The Cross and the Dragon (10 page)

As worshipers left the chapel after Mass, Alda whispered to her mother, “I must speak to Uncle Leonhard.” She walked away before her mother had a chance to reply.

When she approached Leonhard, he suggested they stroll through the garden. “The air might help us both,” he said.

Alda nodded. The sunlight outside the chapel was bright gold, painting a sheen on the green mountains and giving the muddy river jewels of light. On any other morning, the light would have been a tonic for sleepy eyes. But this morning, Alda shielded her eyes and reminded herself to never again drink so much wine.

“I need your aid,” Alda said.

“Anything.”

“Hruodland of the March of Brittany, he wants to marry me!” Alda grabbed both his hands.

“Wonderful. This would be a good match. We can give his family wealth. He can give us royal blood. Speak to your brother once he awakens.”

“Alfihar will not heed me,” she said, pouting. “The last time I told him I would not marry Ganelon, he called me willful.”

“Speak to your brother. It is his decision.”

“Will you speak to him for me?” Alda pleaded. “He might listen to you.”

“He needs to hear this news from you,” Leonhard said calmly.

“You said you would help me.” Alda put her hands on her hips.

“I will speak in favor of the match,” he replied, touching her shoulder, “but you must speak to your brother first.”

Alda flinched as the pain in her head worsened.

“Are you well?” Leonhard asked.

Alda shook her head.

“You need rest,” Leonhard said. He took Alda’s arm and led her toward the manor. “And then speak to your brother.”

* * * * *

Alda slept in the solar until midmorning. Her headache had cleared, but she still felt nauseous. Still wearing last night’s dress, she rose from her pallet and descended the stairs. If Alfihar was awake, she had a little time to speak to him before she dressed for the hunt.

She found Alfihar sitting at a table in the hall. Hruodland was sleeping on a cot, while Ganelon still slumbered on a bench near the hearth. Her uncles and Hruodland’s brother were chatting in a corner. Alda could tell her brother was sick from too much wine.

“Fetch some mint,” Alda ordered a nearby servant, knowing the mint would settle their bellies. The servant scurried toward the garden.

“Alfihar,” she said, “I must speak to you.”

“Now?” he asked, looking down, his hands holding his temples. “Can it wait?”

“Now,” she said firmly. “I have waited long enough.”

He straightened and grabbed the cupbearer by the elbow. “Fetch some wine, and don’t tarry.”

The cupbearer grabbed a cup and ran to the cellar.

“I shall not marry Ganelon,” Alda said deliberately.

“We have talked about this before…”

The servant returned with the mint. Alda gave half the sprigs to Alfihar.

“Listen,” she said, tearing off a mint leaf with her teeth and pointing the stalk at her brother. “There is only one man I shall consent to marry. Hear me? One.”

“Who would that be?” he asked wearily. He stuffed the sprig into his mouth.

“Hruodland of the March of Brittany. He has much wealth and…”

The cupbearer returned with a full cup and drank a sip. Alfihar took the cup and slapped the cupbearer. “You tarried!”

“He did not tarry,” Alda said irritably while Alfihar downed a couple of gulps of wine. “You did not need to discipline him. And you are fortunate Mother did not see this. She would have…”

“Hold your tongue!” Alfihar slammed down the half-empty cup.

“I will not.” She winced and shook her head.
This is going all wrong
. “About Hruodland…” she said softly.

“I already know his virtues,” he said, waving her silent. “Hruodland is a good friend and a good ally. Are you certain?”

The question startled Alda. She had expected him to say Hruodland would never marry the sister of a count on the Rhine, despite the family’s wealth, and to insist that she marry Ganelon.

“Alda? Did you hear me? Are you certain?” Alfihar repeated.

“Yes,” she managed to reply.

“Good.”

That is all? No argument?
“You… you give your word you will negotiate with Hruodland?” she stammered.

“I give you my word,” he said. “I swear by the dragon’s blood. Swear to me that you will consent to marry Hruodland?”

“By the dragon’s blood,” Alda replied, her hand on both the cross and the dragon amulet.

“It is near terce,” Alfihar said, “and the king will want us to be prompt. You should change clothes.”

“As should you.”

“You are like Mother. If you see her, tell her I shall be in the solar shortly, and yes, I know not to be tardy for a hunt when the king is our guest.”

Alda let out a giggle, and Alfihar smiled. She rose from the table and spotted Veronica talking with maidservants. Alda called to her foster sister to help her dress and braid her hair.

When they entered the solar, Alda and Veronica went straight to their chests, Alda threw open the lid and eagerly dragged out her hunting clothes, which included a bright green dress for riding.

“I am glad to see you have recovered,” Veronica said.

Alda still felt a little sick, but she was not about to allow that to get between her and a hunt. She removed her rings so that they wouldn’t impede her grip on the javelin.

“I have the best news,” Alda said excitedly. “Alfihar has agreed to negotiate with Hruodland for my hand.”

Before Veronica could reply, they heard familiar steps hurrying up the stairs. Alda put her finger to her mouth and whispered, “Not a word. I haven’t told Mother.”
How shall I tell her?

Now was not the time.

* * * * *

While Alfihar was changing clothes, Alda went to the courtyard and found other nobles watching the preparations for the hunt. Grooms led saddled horses. The huntsmen and dog trainers leashed the hounds, already leaping and barking and wagging their tails. Servants gave the nobles their swords and handed arrows and spears to their men.

As the terce bells rang and all the nobles cleared the hall, the murmur of eagerness rose. Alfihar walked through the crowd to mount his stallion and held his horn overhead. The crowd quieted. “Let the hunt begin,” he shouted.

Alda and the other nobles mounted their horses. Everyone was eager for this hunt. Prince Pepin rode beside his father. Servants helped Queen Hildegard onto her mount, although she would simply watch from afar as the party drew closer to their prey.

Alda heard the king say to his eldest son, “When the boar or stag appears, join your mother.”

“But Father…” the five-winter-old boy started to whine.

“You must protect her and your unborn sibling.”

“Oh,” the boy replied, straightening his shoulders as much as his curved spine would allow.

Remaining at the castle because of his age, toddling Prince Karl wailed, stomped his feet, and threw himself on the ground.

“But, child,” the nurse pleaded, “a hunt is too dangerous for you.”

When the gate ground open, the baying of the dogs almost drowned out Karl’s cries. The dogs strained at their leashes and dragged their handlers down the mountain path.

Alda scanned the crowd, looking for Hruodland, but could not find him. Nor could she see his brother or her uncles. How odd for her uncles to miss a hunt — they enjoyed the sport more than she did.
Where are they?
she wondered.
What are they doing?

* * * * *

“We are here to negotiate a marriage pact, aren’t we?” Leonhard asked.

That is what Hruodland had presumed when Leonhard had asked him and Gerard to stay behind at the last minute. He studied Alda’s champions. Her uncle Beringar was a good warrior who had slain many foes, but he was not one to keep track of how much cattle or how many horses or jewels Drachenhaus possessed. Leonhard, on the other hand, would know. In negotiations, Hruodland believed Leonhard would be the more formidable adversary. Like Beringar, Hruodland was skilled in battle, not negotiations for trade. Hruodland needed Gerard’s intellect.

Hruodland swallowed a mouthful of wine. It felt as if the whole world hung on his answer. He had wanted to wait to start negotiations. He thought he would know Alda better on their second meeting and instead found himself asking more questions, especially of her virtue.
Did she lie and tell them I have lain with her?
Aloud, he asked, “What has Alda told you?”

“She said you want to marry her,” Leonhard replied, “and Alfihar has asked us to start negotiations on his behalf. Answer my question: do you or do you not intend to make my niece your wife?”

Saints be praised, they don’t know what I had almost done with her.
“Yes,” Hruodland said, “I wish to start negotiations. But why isn’t Alfihar here?”

“A count cannot miss a hunt on his own land,” Beringar answered.

Hruodland frowned. Beringar and Leonhard were withholding something from him. Hruodland was indoors during a hunt, and judging from the baying of the hounds, it was a good chase. He wished he could be riding through the forest right now instead of being confined to the hall. By the look on Beringar’s and Leonhard’s faces, they wished for the same thing.

“Why are we missing a hunt?” Hruodland asked.

Leonhard cleared his throat. “With everyone otherwise occupied, it is a good time to start negotiations.”

Hruodland was not satisfied. Ganelon was still on the hunt, and when the men had prepared for the hunt in the hall, Ganelon had acted as if nothing had changed.

“Does Ganelon know our families are negotiating?” Hruodland asked.

Beringar and Leonhard looked at each other. Leonhard answered, “We must protect our niece’s interests. If we cannot reach an agreement with you, we will pursue a pact with another suitor.”

“Ganelon?” Hruodland growled. He felt Gerard’s elbow in his ribs.

Beringar and Leonhard looked at each other again. “Perhaps,” Beringar said.

Hruodland felt a knot in his belly. “But Alfihar told me you did not favor a union with Ganelon.”

“If we cannot reach an agreement with you,” Leonhard said, “Alda’s marriage is not your concern. At this moment, we believe you have the best offer for our family. But until we reach an agreement, it’s best for Alda if we keep these negotiations secret. We do not wish to anger other suitors.”

Hruodland slammed his fist on the table, causing the cup to shake. He didn’t care how angry negotiations would make Ganelon. How could they force Alda to marry that brute?

“Calm yourself, Hruodland,” Gerard muttered in Roman. “It’s a ploy to make you more generous with the bride price.” Gerard raised his voice and said in Frankish that was still not perfect. “Before we start, I need speak to brother in private.”

“Beringar and I also must have a discussion,” Leonhard said.

Hruodland and Gerard walked across the hall to a corner near a window.

“What is it?” Hruodland asked irritably in Roman. “These negotiations will take long enough without your delay.”

“And we are missing a hunt because of it,” Gerard added petulantly in his mother tongue. “Are you certain of this? You know it will anger our father and the queen mother.”

Hruodland stared out at the garden, remembering the drunken, bold young woman who took him there last night. He had thought the ideal wife was meek and obedient. Alda was untame, yet he could not stop thinking about her. He wanted to hold her, to run his hands along her curves, to know her intimately. But Gerard would need a better explanation than Hruodland’s sentiments.

Hruodland touched the wall. “See this?” he said. “It is stone. This family must have great wealth, and once our father sees the riches we have brought to our family, his anger will be assuaged.”

“That is possible. But the queen mother?”