The Cross and the Dragon (22 page)

Dripping with jewels and dressed in fine clothes, Queen Hildegard came to the courtyard to receive the guests, and a Jew employed by the king made introductions and translated the invitation to bathe in the spring-fed pools and enjoy the feast to follow. At dinner, Alda was amazed the table could hold all the cooks’ creations for the first course — the roasts, stews, loaves of bread, and countless other dishes. Yet there was no pork.

The king wore a diadem of gold and gems and special clothes for the occasion — a tunic embroidered with gold thread and fringed with silk, an embroidered woolen cloak that fastened with a gold brooch, and jeweled shoes. At his hip was a jeweled sword. Even with her widow’s veil, Queen Mother Bertrada wore many jewels and clothes of the finest wool and silk.

The emirs spoke a tongue Alda had never heard before. After dinner, Sulaiman said to the king through the Jew, “Let us present you with our tribute of riches from our land.”

As servants cleared plates and cups from the tables, the king climbed the stone steps to his throne, carved with patterns of flowers and leaves. His chamberlain brought him a scepter and orb. Queen Hildegard pressed her hands together, bowed to her husband, and sat on a smaller throne beside him. After bowing to her son, Queen Mother Bertrada sat in her ornate chair. The royal children follow suit and gathered around their grandmother. The emirs bowed deeply before the king. The Frankish nobility, along with many Saxon leaders, formed a half-circle around them.

Alda’s eyes grew wide as the emirs’ servants led horses and the strange beasts with harnesses of gold, saddles, and embroidered blankets on their backs. They brought in gold cups, silver coins, linen and silk pillows and tapestries, ivory statuettes shaped like horses, glass bottles with narrow necks and round bases and strips crisscrossed all around, earthenware with elaborate designs, spices, incense, and perfumes. The king nodded and his servants presented the emirs with jewels, gold, two hunting dogs, a falcon, tapestries, furs, and three cups from which he had drunk.

“We thank you for your gracious gifts,” the king said in Frankish as the seneschal directed servants to secure the goods. “Now, tell me your request.”

After the translator spoke the strange tongue, Sulaiman spoke while the others nodded. The translator said: “We seek your aid in ridding ourselves of the ruler of Cordoba.”

“Why do you ask for aid from a Christian king?” Charles asked, his tone polite but stern. “Is he not a follower of Muhammad like you?”

The translator again spoke the strange tongue. Sulaiman spoke the same strange tongue, and the translator said: “The ruler of Cordoba is an Umayyad.”

“Explain this to my son’s court,” Bertrada commanded.

After hearing the translation, the three emirs blinked back their surprise and whispered among themselves. Sulaiman spoke to the translator, who said: “We are Abbasid, descendants of the uncle of Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him. The Umayyad is a descendant of Prophet Muhammad’s archenemy. He is the last of an ungodly and corrupt family who have imprisoned and tortured holy men. His subjects would prefer a godly Christian king in his stead.

“God has granted you invincibility. Word has spread about how you have conquered every foe who has risen against you.”

The king’s lips curled into a smile.

“The Umayyad will fall easily if we form an alliance,” the emir continued through the Jew. “Pamplona is a Christian city and would welcome a Christian king. I am governor of Barcelona and have influence north of the Ebro. With my force of Berbers from Africa, the city of Zaragoza will easily fall. As I said, the Muslims would prefer a godly Christian king to the corrupt, ungodly Umayyad, who is preparing to expand his realm beyond the Pyrenees.”

The king thought for a moment, shifted in his seat, and asked, “How much iron do the hills in Hispania hold?”

As the emirs stared at each other, Alda realized they did not know how important iron was to Francia for weapons and armor. Nor did they know, she suspected, that the king himself owned iron mines.

Yusuf shrugged and spoke, and the translator said, “The hills are rich with iron.”

Alfihar broke from the semicircle, bowed to the king, and said, “May it please Your Excellence, I am curious about the trade routes.”

“What of the trade routes?” he asked his guests.

The emirs all spoke at once. The translator put up both hands and said something, and the emirs spoke one at a time. “I cannot translate directly,” the Jew said. “They spoke of trade routes by land and sea to many places: Damascus, Jerusalem, Alexandria, Persia, to name a few.”

The king nodded to his chamberlain, who took the orb and scepter. To the assembled Frankish nobility, he said, “You have heard our guests from Hispania. Any thoughts?”

“Is this truly our fight?” Leonhard asked. “We will have to cross the Pyrenees and take men away from their farms. If it was the Holy Father asking for aid, I would beseech you not to hesitate, but this seems to be a feud among Islamic factions.”

“The Holy Father may not be making the appeal,” Bertrada said, “but we should consider the Church in Hispania, which is under Islamic domination.”

“And there are Christian cities under Islamic rule,” Ganelon cried. “Surely, you cannot let that be, or worse, allow the infidels to enter Francia. Christians deserve a Christian king.”

“And the emirs themselves said they would prefer a godly king, even a follower of Christ,” Hruodland said. “Have we not conquered every foe who has risen against us?”

“It has been God’s will,” Hildegard said.

Alda bit her lip and tried to ignore a twinge in her belly. It went against all reason, but the emirs’ request gave her a bad feeling. She envied Hildegard and Bertrada. Queens were the only women who could speak at the assemblies. Yet even if Alda could voice her worries, she dared not contradict her husband in public.

Alfihar said, “We have much to gain from an alliance with our guests. Look at the riches Hispania will offer — the horses, the spices, and they said the hills are rich in iron.”

Alda closed her eyes and shook her head as more nobles spoke in favor of a conquest against the ruler of Cordoba.

* * * * *

Alone with Hruodland in bed that night, Alda rested her head against his bare chest. Her finger traced a scar he had gotten in the last war with the Saxons.

“Husband,” she whispered, “I am afraid.”

“What has Ganelon done?” he asked, his muscles tensing.

“No, not Ganelon. He has done nothing, not even a hard look.”

“Oh,” he said, relaxing. “What frightens you, dearling?”

“Going to war in Hispania. It gives me a bad feeling.”

“Why?” His hand stroked her bare shoulder.

“I do not know. Maybe because it is a foreign land beyond the Pyrenees.”

“We have crossed another mountain range to a foreign land — twice.”

“But the wars in Lombardy were different,” Alda said. “The Holy Father himself asked for our aid both times. How could God not grant us victory?”

“Would God not wish for us to give aid to the Church in Hispania?”

“Well, yes, but…”

“God has always sided with us. Uncle Charles is planning the biggest army ever for this conquest. How could we fail?” He kissed her.

Alda tried to swallow her fears.
Yes, God has always sided with us. So why can’t I shake this premonition?

Chapter 16

August 777

Rennes

Hruodland and his kin returned to Rennes during an unusually hot spate of days. He and Alda had spent much of the spring and part of the summer at the palace in Paderborn, where King Charles and the Frankish counts planned the invasion of Hispania, which would start next spring after the Feast of the Resurrection.

At prime Mass the day after their return, Hruodland pushed his hair off his forehead and fanned himself. A drop of sweat crept down his back.

When Mass ended, Alda touched Hruodland’s arm. “I must return to the house and see what Veronica has learned about what has happened here during our absence.”

“I am surprised you waited a day to learn the gossip.” He chuckled.

“Veronica needed time to talk to the servants.”

“Very well. Tell me if you learn anything important.”

Alda gave him a quick kiss. “I always do.”

He watched as she and Veronica chatted excitedly on their way back to the manor. “Women,” he said to Gerard.

“It’s their nature,” Gerard said.

Their uncle Luc, the bishop of Rennes, tapped Hruodland on the shoulder. “I need a word with you,” he said.

Hruodland nodded.

“Not here,” Luc muttered, his gaze following Alda. “In my study.”

Gerard took a step toward the stairs.

“I need to speak to Hruodland alone,” Luc insisted.

Gerard and Hruodland glanced at each other; both of their faces had puzzled looks.

“I shall return to the house, then,” Gerard said, “and hear the women gossip while I try to read. You are lucky to have Alda to sort through the nonsense.”

Luc scowled at Gerard. When the bishop turned, Hruodland showed Gerard an exaggerated shrug before following his uncle up the winding stairs to the study above the sanctuary. The crucifix loomed over a room with a Bible and several other wood-and-leather-bound books from which Hruodland could read only a few words. Hruodland welcomed the breeze that came in through the open windows. He absently picked up and put down the half melted candles near the Bible.

“What is so important?” Hruodland asked, again pushing his hair from his eyes. He wore his lightest garments but was still hot.

With sweat dripping down his pudgy face and wetting the fringe of hair on the back of his head, Luc scanned the space outside the door before closing it. He gazed outside the window as he pushed back the long sleeves of his robe and fanned himself. Hruodland looked outside too and saw the usual beggars and pilgrims on the church steps and in the market below.

“Perhaps it is time you married a woman who can produce heirs,” Luc finally said.

“What?”

“You have been married for three years, and Alda’s belly is still flat. People will start to question your potency.” Luc folded his hands and rested his chin on his short, fat fingers.

“Not with the way she screams.” Hruodland was glad to see Luc blush.

“But we need heirs in this family,” Luc continued. “I or your uncle Guillaume could easily annul your marriage. We could manage to keep a portion of her dowry. We could tell her family that since she has lived with us for three years…”

“Repudiate Alda?” Hruodland felt his face get even hotter. His fists clenched. “You are mad.”

“You are besotted with her,” Luc shot back. “It is a sin to be so besotted with any woman. You should adore God only.”

“You think I am guided by fancy?” Hruodland spat. “Alda has been a good wife.”

“Alda is not a good wife; why can’t you see that?” Luc pounded his fist on his writing desk. “A good wife is like a dog — meek, loyal, and obedient. She is headstrong and has been a curse to this family. Your father died shortly after she came here.”

“My father was already ill,” Hruodland said evenly. He gripped the window frame so that he would not lunge at the short, pudgy man and throttle him. “I will have no more of this nonsense, Uncle.”

“Perhaps, it is better that she is barren.” Luc’s squinty eyes shifted. “She will not be able to pass a bastard off as yours.”

“My wife is an honest woman.” Hruodland’s voice was tight with anger.

“Can you be certain?” Luc licked his thin, almost colorless lips. “Would a woman who is so enthusiastic about lying with her husband be able to remain virtuous while he is away?”

“That proves nothing!”

“Women are weak. Eve could not resist temptation. Alda’s humor would make her weak in the presence of a handsome man, especially if her husband was away and he would never know.”