The Cross and the Dragon (18 page)

“It seems like you said more than that.”

“Oh, there were the usual courtesies.”

Gerard added, “And he say all of us well and king is well.”

“Have you told him you are married?” she asked.

“He will learn in Nantes,” Hruodland answered.

Gerard said something in Roman. Hruodland replied in the same language. Gerard said something again, more sharply.

“Have you no manners?” Alda asked, vexed with both Gerard and Hruodland. “If you are going to argue about me, do so in a tongue I understand.”

Hruodland put his arm around Alda’s shoulders and kissed her on the cheek. “Dearling, it is not worth understanding. Gerard speaks foolishness.”

Gerard glowered at him.

“What were you saying?” Alda asked.

“You are a good wife,” Hruodland said, “and Father will approve of you.”

“You are, uh, good wife,” Gerard said. “But,” he paused, thinking of the words. “Hruodland marry you, uh, how do you say…” He said a word in Roman.

“Alliance,” Hruodland translated.

“Alliance with Bretons…” He paused. “Not possible.” He said something to Hruodland in Roman.

“Until I learn Roman,” Alda said, “speak in a tongue I can understand. If it concerns me or my husband, it is fit for my ears.”

“Pay no mind to Gerard, dearling,” Hruodland said. “He speaks foolishness. Father knows I never would have married the Breton. Uncle Charles approves of you. So will Father.”

“I hope so,” Alda said, not hiding her uncertainty. “I will do my best. But I wish you had told him you are married when you sent the message.”

“That what I told.” Gerard smiled as if he had just won a prize. He shook his finger at Hruodland. “See? I am not fool here.”

“I am a grown man and can decide for myself whom to marry. And he did not tell me he married a third time until after I returned home from Uncle Charles’s court three years ago. All of a sudden, we had a new mother who is younger than me.”

Gerard’s jaw dropped. He looked at Alda and then Hruodland. “You not tell Father about Alda because you angry about his new marriage?” he asked in Frankish. “My mother dead a year then. You expect him to be monk? You are a fool.”

“He does not care about me anyway,” Hruodland said bitterly. “Let him find out about my bride the way I found out about his.”

* * * * *

Three days later, the travelers again entered the forest and followed the Loire. After another week, they entered a clearing, and Alda first saw the stone walls to the city of Nantes extending all the way to the river. Her jaw dropped when she beheld the church’s cylindrical tower and its soaring arches rising above the walls.

As she felt the moisture in the air, Alda heard the call of the horn from the city gate. Hruodland blew a call in response on his own bone white horn. The call was clear, a tenor voice, a victorious voice. The bells cried with ecstasy: the men have come home!

The gates opened. Hruodland, still on horseback, leaned toward one of the guards, pointed to Alda, and shouted something drowned out by the bells.

“What did you say to him?” Alda shouted.

He said in her ear, “I told him ‘See this lady with the pale face and soft hands? Treat her well. She will be the next countess of the March of Brittany.’”

Alda looked about as they passed through the gates. Twig and thatch huts had an uncertain footing on the banks of the Loire, part of which was being diverted, and Alda wondered if they would collapse into the river during a spring rain. Hruodland drew his sword and held it aloft, leading his party toward the market square and the tavern and the church and Alda’s in-laws.

Old men and young boys tending their gardens dropped their hoes and rushed through the streets, disturbing stray ducks, pigs, and cattle. Women with babies and toddlers left their huts. The hooves of horses and oxen stirred dust from the road. Everyone in the city crowded into the market square, where weeds struggled for a foothold in the cracks between pavers surrounded by the church, the count’s manor, the brothel, and the tavern.

The church, a stone square building, sat at the highest point in the city, dominating the landscape with its wooden tower and series of arches. Beggars and pilgrims took shelter at its door, eyes unfocused, using crutches to drag useless legs, walking on blistered, bare feet. Pigeons strutted among the crowd, ready to dive for a dropped morsel.

The scene of reunion repeated itself. It was the same as it had been at Drachenhaus, Bonn, Cologne, Aachen, all the cities, towns, and villages. Only the language had changed. Mothers kissed sons. Wives embraced husbands. A handful of mothers and wives wept for the boys and men who did not return.

Hruodland helped Alda dismount near the church. Holding hands, they walked to the church steps, where the nobles awaited, staring at Alda. Hruodland and Gerard embraced the bishop and their father near a carved scene of heaven during the Last Judgment.

Alda could tell who they were by their age and clothes. The count, Hruodland’s father, tall and thin with silver hair, had the look of a man who had seen many battles. He had a white, jagged scar on his cheek, a faint scar on his right hand and, Alda suspected, countless others beneath his clothes. His cheeks were hollow from the loss of teeth. He wore a gold circlet, an embroidered green tunic, and a blue cloak.

Next to him was the bishop, holding a crosier. In the sunlight, the bishop’s robe and pointed linen helmet were a blinding white. The long faced man had an average build and was half a head taller than the count. He appeared to have seen almost as many winters as the count. Alda squinted, trying to guess how many.
Fifty?
she ventured.

When the bells exhausted their ringing, one of the soldiers blew a hunting horn. The crowd became quiet.

Hruodland wrapped his arm around Alda’s waist and made a speech in Roman. Alda had learned a few words during the journey. She could pick out “death,” “faith,” “with God,” “wife,” and then her name. The crowd cheered. Alda smiled. She hoped they were welcoming her. Alda looked toward the man she would call Father. He did not smile. The count and the bishop stared at Hruodland, eyes wide and jaws dropped.

Soldiers went home, taking their carts with them to make the land again give wheat and onions. Finally, Hruodland introduced Alda to her new family: his uncle Guillaume the bishop, the countess who could not have been much older than Alda, and his father, Milo, prefect of the March of Brittany.

Milo blinked back his surprise and frowned. He said something to Alda in Roman. Alda searched his face for meaning. His eyes, the same dark brown as Hruodland’s, were as cold as stone. Alda looked at her husband.

“He said, ‘Welcome to Nantes,’” Hruodland translated.

Alda cringed.
It means ‘welcome.’ I should have known that word,
she thought, and then remembered how nobles in the cities the travelers had visited had used that word with a smile and open arms. Alda managed a smile and tried to hide her embarrassment in the Roman word for “thank you.”

“You do not speak Roman?” Milo asked. His Roman accent did not mask the hostility in his voice.

“I… I shall learn, my lord,” she stammered.

She looked at Hruodland again. He was glaring at his father.

The countess cleared her throat, timidly touched her husband’s shoulder, and said something in Roman. Milo nodded.

The nobles descended the church steps. Alda was vexed with both Hruodland and her father-by-marriage: Hruodland for failing to tell his father about her and Milo for publicly pointing out that she didn’t speak the language.

“What did she say?” Alda hissed to her husband. “They all know I do not speak the language — yet.”

“We are going to the baths,” Hruodland said. He slid his arm from her waist and held her hand.

“You should have told him about me.”

Milo, who was ahead of them, turned toward the conversation. He wore a tight-lipped smile. “Yes, Hruodland, you should have told me about her,” he said in Frankish. “It is good to see you have chosen someone with sense.”

Guillaume frowned and said something in Roman to Milo. All Alda could pick out were “husband” and “Berthe,” the name of Hruodland’s mother.

Milo smiled and looked at Alda. For the first time, Alda thought she saw a glimmer of warmth in his expression. When he spoke to Guillaume, she understood, “…Berthe… good wife.”

Guillaume flushed and snarled out something. Milo shouted back.

“What do they speak of?” Alda whispered to Hruodland.

“They are oblivious to anyone else whenever they bicker about my mother,” he muttered.

“They have done this before?”

“I should have warned you about my family. I was too eager to make you my bride.”

“He not want to scare you off,” Gerard said with a grin. Hruodland glared at him.

Milo slammed his fist into his hand. The countess jumped. The count and bishop kept on arguing.

“Why do they quarrel about her?” Alda asked.

Hruodland stared intently at his father and his uncle.

Gerard hesitated then spoke slowly, as if carefully choosing his words, “My father and my uncle have… not same memories of Princess Berthe.”

“But why quarrel now after… what? Twenty years?” Alda asked.

“More than that,” Gerard replied. “I know not. I ask same question.”

“Hold your tongue, both of you,” Hruodland snapped.

When she saw how intently he was watching Milo and Guillaume, Alda tempered her usual urge to rebuke him. She watched his face. His eyebrows drew together. His frown deepened.

Guillaume said something to Milo. Hruodland yelled something in Roman. Whatever it was stunned both Milo and Guillaume into silence. Guillaume replied to Hruodland. Alda tried to discern his tone of voice. Conciliatory, perhaps?

Hruodland’s dark eyes seemed to be on fire. He barked out something to Guillaume. Alda picked out the word “wife.”

Hruodland stalked toward the castle. Alda followed him. “What troubles you so?”

“You are always asking questions.”

“What did your uncle say about me?”

Hruodland stopped and pulled her close to him. He slid his hand under her veil and stroked her hair. “I do not wish to talk about it.”

“I am your wife. If you are troubled, I am troubled.” She kissed him.

“I am not troubled now.”

“Yes, you are.” She stamped her foot, barely missing his. “Tell me.”

“All I will say is that you remind them of my mother. My father was very fond of her. When he realizes how clever you are, he will accept you as a daughter.”

“And your uncle?”

“Not important.”

Alda stroked her dragon and thought of her own family. Yes, they argued over the household and the harvest, but they didn’t nurse grudges for decades. She momentarily envied the nuns who lived on Nonnenwerth Island in the Rhine.
Just prayers at the bells
,
no family squabbles over a woman who is long dead
.

Chapter 14

Even though Alda constantly asked questions to learn the language of her new home, she soon realized she had to learn more than the words — the food for one thing. The castle at Nantes had livestock and hunting grounds, but every few days, fishermen brought in their catch, which included the fruits of the sea.

Alda didn’t know if Frankish words existed for the sea creatures. Some looked like larger and differently colored versions of the mussels she’d seen on the bank of the Rhine. Others resembled enormous insects with pinchers and hard shells.

At the table, she would watch the others eat the fruits of the sea before she made an attempt — and hoped her efforts didn’t seem too awkward. To her surprise, she liked the delicate taste of these strange creatures. She hoped she would remember what they were called when she became countess.

The men from Rennes and Vannes had been sent home to help their families slaughter livestock before winter, but Hruodland and Alda stayed with his family in Nantes for a month. Milo softened toward Alda, especially when he learned of her dowry and the king’s approval of the marriage, and smiled at her occasionally, but Bishop Guillaume acted as if she didn’t exist.