The Cross and the Dragon (8 page)

He nodded, and they walked outside. They passed servants hurrying between the kitchen and hall. It was a cool evening. The garden was quiet except for the festivities near the chapel, where the commoners laughed, sang, and danced. The celebration blended with the call of frogs near the river. Alda’s eyes adjusted to the near dark. The purple light softened everything and made it appear celestial. A fire pit near the chapel cast an orange glow.

Wine muddled Alda’s mind and heart. Even with the dragon amulet and the cross to protect her, she was tempting demons and spirits of the dead. The white-silver moonlight seemed to keep the spirits at bay. Hruodland and Alda brushed past silver-green sage gone to seed and sweet-scented lavender.

Alda was not sure why she had suggested they come out here, except that it was a beautiful night and she wanted to share it with Hruodland.

But things will be worse with Ganelon when we return to the hall
. Alda looked over her shoulder. No Ganelon. “Perhaps we should go inside,” she said.

“Why?” Hruodland asked. “We just came out here.”

“I have caused much discord.”

“What do you mean?”

“Between you and Ganelon,” Alda murmured, hating even to mention his name.

Hruodland laughed. Alda looked up, startled.

“There is nothing you could do to cause discord between me and Ganelon,” he said. “The blood feud between our two families started before you were born, before I was born.”

“Oh? What happened?”

They stopped walking and looked out toward the Rhine, a silvery purple in the moonlight. “You know my mother grew up in Grandfather Pepin’s palaces,” he said.

King Pepin, our present king’s father,
Alda reminded herself.
Shall I ever become accustomed to his manner of referring to the royal family?
Alda nodded for Hruodland to continue.

“She was my grandfather’s niece, but he raised her as his own daughter after both her parents died, or so my nurse told me. And when she was a marriageable age, my mother was betrothed to the count of Dormagen.”

“Ganelon?” Alda asked. “But he is your age.”

Hruodland laughed and placed his arm around her shoulders. “Ganelon’s father.”

“Oh. Did Ganelon’s sire resemble the son?” Alda’s arm slid around his waist.

“Perhaps. But my mother ruined the arrangement. Shall I tell you how?” he asked with a sly look.

Alda nodded eagerly.

“She was carrying another man’s child,” he said. “Me.”

“How bold,” she said, putting her free hand to her lips.

“My nurse always described my mother as willful and proud.”

Alda looked down, remembering how Alfihar had called her willful when she had protested an arrangement with Ganelon.

“She wanted to marry my father,” Hruodland continued. “When she lay with him, she knew nothing of the negotiations with the count of Dormagen until she was betrothed to him. I was already in her belly.

“So the count of Dormagen broke off the betrothal. He claimed he did not want an unchaste wife.” Hruodland shook his head. “He would not have cared if my mother was not a virgin. Her wealth and royal blood would have more than compensated for her lack of virtue. It was me, the child who was not his. She would not consent to the nuptials unless the count of Dormagen vowed to allow me to stay with her.”

Hruodland stared at the mountains, which had become a green-blue-gray. “How I wish she had lived beyond my birth!”

Alda embraced Hruodland. “She loved you.”

He stroked her hair. “And she was fond of my father. Even with the threats of us being sent to the cloister, she refused to name him. So he confessed.”

“He confessed?” Alda gasped. “He could have been put to death!”

“He had a great affection for my mother, and he was willing to risk his life to restore her honor.”

“How brave!”

“My nurse told me that my mother pleaded for his life. It might have been the only time she ever showed humility. Grandfather Pepin was moved to spare my father’s life, but he tripled the bride price and ordered him to marry my mother.”

“I am glad your mother got to marry a man of her choosing,” Alda said.

“Most women like this story.” Hruodland smiled. “Most men who hear it are horrified that a woman subverted the will of her guardian.”

“And you?”

Hruodland pushed his hair from his eyes and looked up at the stars that were starting to appear. “My mother…” He paused. “My mother is and will always be a mystery to me. What I wish most of all is that I had a true memory of her.”

“Do you have a betrothed waiting for you?” Alda blurted, emboldened by wine.

“No. No betrothed. Not even a start of negotiations, saints be praised. Simply a scheme of my father and Grandmother Bertrada.”

Queen Mother Bertrada
, Alda thought, arching an eyebrow.

“My father, actually Grandmother Bertrada, wants me to marry the daughter of the Breton duke,” Hruodland explained. “I heard the clerk read her message assuring my father of the Bretons’ loyalty. As if the Bretons understand such a thing. The marriage would be for naught, just as it was for Uncle Charles and the Lombard.” He gave her a sidelong look. “Do you know what a Breton virgin is?”

Alda shook her head, smiling.

“A sister who can outrun her brother.”

Alda tried to look appalled, but a giggle broke through her lips. Hruodland was laughing with her.

“I do not know Grandmother’s logic to bind me with such a savage,” he said, shaking his head. “I do not know why my father would consent to it. He did not marry a girl who sleeps in the woods like a wild beast. Father told me I could arrange not to see her often, but once is too many times.”

“At least, you could have concubines,” Alda said. “A man is forgiven for that. A woman is not forgiven for having a lover, no matter how unhappy she is. I cannot abide Ganelon.”

She looked toward the hall, afraid Ganelon might come out, more afraid of him than the demons that might be lurking in the forest outside the garden wall or the bats flying over the Rhine, afraid she might have to explain herself, what was she doing with this man? She looked back toward Hruodland. “He would not want to marry me without my dowry. All I can do is refuse my consent and pray for a miracle.”

“What if Alfihar saw why you loathe Ganelon — if in fact he begins to dislike Ganelon himself — and decided that you should marry a different man?” His voice had a tone of urgency, as if her answer would change everything.

“A different man would be better,” Alda said, “especially if he was like you.” She looked down. “But I have no say in the matter. I trust Alfihar to pick someone who would make a good alliance, if not a good husband. Perhaps, I should not have listened to those stories about princes and maidens. They are only stories.”

“Yes, only stories,” he murmured.

“Would you marry a maiden your heart desires?” Alda searched his face for an answer.

“I am not given to fancy,” he said.

It stung Alda to hear her own words used in such a way. She looked away.

“My heart might happen to desire a maiden I married for her fortune and her connections,” he said, stroking her back. “There is one maiden my heart and head want.”

“Any woman who married you would be happy,” she said, turning toward him. “You will make a good husband. You deserve a good wife.”

Hruodland pulled her toward him and kissed her. She felt a hot thrill where his hands caressed her. She ran her fingers through his hair and ran her other hand up and down his strong back. In the silver light, they pulled away a little and gazed into each other’s eyes. Then Hruodland looked up. Alda followed suit. Bats sailed overhead.

“We should go inside,” he said softly. “We are tempting the creatures of the night.”

Alda nodded. Hruodland held her hand as they walked toward the house. The arched windows glowed with the light of candles and torches. The songs of the frogs mixed with the zither, the voice of the singer, and the laughter near the chapel.

“What if the girl had been fond of the man for some time?” Alda asked. “What if she told her brother, I mean her guardian, that there is only one man she will consent to marry? Of course, she would not mention affection to her guardian because he will think that she is blinded, that she is an infatuated, weak girl given to humors. She knows by now that what she desires is not important to him. But the man she wants to marry would be in her heart as she extols on his virtues, his wealth, his family, his friendship to her brother, his bravery on the battlefield. What do you think?”

“She would be very bold,” he said, smiling. “But the man would like that. She would do this when she is sober?”

“Of course. She wishes for her brother to take her seriously, not think she is in some drunken fancy. She is earnest.”

“So is he, the man who wants to marry her.”

This cannot be real,
Alda thought.
I must be in a dream to be this happy.

When they entered the manor, Alda could see only the moonlit garden outside the open windows and the people in the bubble of light from a recently stoked fire in the hearth. The queen, the nurses, and children had retired, but most of the men, along with Theodelinda and Veronica, were listening to the song. The musicians stood on the edge of the firelight and sang about Siegfried. They were on Alda’s favorite part, where Siegfried lay in a trench, ready to kill the dragon.

Alda knew the story from memory: Siegfried had one chance, and if the blow was not fatal, the dragon would spray him with venom. She looked out the window toward the moonlit mountain across the river.
That is where it happened
, she thought, as she had thought thousands of times. She could feel the magic of the stone on her bosom.

Alda did not need light to find her way around Drachenhaus. She guided Hruodland to the hearth. Alfihar passed the cup to her.

Ganelon scowled. “Where have you been?” he asked her, his voice sharp.

“In the garden,” she replied, trying to sound calm.

“With him?” Ganelon pointed his chin toward Hruodland.

“This is my house. I can go wherever I please, with whomever I please,” Alda said defiantly, passing the cup to Hruodland.

“You are fortunate I will marry you despite your infidelity,” he said. She watched his right hand, the one that would bloody her and break her bones if they married. It twitched. “When you are my wife, I will make you virtuous.”

Or dead
, Alda thought.

Hruodland squared his shoulders as if he were about to challenge Ganelon again. To Alda’s left, her mother wore a stern expression, staring at Alfihar. Veronica sat up straight.

“Ganelon,” Alfihar barked, “I shall not have you talk to my sister this way. You will address her with respect. We are an honorable family.”

It stunned Alda so much she could not speak. She had expected Alfihar to rebuke her for her boldness and try to soothe Ganelon.

Alfihar drained the cup in one swallow. The cupbearer ran to the wine cellar to refill it. Alda’s uncles scowled at Ganelon.

“I meant no insult to the family,” Ganelon stammered.

“An insult to one of us, especially one of our women, is an insult to us all,” Alfihar snapped. “My sister is an honest maiden. And I, we, shall defend our honor.”

Ganelon opened his mouth as if to say something and then shut it. He looked fearfully from Alfihar to Hruodland.

“Alfihar, say the word,” Hruodland growled, “and I will give him the beating he deserves for this insult.”

“Stop it, all of you,” Theodelinda said in her mother tone. “Hruodland, Ganelon, I will not have you pursue your blood feud in here.”

How does Mother know about the blood feud?
Alda thought.
Of course, she heard it from the merchants’ gossip.

Everyone fell silent and listened to the musician sing of Siegfried’s deeds. But Alda was distracted by Hruodland and Ganelon. They glared at each other as if at any moment one would leap from his seat and strike the other.

Theodelinda cleared her throat. “My lord king, our forest has much game, should you desire a hunt.”