The Cross and the Dragon (29 page)

“Alfihar has a wife and son, but I am still his sister.”

Gerard stared at her. He opened his mouth, but the words seemed to catch in his throat.

“What is it, Gerard?” she asked. “What are you not telling me?”

“Roncevaux… it claimed Alfihar, and the strain was too much for your uncle Beringar.”

“No,” she whispered, “not them, too.” She gasped for air as the horror overwhelmed her. She could feel in her heart that
they
were dead. “Why… why didn’t you tell me?”

“I saw your heart break when I told you Hruodland died. I…” His voice trailed off.

“I must go home,” Alda said, her voice urgent. “My family needs me.”

“But…”

“My mother is old, my nephew is very young, and my sister-by-marriage is not clever.”

“But…”

“There is no place for me here,” Alda said. “You will marry, and your wife will be mistress of this house. And I cannot stay in a place where the bishops blacken my name.”

“What are you speaking of?”

“Bishop Luc lied to my husband a year ago. Don’t you remember Hruodland storming into the manor at Rennes, accusing me of adultery?”

“How could I forget? He comes in all enraged and leaves with you. Then you both come back, and it is like normal.” Gerard shrugged. “I thought it was a fit of my brother’s jealousy that you managed to calm. What does Uncle Luc have to do with it?”

“He is the one who told Hruodland that lie,” Alda said emphatically.

“Uncle Luc? Why would he do such a thing?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I bore Hruodland no children, and he wanted Hruodland to divorce me and free himself for another marriage.”

“If the law of consanguinity did not forbid marriage between spiritual brothers and sisters,” Gerard said, “I would ask for your hand. You were a good wife to my brother.”

“You are the only one I would have consented to marry.”
If only I could bear children
, she mused.

The guilt she felt about Gerard’s kiss made her wince. Despite what Gerard had said yesterday, she could not believe Hruodland was dead. She looked toward the entrance to the manor as if Hruodland could come in any minute.

“What I do not understand is why Bishop Guillaume would blacken my name after my husband has died,” she said. “It serves no purpose now.”

“Perhaps, he feared you would entice me to sin.”

All the more reason to leave
, Alda thought. “I am returning to my father’s house, with or without your leave, as soon as the servants gather my dowry. My mother and nephew need me.”
And I need to ask the mountain why it failed me.

“You have my leave,” he murmured. He straightened his spine. “But you should wait until spring. The Saxons were advancing toward the Rhine this summer.”

Alda gasped.

“Do not fear for your kin,” Gerard said hastily. “Our king sent troops.”

“Then our soldiers will have cut the Saxons down by now. I must go home with all haste. Werinbert has seen but three winters and lost his father, and my mother has lost her son.”

“There is something else you should know.”

“What is it?”

“When I was still with the main army, I saw Ganelon speaking to the prefect of Koblenz.”

“Gundrada’s father?”

“Ganelon was asking him if Gundrada was interested in marrying again.”

“No,” Alda cried. “This cannot be. My sister does not even know she is a widow, and her family is thinking of binding her to that beast? I must not tarry.” She let go of Gerard’s hand and rose from the bench.

“Wait until spring,” Gerard pleaded. “Ganelon will be back in Dormagen by then.”

“With my sister as his wife — either beaten like a slave or dead. If I stay here and do nothing, her death will be on my soul.”

“There is nothing you can do.”

Alda started pacing. “I must speak to her, tell her to refuse her consent, even if it means a beating from her father. If I leave now, perhaps it will not be too late.”

“But I can protect you here,” Gerard protested. “I cannot protect you from Ganelon if he comes to Drachenhaus.”

“That is a risk I must take,” Alda said.

“I will send some guards along to protect you on your journey,” he said, his shoulders slumping.

“I will send them back with the bride price Hruodland gave my family.”

“Hruodland’s dower is yours. I read his will after prime Mass this morning. He left me his lands and castles. He bequeathed the bride price to you if he were to die childless.”

Alda touched her cross.
Mother of God, give me strength,
she prayed. She bit her lip and tried to suppress the tears, but they welled in her eyes. Hruodland had no obligation to provide for her after his death, yet he did anyway. “He did love me,” she sobbed.

“Yes,” Gerard said gravely, “he did.”

Chapter 20

Sister Elisabeth made her rounds in the hospital at the Abbey of Saint Stephen. She enjoyed the late morning autumnal sun and sea breezes after a rare night in which she was able to fall asleep after matins prayers. She watched lay sisters bring oatmeal porridge and wine to the patients so they could break their fast.

“How does Denis fare?” asked one of the lay sisters, who was handing a bowl of porridge to a patient in the ward for women.

Sister Elisabeth stared in the direction of the ward for the dying. “When I saw him before vespers, he had not changed.”

The sister shook her head. The patient asked, “Who is Denis?”

Sister Elisabeth cocked her head. How could she describe Denis to someone who hadn’t met him? “Denis has lived at this cloister for as long as I or anyone else can remember. He has the mind of a child, yet he was — is — the kindest soul and our most loyal servant. A strange illness has afflicted him.” She looked down for a moment. “Denis was helping us carry a large patient to the bath and he cried out, ‘My head, my head,’ and collapsed. He still breathed, and we tried to revive him. But the left side of his body does not move. He is a patient in the ward for the dying.”

Elisabeth bowed her head and swallowed back the frustration from her argument with the abbess over where Denis should be buried. “Thank you for asking about him,” she said to the lay sister. “Denis will be pleased.”

Elisabeth’s wooden shoes crushed the dried tansy, wormwood, and mint on the floor as she walked to the ward for the sick. After making her rounds there, she drew back the curtain and entered the ward for the dying. A new lay sister, young enough to be Elisabeth’s granddaughter, dumped a bucket of water into a tub beside Hruodland’s cot, picked up the two empty buckets, and left the ward to fetch more from the stream.

Denis was propped up on pillows, and Illuna, one of the experienced lay sisters, was feeding him porridge. Like Hruodland, who was lying on a nearby cot, Denis was naked under the sheet. He wore a wooden cross. It was difficult to guess his age, other than old. His skin was like leather, and his closely cropped hair was white. He had few teeth left. Half of Denis’ face smiled when he saw Elisabeth.

Elisabeth’s gaze fell on Hruodland. He was young enough to be Denis’s son, perhaps even his grandson, yet the prince was more helpless than Denis. For a month, he had not moved at all, as if his rest had been induced by the strongest of sleeping draughts. His eyes were now open but vacant.
A pity,
she thought
, to die so young like this.

Illuna, whom Elisabeth had known for well over a decade, looked up from Denis and met Elisabeth’s gaze. Illuna was starting to show signs of age. Fine lines were etching their way into the tall, thin woman’s face, and a few streaks of gray had snuck into her dark hair.

“Have you talked to the abbess about where Denis will be buried?” Illuna asked.

Elisabeth tucked a stray silvered lock of hair behind her ear. She walked to a far corner and gestured for Illuna to follow. Illuna patted Denis’ hand, rose, and joined Elisabeth.

“I do not want Denis to hear this,” Elisabeth whispered. “Yes, I spoke to the abbess. Again.”

“She still will not allow Denis to be buried next to Sister Richarde in the orchard?”

“I told her, ‘Richarde was like a mother to Denis. His devotion to this cloister was surpassed only by the full brothers’ and sisters’ — most of them.’ And her reply?” Elisabeth’s eyes widened. “Her reply was, ‘Denis was a commoner and a dunce and should be buried with the other commoners. The orchard cemetery is only for sisters and brothers of noble blood.’”

Elisabeth looked toward Denis. To her relief, he had fallen asleep.

Illuna muttered, “So that Frankish prince of hers — who never took the vow — will not be buried in the orchard cemetery either?”

“Oh, he is different,” Elisabeth said bitterly. “That Frank is a noble who was wounded doing God’s work.”

“I do not care if he is a prince,” Illuna said through clenched teeth. “Denis has been serving Our Lord for all his life — and he is one of us.”

Denis stirred and opened his eyes a crack. Illuna and Elisabeth rushed to his side. “I am going to see Auntie Richarde soon,” he slurred, his voice barely audible.

“Yes,” Sister Elisabeth said to Denis, “you will see Sister Richarde in heaven.”

The young lay sister returned with two buckets full of water and emptied them into the tub. Elisabeth looked at Hruodland and pitied him, despite her anger over where Denis would be buried.

Hruodland was curled on his side like a newborn without swaddling. Illuna pulled back the top sheet, releasing the odor of urine on the bottom sheet.

“Should we fetch a lay brother?” the young lay sister asked.

“He has lost so much weight, we can easily carry him to the bath,” Illuna answered. “I’ll take his shoulders, you take his feet. On the count of three…”

They carried him to a tub of cold water. Elisabeth held him up in the tub while the lay sisters changed his bed sheets.

Elisabeth looked down at her patient. His leg had healed, and the wound on his chest had turned into a scar. But his muscles had given way to bone.

The lay sisters returned to Hruodland and bathed him. They lifted him from the tub, dried him and laid him on the bed.

“He has bedsores,” Illuna said. She handed the young lay sister a jar. “Rub them with this poultice of garlic and agrimony.”

After they applied the poultice and covered Hruodland with a sheet, the two lay sisters propped him up on pillows. Elisabeth knelt beside Hruodland and trickled wine then milk into his mouth. The terce bell rang. The sisters settled Hruodland on the cot and went to church to chant and pray.

After the prayers, Abbess Judith approached Elisabeth.

What does she want now?
Elisabeth thought as the sun made the gems in her niece’s headdress, necklace, and girdle sparkle against a gown and veil of blinding white.

“How does your patient fare?” Judith asked.

“Which patient? We have many.”

“Hruodland of the March of Brittany.”

“The same,” Elisabeth replied curtly. “I must attend to
all
my patients.” She turned her back on the abbess and walked away.

Elisabeth seethed as she returned to the ward. She found Denis asleep, and Illuna had pulled back Hruodland’s sheet to rub more of the poultice on his sores.

Elisabeth’s eyes widened at what she saw. Hruodland’s right hand was clenched into an obscene gesture.

“Illuna, look!”

The gesture remained for a few minutes. Then the fingers relaxed and the light in his eyes left. The nuns looked at each other and made the sign of the cross.

“W-what does this mean?” Illuna stammered.

“The bishop gave him last rites, but…”

“Could this be the work of a demon?”

“Stay calm,” Elisabeth ordered, although her pulse throbbed in her ears. “We cannot help him if we give in to fear. Let us cross his arms in prayer.”