Timestruck (11 page)

“In that case, you are ready.” After pausing
only long enough to listen to Gina’s heartfelt thanks, Ella
departed for the kitchen.

Gina was grateful to have a few minutes alone
in which to prepare herself to meet the royal elder son who had
been displaced as heir by his able-bodied, Church-approved younger
brother.

In his tunic and trousers of plain dark wool,
Pepin Hunchback did not look much like a prince to Gina. She
guessed he was a year or two younger than Dominick, and with his
pale hair and blue eyes he was certainly handsome, though he gave
the impression of having little physical strength. That was natural
enough, given his so-called deformity. Gina didn’t notice it
immediately. Not until Dominick glimpsed her and beckoned for her
to join the group of men clustered in the middle of the hall, and
Pepin turned around, was she able to see the physical problem that
meant he could never be king of the Franks.

One of Pepin’s shoulders was noticeably
higher than the other, and the distortion had evidently twisted his
spine so that he walked with an odd, sideways gait. He tended to
balance himself on one whole foot and the big toe of the other
foot.

“Lady.” Pepin bowed over Gina’s hand. “I
feared Dominick would invite only men to his table. How pleasant to
find you here.”

Gina didn’t know whether to curtsy or call
him “my lord” or “prince.” She settled for a simple “Thank you,
sir,” and Pepin didn’t seem to notice anything amiss.

“Here is Father Guntram,” Dominick said,
indicating a tall, skeletally thin man in a dark monk’s robe. The
priest Ella had declared a great holy man bestowed a fierce and
disapproving glare on Gina, then pulled Pepin aside and began to
speak with him in a low voice.

“Ella told me who they are,” Gina said to
Dominick.

“And warned you not to be offended by Pepin s
appearance,” Dominick said. ‘Tm glad she did. You hid your reaction
well.”

“Why should I be offended?” Gina asked.
“Pepin can’t help it.”

“You have a kinder heart than many ladies,”
Dominick said.

“Not really. I just don’t see any point in
blaming a person for something that isn’t his fault, that he’d
change if he could.”

Seeing the way Dominick was looking at her,
as if he wanted to put his arms around her right there in the hall
with all his people and his guests present, Gina decided to change
the subject promptly. Tearing her gaze from Dominick, she glanced
toward Pepin and his traveling companion.

“I don’t think the priest likes me,” she
said.

Before Dominick could respond to her claim,
Pepin left Father Guntram’s side and rejoined them. Gina noticed
the priest’s disapproving expression, and some imp of mischief made
her smile at Pepin with extra sweetness. She didn’t think many
women flirted with him, and she was delighted when he smiled
back.

“Will you be staying long at Feldbruck,
sir?”’ she asked him.

“Only one night,” Pepin said. “We are on our
way from Prum to Regensburg to see my father. It has been a long
and painful journey, and I want to end it as soon as possible, but
I could not come so far without stopping to visit Dominick.”

“If you are staying in Regensburg for more
than a few weeks, we’ll meet again there,” Dominick told him. “You
are always welcome at Feldbruck, but it is far out of your way.
Knowing how much you dislike travel, I wonder why you didn’t seek
me first at court and come here later if you didn’t find me.”

“Indeed,” said Father Guntram in a cold
voice. “That would have been the sensible thing to do, as I have
told you many times along the way, Pepin. Hear how your friend
agrees with me.”

“You are always sensible, Father.” Pepin
reacted with quiet dignity to the priest’s insulting manner.
“Whereas I am not the most sensible of men, as you so often remind
me. I conceived a great longing to sit far into the night with
Dominick, drinking his excellent wine and reliving our youthful
days together at the palace school.”

A most unreligious snort was Father Guntram s
response to Pepin’s remarks, followed by an angry lecture on the
virtue of exercising good sense on all occasions. Gina looked from
the darkly frowning priest to the almost angelically blank face of
the listening Pepin. It didn’t take a genius to see that something
was seriously wrong between the two of them. In hope of a clue as
to how she ought to react to the tension, she glanced at Dominick,
only to find that his usually expressive face was almost as devoid
of emotion as Pepin’s. Dominick’s bland silence further aroused her
suspicions.

“How far away is Prum?” she asked him while
Father Guntram was still ranting at Pepin.

“It’s west of Cologne,” he said, “and south
of Aachen. A long day’s ride from either place, and several weeks
from Feldbruck at the speed Pepin must travel.”

Gina tried to recall the map of Europe,
picturing where Feldbruck was and where Cologne was.

“That’s hundreds of miles from here!” she
exclaimed. “Ella told me that riding is difficult for Pepin, yet he
rode all that distance on a donkey.”

“And?” Dominick watched her closely, as if he
was waiting for her to reach a conclusion.

“Well, I’d say Pepin wants very badly to
speak with you.”

“So would I.” Dominick’s response was so soft
that Gina barely heard it. While she looked at him, noting the
frown that drew his brows together and wishing he’d reveal what was
on his mind, Father Guntram finished his lecture, and Pepin bowed
his head as if in complete acquiescence to what the priest had
said. But from the way Pepin’s hands were fisted at his sides and
the stiff manner in which he held his crooked back, Gina suspected
he was not as passive as he pretended to be.

That evening’s meal was not the usual simple
fare of bread, cheese, and cold meat left over from mid-day.
Hedwiga produced several hot, roasted chickens that Gina was sure
were sacrifices from the chatelaine’s treasured flock of laying
hens. There was a huge salad of garden greens and herbs sprinkled
with violets and rose petals, plenty of fresh bread, and even a
bowl of newly churned butter, which was a special treat fit for a
king s son.

Pepin praised the food, thanked Hedwiga for
her efforts on his behalf, and ate little. Father Guntram uttered
no word of thanks but stuffed himself until Gina wondered how he
kept his lean figure if he routinely ate that way.

It was not a pleasant meal. Father Guntram’s
dark presence cast a shadow over the high table and, to a lesser
degree, over the tables where men-at-arms and servants sat.
Conversation was stilted, consisting of remarks about the weather,
the difficulties of travel, and the chances of a good harvest. Gina
detected undercurrents, but she didn’t know enough about Frankish
society or about Dominick’s guests to understand what they
were.

As soon as she could do so without being
rude, she excused herself and fled the hall for the garden. It was
quickly becoming her favorite spot at Feldbruck, especially at
twilight, when all the floral and herbal fragrances released by the
heat of the day combined into a single, complex perfume that was
borne aloft by the gentle evening breeze. Gina meandered slowly
along the gravel path to the sundial at the center of the garden,
where she paused to inhale the sweet air.

A loud, haranguing voice coming from the
direction of the great hall disturbed her peace. Almost certainly
it was Father Guntram speaking.

“What is your problem, anyway?” Gina
muttered, glancing over her shoulder toward the door to the hall.
She saw a slender figure silhouetted there, and Father Guntram’s
voice grew louder. Fearing that the priest, too, was planning to
walk amid the flower beds and wanting to avoid him, Gina hurried
past the sundial to the shelter of the trees at the other end of
the garden. The sun was below the mountaintops, night was falling,
and the shadows were growing darker by the minute. She was sure no
one would notice her.

No sooner had she reached the trees than she
heard footsteps on the gravel and the voices of two men, one of
whom her heart recognized at once. It was not Father Guntram, but
Dominick and Pepin coming along the path. She stepped forward to
join them, then halted. The quiet, intense way they were speaking
told her they were in the garden seeking the same privacy she had
sought.

She knew what she ought to do, which was slip
quietly through the trees to the open area where the garden ended.
From there she could turn left and walk, unseen, around the wing
where the great hall was, and enter the house through the kitchen
door.

Whatever Dominick and Pepin wanted to say to
each other was no business of hers. She knew that perfectly well,
yet she remained where she was, hidden in the deepening shadows of
the trees, shamelessly listening to a private conversation.

“I can bear no more,” Pepin said. “My father
knows that the last thing on earth I want is to become a priest. I
don’t have the vocation, and I never will, yet he insists I must
profess my vows. He has commanded Father Guntram to preach at me
every day until I give in and obey. They say it’s because Charles
fears me that he wants me out of the way.”

“They?” Dominick’s quiet voice interrupted
Pepin’s passionate outburst. “Who are ‘they’?”

“The Bavarian nobles. They have invited me to
join them.”

Gina heard Dominick’s firm footsteps pause.
Pepin’s limping gait continued a few more paces. Then a sudden
movement in the dimness told her Pepin had swung around to face his
friend.

“Are you speaking,” Dominick said, “of the
nobles who swore fealty to Charles after Duke Tassilo of Bavaria
was deposed and imprisoned? The same nobles who, in return for
their oaths, were permitted by Charles to retain their lands and
titles?”

“Yes,” Pepin responded fiercely. “Tassilo and
all his family were sent to monasteries and convents for the rest
of their lives. It’s a habit my father has, his way of appearing
merciful when other people prove inconvenient to him. It’s what he
wants to do to me.”

“Tassilo was more than inconvenient,”
Dominick said. “He was a traitor, over and over again, and Charles
forgave him so many times that most people lost count. It’s a
wonder he wasn’t executed years ago. When Tassilo was finally
defeated in battle after his last revolt and then deposed, most of
his nobles cheerfully turned their backs on him and swore
themselves to Charles without a bit of hesitation. Pepin, don’t be
taken in by those deceitful men. If they could so easily forsake
their sacred oaths to their first lord, and then break their oaths
to Charles, they will also break any oaths they swear to you.”

“But don’t you understand? I can use them to
gain what should be mine,” Pepin said, all eagerness and
excitement. “Once I am king, I will have the power to control them.
They will obey me.”

“As your father controls them?” Dominick
asked scornfully. “As they obey him and keep their word to
him?”

“I am the firstborn son!” Pepin cried. “My
rights have been denied me!”

“Is that the argument they used to win you
over? You have known from your earliest childhood that you are
physically unfit to be king of the Franks,” Dominick said.
“Furthermore, you are legally a bastard. Therefore, the Church will
not accept you as king. Surely you understand that you cannot rule
Francia without the backing of the clergy.”

“I am no more a bastard than you are!” Pepin
exclaimed bitterly. “We were both born into legal marriages.”

“Forget your illegitimacy, and your
deformity, though I assure you, others will not forget either, not
for a moment,” Dominick said with brutal honesty. “Tell me this,
Pepin: in your wildest dreams, can you imagine Charles meekly
giving up his throne? If you want to be king, you will have to kill
your father.”

“No. It won’t come to that.” Pepin sounded
breathless. “We are going to capture him and send him to a
monastery, just as he has done to so many other men.”

“Charles will never allow himself to be taken
alive. If you think otherwise, then you know nothing about your
father.”

“Dominick, please, I came here to ask you to
join us. You are my oldest friend. I want you with me.”

“Because we are old friends, you know how I
lost my inheritance from my father and later won Feldbruck by right
of arms, fighting with Charles in the war against Tassilo,”
Dominick said. “If you are my true friend, how can you ask me to
endanger my hard-won lands and my people by betraying my king?”

“When I am king of the Franks, I will confirm
you in your estate,” Pepin cried. “And when we divide Tassilo’s
treasure, I will see that you receive your full share.”

“Ah,” said Dominick. “Tassilo’s treasure. Now
I begin to understand. That is what your false friends, the
disaffected nobles, really want, isn’t it?”

“Always after a campaign,” Pepin declared,
“the lands and possessions of the defeated have been divided among
the men who followed Charles into battle. Tassilo’s treasure is the
single exception. The entire gigantic hoard was given to Fastrada,
that greedy bitch. And did she distribute it as she ought to have
done? As any decent queen would do? No! She kept it all for
herself.”

“It seems to me there are noblemen as greedy
as the queen.” Dominick spoke with remarkable mildness after Pepin
s uncontrolled emotion. “Hasn’t it occurred to you that many of the
men who now claim a portion of Tassilo’s treasure are the same men
who fought for Tassilo, against Charles and the Frankish army? Why
should they think taking an oath to Charles after the war is over
gives them the right to any part of the treasure?”

“Then there is my younger brother, Carloman,”
Pepin said as if Dominick had not spoken. “When my father made
Carloman king of the Lombards, he had the little brat re-baptized,
as Pepin!”