Night Blooming (40 page)

Another troop of scullions—Saxon slaves—appeared bearing pails of beer and large baskets of round loaves of bread. They struggled to distribute these among the men while a mansionarius served the King and his second cousin once removed. The commotion had died down a little when Bertrada and Rotruda came into the dining hall, shouting out greetings to their father and hurrying toward him as if they were still children. Karl-lo-Magne slewed around in his chair and opened his arms to receive them.

“It’s so
good
to have you back again!” Rotruda exclaimed, and kissed his hand, giving attention to his skinned knuckles.

Karl-lo-Magne bussed her cheeks, saying, “Where is my wife?” between kisses.

“She’ll be with you soon,” said Bertrada. “She’s been keeping Hours with Gisela, in the hope that she will finally conceive.” She glanced at the mansionarius. “I’ll have wine. The red from Tuscany if you have any.”

“There may be some, Illustra. I’ll have to look,” said the mansionarius, apprehension in every line of his body; he knew that his disappointment of this powerful woman would mean a beating.

“Do so, and quickly,” said Bertrada.

“You’d best bring two bottles or more. Gisela likes Tuscan wine, too,” said Rotruda. “I’ll have honey-wine, from my father’s pitcher.” She favored him with a winsome look.

More slaves came from the kitchen, bearing wheels of cheese and tubs of butter; they were welcomed with cheers and eager gestures as they made their way along the three tables. In the middle of this, the bell that signaled the end of None rang, and the men paused to sketch a cross in the air in front of them before resuming their scramble for food.

“Gisela and Luitgard will be here shortly,” said Rotruda, sinking into a chair beside Comes Godefrid. “How was the fighting, cousin?”

“It was fierce, but good,” he said, reaching for his drink.

“Has my wife been good company for you?” Karl-lo-Magne asked Bertrada. “She has not always liked coming on campaign, but it would be folly to leave her behind, unprotected. Who knows what might befall her on my account?” He patted his daughter’s hand.

“Luitgard is sensible in her way,” said Bertrada. “She knows she must stay with you, but you cannot blame her if she dislikes the conditions this imposes.”

“She’s not like you, is she? She has no taste for the rigors of campaign, though she must endure them,” he asked fondly, brushing his hand over her long braids. “You’ve been at my side since you were out of swaddling bands.”

“As have we all,” said Bertrada, and looked up as Leo III appeared at the far end of the dining hall. She rose and reverenced him; gradually the room went quiet as the rest of the company followed her example, except her father, who remained seated until the Pope reached the dais and came up to him.

“Most Holy Leo,” Karl-lo-Magne said, rising and embracing the Pope. “You honor my table. Sit and dine with us.”

Pope Leo nodded, acknowledging the reverence the King offered. “I am thankful to you, Karl-lo-Magne.”

“God has given us a victory, Holiness,” Karl-lo-Magne went on, making sure he spoke loudly enough so that everyone in the dining hall could hear. “Your prayers and presence brought us strength and took will from our Saxon enemies.”

“Then let us praise God for His Goodness,” said Pope Leo, holding his hands up in prayer before taking the seat the King indicated at his right. “It is always a worthy victory when the Church is vindicated.” He reached for the silver cup the mansionarius had just placed before him. “I am grateful to you for doing God’s Will.”

“Amen, Holiness, amen,” said Karl-lo-Magne, and heard this echoed throughout the dining hall.

More bread and cheese were carried in, to be grabbed and gobbled by the men on the benches; the under-mansionarius came to the High Table with silver trays of bread still warm from the oven, and cheese in waxen rinds. He reverenced the estimable figures before him as best he could, then served the food as if this were a banquet instead of an impromptu meal.

As Pope Leo broke the loaf he had been offered, Gisela and Luitgard entered the dining hall and made their way past the long table to the High Table. They reverenced the King and the Pope, then took their places, accepting the cups the mansionarius had managed to fill with red Tuscan wine.

“You look tired,” Gisela said to the King. “Was it a hard fight?”

“It was. The Saxons are purposeful foes, but they could not stand against us.” Karl-lo-Magne turned from his daughter to his wife. “Have you been busy here at Paderborn?”

“Oh, yes,” she answered. “I have been teaching your children—the ones who haven’t learned already—how to do sums.”

“How good of you,” said Karl-lo-Magne, and looked back to Gisela. “What more have you done in the last weeks?”

“I have read a great deal. Odile has shared two of Magnatus Rakoczy’s books with me, and I have found them most interesting.” She took a long draft of wine.

“Ah. Odile,” Karl-lo-Magne said with a slight smile. “Is she well?”

“She is very well,” said Gisela with a knowing look at her father. “She is here at your pleasure, Optime. As are we all.”

Karl-lo-Magne gave a single nod, then gave his attention to the Pope. “There are many things we must discuss, Holiness.”

“I agree, Optime,” said Leo. He drank a little more wine to fortify himself. “Now that I am nearly recovered, I must return to Roma.”

“You must, it is true, but that need not be at once,” said Karl-lo-Magne. “Best wait until you are fully restored to health.”

“That may mean traveling in winter, which is more hazardous than taking to the road now. Once the rains come, and the snows, I may be unable to move until spring, which would give my enemies many months to prepare for my return. I would prefer not to give them such an advantage.” The Pope turned in his chair to look directly at Karl-lo-Magne. “You must be aware that the longer I am gone, the weaker my supporters become.”

“Your enemies know you are with me, and that ought to give them pause,” said Karl-lo-Magne, and was cut short by the stamping of the men’s feet in welcome to the first spit of geese, sizzling and smoking from the fire. He waited while these were portioned out, then went on. “Anyone who acts against you acts against me.”

“A most laudable sentiment,” said Pope Leo, “but permit me to say that it may not be as true as you want to believe. In this time, there are many demands on the members of the Papal Court, because I am not there to hold the Church on course. Too many of the Cardinal Archbishops are inclined to listen to the Byzantines, and to lend them support. If I were in Roma most of them would hesitate before undertaking any alliance with the Patriarch, for they would know I”—he stopped while a kitchen slave cut wings and legs from the largest goose and laid them on a tray, then split the body in half, putting one section before Karl-lo-Magne and one before the Pope—“they know I will punish such sedition with severity. No one can force their compliance as I can.”

The King had picked up his section of goose in his hands and was tearing at the skin with his big, yellow teeth. He stopped, chewed, and said, “If you are going to indulge in a contest of wills, Holiness, you would be well-advised to wait until you know that you can carry the day. If you remain here, all my Bishops will be summoned to vow their continuing allegiance to you, and that will make them eager to accompany you on your return, which will increase your strength beyond your present supporters.”

Pope Leo thought this over while he used his knife to cut away a section of breast. “You have a very good point, but it isn’t persuasive enough to convince me that it is worthwhile to be gone longer than I must be.”

“I would never feel I had done my duty to you if I should allow you to leave before you have had the opportunity to solidify your position with the Bishops of Franksland,” Karl-lo-Magne said with feeling. “They will be your staunch defenders if you need them.”

More fowl was brought in on spits—ducks this time—and they were distributed among the men, a special spit being brought to the High Table. Each person there was given a duck apiece and another tub of butter to rub on the blackened skins.

When he had drunk more wine, Pope Leo said, “In regard to your Frankish Bishops, I have a request to make.”

“What would that be?” Karl-lo-Magne asked through a mouthful of hot duck.

“Fratre Berahtram. He has done me excellent service and I would like to reward him for it, not only because he is deserving, but because he makes a fine example to all the rest of them.” He finished his wine and was nonplussed when Gisela refilled it for him.

“Oh, yes. He is a most worthy man with a fine reputation. He deserves a bishopric of his own.” The King scowled. “Though Christ alone knows where I shall find one without giving offense to one or another of my Court; they have to defend their—” He broke off. “Wait a moment.” He picked up his honey-wine and drank it down as if it would speed his thoughts. “Wait. There is a place … part of a bishopric, but neglected. The Majore of the central village came to…” He thumped his forehead with the heel of his greasy hand. “What is the
name
of that place?”

“What were you planning?” the Pope asked, alarmed at this display.

“I will split this portion of the bishopric off from the other; they’re far enough apart that it won’t rile the other Bishops. The Bishop rarely goes there, if the peasants were correct in their complaint, and I would think Fratre Berahtram wouldn’t mind traveling a bit for his reward. The Comes doesn’t go there, either, and so I can advance one of the men who have supported me against the Saxons with fiscs that do not encroach on another’s.” He smiled wolfishly and took another bite of duck. “Ambrosius of Solignac has the bishopric, that much I recall. He will not mind giving it up if I advance that bastard of his to a Magnatus. He understands these things.”

“Is there a monastery for his sedes?” Pope Leo asked, pulling a strip of meat off the duck and popping it into his mouth. “It is hardly a bishopric if he has no sedes.”

“Oh, yes. It’s proper. It has four villages, as I recall, and at least a monastery.” He drank again; his cup was refilled by the mansionarius. “There’s a nunnery, too, as I—
Sant’Yrieix!
” he shouted, a spray of wine and half-chewed duck heralding the village. “That’s the place! Sant’ Yrieix. And the others are Cometou Gudi, Sant’ Ianuarius, Sant’ Damasus, and … and … Lacosasse.” He pounded the table with his fist; all those around him stopped eating and stared at him. He shook his head. “It’s nothing to do with you. Go back to your meal!”

The Pope was at once relieved and dismayed. “Optime, you have frightened your daughters.”

Karl-lo-Magne laughed, a great rumbling guffaw. “My daughters don’t frighten, Holiness. They have been on campaign with me for all their lives. They have seen the worst and the best of me, and they are not troubled by minor outbursts. Are you?” He looked from Rotruda to Gisela and then to Bertrada. “Well?”

“You haven’t frightened us since you returned safely,” said Rotruda. “It is your absences that frighten us, not your presence.”

“There, Holiness, you see? Even my wife knows not to fear me.” He reached out and tweaked her chin, leaving a smear of grease where his thumb had been.

“It seems to me that some of your fighting men were startled,” said Pope Leo, determined to make his point.

“That’s because they’re on their mettle with me,” said Karl-lo-Magne proudly. He raised his fist and was answered with shouts and drumming hands. “They are ready to follow me into the mouth of Hell, if that should be what must be.”

The Pope took another drink of wine. “Then you are more blessed than any King has ever been.”

“That I am; don’t think I don’t know it,” said Karl-lo-Magne with a trace of smugness. “I thank God in all my prayers for all the good things He has heaped upon me, and I vow to serve Him as His vassal on earth, as I expect to be served by my vassals.” He drank most of his cupful of wine, and then said, “Now. About Sant’ Yrieix. Bishop Ambrosius appointed a priest there, and I would think that as soon as I notify Ambrosius of his change of enrollment, I should send missi dominici to the priest and the Majore, to inform them that they will have a new Bishop, a man of good character who has earned his advancement.” He winked at the Pope. “This is what the villagers wanted, and you know how obdurate peasants can be. I have punished the missi dominici who abused my trust, but I will now be able to make it possible for these peasants to have what they wanted.”

Pope Leo heard this out with conflicting emotions: he certainly wanted Fratre Berahtram to have a real benefit from all he had done to treat him, but he was wary about the King’s decision being so relentlessly pragmatic; there was no concern for the souls of the peasants and monks and nuns, only a regard for their governance. He lifted his cup. “God will reward you for your labors as they are deserved.”

Karl-lo-Magne raised his cup in agreement. “Amen, Holiness. May God hear you and answer you with Majesty.” He finished his honey-wine and signaled for more. “All in all, this has been an excellent day, Holiness. Yes. An excellent day.”

“And say we all Amen,” said the Pope, and as he lifted his cup, he wondered how he would explain his coming change of circumstances to Fratre Berahtram. The one thing he decided he must do was perform the celebration of the monk’s elevation to Bishop before he departed for Roma. But that, he reminded himself, was for later. Now he wanted only to help Great Karlus applaud the latest defeat of the Saxons.

T
EXT OF A LETTER FROM
O
DILE AT
A
ACHEN TO
M
AGNATUS
R
AKOCZY AT HIS FISCS.

To the most esteemed Magnatus Hiernom Rakoczy on the full moon called the Woodman’s Moon, in the Pope’s year 799, my most sincere greetings.

The missi dominici who carry this to you also return the books you were kind enough to loan to me in those days when we were lying together. You will agree that I would be in error to keep them now that I have the King’s child growing in my womb. I am so joyous I can hardly find words to express it. I will have another child before I die. And I will not lose all my late husband bestowed upon me. This is the one father my late husband’s family must accept, and receive with pleasure and favor, or risk losing their position of respect at Court They have been promised that the King will do my son honor, and if I give him a daughter, he will arrange a suitable marriage for her, or find a convent where she may be Abba, so that she will not be a burden on me or on my late husband’s kin.