Night Blooming

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  Leoba Baldhilde, who was carding, shook her head. “It is right for a King to have the finest horse. It would insult his dignity to have less than the finest.” She was a purposeful woman, needing to be busy all the time; her sister was a distinguished nun and had been encouraging Leoba to take the veil. “What Frank would want to see the King on an inferior mount? Not one, I suppose.”

  There were murmurs of endorsement, and finally Ermentrude raised her hand to quiet them. “You cannot know who’s listening. We should not make light of the King.”

  “Probably not,” said Hathumod, “but what else is there to do?”

  “Odile could read to us,” Ermentrude suggested.

  “The only books here are a Rerum Naturae and a book of Descriptiones. I don’t think either would interest you,” said Odile apologetically. “When Karlus returns, then we can ask for something else to read.”

  From the gallery where he was watching behind a carved screen with Karl-lo-Magne, Rakoczy said just above a whisper, “Is she the only one who reads?”

  “Odile, widow of Aistulf of Sens who died at Paris during the famine three years ago, along with most of their children,” said Karl-lo-Magne, nodding and keeping his high-pitched voice low. “Yes. She reads. Hathumod knows her numbers, but she reads very little.”

  “Hathumod is little more than a child,” said Rakoczy.

  “She has already borne three sons. Her husband died last year of a fever. She is willing to have a lover if he will honor any children she produces.” Karl-lo-Magne smiled.

  “But she cannot marry again or she will not be supported by his family—do I understand that aright?” Rakoczy asked. “None of these women can.”

  “It is true. Consider Hathumod: she is biddable, and she will not demand more of you than you are willing to give.” Karl-lo-Magne raised a single brow. “Well?”

  “Does Odile have any children still alive?” Rakoczy inquired. “For it appears to me, Optime, that you are eager for Hathumod yourself.”

  “She is a tempting morsel, and her youth can warm my cold, old bones.” The King licked his lips. “I can show her children honor, those of her husband and mine as well.”

  “Then tell me about Odile,” Rakoczy pursued.

  “I will,” said Karl-lo-Magne, and spoke a little louder. “She has a son, named for his father, who is in service to a Longobard noble who is faithful to me. He has been there two years. It is a good arrangement for the lad, and his mother, as well, since she has only her widow’s portion to keep herself. The boy is eleven now, as I recall, and will one day enter the ranks of my fighting men, if God spares him fevers and broken bones. There were other sons, and a daughter, I think, but none lived through the famine.” He studied Rakoczy’s face. “Are you certain about Odile? She is said to be somewhat willful. I can understand why you might not like Ermentrude, but Leoba Baldhilde is pleasing and industrious, and aside from her convented sister is unencumbered, but for her husband’s family.”

  “She doesn’t read,” Rakoczy reminded the King. “I have a great many books.”

  Karl-lo-Magne clapped his hands and paid no attention as the four women looked up. “I have been told that you do, by Alcuin. He remarked upon your books, in number and in quality. He was impressed with your Greek texts in particular. How many books do you own?”

  “I have seventy-three with me in your Kingdom; twenty-two are part of the property I brought here when you summoned me,” said Rakoczy, fairly certain that Karl-lo-Magne knew that already; he said nothing of the hundreds he owned and kept in other places, and for a moment longed for the hundreds more he had lost over the centuries.

  “So many!” Karl-lo-Magne marveled. “You must have spent a fortune on them.”

  Rakoczy shrugged. “Books are a wealth of their own.”

  “But seventy-three! Most men—if they must read—would be content with ten, or fifteen.” Karl-lo-Magne did not wait for any comment Rakoczy might offer; he leaned forward so that he could speak to the women below. “You will join us at comestus.”

  The women all looked up sharply, and Leoba Baldhilde inhaled sharply, the color mounting in her face. All four women reverenced the King.

  “Optime distinguishes us too much,” said Ermentrude, recovering enough to be gracious for all of them.

  “Optime seeks a little relief from the rigors of the day,” said Karl-lo-Magne, and chuckled. “You good ladies will succor me.” He indicated the man in the black gonelle and femoralia beside him. “Magnatus Rakoczy will join us, although, unless I am mistaken, he will not eat with us. It is a custom among his people to dine privately, and there is wisdom in such practices.”

  Rakoczy whispered an apology and prepared to leave the gallery.

  “Optime,” called out Odile, “have you a book you could spare us? Your clerks must have some they have brought with them.”

  “You are bold in your request,” said Karl-lo-Magne, not entirely pleased with her forwardness.

  “We are bored, Optime,” said Odile, reverencing him again. “If we must spend hours alone, at least spare us a book, or a music-maker.”

  Karl-lo-Magne stared at her for a long moment, then said, “Rakoczy has books, a great many books. Direct your pleas to him.” He turned toward the stairs that led down to the main level of the castle. “Do you have a book with you that you could allow the women to use for a day or two that it would not trouble you to lend? Something that would entertain them?”

  “I have some poems, Roman poems in Latin, from many centuries past,” he said, thinking that Publius Ovidius Naso’s Metamorphoses would make strange reading for these women.

  “Good. Excellent. The Romans always provide edifying texts,” Karl-lo-Magne approved. “If you will be willing to let them have the volume? If they harm it, I will command a copy be made for you.”

  “It is my honor, Optime,” said Rakoczy, aware that the King would be annoyed if Rakoczy failed to comply with his request, yet certain that few monks would be willing to copy such a work as Metamorphoses; he decided it was a necessary risk.

  “Very well, then,” said Karl-lo-Magne as he reached the bottom step. “You may use the book as a reason to spend time with Odile, if that suits you.” He waved his hand. “Since you will have a woman who reads.”

  “I believe she would find me a better companion for that reason as well, for she would have, beyond the joys of the flesh, the additional pleasure of reading,” said Rakoczy. “She will share my high regard for books.”

  Karl-lo-Magne sighed. “It is a fine thing, to be able to read. I always sleep with a tablet and stylus, in case God should bless me with the ability to read and write while I sleep, as He bestows so many other favors through the agency of dreams and visions.”

  Rakoczy had been told about this habit of the King’s, and so said nothing disparaging of the practice. He reverenced Karl-lo-Magne, saying, “You have those who can read for you, Optime, which is a great gift. If God should inspire you, so much the better, but you still have the written word within your ken. Many have not the gift of reading, nor the clerk to read for them, a sad thing indeed.”

  “You speak truly enough, foreigner,” said Karl-lo-Magne. “Well, come along with me. The mansionarii will have a place prepared for us shortly. I will not ask for any food for you, but I would like your company. It is a pleasurable thing to have a simple meal upon occasion, and in such company. Most of my Court will not dine until later, and I must sit at the High Table in the Great Hall then, but just now, you and the ladies are sufficient companions for me, delightful and undemanding. And the High Table need be nothing more than two steps above the company.”

  “Optime honors us beyond our deserts,” said Rakoczy, knowing many of the courtiers would be jealous of this sign of favor.

  “Nothing of the sort. You have brought me two armed men, as you said you would do, and I would be lax if I made no show of approval. It would also incline my courtiers who are less diligent in their duty to me than you have
been to honor their pledges. For that alone I am grateful; know that you give me occasion to remind them of the benefits in not shirking their obligations.” He ambled along the broad corridor, the narrow circlet of gold on his brow his only sign of rank. “You have behaved well, especially for a foreigner. I will acknowledge your service, and so others will be taught to fulfill their vassalage.”

  “If Optime wishes,” Rakoczy said, keeping half-a-step behind Karl-lo-Magne.

  “I do wish,” said the King. “Do not question me.” The warning was plain, without apology, and determined. He paused in the archway of the Great Hall of Paderborn Castle. “There. You see? My Court will dine here tonight. The mansionarii will make it splendid with flowers and boughs, and a rhymer will tell of the exploits of Saints and heros. But that is for later. Shortly you and I will go to the women’s dining hall and sit with the ladies.”

  “I look forward to such an opportunity,” said Rakoczy, and almost meant it.

  “Be careful that you do not choke on a lie, Magnatus,” Karl-lo-Magne recommended with a wag of his finger. “You are troubled because you fear the jealousy of my Court. I will tell them what will happen if they do anything to harm or disaccomodate you. None of them will risk my displeasure for the sake of a foreigner without blood ties in Franksland.” He clicked his tongue. “It is your lack of relatives that inclines me to listen to you and to believe what you say: you have no good reason to lie to me, and many reasons to be truthful.”

  “I am relieved to hear you say so, Optime,” said Rakoczy.

  “If you should fail me, you know I will exact retribution from you, but if you continue to behave in this exemplary way, I will honor you, and be glad that I need not also show favor to your family.” Karl-lo-Magne touched his shoulder in salute. “You are worthy of my high regard, at least thus far.”

  Inwardly, Rakoczy was sure this distinction would only serve to make the jealousy of the Court worse, but he reverenced Karl-lo-Magne, saying, “I am here to serve you, Optime.”

  Karl-lo-Magne chuckled. “You are, foreigner; you are.” He strolled away, still chuckling, leaving Rakoczy alone in the gallery.

  They did not meet again until shortly after the start of comestus, when Rakoczy entered the women’s dining hall that Karl-lo-Magne reserved for his more intimate meals. The King was seated at the High Table with three of his daughters, the four widows occupying a single table two steps below his; the intimacy of this arrangement was high tribute to the four women, and all of them were aware of it. Slaves and scullions were bustling in with spits laden with broiled pheasants and ribs of lamb, working the meat off the hot iron rods and into the fresh-baked trenchers set in front of all the diners. The odor of the food was strong and greasy.

  “You are late!” Karl-lo-Magne bellowed, frowning angrily. “You should not be late.”

  “I apologize, Optime,” said Rakoczy, reverencing the King and remaining standing in a show of respect “One of the fighting men I have provisioned on your behalf had a serious chink in his sword. I have repaired it and now he is fully armed again.” He had actually replaced the damaged blade with one of his own making, but kept that to himself.

  “Work for a slave to do,” Karl-lo-Magne said, determined to insult his guest.

  “Not if I am certain my work will provide the soldier with a stronger weapon than your smiths can,” Rakoczy rejoined, knowing that concession now would be an invitation to trouble. “You charged me with furnishing the armed men I sponsor with the finest weapons I can. I was fulfilling my obligation to do so.” He reverenced Karl-lo-Magne again. “Besides, Optime, since I dine in private, as you are aware, what does it matter if I miss half the meal? There is no occasion that demands my attendance.” He gestured to indicate the women at the lower table. “You have enjoyed the full attention of these gracious ladies and I will not starve simply because I didn’t arrive as the first dish was brought out. If this were a formal banquet, then I would be lax indeed, but for such an occasion as you have here? You have new bread trenchers out before you, but nothing is in them yet, so I must assume your meal is not a hasty one, and you haven’t passed beyond the pickled eggs yet.” It was a calculated risk, talking to the King in this way, but Rakoczy hoped to deflect the worst of the King’s displeasure by pointing out his own oddity.

  Karl-lo-Magne gave a sour grin. “All right, Magnatus. I cannot dispute that. Have a seat with the ladies. They will make a place for you on the bench.” It was a subtle punishment, and both men knew it.

  Rakoczy reverenced Karl-lo-Magne and took a seat between Odile and Ermentrude, straddling the bench gracefully before swinging both legs under the table. He showed no sign of distress at this slight, and instead of sulking as many another might, he took advantage of his situation, directing his attention to Odile, asking how she was enjoying her stay in Paderborn. To encourage her, he said, “I have not been here in some time, and I see the city is much changed. The King is making it a finer town than it was of old.”

  Odile smiled slightly and reached for her cup of beer. “I have only been here this once, and we don’t go about the city, for it is still deemed unsafe for women to walk abroad alone, and there are no soldiers to spare as escorts. I can speak only of this castle and its immediate neighbors.” She glanced at him speculatively, her expression a combination of seductiveness and caution.

  “Perhaps, then, Optime might allow me to escort you about the markets when it suits him,” Rakoczy suggested. “It would be my pleasure to revisit this place with the benefit of new eyes.”

  “Perhaps,” said Odile, with a quick glance in Karl-lo-Magne’s direction. “If it suits the King.”

  “Of course,” Rakoczy said at once. “You and I attend on him at his pleasure, and it would be the height of ingratitude to do anything against his Will.”

  Ermentrude laughed a little. “This is a most soft-tongued fellow,” she said to Odile, looking past Rakoczy as if he could not understand her.

  Odile shook her head. “A flattering word isn’t enough to entice me any longer; I heard too many of them from my husband, when he cajoled me or returned from whoring.” She looked directly at Rakoczy, a challenge in her pale-blue eyes. “You have a bearing about you, a presence, Magnatus, and that is more to my liking than compliments and persiflage.”

  “Then I shall seek to address you in a more dignified manner,” said Rakoczy, and went on with only a trace of a smile in the back of his dark eyes. “I am told you read. What are your preferences?”

  Somewhat startled by the question, Odile had another mouthful of beer. “I … I do not know that I have any preferences. To read is a blessing in itself, that I am obliged to anyone for allowing me to peruse something I have not seen before, whatever it may be.”

  From his place at the High Table, Karl-lo-Magne laughed. “Listen to her. Who is bantering now, Odile?”

  Color mounted in her cheeks and she coughed. “I did not mean anything—” She gestured with her cup to finish her remark. After swallowing, she said to Rakoczy in an undervoice, “I understand why you are here, Magnatus, and why you are talking to me.”

  “How do you mean?” Rakoczy asked quietly.

  “The King has told you to choose one among us. We all understand that.” She could not quite look at him, so instead stared at the space over his right shoulder.

  “Oh,” said Rakoczy, troubled that she had been ordered to make herself available.

  “I am willing to do as the King wishes, if you should choose me. You wouldn’t have to force me,” she assured him with a slight smile.

  “I would not want to force you, in any way. If you are willing, I will not ask you to say so now, unless it pleases you to do so. I will not demand an answer before you are ready to give it,” said Rakoczy, wanting to spare her embarrassment. He gave her a long moment to respond, and when she remained silent, he went on. “Idle conversation is not to your taste. Very well, I shall not foist too much upon you: let me, instead, supply you with a list of books I
have with me, and you shall choose which you would like to read.” That would spare her the potential embarrassment of the Metamorphoses. He reached out for the pitcher and poured more beer into her cup, and then into the cups of the other widows.

  “He’s dainty as a Roman,” said Ermentrude, not quite approving. “Have you been there, Magnatus?” She asked this graciously, but with the air of one who expects a denial.

  “Not recently,” said Rakoczy, recalling his villa on the north-east side of the old walls; it had been built during Claudius’ reign and although in disrepair, was currently being managed by Atta Olivia Clemens, an arrangement that gave him a sense of continuity he did not often experience over the centuries.

  “But you have been there,” said Ermentrude with a sigh. She drank more beer. “I know I will never see it, but I long to go there.”

  “It is not so fine as it once was,” warned Rakoczy, recalling the magnificence of the city when the Caesars ruled there.

  “Roma is a splendid place!” Karl-lo-Magne boomed. “The Pope maintains his Court there, and we of the West still honor it as the center of the world, no matter what the Emperor Constantininus VI and his mother Irene in Constantinople may say. It is only their envy that makes them slight Roma.” He looked around at his daughters and smiled as they seconded his utterance. “One day, Roma will be the Empire it was before, only vaster and more rich, and more highly esteemed than ever before. Roma will reclaim her place in the world, and Byzantium will bow to her again, as she did at the beginning.”

  “Is that what you intend, Optime?” Rakoczy asked in a respectful tone, all the while aware of what an impossible task Karl-lo-Magne had set himself.

  “It is, although my good advisor Alcuin is against such ambitions, telling me I am tempting God to bring me down for pride. But it isn’t pride that drives me, it is yearning for the might that the West once had, and I am determined we will have restored to us. When we can drive the Moors out of Hispania, and then push back the Wends and the Moravians as we have the Avars, then we might bring the proud Byzantines to submission, as they ought to—” He stopped as the Paderborn senescalus came to the entrance to the small dining hall and reverenced him. “What is it?”