The Cross and the Dragon (11 page)

“I hate to disappoint her, but Uncle Charles told me this morning that I should not marry the Breton only to please Grandmother. It was the reason he married the Lombard, and that marriage was a disaster. He said a union with a wealthy, well-connected family would be better and has his blessing.”

“If you are going to wed Alda,” Gerard said, “we should negotiate a generous dowry. Your royal blood will help us bargain.”

“That, and the fact that neither Alda nor Alfihar wants a union with the count of Dormagen.”

* * * * *

Hruodland remembered how Alfihar had frowned when they both had overheard the queen complain to her husband about Ganelon during the siege of Pavia. The king summoned Ganelon immediately.

“You will keep your distance from my queen, my children, and their nurses,” the king yelled, the veins in his thick neck bulging. “I shall have your head if you break this commandment.”

As soon as Ganelon left, Leonhard turned to Alfihar and said, “I told you Ganelon would make a bad brother. The only reason the king showed him mercy is that he needs Ganelon’s men. Anyone can see the great affection the king has for his queen. Ganelon is a brute. Only a blind man or a fool would fail to see it. Swallow your pride and choose a different husband for Alda.”

After dark, Alfihar and Hruodland sat by one of the campfires. Neither could sleep. Hruodland gazed at Pavia’s walls and wondered when the siege would end. He turned to Alfihar, who was staring into the flames.

“Does something trouble you?” Hruodland asked.

“Did you hear my uncle when he spoke of Ganelon?” Alfihar asked, passing a wineskin to Hruodland.

“I could not help but hear it.” He took a drink and gave the wineskin back to Alfihar.

“I was negotiating Alda’s marriage pact with Ganelon before the war. I thought his lands would compensate for his faults.” Alfihar shook his head. “But after what happened today, I…” He hesitated. “I see it is a bad arrangement, and so does Uncle Beringar. Ganelon is out of favor with the king, and Uncle Leonhard would never forgive me if Ganelon and Alda were wed.”

“With her dowry, Alda would make a good wife to any man,” Hruodland said.

“Perhaps you should marry her,” Alfihar joked.

Hruodland thought for a moment before replying, “Perhaps, I should. We would make good brothers.”

“You are earnest? You would marry Alda? Why didn’t you say anything to me in Geneva? And what about the Breton your family wants you to marry?”

“I shall
not
marry a Breton. As for Alda, I had spoken with her but for one night. The next morning, word spread through the palace that you were negotiating with Ganelon. I believed my cause was hopeless.”

“Your cause is not hopeless now, with both my uncles opposed to a union with Ganelon.” Alfihar lowered his voice. “In truth, Ganelon is vexing me. The way he keeps asking about Drachenhaus’s riches — not only Alda’s dowry, but how often merchants visit and what tolls we collect and how many servants we have — you would think he would have a claim to my inheritance as well as Alda’s.”

Hruodland raised his eyebrows.
That’s why Ganelon wants Alda! If Alfihar died childless, her sons would inherit Drachenhaus.
“I would like to speak to Alda again,” Hruodland said aloud, “to be certain if a union between us is God’s will.”

“After Pavia falls, accompany me to Drachenhaus. You will see that we can afford a generous dowry, and if it is your will, she will be your wife.”

* * * * *

Faint barks from the woods near Drachenhaus brought Hruodland back to the matter now at hand: negotiating his bride price and Alda’s dowry.

He and Gerard spoke of what to request from Alda’s family. Hruodland looked toward Alda’s uncles, who were speaking intently, most likely about the same subject. They all sat down again at a small table. Hruodland was glad to have Gerard on his side. He dared not admit it, but he could never have negotiated a marriage pact on his own.

As Hruodland heard the baying of hounds again, he longed to ride swiftly on a steed, chasing his prey, and he wondered what beast the nobles were hunting.

Chapter 8

Alda watched the dog trainers release the hounds from their leashes. Almost every grown dog in Drachenhaus was set loose for the hunt — greyhounds, wolfhounds, boarhounds, bloodhounds, staghounds, and mastiffs.

At the head of the hunting party were King Charles, Alfihar, Theodelinda, Alda, and Ganelon. Alda stayed near her brother and away from Ganelon, but as the dogs’ barking became louder and more enthusiastic, Alda forgot about the icy-eyed count of Dormagen.

The nobles urged the horses to a trot to keep up with the hounds as the dogs ran through the forest, noses to the ground. They bounded through a thicket and a chorus of barks resounded through the woods. To Alda’s delight, she saw scratches in the earth among the paw prints.

“A boar!” a huntsman bellowed. “The hounds have found a boar.”

The dogs panted and wagged their tails before they started running again. Alda and Alfihar and the others urged their horses to follow. Alda was heedless of the leaves and twigs and dirt that stirred and landed on her dress and in her hair. A small branch caught on one of Alda’s braids and tugged at it. Alda felt her braid become undone as she kept riding. Even with her hair flapping against her face and neck, she focused her attention on the chase.

Behind her, she heard the heavy thud of a horse falling, followed by a man’s shouts. The obscenities he uttered let Alda know he would be fine and that his servants would attend to him.

Now the dogs were in a frenzy, and the nobles were just as excited. Alda caught a glimpse of the beast in a clearing, and already she could tell it was larger than any boar she had seen before.

“Pepin,” the king called to his son, “tend to your mother. Do not let the beast near her.”

The boy drew his wooden sword and rode to the queen, who was already lagging.

The rest of the hunting party drew closer to the boar. The beast was a giant among its kind, bigger than any of its best-fed cousins in Drachenhaus’s swine yard. Its black bristles stood on end, and Alda saw the fire in its eyes. This monster was going to fight to the death.

Alda and Theodelinda called for javelins, and Alfihar and Ganelon dismounted and called for their arrows. The king dismounted and drew his sword.

In a cacophony of barks, the dogs surrounded the boar. It snorted and bared its tusks. It charged and gored a large bloodhound, throwing the dog as if it had been made of rags and then did the same to three other hounds.

Alfihar let loose an arrow and shot the boar in the shoulder. The beast shrieked when the feathered shaft pierced its shoulder, but still it gutted another dog, one of the finest greyhounds, as it turned toward Alfihar. Alda grabbed her dragon as she used her knees to steady her horse. With her other hand, she tightened her grip on the javelin and raised it.

Alfihar let fly another arrow, again landing in the boar’s shoulder. The blow only enraged the boar even more.

The boar charged Alfihar. Screaming, Alda let go of her dragon and hurled her javelin. A second javelin, this one from her mother, flew with hers, and both landed in the beast’s back. The boar staggered. A hound ran between Alfihar and the boar, barking, growling, and baring its fangs. The boar paused to gore that hound, which let out a loud wail as it collapsed.

The king raised his sword, gave a battle cry, and ran straight toward the beast. With one swift stroke, he landed the sword in the boar’s neck. Blood gushed on the king and the forest floor. The boar fell while the king leapt back.

The king blew his hunting horn and called to his huntsmen. “Carry this beast back to the castle and have it roasted. Preserve his tusks as trophies of our victory.”

Alda looked sadly at the dogs the boar had slain. “They were good hounds,” she whispered, brushing aside a strand of hair.

She watched the surviving hounds gather around the boar, wagging their tails. The huntsmen slashed open the boar’s belly and then stood back so the hounds could eat the innards.

The dog trainers fetched carts to take the slain dogs back to the castle, where they would be buried with honor in shallow graves. Already, carrion birds were circling.

Alda noticed one man had his arm set in a sling and another was limping and needed help to mount his horse. She was relieved their injuries seemed to be the worst — no one had been crippled or killed.

Something besides the dogs’ deaths troubled Alda. She had seen dogs die in a hunt before and mourned them, but knew that hounds lived for the hunt. A dog’s death in a hunt was like a warrior’s fall in battle — an honorable death. No, something else about the hunt gnawed at her mind. She recalled everything that had happened today. The hunt seemed normal, but she could not shake a feeling that something was amiss, even as the hunting party returned to the castle.

* * * * *

When Alda dismounted in the courtyard, she brushed off the bits of leaves and twigs clinging to her hunting clothes and sweaty skin. She needed to wash and have Veronica unbraid her hair. She and the other women rushed inside and up the stairs to the solar, where maidservants were filling basins with water.

Shedding their hunting clothes, now dirty and stained with sweat, Theodelinda and Alda talked with the queen about the hunt. Alda splashed water on herself, rubbed her skin with a drying cloth, and plunked down on a stool. Veronica gave her a clay bottle. Alda lifted the stopper, sniffed, and smiled: rose oil. She stroked the perfume behind her ears, wanting to make herself irresistible to Hruodland. Why did he and her uncles stay in the hall during the hunt? Could they be negotiating?

After the women donned fresh clothes and had their hair combed — all the while recounting the hunt, they descended the stairs to the hall. Alda’s eyes were drawn to Hruodland, and his smile reassured her of his affection. Still, she would not feel at ease until the betrothal. The real celebration would be the nuptials, when Alda and Hruodland would make their vows before God on the chapel steps.

As they had done last night, Alda and Hruodland walked toward each other. Suddenly, she felt a tight grip at her elbow. Digging its fingers into her flesh, the hand spun her around face-to-face with Ganelon and his wine-stinking, hot breath.

“Women should not have such enthusiasm for a hunt,” he sneered.

Now Alda knew what had been troubling her since the end of the hunt. “Why didn’t you come to my brother’s aid when the boar was charging at him?” she spat. “Everyone else tried to help, but you did not shoot a single arrow.”

“Do not question my hunting prowess,” he growled. “I am destined to be your master.”

He seized her other arm and crushed her against his body. His kiss stifled her scream. She struggled to free herself, but he was too strong.

Chapter 9

“Ganelon!” Alda heard Alfihar roar behind her. “Unhand my sister at once!”

Ganelon released Alda. She stumbled back and noticed Hruodland was at her side. He looked at Alda, then Ganelon. As if his hands had a will of their own, they clenched into fists, and the right fist slammed into Ganelon’s jaw. Ganelon punched Hruodland in the gut.

A circle formed around the men as fists smacked into flesh. Alda screamed when she saw a flash of iron. Ganelon had drawn his eating knife and was lunging at Hruodland. Hruodland leapt back and drew his own knife as Ganelon’s slashed the air.

“Stop it! Both of you!” Alda shrieked, clutching her dragon amulet with both hands.

Alda felt her mother’s hand on her elbow pulling her away from the fray, while Beringar, Alfihar, Gerard, King Charles himself, and others wrestled both men to the ground.

“There are women and children in here!” Alfihar bellowed. “Do you want harm to come to them?”

Alda faced her mother, quickly thinking of reasons for her outburst:
What was I to do? Let them fight like tomcats?

Theodelinda’s stern face softened when she met daughter’s eyes. Alda’s gaze fell to her boots.