“Dead,” said Rakoczy. “Gored by the bison.”
“He died trying to protect us all,” said Einshere, and raised his voice. “The rest of you! Reassemble on the road at once!”
His orders were obeyed slowly, three of the soldiers unwilling to look at the body stowed on the back of the plausterum. There was a mutter of plans while the men reassembled in their places with their remounts in tow. One of the horses was missing, and Anshelm looked embarrassed as he confessed his remount had got away from him.
“Then it is just as well that we have Pepin’s remount with us still,” said Rakoczy, giving a long, hard stare to Anshelm. “If you will be careful of this horse, you will have a second—”
Einshere did the unthinkable and interrupted Rakoczy. “We must move on. The bison may circle back, and we have already lost one of our number to them.”
“And we’re not half-a-day from Attigny,” muttered Notrold, staring at the rear of the plausterum.
“What do you mean by that?” Einshere demanded. “You! Tell me.”
“Only that this trouble came after we began our escort of the Pale Woman; nothing more than that,” said Notrold resentfully. “You can’t deny that this was more than an accident.”
“No; Pepin was reckless enough to attack an angry bull. How could he have been so foolish?” Einshere said in a tone that dared the other to challenge him. “If he had been content to withdraw into the trees and let the herd pass by, he would not be lying in the back of the plausterum, waiting for the grave.”
“So you say,” Notrold mumbled, glancing toward the plausterum again.
“You saw what happened,” said Einshere as forcefully as he could; he glanced at Rakoczy. “You have done much for us this day, Magnatus.”
Sulpicius did his best to ease the growing tension. “Let us all thank God that nothing worse happened than what we have endured.”
“Amen,” said Theubert, making a sign to ward off all evil.
“You don’t have to worry about that, about protection from malice,” said Notrold. “It’s this mission. You should keep in mind who rides in the plausterum. The Pale Woman, with her hands wrapped in linen. No one can doubt that she has brought this—”
Rakoczy interrupted him. “No. You don’t know that she has done anything. That is for the Pope to decide. You look at Pepin dead and you assume it was worse than what could have befallen us, but you cannot be certain: it may be that she has saved us from worse than the loss we have had. Without her presence, we might have had far more destruction to deal with. If the herd had charged us, more than Pepin and his horse could have been lost.”
“If not for her, we wouldn’t be here,” said Anshelm, siding with Notrold.
The men exchanged uneasy glances. “That’s so” said Usuard, glancing restively at his patron. “But I would be glad to be out of this part of the forest.”
“Then let us move on,” said Rakoczy, starting his horse walking. “Come.”
Einshere echoed this order and rode up to Rakoczy’s left hand. “The bison haven’t gone far, not with calves.” He laid his hand on the hilt of his spear. “I will be ready if I must be.”
“Very good,” Rakoczy said, and wondered what Gynethe Mehaut was thinking, for she must have heard Notrold’s accusation.
“How many more of us will die before we reach Roma?” Notrold persisted, glaring at Einshere.
“That is in God’s Hands,” said Theubert.
“You have monk’s answers because you guarded a monastery,” said Notrold, dismissing Theubert’s pious sentiments. “There is more to the world than that.”
“I have a monk’s answer because it is the answer the King accepts,” Theubert countered.
“The King isn’t here,” Notrold pointed out, his chin jutting angrily.
“But his Will is here. We are going to Roma for his Will,” said Theubert, and deliberately fell back behind the plausterum.
Notrold sat on his horse visibly seething. He looked about as if trying to find someone to fight with, but Einshere made a gesture with his dagger that warned him to hold his peace. Thwarted, Notrold rode a little ahead of the party, hoping for trouble.
He hoped in vain. The party arrived at Santa Radegund the Queen convent just after the monks and nuns had finished None. They invited the escort and Gynethe Mehaut to have a meal in their refectory; this turned out to be a vegetable gruel with bits of fish mixed into it.
“I don’t blame the Magnatus for not eating,” mattered Notrold as he poked at the mess in his wheaten trencher with his knife.
“Be glad you don’t have to cook it; the monks and nuns have spared us that labor,” said Usuard. “If we were on the road, you would probably have cold cheese and dry bread.”
“You’re right, but this is sorry fare,” said Notrold, wholly unrepentant.
Einshere slapped his hand on the table. “They prefer silence here.”
Notrold glared but said nothing more as he ate his meal and drank down his yeasty beer with the rest of the men while Gynethe Mehaut ate alone in an alcove between the kitchen and the dining hall; Rakoczy used the time to make arrangements for Pepin’s burial, drafting an account of his death to be given to the next pair of missi dominici to come to the convent and moving saddles and bridles to the remount horses so that they could leave as soon as their meal was over. They departed at mid-afternoon with instructions on where they could spend the night. The rain had let up and the sky was mottled with clouds; a breeze had sprung up making the air brisk and the promise of spring seem counterfeit. They went along at a sober walk, wanting not to tire their animals.
That night they slept around a campfire, and the next night they occupied an old stone house that was missing its roof. By the third night they had reached the old Roman road and their pace improved, first to seven Roman leagues, and then, after a night at a Potente’s villa, they covered ten Roman leagues in a single day and spent the night at Luxeuil, where they were given spitted meats and red wine to revive them: Gynethe Mehaut was whisked away with the women of the monastery, most of whom were slaves. After most had retired to bed, she took her usual turn about the gardens.
“You cannot imagine how they look at me,” Gynethe Mehaut said to Rakoczy as they came to the bed of night-blooming flowers.
“I think perhaps I can,” said Rakoczy. “They are ignorant and frightened.”
“They hate me,” she said. “No matter how I try, I cannot accustom myself to it.”
“Do not try.” Rakoczy laid his hand on her shoulder very briefly, wanting to comfort her.
“But I must. If I cannot, how am I to live, but in an anchorite’s cell, away from the world?” She stopped and looked up at him. “Why is it that you are awake so late into the night?”
“Those of my blood sleep little,” he said, an enigmatic smile on his mouth.
She pressed her lips together, thinking. Finally she spoke. “Aren’t you worried about what they might say about you—believe about you—for how you live?”
“Whether I worry or not, it will not change what they think,” said Rakoczy, hoping to ease her apprehension.
“But don’t you want them to think well of you, to guard your good name from any smirch?” She put her wrapped hand to her eyes. “What of your family honor—don’t you protect it? Any man of character must.”
“I may have done, when I was younger,” he told her. “But no more.”
“How did you—” she began and stopped herself. “No. I won’t ask.”
He studied her face. “When you want to know, whatever your question may be, ask me.”
“Will you tell me?” She folded her bandaged hands together.
“Yes,” he said. “My Word on it.”
Gynethe Mehaut nodded once. “I will believe you.” She resumed her walk. “I’m tired. Travel wears on me; I can’t sleep in the plausterum, not on these roads, and I need to pray at night.”
“No night-time prayers while we journey,” said Rakocz
y. “Surely you can’t be expected to pass the night on the floor before the altar.”
“Oh, yes. If I don’t pray, someone will tell the Bishops that I have been lax and it will go against me when the Pope finally sees me.” She frowned. “Do you think he will see me?”
“Why would he not?” Rakoczy asked.
“He didn’t while he was at Paderborn; it would have been an easy thing to send for me,” said Gynethe Mehaut. “In Roma he might delay and delay, and in the end send me away.” She sighed once, a hard sound. “What will become of me then?”
“If it happens, you will decide then,” Rakoczy said.
“Do you think so? Shouldn’t I prepare for the worst, as soldiers do?” She stared at him with her red eyes.
“It is wise to realize that something may have to be done, but not to assume it must come,” said Rakoczy. “You know there is danger, but it doesn’t always have to be realized.”
“Is that why you make a point of walking with me, as you’re doing now? Don’t you assume I will need your protection?” She had not changed the tone of her voice, but she spoke more sharply, with greater precision.
“I walk with you because we are both about after dark, and I enjoy your company,” he said so unreservedly that she was almost convinced of his sincerity.
Gynethe Mehaut stepped back from him. “You trouble me, Magnatus.”
“I?” Rakoczy shook his head. “I am chagrined to hear it. Why do I trouble you?”
“You were uncomfortable crossing the river today, weren’t you?” She caught her lower lip in her teeth as if she were bothered by admitting she had noticed this.
“Is that what troubles you?” Rakoczy asked her.
She did not answer at once. “You … you cause doubts to grow in me,” she admitted.
“What doubts?” Rakoczy asked gently.
“If I knew them, they would not trouble me,” she said, and walked away from him.
Rakoczy followed after her, keeping his distance but remaining near enough to guard her.
The next day found them farther down the river, the day warm and fragrant. All of the party but Rakoczy were pleased with this improvement in the weather, and they kept up their pace longer than they had intended, so that by evening they were almost twelve Roman leagues from where they had begun their day; the road had been rising steadily toward high peaks that loomed ahead of them, white, distant, and grand. They camped for the night at the edge of a vineyard that was part of an estate of the Grav of Bensancon and did not find it ah imposition to be outdoors, and all they had to fear were wolves; for once they were glad that Rakoczy was willing to keep watch all night long. The road grew steeper the next day, and mud once again slowed their progress, so they covered less than six Roman leagues before stopping for the night at a small monastery dedicated to the Holy Spirit and manned by monks all of whom had been soldiers; it was late in the afternoon, and long, purple shadows stretched down from the high peaks, sending the slopes into early twilight.
The Abbott, a one-handed veteran named Chlodis, greeted the party with cautious enthusiasm, asking after the Potenti Hilduin and Werinbert with a kind of nostalgia that revealed he had not left his military life entirely behind him; he was saddened to learn that Werinbert had died the previous autumn. “Well, we will pray for his soul, and trust that God has given him a hero’s welcome in Paradise,” he said as he led the visitors into the courtyard. “You may stable your horses and mules there.”
“I will tend the animals,” said Rakoczy, and began to gather leads and reins; now that the sun was setting, he was feeling more vital and more hungry. The greater energy was welcome, but his hunger was not; he would have to find some source of sustenance in the next few days, or he would begin to suffer for it “And I will guard the woman we escort.” He indicated the plausterum. “If you have a women’s cubiculum, then she should go there after Vigil; she has prayed all day while we traveled, and now needs rest.” He glanced around at the thick walls. “I assume you keep Vigil here, and not Nocturnes.”
“Yes; we keep Vigil,” said Abbott Chlodis.
Einshere looked about as if he had wakened from a dream. “This is a sacred place,” he announced.
“That it is,” said Abbott Chlodis. “The Holy Spirit is present here. That is the reason we name it Sant’ Spiritu.” He held up his hands in an attitude of prayer, extended to the sides. “We are thankful for it.”
“I will pray here,” Einshere stated as if there had been some question of it.
“Our chapel has a Penitent’s Stone,” Abbott Chlodis said. “All our Fratri begin there.”
Einshere shook his head. “I am not one of them.”
“Are you certain? Have you no sin to expiate?” Abbott Chlodis asked, and without waiting for an answer, started toward the dormitory. “The woman will be led by Fratre Grado; he is a eunuch and so no sin may be visited upon him.” The Abbott pointed toward the, refectory. “You may take cold meats with us before prayers, but we will begin Vespers shortly.”
Einshere fell in behind the Abbott, seeming thoughtful and subdued. He motioned to his men to come with him. “Leave the Magnatus to his work and the woman to the Fratre.”
“Must we pray?” Notrold demanded. “I’m tired and I want to sleep.”
“You will, but in good time, after we have eaten and done our duty to God.” Einshere was not willing to discuss this.
Notrold glared at Einshere. “If we must be away at dawn, then I will need to sleep long.”
“We all sleep long,” said Abbott Chlodis. “When God calls us.” He had led them across the courtyard to the refectory. “There will be meat here when Vespers are done. Pray with us if you like, or remain here and drink wine.”
Notrold laughed. “I’ll drink wine and remember the Blood of Christ.”
“You shall not speak so in this place,” Einshere said abruptly, and rounded on Notrold. “You will spend the night in the chapel praying for your redemption.”
Usuard made a gesture of protection, and the other men did the same. “I will pray with you.”
“And I,” said Theubert, and was seconded by Sulpicius.
“The next leg of your climb is demanding,” said Abbott Chlodis. “You would do well to take your rest where you can. God will understand if you sleep instead of praying.”
“No,” said Einshere with more force than he had shown previously. “You will all lie before the altar from Vigil to Matins, and pray for our journey and the cleansing of sin.” He met the Abbott’s questioning gaze. “The woman we escort has prayed for us all day long; now we will show our piety.”
“What of tomorrow?” Sulpicius asked.
“Pray for strength,” said Einshere at his most blunt, and bowed his head.
Rakoczy, leading their horses and mules to the stable, frowned as he watched the men walk away, and he weighed his observations carefully before speaking to Gynethe Mehaut, who was still in the plausterum. “Be careful here.”
“Why here? Aren’t we safe?” She opened the front flap of the cover and looked over the mule’s head to his troubled eyes.
“I can’t say,” he answered. “We are protected, but…” His words trailed away.
“You don’t trust these monks?” She barely whispered this, fright making her breathless.
“No; not the monks,” he admitted reluctantly. “There may be some trouble between the men.”
She let out her breath slowly. “So. You believe our soldiers may turn against me.”
“Not among them, between them. I wish I knew what it was.” They were inside the cavernous stable now, and he came to help her out of the plausterum. “I should change your bandages.”
“You haven’t told me what you fear, Magnatus,” she reminded him.
“No; I haven’t,” he agreed, and reached for his sack of medicaments to pull out another roll of linen strips with which to wrap her bleeding hands.
TEXT OF A LETTER FROM PRIORA IDITHA TO BISHOP FRECULF, CARRIED
BY A SLAVE FROM SANTA ALBEGUNDA TO SANT’ TEILO, AND DELIVERED ON MAY 2, 800.
To the most Sublime Bishop Freculf at his spring sedes, Sant’ Teilo, the respectful greetings of Priora Iditha of Santa Albegunda, written on this twelfth day of April in the Pope’s year 800, in response to the letter from the Sublime Freculf which was delivered here by episcopal courier on April ninth.
Amen. May God witness that I have writ the truth, as I shall answer for all I say at the Last Judgment which will bring us all before the Mercy Seat.
I share your concern for the welfare of Gynethe Mehaut and I am thankful to know that you have taken it upon yourself to gather accounts of her that may be sent to His Holiness, Pope Leo, for him to consult in his consideration of her state. I have been told that Bishop Iso has been making a record of all things derogatory to her interests with the intention of presenting them when he accompanies Great Karlus to Roma. We have also received an inquiry from Bishop Berahtram of Sant’ Yrieix, who has allied his interests with Bishop Iso’s, and who, therefore, was seeking accounts that would show Gynethe Mehaut in an unfavorable light I believe that Abba Sunifred has sent some message to him—I cannot tell you what it may contain.
While Gynethe Mehaut lived among us here at Santa Albegunda, she was a model of piety and humility that has put many of the Sorrae to shame. She accepted her penitential prayers without rancor, and fulfilled every item of her given Office. I do not suppose she would have balked at any devotion asked of her. In the time she was living at our convent, she was always acquiescent in our Rule, and made every effort to live in a blameless way, to draw no attention to her afflictions, and to uphold the honor of our Santa Albegunda in all her conduct Would that more of our Sorrae were as diligent. I can pray for her without fear that I have succumbed to the powers of Satan. I regret to say that many of our Sorrae have been less than charitable toward this woman, something Gynethe Mehaut knows, but has always forgiven without reservation, again an exemplary demonstration of Christian faith that ought to inspire emulation, not wrath, from our other Sorrae. I have seen few nuns who are as willing to accept what God has laid upon them as Gynethe Mehaut has been.
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