The Cross and the Dragon (21 page)

The travelers rode through the city and entered the palace’s walled courtyard. Beside what must have been hundreds of springs, a new palace and church had been built with mortared, flat, gray and beige stones. A familiar and welcome face drew Alda’s attention.

“Alfihar!” she called out.

She jumped down from her horse and ran toward him, heedless of the mud on her leather boots or the hem of her skirt.

Alfihar approached her, carrying a boy who had just seen his second winter. His wife, Gundrada, walked beside him, and the boy’s nurse followed, carrying her own child.

“This must be Werinbert!” Alda said between breaths when she joined her brother. “Oh, Alfihar, you did not do your son justice in your messages. He bears an exact semblance to you. Look at those green eyes. He has the mark of the dragon. Oh, Werinbert,” she said, kissing his cheek, “how good to finally see you!”

Alfihar laughed and shifted the child in his arms. “You are just as indulgent as Mother,” he said to Alda.

The boy wore only a tunic and cloak. He put a fist in his mouth and stared at Alda. “This is your Auntie Alda,” Alfihar said, his voice tender. “Say hello.”

The toddler buried his face against his father’s chest and then furtively turned toward his aunt. Alda waved. Werinbert waved back.

“How does Mother fare?” Alda asked her brother.

“She is well. She takes every opportunity to fatten Werinbert with cakes,” Alfihar said as he again shifted his son’s weight.

Alda laughed and then felt Hruodland’s hand on her shoulder.

“Alfihar, you have a fine son,” he said.

“In another year, he will get his first wooden sword and learn to ride a horse,” Alfihar said.

“He will be a great warrior, just like his father,” Hruodland said, tousling Werinbert’s brown curls. Hruodland waved toward the hall. “Wife, we should go inside. We must greet our uncle.”

As Alda, Hruodland, and their kin entered the hall, Alda noticed the doorways were tall enough for the king to pass through without stooping. Inside, servants were assembling trestle tables. Queen Hildegard and Queen Mother Bertrada rushed to greet them.
Saints be praised, Hildegard is still healthy after the birth,
Alda thought, remembering the king’s message about her being with child.

Hildegard hugged Hruodland, Alda, and Gerard. Bertrada embraced Hruodland and clasped hand with Gerard, then Alda. When the queen mother’s gaze flicked to Alda’s still-flat belly, Alda braced herself. To her surprise, the older woman patted her hand before releasing it.

“Welcome to Paderborn,” Hildegard said. “You must use our spring-fed baths and join us at the table.”

“Thank you,” Hruodland replied. “It’s good to see you. You both look well.”

Hildegard and Bertrada thanked him and returned the compliment.

“And how do the children fare?” Alda asked.

“They are all well,” Hildegard gushed. “Carloman was born over a month ago, and the Good Lord has made him healthy and hungry. And I can’t wait for you to see my Karl. What a little warrior! He so enjoys his wooden sword. And my lovely little Hruodtrude, just a toddling babe and already charming the courtiers.”

“And Pepin is learning the Psalter,” Bertrada added.

“Praise God and His Merciful Mother.” Alda fought back a twinge of envy.
If I could bear but one healthy son
.
 

“We shall accept your invitation to the baths once I speak to Uncle Charles,” Hruodland said.

Hildegard pointed to a dais to their right. Next to the queen’s empty seat, the king slouched in his throne, leaning against one hand and drumming the fingers of the other against the arm of his chair. Standing before him were Ganelon and an older man, the bishop of Worms, whom Alda remembered from her journey to Geneva.

“What is happening?” Alda whispered to her brother.

Alfihar put his son on the floor beside his foster brother. The nurse gave a wooden ball to Werinbert. Holding it in both hands, he shrieked with joy then threw it. His foster brother chased the toy.

Alfihar leaned toward Alda and muttered, “Do you remember my message about Ganelon marrying a daughter of the bishop of Worms?”

“Yes,” Alda said, remembering her relief when the clerk had read the news.

“When I arrived here, I learned that his wife had died,” Alfihar said.

“When? How?” Alda’s mouth went dry.

“I don’t know. Listen.”

“…Her dowry should be mine,” Ganelon told the king. “She died after she had given birth. The babe lived but a day.”

“I have lost a daughter and a granddaughter,” the bishop of Worms said, his voice ragged. “That dowry was for one of them, not you. Was the babe baptized?”

“Yes, of course,” Ganelon stammered. His voice became surer. “The priest who gave my wife last rites baptized the child.”

“And what was my granddaughter’s name?” the bishop asked, his voice the tone of an accusation.

“She was named after her mother,” Ganelon said calmly.

“Where is she buried?”

“In the churchyard, of course, with her babe.” Ganelon cleared his throat.

“Your Excellence, the dowry was for my daughter or her children — surviving children,” the bishop of Worms insisted, clenching his fists.

“We have heard enough,” the king said looking first at Ganelon and then the bishop of Worms. “Francia has much more pressing needs than this. Since no children survive the union of the houses of Dormagen and Worms, the dowry must be returned to Worms, and the bride price must be returned to Dormagen.”

Both men started to protest the decision, but the king held up his hand. “Silence!” he barked. “We will hear no more. We have other important matters to attend.”

“Poor Ganelon,” Gundrada said.

Stiffening, Alda turned to her sister-by-marriage. “How can you be moved to pity him? His last words to me were, ‘I will be avenged.’”

“That fool does not have the courage for vengeance,” Hruodland said. “If he did, he would have challenged me to a duel years ago.”

“But he married another, a lady from a good family,” Gundrada said. “A pity the Lord called both her and their child.”

Alda bit her lip and stroked her dragon.
If it was the Lord,
she thought with a shudder. She did not know why she was suspicious of Ganelon. There was something in his manner, no matter how gracious, that made Alda think he was not telling the complete truth. But it was a matter between the bishop of Worms and Ganelon, not her concern.

“I am certain Ganelon has long forgotten his plans of vengeance,” Alda heard her uncle Beringar say behind her.

Alda spun around. “Uncle Beringar! Uncle Leonhard!” she cried, embracing them.

“Alda, let me look at you,” Leonhard said, taking a step back. “Hruodland has taken good care of you. You have gained weight.”

She smiled and blushed, glad he had noticed. She felt a twinge of envy as she glanced at Gundrada. She was still not as plump as her sister-by-marriage.

“I must agree with my brother about Ganelon,” Leonhard said. “Those words were spoken in a moment of anger.”

“It seemed more like hatred to me,” Alda muttered.

“He has shown nothing but good graces to our family.”

Alda was tired of talking about Ganelon and decided to change the subject. She turned toward Hruodland and asked, “What did our uncle mean about ‘other important matters’?”

“I have yet to speak with him,” he said.

“He means he will soon receive guests from Hispania,” Leonhard said.

“Guests from Hispania?” Alda asked. “But that is so far away, beyond the Pyrenees.”

“Come, dearling, my uncle is summoning us,” Hruodland said.

* * * * *

With Gerard trailing them, Alda and her husband crossed the stone floor and greeted the king.

“What do you think of Paderborn, Nephew?” Charles asked, spreading his arms.

“The palace is a triumph,” Hruodland said, gazing at the plastered walls covered with murals of Saint Georg slaying a dragon, the Blessed Mother and Child, the Last Judgment, and an inscription in Latin. Through the windows, he saw newly planted gardens of vegetables, roses, and herbs. “What is this I hear about guests from Hispania?”

“A delegation of emirs, in fact,” the king replied. “Sulaiman Yaqzan ibn al-Arabi, his son Yusuf, and his son-by-marriage. They sent a message asking for my aid.”

“What is an emir?” Alda asked.

“An Islamic nobleman,” Gerard answered.

“Why are they asking for the aid of a Christian king?” Hruodland asked.

“I replied that I would listen to their plea. I promised nothing.” The king’s bright eyes gleamed. “They must know of our strength.”

* * * * *

Dinner was lively, full of music and gossip. When Alda and the other guests rose from the benches at the end of the meal, Alda noticed the queen mother approaching her and Hruodland.

“Countess Alda,” Bertrada said, “we have lovely gardens here. Let me show them to you.”

“That’s kind of you, Grandmother,” Hruodland replied. “Alda will enjoy it.”

Why is Bertrada being this friendly?
Alda thought. She had not forgotten that the queen mother had wanted a different bride for Hruodland and was expecting the same cold civility she had received at Aachen. Yet Bertrada had been warm and charming since their arrival in Paderborn.

Forcing a smile to hide her confusion, Alda accompanied Bertrada outside. As they passed roses about to burst into bloom, Alda stole nervous glances up at the queen mother. The older woman’s face was impassive.

“I have something to give you,” Bertrada said. Halting her steps, she reached into an embroidered pouch on her girdle and withdrew a small gold disk on a chain. “It is a medal of Saint Andrew. I did not conceive for the first three years I was married, but after I prayed to him, Charles quickened inside me.”

“I… I… thank you,” Alda stammered.

Alda gazed at the medal in her hand. It showed an image of a haloed, bearded man with an odd-looking cross in the background. She picked out the Latin words for “saint” and “pray” in the inscription along the edges. She kissed the medal.

“You have been a good wife to Hruodland,” the queen mother said, “and I pray that his seed takes hold in your womb. But if God does not answer our prayers, perhaps He is calling you to a vocation. Taking the veil would be honorable and richly rewarded.”

Alda’s cheeks burned and her spine stiffened.
Should I not bear a son, she wants to free Hruodland for another marriage by offering me an abbey.
Alda chose her words carefully. “I thank you for the medal and your prayers. I will heed God’s will, whatever it may be.”

Closing her fingers around the medal, she tried to push aside the doubts creeping into her mind.
Is Hruodland trying to set me aside?

* * * * *

Through the rest of the day and the next morning, Alda’s doubts cast a shadow over her, even as she clutched her medal and murmured the Latin prayer to Saint Andrew as best she could. Again, she left coins on the altar, hoping it would please God enough to open her womb. She watched Hruodland intently, searching for signs that he wanted to marry someone else. Yet his manner toward her was as affectionate as ever. He seemed unaware that Bertrada had done anything more than give her the saint’s medal, and her doubts almost quieted as she stood beside him while talking with the courtiers, usually about the delegation from Hispania. What did they look like? How did they dress? Was it true the emirs did not eat swine?

The answers came when the delegation — three emirs and their followers — arrived between prime Mass and dinner on their fourth day in Paderborn. Their servants blew brass horns, beat drums, and waved standards to announce their arrival. They rode on horses and strange beasts Alda had never seen before — with humps and long necks and shaggy beige hair.

The men, too, were unlike any Alda had seen before. Their skin was varying hues of an olive complexion, their eyes were dark, and their hair and beards were black. They wore black, white, dark yellow, and azure fabric wrapped around their heads, tunics that fell below their knees, and tall leather boots. The emirs wore long, embroidered robes of scarlet, sky blue, and gold. One of them held his garments close and shivered, although to Alda it was a warm day.