding buildings like surf against a cliff. Thousands of pigeons, startled from their sleepy curiosity, filled the air with a whirring rush, swirling like a whirlwind. The sound and movement made Bradamant feel dizzy and disoriented. She wanted to flee and began to back away, melding into the mob behind her like a fawn blending into the confused light and shadow of the forest, like a startled fish seeking its darksome grotto. She didn’t dare allow Rashid to see her. If he blurted out his affection for her, if he announced before the emperor and his court the promises they had made to one another, this would be a catastrophe beyond all hope of repair.

Once she found herself in the shadow of the great arched portal, she stole one, brief glance toward the knights before disappearing through the doorway. At that moment, Rashid looked up and away from the emperor and, she was certain, directly into her eyes. He was two hundred yards distant and yet his face seemed to fill her vision, as though he were standing not six inches away. She gasped as though his arms had suddenly embraced her, his rich scent filling her nostrils. With a whimpering cry of anger and frustration, she turned and flung herself into the dark, empty palace.

* * * * *

The celebrations went on for the remainder of the week, an endless procession of parties, banquets, concerts, bonfires, tournaments, masques, farces and dances, none of which had any interest for Bradamant. Her only desire was to remain as inconspicuous as possible until she could flee to Montauban with her parents. No, not her only desire—her true desire, what she truly wanted more than anything, of course, was to publicly declare her love for Rashid, to marry him, to consummate their bond—in whatever order these events presented themselves—that was what she wanted to do and which was, of course, exactly what she dared not do.

It was difficult, since both parents and emperor were anxious to introduce her to the Moorish knight—a singular social coup for her mother and father since everyone wanted their daughters to meet the handsome hero—, and she knew in her heart she was only delaying the inevitable. She was eager to confer with Renaud, but it was almost impossible to find him without Rashid being somewhere near. Therefore, when she learned he was planning to have dinner with their parents at the same time Rashid was to be judging a cattle show, she surprised everyone with her avid acceptance of the invitation to join them.

The great dining hall was crowded with guests and servants, in spite of the fact that only a fraction of the emperor’s company was present at any one time. It was only by virtue of the Clairmont name and reputation that the family found a place at one of the dozen long, broad wooden tables that filled the dark, noisy, smoky room.

The food that was brought to them was delicious and plentiful, though Bradamant barely tasted it. She fed herself automatically as she pondered how she could learn what had happened to Rashid in the months since the battle of Arles, while at the same time avoiding any possibility of having the true nature of their relationship revealed.

“Look here, Father,” said Renaud suddenly, interrupting his sister’s brooding, “there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

“Of course,” the duke replied, jovially. Then, seeing his son’s face, said, “What could be so serious?”

“Well, you know, during my sojourn with Rashid I grew to know and appreciate what a fine fellow he is.”

“We’re all in agreement about that, of course, especially now he’s embraced Jesus Christ as his personal lord and savior.”

“Yes, and that, of course.”

“For nobility and worth, there’s scarcely a knight who can claim to be his equal.”

“Outside our own family, of course.”

“Of course.”

“That brings me to my point. For quality of blood and valor what better liaison could there be than one between the Clairmonts and the Reggios?”

“What are you suggesting?” the duke said darkly.

“Nothing more nor less than this, Father: that with Roland, Oliver and Astolph as my witnesses, as well as a very holy Christian priest who didn’t appear to have a name, I promised the hand of my sister, Bradamant, to Sir Rashid.”

“You did
what?
You dared do such a thing?”

Bradamant choked, spewing half-chewed mutton across the table. No one noticed since every eye was claimed by the duke’s wrath.

“How dared you,” Haemon continued, pounding the tabletop in time with his words, “do such a thing without consulting me?”

“I had no reason to think that you would disapprove.”

“Oh, you didn’t, did you?”

“Rashid is as noble and virtuous a man as one could ever hope to find.”

“Nobility and virtue! Of what value are nobility and virtue if there’s no wealth to go along with them? This paragon of yours, he has no kingdom, there’s nothing in the world he can point to and say ‘This is my property’. What can he possibly offer this family, let alone your sister?”

“I think you were very arrogant to have done this, Renaud,” added Beatrice, “and I think you ought to apologize to your father and your sister and go tell this Rashid person that it was all just a terrible mistake and that you’re sorry for any inconvenience it may have caused him. Bradamant! Where are you going?”

But Bradamant, fleeing the hall, did not reply. She feared that if she opened her mouth her traitorous heart would shout the truth from it like a muezzin from his minaret.

In her apartment, she tore the fine clothes away, letting them scatter around the room where they fell. They had suddenly felt as repugnant as the scales of some loathsome disease. She pinched out the light of the single candle and crawled beneath the downy comforter that covered her bed, turning her face toward the tall slit window. A fat crescent moon was slowly following the long-vanished sun like a high-peaked Egyptian ship foundering in an indigo sea, settling onto the jagged reefs of the surrounding rooftops. A shipwreck seemed the perfect symbol for her mood.

There was a tap at her door and before she could shout for the interloper to go away her mother entered, carrying a candle whose glare seemed an intolerable intrusion.

“Bradamant?”

“Yes, Mother?”

“Ah. I was afraid I’d awakened you.”

“No, I was awake.”

“Are you feeling well?”

“I’m fine, Mother.”

“I’m not surprised that Renaud’s indiscretion upset you. He really must apologize to you. I don’t know what came over him, to act as he did.”

“It’s all right, Mother. He was only doing what he thought was best.”

“We’ve been arguing for hours and he’s adamant about not retracting his promise to that heathen Rashid. Yes, yes, I know all about his supposed conversion, but it’ll take more than a Saracen’s word for me to believe he’s anything but a pagan at heart.

“Everyone in the hall must’ve heard what Renaud said; now it’ll be all that I can do to quash the rumors he’s started. It must be all over the palace by now. Well, I must say I’m pleased to see you don’t condone what he did. The talk’ll stop soon enough once people see that you disown such a scandalous suggestion.”

Bradamant didn’t know what to say, but she didn’t dare contradict her mother, didn’t dare allow her to know that she ran from the hall because Renaud had offered her what she wanted more than anything else in the world, and at the same time had made it even more impossible to obtain. It was as though she and Rashid were tied together by iron bars that allowed them to approach within a finger’s breadth of one another—but not an inch closer.

Interpreting her daughter’s silence as agreement, Lady Beatrice continued with her fantasy.

“Tomorrow I want you to tell everyone you meet that you’d rather die than marry that impoverished heathen—oh yes,
heathen
—as I said, I don’t believe for a moment that he’s foresworn his pagan gods and accepted Jesus Christ. A Moor’d say anything to worm his way into the emperor’s good graces and Charlemagne is just enough a conceited fool, like any man, to welcome a sweet-talking viper to his bosom.

“You have no idea how proud I am, my dear, that I’ve such a noble-hearted daughter. If I thought for a moment you’d consider enduring this impudence of your brother’s, I swear I’d disown you. Just resist him with spirit; stand firm; he’ll never attempt—or dare—to coerce you by force.”

Bradamant had nothing to say. She respected and loved her mother too much to lie to her and she could not tell her the truth. Indeed, it pained her to contemplate disobeying her parent—it was almost, but not quite, unthinkable. But it was no less unthinkable to consider making a promise she was unwilling to keep. She was unwilling because she couldn’t be otherwise, her love for Rashid having stolen from her all her once-considerable volitive powers.

Her mother finally left the room and Bradamant fell back heavily onto her pillow.
What am I to do? Do I have any right to desire what my mother wishes me not to desire? Doesn’t she have more power over me than I do? Do I have any right to take her wishes so lightly that I put my own over them? What greater sin could I commit, what sin could lie so heavily on the head of any maiden, what offense could be more, ah, offensive than that I take a husband against the will of the mother whom I should always obey?

“Oh, wretched me!” she cried aloud. Should her reverence for her mother be so powerful a force that it can make her abandon her love for Rashid? Could it possibly create new hopes, desires, allegiances and loves for her? Or should she instead turn her back on the respect and duty that good children owe to good parents and consider only her own welfare, joy and pleasure?

I know what I
ought
to do, I know what my obligations are as a dutiful daughter. I know these things, but how do they help me? Is Reason so weak that Passion can overcome it? Can Passion do with me as it pleases, allowing me to do only what it dictates?

I’m the daughter of Haemon and Beatrice! But I’m also, God help me, the slave of Love. If I offend my parents, no matter how much, I know I’ll eventually have their forgiveness. But if I offend Love, what then? Who’d be able to keep Eros from wreaking his fury upon me? Would he listen to one of my prayers, even a single excuse, or will he smite me dead on the spot?

After everything that I’ve done to bring Rashid to the faith, what good has it been if all my efforts only serve to benefit someone else? I’ll die, I swear it, before I take any husband other than Rashid!

Well, then, if I’m not obedient to my parents I’ll be obedient to my brother. He’s young and his brain hasn’t yet been addled by old age. His decisions will therefore be wiser and more prudent. This must be true because Roland always agrees with Renaud and Roland is the best and wisest man in the world. I have these two on my side, then, two whom the whole world respects, fears and honors above all the rest of the Clairmont family combined. And if everyone thinks these men the glory of the Clairmonts and the flower of Christendom, why then should I prefer my father to dispose of my hand rather than Renaud or Roland? I certainly have no reason
to prefer it, especially since I was promised to Rashid before I was promised to the Greek!

Having come to this convoluted decision, such as it was, Bradamant was overcome with a new worry: what if Rashid doubted her resolve? What if he believed she would prefer breaking her promises to him rather than defy her father? She climbed from her bed and relit the candle. Carrying this and too anxious to dress or even put on a robe, she padded barefoot across the room where she sat in the large chair behind the desk. She took pen, ink and parchment and composed this letter—

Rashid darling,

Whatever I have been to you I resolve to be until Death. Longer, if it were possible. Whether Love is kind to me or not, whether Fortune favors or scorns me, I remain an unyielding Rock of Faithfulness against which the Tides and Storms beat impotently. A Diamond can be worn to dust before Love’s anger or Fortune’s wrath can shatter my Heart. I am certain that such Fidelity was never before seen on this Earth or sworn to any Prince. No King or Emperor is so certain of the security of his State as you can be of your Dominion over my Heart and Soul. You will never need moat or battlements for fear of losing them to another for no assault will ever come that my Love cannot resist.

Gold and Jewels and other Riches will never be enough to vanquish me; no Price can be put upon a Noble Heart. Never will I see a Crown—that could so easily dazzle the eyes and minds of the common rabble—nor any Beauty—which has such great power over the fickle soul—that could please me more than you do.

You need never fear that the Shape you have engraved on my Heart can ever be sculptured into a new Form. Your Likeness there can never be removed. I know that my Heart is not made of wax or clay because Love has already given it a thousand blows and it has not given way by so much as a single chip. If Love persists in trying to eradicate your image, to replace it with another’s, he will only succeed in shattering it into dust.

Sincerely,

[signed] Bradamant of Clairmont

With a sigh of satisfaction, she folded the letter, sealed it, took it back to bed with her and placed it beneath her pillow. With first light of morning she would entrust it to a servant to deliver to her Moor.

With that resolution, Bradamant fell into a deep but troubled sleep.