The Cross and the Dragon (47 page)

“Ask my brother about that,” Theodelinda said. “He is a learned man, and he owes me a debt. It is because of his lie that Alda is on that island.”

“His and my brother’s,” Hruodland muttered. “Well intentioned lies. But it is not the lies that put Alda there. It is Ganelon.”

“Is he the wicked man?” Werinbert asked, looking up at his grandmother.

“Very wicked,” Hruodland said.

“She told you,” Theodelinda whispered.

“That cur will pay for his sin,” Hruodland snarled. “Alda’s honor will be avenged.”

“What is avenge?” Werinbert asked.

“It means to right a wrong, dearling.” She stood and turned toward Hruodland. “I cannot thank you enough. Ask me for what you will need, and I will provide it.”

“Where is Ganelon? Did he go to battle the Saxons this year?”

“The merchants told me he remains at Dormagen, although his leg has healed.” Theodelinda smiled grimly. “Ganelon leapt out the window from the solar to avoid our justice. I had hoped the fall would cripple him.”

“Why did he stay behind?” Hruodland asked.

“I suspect he lied about his leg — and how it was injured.”

Hruodland knew his next move. Even if Alda couldn’t leave the abbey, he was going to make certain that Ganelon could never threaten her again. And the only way to do that was to kill him.

The next morning, Hruodland set out for Dormagen by horse with his guards and a servant who drove a well-provisioned cart drawn by a mule. Unbidden, Fidelis trotted alongside Hruodland.

Hruodland smiled and threw a piece of salted meat to the wolfhound. The dog wagged his tail and relished the treat.

“Fidelis, you have no idea of the evil we shall face,” he said.

* * * * *

Ever since Hruodland had left Nonnenwerth two days before, Alda did nothing but kneel and pray in the church before the image of Christ and the Blessed Mother in majesty.

“Why?” she whispered, clutching her cross.

She stared at the ring on her finger and kissed it. She didn’t care if Radegunde would have her beaten for wearing it. She didn’t care about anything now that Hruodland was gone. She felt like a shell with the life sucked out of it. How much worse could hell be than this?

She barely noticed the bell tolling for nones prayers. She stood as the other sisters entered. Radegunde came in, coughing. The abbess was shivering, and her face was sickly pale.

Good
, Alda thought,
let her suffer. Oh God, forgive me.

While Alda and the other sisters chanted, Radegunde mumbled and could barely keep her eyes open. In the middle of a song, the abbess swooned. Alda stood still as a statue as the sisters tried to revive her.

“Mother Radegunde, Mother Radegunde,” one of them yelled, shaking the abbess’s shoulder.

Radegunde opened her eyes a slit and groaned.

“Take her to a cot in the infirmary,” Prioress Plectrude ordered.

Radegunde had a look of horror as two sisters lifted her.

“Don’t worry, Mother Radegunde,” Plectrude said sarcastically. “God will forgive you if we make you comfortable in your final hours.”

“No,” Radegunde moaned. “Die… bed of ashes.”

“Take her to a cot. Now!” Plectrude shouted. “All of you accompany her and pray for her soul. I will come soon to read from Revelation.”

Alda stayed behind while the other sisters left. Soon, she and Plectrude were alone in the church.

“What troubles you, Alda? For two days, I have seen you here at the altar. You do not go to class or eat or sleep.”

Alda swallowed back the tears. “Mother Radegunde says if I rejoin my husband I shall be condemned, yet I cannot stop thinking of him.”

“Mother Radegunde is mortal.”

“That has become painfully clear,” Alda said bitterly.

Plectrude looked at the door through which Radegunde had left and scowled. She turned toward Alda. “You will not be condemned if you go to your husband.”

“But Saint Benedict says…”

“I only told you that so you would leave before you bound yourself to a Rule that you did not understand. And you still do not understand it,” Plectrude snapped. “You do not want to be a nun. You
never
wanted to be a nun.”

“But I am a nun, and I will be damned if I leave. Radegunde said so.”

“Radegunde twisted the truth,” Plectrude said, “so that you would stay here — so that you, not her bastard cousin, would succeed her as abbess. I am more worthy to lead this abbey, despite my low birth. You know that. You know that in your heart.”

“It was Radegunde’s scheme, not mine,” Alda retorted. “And now I am trapped, too.”

“You are not trapped. I should have told you this two days ago. If I but had the courage to argue with Radegunde openly — no matter now. Radegunde is dying, and I can tell you the whole truth, not just what Radegunde wanted you to hear. You can leave. You have a place with your husband.”

“How?” Alda pleaded. “How can I leave here without being damned?”

Plectrude walked toward a lectern upon which a Bible rested, its parchment pages open. “Mother Radegunde first broke the Rule of Saint Benedict by pressing you to take the vow before a year had expired. Saint Benedict wants a woman to deliberate for a full year before making a decision to stay in the monastery forever. Saint Benedict and the Lord Himself would hold you blameless.”

Plectrude stooped over the Bible in a sphere of candlelight and flipped the pages. “Here are the words of Our Lord from the Gospel of Saint Mark. It translates into this: ‘But from the beginning of the creation God made them male and female. For this cause, shall a man leave his father and mother and cleave to his wife. And the twain shall be one flesh. What therefore God has joined together, let not man put asunder.’” She looked up. “Because your husband lives, you need his permission to join this order.”

The last sentence Plectrude had read echoed in Alda's mind.
What therefore God has joined together, let not man put asunder.
The words of Jesus Himself.

Alda trembled and covered her mouth. She looked at the prioress, who was gazing over her shoulder at Christ. Again, Alda saw adoration on Plectrude’s face.

Was there a way to persuade the king to appoint Plectrude as the abbess? Plectrude knew the Bible and Saint Benedict’s Rule, and like Alda, she wanted to make life better for the sisters. Above all, Plectrude had a vocation — something Alda lacked.

Plectrude turned her gaze toward Alda.

“I must join my husband.” Alda smiled as if a boulder had been lifted from her chest. “He said he did not release me from the vow I made to him. We are of one flesh. It is God’s will I be with him, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it’s God’s will.”

“How can I ever thank you?”

“Extol my virtues to the king when he seeks a successor to Radegunde and send him gifts on my behalf,” Plectrude answered. “When I am abbess, such a case as yours will not happen again. Sisters will understand the Rule under which they shall live and serve — and take a full year to deliberate.”

“You have my word,” Alda replied, “and my promise to provide for the sisters in times of need.”

The sun was shining as Alda and Plectrude left the church.

“Come with me to the treasury,” Plectrude said under her breath.

“Why?” Alda asked as she hurriedly following the prioress.

Plectrude’s keys clanked at her hip.

“That is where we have kept your dowry. The Lord has given us an opportunity. If you leave now, you will not be missed. Gather your things and leave as soon as a boat arrives, and fare well.”

“God be with you,” Alda said.

“And also with you.”

* * * * *

Because the ceremony for Alda to take the vow had been rushed, Alda found that her old clothes were still in the novices’ wardrobes. Plectrude had told her Saint Benedict said to keep them in case a woman would ever leave the monastery. Alda reminded herself of Jesus’ words:
What therefore God has joined together, let not man put asunder.

As the words echoed in her mind, she felt joy for the first time in more than a year. She loved God, adored Him, would do anything, sacrifice anything for Him, now that He had set her free.

She realized fear had kept her at Nonnenwerth. It was not love for God, she thought, weeping. She had not felt this adoration until moments ago, when Plectrude told her she could leave. For months, she had felt fear, fear of Ganelon, then of God, the same way Radegunde did. Radegunde knew only God’s rule, not God’s love.

Radegunde
, Alda thought, frowning, and then pushed the thought from her mind. She was not about to let anger taint her euphoria, this elixir stronger than wine.

Now, she knew that her calling was to be Hruodland’s wife, not a nun. She had no vocation.

Yet God forgave her, she thought wiping her face, and He loved her despite that. He
loved
her. And she adored Him more than she ever had. She
could
love both her husband and God.

She laughed giddily as she donned her clothes, still intact despite a couple of holes eaten by moths and a musty smell. She was glad the veil hid her shorn hair and the gown covered her thin frame.

She could not stop smiling. Soon, she would see Veronica, her mother, Werinbert, and Hruodland. She kissed the ring. She giggled, anticipating the look on Hruodland’s face.

As she stepped outside, she welcomed the breeze from the Rhine. The mountains were a patchwork of green, and the sun shone golden on the river. She pushed and dragged the chests of coins and jewels through the mud, heedless of the dirt on her dress and boots. At the church, she grabbed two fistfuls of coins and laid them on the steps, her gift to God, a token of her gratitude.

“Thank you, Lord,” she whispered. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

She struggled to shove the chests to the dock on Nonnenwerth and waited for a fisherman’s boat to arrive.

She paced as the hours passed. The sun was on the verge of dipping below the mountains when a boat finally came. After the man unloaded his catch on the dock, Alda offered him enough silver coins to overcome his fear of night terrors and take her and her dowry to Drachenhaus at this late hour.

As she seated herself in the boat, Alda looked up at her birthplace. Drachenhaus loomed overhead.

The guard at the house by the river was startled by Alda’s arrival. After the fisherman unloaded the chests, the guard blew on a horn.

“Welcome home, Lady Alda,” he stammered. “Boy,” he called to a young passer-by, “go to Drachenhaus and fetch a horse.”

Alda waited and beamed in anticipation of seeing Hruodland again. After a few moments, she directed her gaze toward the castle at the top of the hill, now a silhouette in the evening light. She watched as four figures approached her: a boy leading a horse, Theodelinda mounted on a second horse, Veronica on foot, and a manservant driving an empty cart.
Where is Hruodland?

Theodelinda dismounted, ran toward Alda, and embraced her.

“Daughter, you have come home,” Theodelinda said, her face a mix of joy and alarm. “I will have the cooks prepare a meal with all haste.”

“Hruodland told us that…” Veronica began.

“Prioress Plectrude showed me the truth,” Alda interrupted as she let go of her mother and embraced Veronica. “The Good Lord Himself said ‘What therefore God has joined together, let not man put asunder.’”

“Saints be praised,” Veronica said. “We were so worried about you.”

“Why were you worried?”

“We had not heard from you,” Veronica answered.

As the guard helped Alda mount her horse and the manservant loaded the chests into the cart, she asked, “Where is Hruodland? Is he ill?”

Theodelinda and Veronica looked at each other as they headed for the mountain path, where the tree branches knit together in a canopy.

“No, he is not ill,” Theodelinda said. “Come. I will explain during the evening meal.”