The Cross and the Dragon (37 page)

Hruodland turned and put his feet on the floor. The cold shot up through his bones. He reached for his crutches, held them upright, and used them to help himself stand. He did not know why, but he wanted to see the sky, and he did not want to wait for a lay brother or sister to open the shutters, which would only show light through resin coated parchment. The sisters did not want him to use the crutches when they were not there, but he had to see the sky.

He looked at his arms. The bruises he had gotten a month ago when he rose from bed and tried to go home had disappeared. He tried to return to the bed that night but could not. His arms were not strong enough to lift his body.

When Sister Illuna found him the next morning, she helped him get off the floor and into the bed.

“What happened?” she asked.

“I fell,” he answered.

“I can see that,” she said irritably. “Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“Can you move your arms? Show me. Bend your legs. Just a few bruises,” she said. “What were you doing on the floor?”

“I do not know.” He did not want to admit that he had tried to go home.

As Illuna went outside and opened the shutters to allow daylight, everything he had thought the previous night seemed so foolish. He had been without clothes, horse, and sword, and he did not even have the strength to hold a weapon. Yet he had tried to rescue Alda. From what? He still could not shake the feeling that she was in danger and agonized over his helplessness.

A chill draft from under the door brought Hruodland back to the matter at hand. His crutches thunked against the wooden floor as he shuffled toward the door. This tunic hung loosely on his shoulders. Before Roncevaux, it would have stretched across his chest, if he could have worn it at all. The sisters had told him he was gaining weight. Day by day, he could see his bones sinking back into his flesh but not quickly enough.

His arms and legs were starting to strain when he reached the door. He opened the door a crack and used a crutch to keep it open. The sky was a slate gray, and a cold wind blew. Winter had arrived.

Hruodland let the door close and shuffled back to the nearest cot, sank down on it, and waited for a lay sister or brother who would come to the door and help him to the privies.

As he stared at the embers, another thought occurred to him. If merchants came today and delivered the message to Alda, it would take at least a month, maybe two, to reach the March of Brittany. Alda might try to travel, even in the dead of winter.

Hruodland’s eyes widened at the thought of Alda subjecting herself to the danger of freezing to death in a sudden snowstorm or extreme cold.

But something did not make sense. Surely by now, four months after the ambush at Roncevaux, Gerard would have told her he was here, and she would need no invitation to come to him. Why was she not here? Was she with child? Was she ill? But if she was ill or with child, Gerard would send a message.

His mind flooded with other questions: Who was protecting his people from the Bretons? What was Gerard doing? Why was there no word at all from home or from the court?

Hruodland watched Illuna open the door, followed by a burly lay brother carrying wood. Illuna greeted Hruodland with a look of surprise.

“You are dressed,” she said. “How did you…” Her voice trailed off as she beheld the crutches against the cot. Illuna shook her head and sighed. “You are stubborn. You could have waited until I arrived.”

He wanted to tell Sister Illuna how much he hated his weakness and dependence on other people, but he did not have time to argue. He had a more urgent matter at hand.

As the lay brother placed the wood on the glowing embers, Hruodland said, “Brother, I require your assistance.”

Illuna reached for a pair of wooden shoes and a cloak and handed them to Hruodland. “It’s cold outside,” she said.

Saying nothing, Hruodland slipped his feet into the shoes and wrapped the cloak around his shoulders.

“I do not want you to be bruised again,” Illuna said.

“They were but bruises,” Hruodland snapped. “I am a grown man, not a babe.” Leaning on the brother’s shoulder, he used a crutch to stand.

“The abbess rebuked Sister Elisabeth for the bruises,” Illuna said, looking down.

“What foolishness! Tell Judith if I am to learn to walk again and ride a horse again and hold a sword again, I am going to be bruised. I would much rather be bruised than live like a cripple.”

“I agree,” Illuna said, her tall, thin frame straightening. “But I also wish to protect Sister Elisabeth.”

* * * * *

As Hruodland was returning from the privies, he and the lay brother both stopped walking for a moment. Hruodland’s eyes were attracted to a movement at the gate.

“Are those merchant carts?” Hruodland asked.

“Could be.” The lay brother squinted into the distance.

Merchants
, Hruodland thought,
finally. A chance to send a message to Alda.

Hruodland wanted to quicken his steps and cursed under his breath when he found his feet were already going as fast as they could.

“What troubles you?” the brother asked.

“I must make haste. I must go to the ward, make myself presentable, and then speak to Judith.”

“I am sure the abbess will wish to speak to you as well.” He rolled his eyes. “She probably wishes to bestow another gift on you.”

“The only favor I want is to send a message home,” Hruodland said. “I am not some kind of a pet.”

“Of course,” the lay brother murmured.

The hospital room was warmer when Hruodland returned with the lay brother, who helped him settle on a bench close to the hearth. Hruodland washed his hands and face in a basin of cold water. Illuna handed him salted pork, bean soup, and bread. As Hruodland tore at the meat, Sister Elisabeth entered the ward through the door to the outside.

“Once you have finished breaking your fast,” she said, “the abbess will wish to see you.”

Hruodland nodded and licked his fingers before breaking off a piece of bread and digging into the soup. “I wish to speak to her about sending a message to my wife,” he slurred. “I hope she has not forgotten.”

Elisabeth unsuccessfully tried to stifle a laugh. “How could she when you ask her about it every time she comes to see you? But this time, she will see you in the ward for the sick.”

Hruodland looked at her questioningly.

“It appears that the Good Lord has decided you should live,” Elisabeth answered. “This is a ward for the dying. You should be in the ward for those who will live.”

When he was done eating, Hruodland again steadied his crutches and stood, and Sister Elisabeth led him through the curtained doorway. The ward for the sick had five pallets, each of which could sleep two men and give the patients the warmth of each other’s bodies at night. It was just as clean as the ward for the dying, and it, too, smelled of tansy, mint, wormwood, and sickness. Five men sat on the benches near the hearth.

Hruodland’s feet and crutches crunched the dried herbs as he walked to a stool. When he sat down, a lay sister shaved the stubble from his chin.

Judith came to the hospital after sext prayers while Hruodland was learning how to braid a leather harness and will his hands to do the task. He was glad for the interruption and for an excuse to put the leather aside. His fingers ached, but he did not want to admit it.

Behind Judith, a servant held a wolfhound on a leash. The wolfhound looked familiar, but Hruodland could not remember when or where he had seen him. The dog saw Hruodland and began shifting his feet, whining, and wagging his tail.

“You cannot bring a dog, especially one of that size, in here,” Elisabeth scolded.

“This hound is for Hruodland,” Judith said indignantly. “And if I say he can have a dog in here, he can.”

“Let the hound come to me,” Hruodland said slowly.

The servant took off the leash, and the dog trotted to Hruodland and nudged his arm.

“The dog saved your life,” Judith said. “He was there when they found you.”

Hruodland scratched the dog behind the ears. “This hound deserves a name. What is Latin for ‘loyal’?”

“Fidelis,” Elisabeth said curtly.

“Fidelis,” Hruodland echoed. He cleared his throat. “I see merchants are here.”

“Would you like me to buy you anything?” Judith asked.

“I only want them to deliver a message to my wife,” he said deliberately. “In the message, you must tell her I insist that she not endanger herself. I insist that she wait until spring before she comes here.”

“The merchants are traveling to Toulouse,” Judith said, sticking out her lower lip.

Hruodland frowned. They were traveling in the opposite direction from what he needed. Toulouse was south and east of here. The March of Brittany was far to the north. A hopeful thought entered his mind, and the frown disappeared. If the merchants came from the north…

“Do they have any message from my wife or brother or Uncle Charles?” Hruodland asked.

Judith shook her head.

Why haven’t they sent a message?
Hruodland scowled.

“They do have some news from the court,” Judith said cheerfully.

“What did they say?” Hruodland sat up straighter.

“The queen delivered twin boys last summer. Alas, one lived only a few days, but the other is strong and healthy.”

“Did they tell you his name?”

“Louis.”

“And is everyone else in the royal family well?”

“Yes, they are well. Oh, Hruodland, the merchants have wonderful things. I could buy some otter furs for a vest. Would you like that?”

“I will repay you someday.”

“That is not necessary.” She laid a jeweled hand on Hruodland’s shoulder.

Hruodland patted Judith’s hand and looked up at her. She was lovely. He then gazed into the fire. What he wanted most of all she could not give him. He wanted a message from Alda. Any message.

Chapter 25

Life on Nonnenwerth was different than Alda had expected. She had expected to pray when the bell rang every three hours. She had expected to fast from time to time. She had not expected to be thinking about food and sleep all the time.

Alda craved meat, yet the sisters ate peasant food, which rumbled through her belly after she ate: coarse, dark rye bread with a stew of beans, onions, and carrots. Some nuns removed their mittens and warmed their hands over the steaming stew before eating it. Alda was glad the abbess ate — or fasted — alone in her own house. Alda did not care for yet another show of how Abbess Radegunde was superior in resisting the pleasures of the flesh. In whispers with other sisters, Alda had learned that Radegunde wore a hair shirt under her clothes and whipped herself with sticks.

And then there was kitchen duty.

“Why are we here?” Alda asked one morning, yawning and rubbing her eyes as the group stood in the kitchen.

“Saint Benedict says that all novices must have kitchen duty,” said the nun who led the novices.

“Must we?” Alda asked.

Alda had no idea what to do. She had planned feasts and wakes, but she had never cooked or cleaned.

“Yes. The abbess is strict about following the rule of Saint Benedict.”

As Alda followed the lay sisters’ instructions and hauled wood and water into the kitchen, she wished Veronica were here to help her, although Veronica never had worked in a kitchen either.

As she cleaned pots, Alda watched her white lady’s hands become filthy. Crescents of dirt formed under her fingernails, which broke and became ragged.

Alda’s heart lifted when the bell rang and broke the drudgery. It meant she could go to the church to pray and chant.

When she crawled into bed between compline and matins, she was too tired to cry for her loss or relive Ganelon’s attack. But she thought of both when the bell woke her.