The Miracle Thief (13 page)

When my path leveled off, I stopped for a moment to find my breath. Looking behind me, I was heartened to see how far I had come, though I did not know how much farther I had left to go.

I descended into a valley for a while and then went up a hillock. I dipped down to a dale before rising out of it. And then I entered an expanse of dead, flattened grasses, sweet relief for my aching feet. The mountain's peak ever behind me, I pressed ahead. As the grasses left off, there rose another stand of trees. But this time, they did not appear to go on forever. And as I approached, I heard…voices?

I stopped.

From the other side of the trees drifted the scuff of footfalls, the whinny of horses, and the clap of feet against the earth. A muttered conversation and then, after a lengthy silence, an especially bitter-sounding exchange.

Voices—they were
voices
! Great God in heaven, was I saved?

Gisele

SAINT-CLAIR-SUR-EPTE

My sleep was fitful as I dreamed of the Dane's blood-soaked arm ring, but even so, I nearly missed the canon's leaving that next morning. He and the translator were leaving ahead of us, so they could be provisioned before starting for Rochemont. Their small contingent would travel much faster than our larger one.

The canon had been present at the audience with the Dane the day before, but I was not certain he understood what I wanted. I was not certain any of them did. Some of the count's men were already about, their squires trying to look officious as they set to packing their lords' goods. The canon was conferring with the cook at the entrance to the kitchen. I waited until he had finished and went to speak with him when he moved to inspect a selection of swords and long knives, which several squires were displaying for him.

A churchman with weapons? “You do not take those on your journey?”

He glanced up, and then his eyes slid toward the ground. “The archbishop says God favors the strong and the prepared, my lady.”

Remembering my journey to the abbey through the wilds of the mountains, I could not say it was a poor idea.

“Besides, you should not concern yourself with the affairs of men.”

“I would not have to if they would stop concerning themselves with mine!”

“I had forgotten the refreshing candor of your speech.” And it seemed he was not amused to be given new evidence of it.

“When you reach the abbey…”

“Yes, my lady?”

“You will inquire of Saint Catherine?”

His turned his attention back to the weapons, taking up one of the swords. “Of course, my lady.”

“It must be her choice to come with you.”

He touched the length of the blade with his fingertips. “It would work no other way.”

“But how will you know?”

“How will I know? Do you mean to ask how I will know what she chooses?”

Somehow, the man never failed to make me feel stupid. I nodded.

He gave the weapon back to the squire and then looked me in the eye. When he spoke, he did so slowly, as if trying to make certain I would understand. “I will try to take the relic. If Saint Catherine allows it, then she must agree. If she does not, then her message is quite clear. Would
you
not agree?”

“When you say you will try to take it…
how
will you try to take it?”

He blinked and raised a brow. “How?”

“How.”

“I will ask for an audience with the abbess, and I will tell her the archbishop has requested it.”

“And what if they will not let you have it? Will you leave it there?”

He laughed. “I hardly think they have any say in the matter!”

If they didn't, then who did?

“I will explain that the archbishop has commanded a cathedral be built to honor Saint Catherine, and I will appeal to their sense of duty. Surely the saint would become much more widely venerated, and many more pilgrims would visit her if the relic were in Rouen instead of in the mountains of Aquitaine.”

“Burgundy.”

“What's that?”

“The abbey is in the mountains of Burgundy.”

He smiled, but it was perfunctory. He gestured to the lad with the knives, and the boy handed him one.

“So you think she will agree then?”

“I have great faith she could do nothing but. And you should as well.”

It sounded as if the decision had already been made. But how could they make the decision without inquiring of the saint? Was there no opportunity for her to have any wishes but their own? “Is there any way in which you might decide Saint Catherine does not wish to be moved?”

He shrugged. “She could paralyze me when I try to take her. Or she could render me mute.”

“She would do that?”

“She might.” His smirk let me know he did not think so. “It has been known to happen.”

Somehow, the idea of the canon being struck dumb made me feel a bit better about everything.

He returned his attentions to the assortment of knives, and soon the archbishop came to pronounce his blessings upon the journey and to give the canon a letter for the abbess. At his gesture, a stable hand brought around a pair of diminutive rounceys, which had clearly served most of their lives as pack horses. They had no particular beauty, and their swayed backs boasted no particular strength.

Several of the squires laughed outright as the canon flushed. “I would think my own palfrey more appropriate for the journey.”

“These rounceys may not travel fast, but they travel well. They will see you to the abbey and back. And you must not forget that even Our Lord did not disdain the ass that was given Him.”

From the canon's sour scowl, I rather thought the canon believed that poor recompense for the blight on his honor. But he mounted a rouncey and settled in the saddle, feet dangling well below the animal's belly. The archbishop handed him a packet. “A map.”

The canon took it out and unfolded it.

“Rochemont is to the east.”

The canon's brow furrowed. “I thought it was to the west. And the south.”

“To the east and the south. Be on watch for Magyars. We have heard they are on the move.”

The canon's eyes had widened with alarm.

The archbishop offered his hand.

The canon kissed the man's ring. “I will do my best.”

“Do better.” The archbishop slid a look at me. “Come back with the relic.”

The canon eyed me as well. “Is it not up to Saint Catherine whether she will go or stay?” He had posed the words as a question, but I knew he was directing the words at me. Telling me, warning me perhaps, what I should expect.

“Of course it is. But why would she not wish the conversion of the pagan? Why would she not want to reside in Rouen? Rather, why would she wish to stay up in the mountains, where few can find her?”

Because it was peaceful there. Because she was loved there. Because she belonged there. I defied them to tell me she could not decide for herself.

“Bring her here, to me, and surely your reward will be great.”

The canon bowed his head.

“You have been faithful in many small things, Nephew. I do not see why you should not be given responsibility over bigger ones.”

After making the sign of the cross, the archbishop bid the canon go. The cleric kicked his heels into his rouncey…or tried to. So long were his legs, so freely did they dangle, that he only ended by kicking himself.

I smothered a laugh in my sleeve. The squires were not so polite, but one of them subdued his laughter long enough to grab the creature by the reins and pull it forward. As the horse began to walk, however, the sound of a great disturbance arose from the other side of the palisade. And soon there followed a shout as well.

As the gate opened, I saw a black-headed horse. A Frisian with a long, waving mane, it snorted swirling, frosty breaths as it bobbed in and out of view. Close behind it was a second. And then there came a third. And as they rose up and pawed the air with hair-ringed hooves, it was not their odd appearance that disturbed me. It was their riders. They were mounted, all of them, by Danes.

I shrank behind Andulf as I counted them. There were one, two…five of them. The canon stopped the squire's progress. “Are those Danes? What can they want?”

The archbishop cleared his throat as his gaze dropped to the ground. “Their chieftain has sent some of his men to accompany you. They'll ensure you obtain the relic.”

Dread settled in my belly. If the Danes accompanied the canon to Rochemont, my sole means of escaping the marriage had just disappeared. For as powerful as Saint Catherine was, regardless of her ability to discern the will of God, to plead with the Almighty on my behalf, how could she stand against them? How could anyone resist the Danes?

***

The canon rode away from the villa surrounded by Danes. As I watched them, any hope he was going to the abbey to honestly inquire of Saint Catherine, to try to discern the desires of Providence, disappeared. He was going to seize her relic, and the Danes were going to make certain his success. I needed, at all costs, to speak to him at Rouen, to plead my case and appeal to his sense of justice one last time before his journey.

Would that we had followed on his heels, but we did not.

And once the count finally decided to travel, it was the archbishop who played the laggard. First, he could not locate one of his chests, and then he was dissatisfied with the feel of his saddle. It had to be taken off and the embroidered caparison beneath it repositioned. And since, by that time, the sun was overhead, he proposed we dine before leaving.

We were well into the forenoon by the time we rode from the palisade. The count placed my retinue in the center of the procession. The better to guard me, he claimed. All I received from the honor was a throat choked with dust and the certain knowledge that my mantle would never recover from the offense. We rode at a pace more befitting cavalry than royalty.

As my maids' cart jounced along behind me, I could hear them both start to complain. The road was difficult and narrow. When it widened, I broke from the ranks, intending to speak to the count.

Andulf raised a shout as he sped his courser to catch me.

The count raised a brow when he saw me, but he did not halt the column.

“I beg you for a break in our journey. My maids tire.”

He only spurred his horse forward and fixed his sights on the road ahead. “Perhaps the king travels at your leisure, but you are not in your father's lands. You are in mine. And I say we press on.”

I was not used to such insolence. Not even from the queen. It was not my fault the sun had sunk in the sky. Had we left midmorning, we might already have finished our journey. So as the count continued, I returned to my carts. Pulling my palfrey off to the side, along with my maids, I signaled for Andulf to aid us.

He rode up beside me, his courser towering over my palfrey by several hands. “I would not do this, my lady, if I were you.”

“If you were I, then I should hope you would understand it is my father who is king, and not the count.”

He glanced at the rest of the count's men who rode by us. “It is not for lack of wishing, my lady. And make no mistake: here his word is taken as law.”

“Do you say you will not help me?”

“I am only one man, though I am a loyal man. I simply ask you to consider whether this is a worthy endeavor.”

“I am not asking for him to pitch a tent and let us pass the night here. I ask only for a short respite.”

He glanced up at the sky. “Night will quickly come.”

“Someone will tell him we have stopped. He will not leave us here, but he will be forced to slow and to send someone back to inquire. By the time that happens, my maids will have taken their rest.”

The count did not send a knight. He came himself. And when he questioned me, brow flaring, face enflamed with impatience, I played the fool.

“I thought I had told you we continue on!”

I was not some retainer that he should speak to me thus, and when my father returned, the count would be made to remember his mistake. “I thought I had told you we would stop.” I dismounted just in case he should mistake my meaning.

Anger burned in his eyes.

“My palfrey seems to be favoring a foot. I did not think I should ride it to exhaustion.”

His eyes passed to Andulf and then back to me. “If your horse cannot be ridden, you should ride with him.”

I would have demurred, but it was I who had chosen to speak an untruth, and the count did not look inclined to leave us. Even so, Andulf might have dismounted to aid me, but he only reached down a hand, making it plain he expected me to help myself up with a foot upon his stirrup. There is a reason the Holy Scriptures caution against lying.

I settled myself before him as my maids climbed back into the cart, and we took once more to the road. After the count had returned to the head of the column, the knight turned around for a long moment. When he turned back, he spoke into my ear. “Your palfrey does not look lame, my lady.”

I refused to answer.

“But my courser might be if it has to bear the weight of us both for very much longer.”

“Then perhaps you will have to acquire a new one.”

“I might have, and done it long before now, but my monies have dwindled as my time at court has lengthened.”

It was not my fault my father had given him to me.

He spit onto the road.

“What else would you have had me do? The count must be reminded he is not the king.”

“It is said he thinks of little else.”

Even if he did, what good would it do him? My father wore the crown. And if the message he had received were to be believed, he had Lorraine on his side now as well.

I rehearsed the words I would use to entreat the canon when I saw him. It could not hurt to remind him of my father's wish for me to go to Rochemont, or of Saint Catherine's great power. I could not assume she did not want me to wed the pagan, but then neither did I wish to assume that she did. I assumed nothing at all, and neither should he. That was the whole reason for the journey. And in truth, he could do nothing but agree with me. Although, what good would my paltry words or appeal to his sense of fairness do when the archbishop had promised him some great reward?

Stars were beginning to glitter in the gloaming sky as we ascended the hill toward the archbishop's palace in Rouen. After a momentary stop to allow the archbishop to leave us, we descended toward the city.

Beneath us on the river, the sails of a merchant fleet caught and swelled with the evening's breeze, like swans adjusting their wings before bedding down to sleep.

As we rode into the count's palisade, there was a flurry of activity as his retainers came out to meet us.

Once in the courtyard, Andulf dismounted and then helped me from the courser. As I slid to the ground, I requested he take a message to the canon, requesting his presence. I did not dare to wait until morning, for fear he might leave for Rochemont before I could speak to him.