Time to Love Again (32 page)

“I have told you, Adelbert is a nice enough
man, but it is Marcion I want.” Bertille’s eyes filled with tears.
“It’s Marcion I miss every day, Marcion I fear for constantly and
long to see again.”

So there the matter of Adelbert’s interest in
Bertille rested, though it tugged at India’s thoughts whenever she
saw him. It was as if something needed to be set right, but she was
not sure whether what was wrong was in the eighth century or in her
own.

In early August, Hildegarde gave birth to
twin sons.

“That explains why she was so large and so
uncomfortable,” said Bertille, sounding like the most experienced
of midwives.

“Both the babies are small and will have a
struggle if they are to live,” Lady Remilda told India. “And the
queen is very sick. She will be in bed for many days yet.”

After the excitement of the royal births had
died down, summer heat and torpor once more descended upon Agen,
relieved only by frequent heavy thunderstorms. Now India began to
count the days. Exhausted riders sent by Charles brought occasional
messages, along with their own accounts of what was happening on
the other side of the Pyrenees. The tales were always what India,
with her foreknowledge of the campaign, expected to hear. The
Saracens were too busy fighting among themselves to provide the
support they had promised to the Franks. The Christian Spaniards
had joined forces with those Saracens who opposed the presence of
the Franks in their land, and together they were resisting the
invaders. The commander of Saragossa, who was to have opened its
gates to Charles on his arrival there, instead bolted them against
him, and the city had been under siege for months. There had been
battles, but the Franks had gained little. They would return to
Agen by the end of August. There were women who went about the
court in mourning now, more of them each time a courier brought
news of new deaths. There was no word of Theu and his men. India,
Danise, and Bertille grew ever closer, the differences in their
ages forgotten in mutual concern and constant worry.

With evening falling on another day of
warfare, Charles, king of the Franks, sat in a wooden chair in
front of the entrance to his tent, listening to the reports of his
war leaders. Around him stood his closest companions, every man
battle-weary and sweaty, some bearing wounds, all tight-mouthed and
unhappy at the disappointing end to what should have been a
glorious and fruitful campaign. Only the man facing Charles looked
fresh and untouched by the events of the past few months.

“We took no prisoners.” Hrulund finished his
report with flashing eyes and the ring of pride in his loud voice.
He swept one arm in the direction of the blazing ruins a mile or so
south of the camp, inviting Charles to gaze once more on what the
Franks had wrought there. “Pamplona is razed to the ground. Thus we
need not concern ourselves about pursuit from either Saracens or
those treacherous Spanish Christians during our return to Francia.”
Hrulund smiled happily at Charles’s nod of approval.

“And you, Theu?” Charles asked the man
standing next to Hrulund. “What have you to report?”

“We took fifty prisoners,” Theu responded.
“Ten of them are officers, whom I turned over to Eggihard the
seneschal to hold for ransom. We disarmed the ordinary soldiers and
set them free. They are too disheartened by the destruction of
their city to cause any trouble until we are long departed from the
vicinity of Pamplona.”

“You set them free?” Hrulund’s long-standing
anger against Theu rose anew. “You fool! You should have killed
them all, even the officers. I never take prisoners!”

“I know,” Theu said, staying calm in the face
of Hrulund’s ire. “But I see no reason for senseless killing.”

“There is nothing senseless about destroying
Charles’s enemies!”

“The more you kill after a battle is over,
the more enemies you make for Charles, from the families and
friends of the dead men, whereas mercy often results in compliance
among the defeated.”

“Why should we care about that? We are
returning to Francia tomorrow, and won’t have to deal with the
survivors. It’s your love of women that leads you to this foolish
weakness. That’s what’s wrong with you.
Women
.” Hrulund spat
out the word with deep contempt.

“Be still, both of you.” Charles spoke with
unaccustomed sharpness. “I grow weary of the need to intervene in
your constant quarrels. I have more important concerns on my
mind.”

“My lord.” Hrulund was on his knees before
Charles. “I ask a favor of you. On our journey through the
mountains, allow me to lead the rear guard. Should the Saracens
dare to follow us, no one will defend you more valiantly than I and
my men.”

“I thought you just claimed that thanks to
you, there would be no pursuit,” Theu began, but stopped at a
warning glance from Charles.

What Hrulund had just asked for was an
important command. The man who led the rearguard would not only be
responsible for protecting the vanguard of the army against attacks
from the rear, but would also be in charge of protecting the
baggage carts laden with the plunder accumulated in Spain. The
value of this loot was less than the Franks had hoped it would be,
but it was still enough to be tempting to marauders.

Then there were the people who would not be
able to keep pace with the rest of the army. Those too badly
wounded to ride horses or to walk would have to be carried in the
baggage carts. These men, along with the camp followers, their
children, and the few merchants who accompanied the army would all
need protection, and many of them would in addition need
compassionate help if they were to traverse the mountains and reach
Francia alive. In battle, few could surpass Hrulund, but Theu did
not think he was the man for a task requiring humane qualities of
character.

While Hrulund talked on, trying to convince
Charles, Theu thought about the repeated warnings India had given
him. He thought about Hrulund’s arrogance, his lack of concern for
human life, including his own life, and his mad desire for glory.
It would be just like Hrulund to leave the last of the army to
struggle through the pass at Roncevaux on its own so that he could
ride back onto the plain to engage in battle any warband his scouts
might notice. But if Theu and his best men were among the
rearguard, their mere presence might make Hrulund adhere to a duty
that would require more patience than he usually showed. Thus, Theu
and his loyal men might avert the tragedy India had foreseen.

“Very well,” Charles said, raising a hand to
stop the flow of Hrulund’s impassioned words. “I give you command
of the rear guard. Take as many men as you think you will
need.”

“My lord, I thank you with all my heart. I
will not fail you,” Hrulund said, rising from his knees. “I will
choose from among my own men.”

“My lord.” Theu stepped forward. “Allow me to
go with Hrulund.”

“I don t need your levy, Fire brand,” Hrulund
told him rudely.

“Not my levy,” Theu replied quietly. “There
are too many of them for such a duty. I have my own personal
warband of twelve men besides Marcion and myself. My lord, I
volunteer to place myself under Hrulund’s orders, and I swear to
obey him until we reach Francia again. Allow me to add my strength
to his so that we may all pass safely through the mountains and
return our wounded to their loved ones.”

“A noble gesture, to put yourself under the
command of one who is not your friend,” said Charles. “Is it
perhaps intended to end this long and unpleasant feud between you
and Hrulund?”

“My lord, if it has that result in addition
to seeing all of your army home again with no further losses, then
I will be happy, for I know my disagreements with Hrulund trouble
you,” Theu told him.

“Well said, my friend. You may go with
Hrulund.”

There had been much murmuring among Charles’s
companions during this exchange, and now several other nobles came
forward, with Bishop Turpin leading them.

“Please,” said Anselm the Count of the
Palace, who stood with his friend Eggihard the seneschal. “Let us
join Hrulund, too.”

“I also would ride with my friend Hrulund,”
declared Bishop Turpin.

“If you all go with him, who will accompany
me?” asked Charles, hiding a smile. He knew well the respect his
nobles had for Hrulund’s prowess in battle, knew, too, of the
friendship among Theu and many of the men now standing before him.
He pointed to a few of these men. “Turpin, I know you too well to
think I can prevent you from doing what you will. Go, then. Anselm,
Eggihard, you may go, but not you, Marcion.”

“I have ridden with Theu since I came to
Francia,” Marcion protested, dropping to his knees in much the same
way that Hrulund had done. “Do not shame me before the Franks, my
lord. Let me go, too. Let me show what a good and loyal Lombard can
do in service to his king.”

“I said, no.” Charles’s voice was kind, but
firm in the way his friends knew meant he would not change his
mind. Softening his refusal with a smile, he added, “No one doubts
your loyalty, Marcion, but I would keep my favorite hostage safe
rather than chance another war with Lombardy immediately after this
hard campaign. You will stay in the vanguard next to me.”

“It doesn’t really matter,” Theu said,
clapping Marcion on the shoulder. “This march across the mountains
is no great thing, and it won’t be for long. We will meet again
tomorrow evening, in Francia.” They clasped hands and parted, Theu
going off to find Hugo and the rest of his men, leaving Marcion to
look after him with a worried light in his eyes.

“Without me,” Marcion murmured, “there will
be thirteen in your band.” He crossed himself several times to ward
off the evil of that unlucky number.

At some distance from the royal tent, Theu
fell into step beside Hrulund.

“Since we came into Spain by another route,”
he said pleasantly, “I have sent out several men to reconnoiter the
pass at Roncevaux. They returned yesterday with some reliable
advice on where it would be best to post scouts along the way. We
will need to guard our flanks.”

“Will you break your promise to Charles so
soon?” Hrulund shouted at him. “I am in command. You are to obey me
until the entire army has passed into Francia. Only Charles may
countermand my orders. Remember that, Firebrand.”

“I only thought you might be glad of useful
recent information,” Theu replied as mildly as he could manage in
the face of Hrulund’s belligerence. “You are welcome to speak to my
scouts without my presence, if that is what you wish.”

“What I wish is for you not to advise me,”
Hrulund declared. “I and I alone, will decide what is useful
information. You thought to ingratiate yourself with Charles by
putting yourself under my command. Now obey me. Find your men and
tell them to assemble before dawn. And do not question my decisions
or presume to advise me again!”

Oh, India
, Theu thought, watching
Hrulund stride away toward his own campsite,
you were right. Now
God help us all and make our arms strong
.

On the morning of the eighteenth of August,
India remained in the chapel after the service was over and the
other women had gone. There was nothing she could do for Theu on
that fateful day except pray. She tried to clear her mind so that
she could sense any thoughts he might be sending her way, but the
oppressive weight of her fear overpowered her until it shut out all
else. She thought her heart would break; she thought her life would
end before that day was over, and there was no one in whom she
could confide. She alone, out of all those in Agen, knew what was
happening in the pass at Roncevaux. Barely able to breathe from
terror for Theu’s sake, she prayed over and over that he would not
be among those with Hrulund, or, if he were with Hrulund, that he
would somehow survive to return to her unscathed.

“I told you she would be here.” Bertille’s
voice came to India from a great distance. She felt two pairs of
hands lifting her.

“Why are you lying on the stone floor? You
will be sick.” Danise sounded worried. “India, speak to us.”

Between them, they set her on her feet. With
both of them supporting her, they half carried her out of the
chapel.

“Have you been there all day?” asked
Bertille. “Look, the sun is setting.”

“Then it’s over,” India rasped, her voice
hoarse. Her head ached, making her close her eyes against the
reddish glare of the sun. She let her friends take her toward the
women’s quarters. “Whatever has happened, is finished now.” She
began to shiver.

“Where did you find her?” asked Sister
Gertrude. “The foolish creature has obviously taken a chill.
Danise, help me get her into bed. Bertille, find your mother and
ask her to give you a cup of the same heated wine she keeps for the
queen.”

Not caring what they did, India let them
undress her and tuck her beneath the covers. When Bertille returned
with the wine, she forced herself to drink it all, knowing they
were trying to be kind to her, knowing, too, that they could not
understand what was really wrong with her.

When they left her alone to sleep, and even
later, after Danise had crawled into the bed they shared and had
whispered good night and kissed her cold cheek, India lay dry-eyed
and numb, staring into the darkness.

In the high mountains, the clang of metal on
metal was silenced at last. The cries of the dying had ceased. Even
the reverberating echoes were stilled. Within the confines of the
narrow, rocky pass, the boulders that the Basques had rolled down
from the heights onto the rear guard were surrounded by the smaller
rocks and stones that had been hurled at the Franks after the first
attack. The hand-to-hand combat had come later, under the searing
August sun, with the survivors of the initial ambush sweating in
heavy chain mail and the horses rearing and screaming in fright,
their hooves causing as much damage as any sword to friend or foe
without discrimination. It was all finished now, and there was no
more sound in that place except the whine of the wind. Far above
the dreadful scene, the intensely blue sky arched, pure and
cloudless, while the burning sun sank toward the simmering heat of
the Spanish plain.