The Miracle Thief (8 page)

As my father mounted, despair and panic scoured my stomach. I had never been left before. Always, I had gone with my father. I had been his constant—his favored—companion. Until now.

“Do not leave me here alone!”

Father turned in his saddle, regarding me with a curious curl to his brow. “I thought you wanted to go to the abbey.” He prodded his horse and rode toward me, leaned down and put a gloved hand to my cheek. “The Lotharingians have offered their throne to me. It is what I have been hoping for, and I cannot delay.”

Of course he could not. Lorraine was the beloved homeland of my great-great-great-grandfather Charlemagne. If father could take their throne, then he could unite the rest of the empire. Of course he must go.

“Perhaps you should speak to the nun there, at Rochemont. The one who tended the relic. It seemed to do you some good before.”

I clutched his hand. “I will.”

“May God go with you. I will see you when I return.” He left in a flurry of dust, taking all of his men with him.

***

My father had not been gone long when Andulf found me. I was instructing my maids to pack for my own journey. No good would come in delay. The mountains would soon be ringed in snow.

He made a desultory swipe at a buzzing fly. “The king should not have left before concluding the treaty.”

I paused in my task. Was he conversing with himself, or was he addressing me? “He did conclude it.” As much as there was to conclude before I made my visit to Saint Catherine.

“Then why did the archbishop summon the Dane, my lady?”

“What do you mean?”

“After your father left, the archbishop summoned the Dane.”

I could think of no good reason why he should have done so. And even those reasons were discarded when I left my chamber and slipped into the great hall. The chieftain was there, towering above the others. In some uncanny, heathen way, he must have felt my presence, for he suddenly turned and raised his cup to me.

My knight stepped forward, to my side.

The room was not even half-filled, and even then there were only the count's men-at-arms and a few clerics. The count himself had chosen to stay at the villa. It was not unexpected, since these lands in Neustria had fallen under his protection, but he seemed to have claimed the estate just as surely as he'd tried to claim the throne. His banner now had the place of honor, and his men the best seats at the banqueting tables.

As I walked into the hall, the archbishop's translator had turned from the Dane to relay a message to the count. “The chieftain will wait until December, but the girl will not go to the abbey. She will stay with you in Rouen.”

I could not keep myself from speaking. “That was not the agreement! I am to inquire of Saint Catherine at—”

Not one of them acknowledged I had spoken, save the Dane, and he looked at me with such ill-concealed interest that I soon wished I had not. But I could not let them disregard the agreement my father had made. “I am to go to Saint Catherine at the abbey in Rochemont. That's what my father, the king, commanded.”

The archbishop's translator glanced away from the archbishop toward me. But it was the count who spoke. “The Dane will not allow it.”

Not allow it? “He already agreed to it.”

“He fears an early winter. He does not wish to lose you along the way. Nor do we, my lady.”

I might have been charmed by his sentiment, but it was clearly an afterthought.

The Dane was staring at me again, and in a gathering where he towered above every man, it was difficult to ignore him. A flush swept me from head to foot.

The count's smile was perfunctory. “We do not dismiss the king's command. In lieu of your journey to the abbey, the relic will be brought to you.”

How could it be brought to me if it were in the chapel at the abbey? Besides, I didn't want the relic. I wanted to know God's will. “There's no need. I simply wanted the chance to ask Saint Catherine if—”

The archbishop responded with a pinch of his mouth. “If Saint Catherine blesses the marriage, then she will allow her relic to be moved to Rouen. My nephew, the canon, will be able to go and return much more quickly than you would.”

I eyed the canon.

“It will save you the journey.”

But I did not want to be saved the journey, and I did not want the relic here. I wanted to go
there
, to the abbey up in the mountains. I wanted to experience, for one last time, the peace that had seemed to reign there, and I wanted to speak to that nun again. In spite of all reason, in spite of her having spent her life at the abbey, I felt certain she would understand.

But the count was already speaking to the translator, and the archbishop was all but ignoring me. The translator's gaze wandered to me as he listened to the count and then, once the count was done speaking, he verified the message he was to pass to the Dane. “There is no reason for the princess to journey to the abbey. If Saint Catherine agrees with the marriage, the baptism, and this alliance, then she will allow herself to be brought here.”

Robert nodded, and the translator turned toward the Dane.

Had not one of them listened to me? “But—”

The archbishop sighed as he rubbed at a spot beneath his ear, tilting his miter precariously to the side. “Is this not what you wanted? A chance to let Saint Catherine decide?”

“Yes… but I do not think that—”

The Dane was pulling some rust-stained ring from his arm and offering it to the translator.

The monk shrunk from the giant, shaking his head.

The Dane grunted and then moved toward us, trying to give it to the archbishop. It was then I saw it for what it was: that metal arm ring he'd dipped in blood back at the meadow. The streak from it still marked his arm. When the archbishop would not take it, he thrust it toward me.

I side-stepped him as Andulf moved to stand in front me. But though I sought the count's help, he refused to look at me.

I beseeched the translator. “What does he want me to do with it?”

“It is a gift. This means you belong to him. He wants you to put it on.”

Juliana

ROCHEMONT ABBEY

I wanted to think that perhaps the new abbess's coming was evidence of Saint Catherine's intervention on my part. The abbess might be young, and she might be preoccupied with things other than God's service, but had not the Almighty been known to use just those kinds of people for His purposes? And it was not unknown for churchmen to ally themselves with nobles like her father. As the Count of Bresse had said, these were troubled times.

But the count's presence—his silk robes, his golden finger rings—had returned me to memories of my youth. And a small, increasingly strident voice inside my heart kept insisting men's plans often had nothing to do with God and everything to do with their own gain. But even so, it was not difficult to convince myself none of that mattered…except when I remembered I had not truly fulfilled my promise to the abbess. I had not spoken; I had not, in fact, offered to lead as she had asked me to.

But what was I to do about it now? The new abbess had been chosen. The bishop had confirmed the choice. Both man and God had presumably acted, and done so in concert. Although in between the offices and on the way to the refectory for our meal, quite a lot of words were being exchanged between the sisters. And not one of them saw the abbess's coming as the will of God.

If she were a king or a pretender to the throne, I might have worried. But our abbey was not a kingdom. Our doings did not affect the world beyond our gates. And the abbess herself was not immune to God's great design. If He had let her be chosen, then there must be some reason for it. That is the thought I clung to in order to push the other away: the idea that I was responsible, that I should have spoken. That I should have been the one sitting in her place.

I contented myself with Saint Catherine, trying not to care overmuch for things beyond my control, but the abbess made it increasingly difficult. She was haughty. She was discourteous. She was unkind. And she brought with her to the abbey a type of company we were not used to keeping.

Her family, her father, and her brothers, the nuns might have overlooked.
I
might have overlooked. But there was a young nobleman among them who, if I was not mistaken, looked on her as if she were not a nun. As if she had not given herself to Christ. I might have warned her that God is a jealous bridegroom and man a capricious companion, but she did not seek my approval nor my advice.

I tried to coax myself from my suspicions, and truly, I had almost succeeded, when I came upon them one night after compline. In the darkness cast by the overhanging cloisters, they were entwined in a lovers' embrace.

I closed my eyes, fearing that if I opened them, I would confirm what I thought I had just seen. And then, starved for passion, for the sensation of desiring and being desired, I opened them and watched their frenzied gropings. And I remembered it all then: the birth of desire, of passion…and of love.

***

Charles caught me while I was going up the stairs with a ewer destined for his mother's evening ablutions. He was coming down with his retinue of nobles' sons. I pressed myself against the wall to let them pass, but he saw me and halted them all.

“Juliana! Did you hear it? Did you hear?”

Not certain how I must respond, I curtsied as normal to give myself time to decide how to reply. “Yes…Sire.”

“Sire!” He chortled. “How good it is to hear that word! Finally, I am to be king!” His grin was wide, his tone exultant. He grabbed up my hand and swept me along with them, down into the great hall where they began to dance and drink themselves merry.

I stayed for a while, to enjoy his good spirits and see him rewarded for his many years of hopes and his mother's extraordinary efforts, but then I knew I must leave. I was wanted upstairs, and my absence must have long ago been noted. Skirting the party, I made once more for the stairs, but there, he intercepted me.

“Don't go.”

“Charles, I have to. Your mother awaits.”

He took the ewer from my hands. “For once, can you not forget about her and please me instead? Come dance with us; come celebrate.”

“I did. I have.” Perhaps I had not in actuality danced or partaken in the festivities, but I had watched. “And now I must go.” I reached for my ewer.

He held it up, just out of reach.

“Charles!” I took a swipe at it, but he raised it even higher at the last moment.

“Please, Juliana.” He lowered it, clasping it to his chest. “You of all people must understand how much this means to me. How can I not exult when what we have waited for these many years has finally come to pass? And why should you not celebrate with us?”

My gaze wandered from him to the knot of nobles and hangers-on who reveled just behind him.

“One dance. Please. That's all I ask.”

I looked again into the eyes I knew so well. Into that face I'd seen every day for all of my fourteen years. The long jaw. That noble nose. The eyes that so often danced with amusement. Like brother and sister we had always been. How could I refuse him? “Just one.”

As the music began a new melody, the circle parted to make room for us, pulling us around the large hall. That first dance turned into a second, and the second into a third. How could my heart not be glad my childhood companion had finally received what was his rightful due?

As the third dance came to an end, I pulled my hand from Charles's.

He turned, reaching after me. “Don't—”

“I must go.”

And I should have done so sooner rather than later. His mother was in a state by the time I arrived. The tops of her cheeks and base of her throat had flushed a bright, splotchy red. “Has everything gone topsy-turvy? Does it require a battle now to draw water?”

“No, Your Highness.”

“Then where is it?”

“Where is…?”

“My water!” She pulled her lips into a thin, flat line, sending furrows racing from her mouth down toward her neck.

Charles had set it down when we had gone to dance, and in my haste, I had forgotten to collect it. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, but—”

“
Forgive
you? Everybody is celebrating my son's news but me! Even
you
, I suspect.”

I put a hand to my reddened cheeks and tried to calm my ragged breath. “But is it not wonderful, Your Majesty?”

“Wonderful? What would be wonderful is if I were down there with them! What would be wonderful is if he had the crown on his head right this instant. Or if he actually had a throne to sit on! What would be wonderful is if my maidservant stopped acting as if she were my equal instead!”

“I'm sorry, Your Majesty!”

“Stupid girl! Sorry is a state of being, and right you are in thinking it applies to you.”

Tears stung my eyes. I dipped into a curtsy. “I will go and—”

“Yes, go. Be gone with you! When I took you up, I had hoped you would turn into a fine servant. Now I can see I am destined to disappointment.”

“I'm sorry—”

“Then take your sorry self away. Do something useful. Fetch me my water!”

***

I tore down the steps, tears blinding my eyes. I tried—how desperately I had always tried to please her. One would think on this day, at least, she could not be out of sorts. She had worked, ever since I could remember, to get the throne back for her son. Why could she not just be happy?

I stumbled on a step, and my foot slipped, sending me down the next two steps on my buttocks. That seemed about right and as rude as the position I now found myself in. My sole friend was bound to leave me behind, and my mistress was not likely to improve. And so I indulged in a luxury: I gave myself over, for just a few moments, to my tears.

That's where Charles found me.

“Juliana?” He bent and offered me a hand.

I wiped at my tears with the sleeve of my tunic.

“What is it?”

“Nothing. It is nothing.”

“
It
cannot be my mother, can it? I'm sorry. Did she scold you?”

I did not wish to dampen his high spirits, but I could not lie, and so I said nothing.

“Juliana?” He put a gentle hand to my face and tipped my chin so I had to look at him.

I tried to turn my head, but he would not let me. “She did.”

He sat on the step beside me.

I felt a surge of furious, perverse anger. “You had to know she would.”

“I'm sorry.”

A pair of tears slipped down my cheeks as I gathered up the skirts of my tunic, preparing to stand. “You're not forgiven.”

“I am not—?”

“She was…
horrible
.” My lips wobbled. “You know how she is. You knew, and still you kept me. I told you I could not stay and—”

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean—I did not think—”

“It's fine.” I turned away so he couldn't see the tears descending in streams down my face.

But he would not let me leave. He stayed me with a hand to my shoulder. “I said I'm sorry.”

“You're always sorry, and still you always seem to get me into trouble.”

“It's just that—don't—don't cry. Please don't cry.”

I swiped at my tears. “I'm not crying.”

“Please don't.” He pulled a handkerchief from his belt, took me by the jaw, and tipped my head up toward the torch's light so he could see. And then he dabbed at my tears. “I just—I wanted you there. You're the only one who truly understands. The only one who knows how it was to wait and hope those many long years.”

Perhaps. But now there were many to share his good fortune. The palace was filled to bursting with them. “It seems to me as if you have friends aplenty now.”

“Don't cry. Please.” He'd stopped dabbing and was staring into my eyes. “You're so…beautiful.”

A flush rose up and swept across my face. “Beautiful?” I meant to scoff, but the word came out in a whisper.

“Just—just let me—” He bent forward, putting a hand to my neck, and gave me the softest of kisses. That was when I lost my heart to him. It must have been. For when he found me later that week, I followed him out to a dark, deserted corner of the palace, and there we kissed again.

***

It soon became difficult to find a place to be alone, for every day, more were being added to the numbers at the palace. But our childhood wanderings through that place did not fail us, and most of the time we were able to steal a kiss or two between my tasks.

It was so new and magical, the spell that had come over us. It had to have been an enchantment. I have nothing else to attribute it to. For why else should I have yearned for a boy I had known all my life? How else could what happened be explained?

I had been bewitched, and so had he.

His mother must have suspected, for she kept me busy, running between the floors, going from one side of the palace to the other. But still, somehow, Charles always seemed to know where I was. And before long, where one kiss had suited, when one caress had sufficed, I found I needed more. We both did.

“Don't make me stop,” Charles groaned late one night from his cushions as he reached for me.

I pushed his hands aside. God help me, I did not want to, but I knew I had to. “You must.” What in heaven's name were we doing? And why did I want so badly to continue with the doing of it?

“I mustn't do anything I do not wish to now. Didn't you hear? I'm to be king at last.”

I broke away from his embrace, though I was curiously unsteady in the doing of it, and I could not seem to get enough air in my breathing. “But even kings must care what people say about them.” Or at least their mother's maidservant must. I made sure to keep plenty of distance between us.

He pushed up on an elbow and came after me. “Don't go, Juliana. Not yet.”

I could hardly dare to look him in the eyes, this boy, my childhood friend now become a man. Was my hair hopelessly ruined? I put a hand up to feel the length of my plaits. “Your mother must wonder where I am.” My cheeks were flushed, I could feel it. I hoped she would not notice.

“Just tell her you're attending to your king.”

“Charles.” Shifting, putting a hand to the collar of my tunic, I tried to straighten everything that had been set askew by the goings-on between us.

He crossed his arms behind his head as he lay back on his bed, grinning at me.

I couldn't help but return it. What a fine expanse of chest he had.

“Don't I need attending to as well?” I could tell he meant the words to be enticing.

Perhaps then I could be forgiven for not having moved quite far enough away, for not reacting swiftly enough when he rose and took me in his arms once more.

“Juliana.”

I could not help it. I knew, of course I knew, the thing we did was wrong. I had no doubt it was against God's holy commands. But I could not help myself. Companions we had always been, Charles and I. This was simply another step along life's path we had decided to take together.

After, when our passion was spent and I was trying to decide why I did not feel shamed or even very guilty, he rolled from me and tucked me into his side, planting drowsy kisses on my neck. “When I claim the throne, then you shall be my queen. Make no mistake about it.”

I had not. I did not.

Not through the long days of service to his mother, nor through the procession of short, stolen nights spent in his bed that followed. Had I ever even thought to doubt his love, I would have been assured of it when I confided to him my secret hope and greatest fear. I was with child.

He had taken my hands in his. “Are you certain?”

I nodded.

“Oh, my sweet love.” He slipped from the bed, bent on one knee, took up my hand, and kissed it. And then he'd picked me up from the bed and carried me about in a merry jig.

I clung to his neck, laughing.