by Cathie Dunn
“Their group was ambushed. Someone attacked him with a spear, and he had his throat cut. And they shoved Amalberga into the undergrowth and left her to die there.” He took a deep breath and turned to the hall.
“Sweet Mother!” Roderic’s hand clutched his arm. “And what about the lady Nanthild?”
Bellon met his gaze. “No sign of her. Now—”
“We have a guest,” the majordomus blurted out.
Irritated, Bellon dropped the latch. “Ged rid of them. They can entertain themselves in the west tower.”
“I’m afraid it’s not that easy, although I tried. You see… It’s the lord Clovis.”
“Clovis? Of all people… Christ’s Blood!”
“He and his men arrived in the early afternoon, and he’s made himself at home since.”
Bellon groaned. The last thing he wanted to do today was entertain that oaf. He needed time to think, not spar with that obnoxious knight. He took a deep breath, then grabbed the door latch.
“Thank you for the warning, Roderic. Please get Amalberga settled with Rotlinde and Alda, then join us in the hall. Dagobert should arrive soon too, I hope.”
“Father,” Oliba appeared at his side. “Is that the man who insulted Mother?”
Bellon nodded. “He is. You don’t have to meet him…”
Oliba squared his shoulders and set his jaw. “But I want to. You shouldn’t have to face him alone, not after what we discovered today.”
Bellon smiled, recognising Hilda’s stubbornness in his younger son. He pulled the door to the hall open and entered with Oliba by his side.
Clovis hailed him across the room. “Ah, there he is! Where have you been, Bellon?” The Frank had settled himself in a comfortable chair beside the hearth, his feet propped up on a stool. Two other men, mercenaries by the look of them, sat either side of him.
“Away,” came his short response. He sent Oliba a sharp glance, hoping his son understood not to reveal today’s events.
“The duke of Tolosa missed you at Narbonne, I heard. If I hadn’t been otherwise occupied, I’d have joined him in his attempt at ousting the Saracens from our lands.”
Our lands? Bellon bit back a retort, his irritation rising. Why had God – whichever God – deigned to punish him with the presence of this…fool, and today of all days? He was tired and worried; angry and disheartened, and not in the mood for Clovis’ manipulations.
Oliba fetched two cups of spiced wine and handed one to him. His throat parched, he drank greedily, then set the empty cup aside. He could not risk getting drunk, however much he wanted to escape reality, if only for a short time.
Venturing towards the hearth, he glared at one of Clovis’ men who was sitting in Hilda’s chair. After a nod from Clovis, the soldier stood and sauntered to a bench. Bellon sat, leaning forward, and folded his hands.
“Why are you here?”
Clovis laughed. “Ha! That’s what I like about you, Bellon. You always get straight to the point.”
You do not like me at all, Clovis.
“You haven’t answered Father’s question!”
Bellon drew comfort when Oliba stood behind him.
Clovis pulled a face. “Ha! The son is as rude as the father. No sense of hospitality. Goths!”
“I’m afraid I don’t have time to be hospitable. Septimania is under attack, so you will forgive me for being a little…irritable.”
Chuckling, Clovis leaned back. “And your…irritation…has nothing to do with the disappearance of the lady Nanthild?”
Bellon glared at him, his mind whirling. How could the cur know? “What disappearance?”
A smile played on Clovis’ thin lips. “The message I received from Narbonne mentioned her going missing as being the reason for your early departure. Duke Guillaume is most put out, apparently.”
“I’ve left enough men to compensate him for my absence. And my wife has nothing to do with you.”
Clovis’ smile vanished. “So it’s true, she’s gone? Well, I heard rumours about her religious…inclinations, Bellon. You might be better off—”
Bellon jumped to his feet and pulled Clovis up. “Don’t think I won’t throw you out, simply because the king relies on your strong arm more than he needs to!”
Clovis’ men drew their swords and surrounded him. Then Dagobert’s voice reached them from the door. “Drop your weapons! You’re outnumbered.”
“Dagobert! Good to see you returned in time.” Bellon pushed Clovis away. “Retreat with your men to the west tower where you can stay until the morn. By sunrise, I want you gone from Carcassonne.”
Clovis adjusted his tunic. “I’ll report you to King Charles. Your insubordination will cost you.”
Bellon gritted his teeth, clenching and unclenching his fists. “The king will hear about your behaviour tonight. And of the other times when you insulted my family. Now leave, or I’ll lock you up. Our dungeons are less comfortable than the west tower.”
“You will regret this, Goth!” Bristling, Clovis ushered his men past Dagobert and four of his men-at-arms into the yard. Bellon and Oliba followed them.
At that moment, Alda came rushing down the stairs. “Father!”
Clovis’ eyes bulged, and the hairs on Bellon’s neck stood on end. Alda was the image of her mother.
She stopped a few steps up from them. “Amalberga regained consciousness.”
“So she is awake?”
Alda shook her head. “Not anymore. She drifted back into sleep, but Rotlinde thinks she will wake again soon.”
“We shall be gone by the morn, Bellon.” Clovis stalked away without another word, his men following.
“Come here, Sweeting.” Bellon took his daughter in a firm embrace. “You shouldn’t be up and about this late at night. Not with strange men around.”
“But,” she pouted, “I was excited and thought you wanted to hear.”
He smiled and kissed her forehead. “I know, my love. Now, to bed with you. Don’t take advantage of Rotlinde having to care for Amalberga!” he chided gently. “Oliba, accompany your sister to my chamber, please.”
His son nodded and climbed the steps.
“Good night, Father.” She beamed.
He blew her a kiss. “Good night. And no more escapades!”
The girl was turning into her mother.
“Dagobert, call two men to stand guard outside the door to my chamber. If anyone approaches the steps, they must raise the alarm. Then fetch my sons and join me in the hall.”
Dagobert met his gaze. “Yes, lord.”
Moments later, Bellon sat by the fire, a cup of wine in hand.
“Are you certain you don’t want any food? You need to eat, lord.” Roderic’s concern touched him, but appetite was the last thing on his mind.
Something was puzzling him. He waited until Dagobert, Guisclafred and Oliba had joined them.
“Did you find anything during your search?” He looked at his captain across the fire.
“Nothing at all. We reached our meeting point, and then returned, as you requested. Perhaps I should go further into the mountains. The lady Nanthild must have been up there somewhere.”
“I agree. But for tonight, I prefer you here. I do not trust Clovis.”
“Nor do I,” Dagobert agreed.
His sons nodded.
“He barged in here like he was in command,” Roderic said.
Bellon grinned. “Yes, I think he imagined being lord of Carcassonne, and he was bitterly disappointed when Charles chose me instead. But there’s something else that I don’t understand.”
“What, Father?” Guisclafred asked.
“Did any of you notice his reaction to Alda’s appearance? Before we left the hall, he was all belligerent. Then, when Alda arrived and spoke of Amalberga, he first stared at her as if he’d seen a ghost, then he couldn’t get away fast enough.”
“Yes, I noticed that too,” Dagobert said. “He was suddenly more concerned with leaving. You do not think he h
as anything to do with the lady Nanthild’s disappearance, do you?”
“He knew about it even though no one here told him,” Oliba mused. “In fact, he was baiting Father when you appeared, Dagobert.”
Bellon took a deep breath. “These are serious accusations, yet I can’t find a reasonable answer. His reaction was simply too…”
“…predictive, as if he was guilty,” Oliba finished his sentence.
“So we allow them to stay tonight?” Roderic raised his eyebrows and looked from one to another. “I certainly never mentioned the lady Nanthild to him.”
“Yes, we let him stay. But we shall be keeping watch, out of his sight.”
Dagobert nodded. “The guards we took with us today are eating at the moment, but others are ready. I’ll allocate some men to hide in the stables and in the towers near where Clovis is staying. And three guards are at the top of the stairs outside, outside your chamber.”
“That’s a good plan. I’ll be heading upstairs myself soon. I know every creaky step that leads up. Oliba, you come with me. Guisclafred, you will stay here in the hall for the night, with Roderic. And someone needs to watch the kitchen.”
Dagobert stood. “Agreed. I’ll be doing the rounds in the night. Do not fret, lord. Our visitors won’t realise I’m watching.”
“Wait a moment, Dagobert! Can you spare a man who is rested to head to Duke Guillaume in Narbonne? I must know how Clovis would have heard about my wife’s disappearance. If the news is all over the camp, then it’s clear. But if not…”
“Certainly. I know just the man to send. He’ll be ready at a moment’s notice.”
“Great. He needs to be circumspect, though.”
“He will be. And with your permission, I’ll return to the hills in the morn, once Clovis has left. We’ll identify the village where the lady Nanthild travelled to, I’m certain.”
Bellon sighed. “Thank you. She is somewhere out there, and we’re going to find her.”
Five days later, Bellon’s mind whirled as he rode at speed along the route to Narbonne, fervently hoping Clovis was still there. If necessary, he would chase him across the length and breadth of Francia!
Behind him, Dagobert, his sons and a small contingency of men-at-arms followed in grim silence.
His instinct had been right, and now he would seek justice. As count, it was his to give. And as an aggrieved husband, he was also within his rights.
Dagobert caught up with him. “How will you approach Clovis? Without doubt, he will try to draw away from it with his lies.”
“Oh, let him! I’ll speak to the duke first. Fortunately, he doesn’t hold Clovis in high favour either. We shall take advantage of that.”
“And then we take him with us to Carcassonne?”
“Yes, forthwith. We can’t allow him any chance to warn his men or appeal to the king.”
“It’s a risky game, lord.”
“A game I will win, Dagobert.” Bellon gritted his teeth.
As they approached the large encampment of Franks outside the walls of Narbonne, they slowed down, not wishing to raise an alarm. Bellon waved a greeting to several men he recognised and eventually came to a halt at Duke Guillaume’s tent. Tense voices sounded from within. A loud discussion was in progress. Then he heard Clovis laugh, a harsh grating sound to his ears.
“We have to change tactics, Dagobert.” He kept his own voice low. “It appears our prey is awaiting us.”
He dismounted and gave the reins too Oliba. “Wait here. Don’t let him pass!”
“What if he tries?”
“Hold him, by my orders and by all means necessary.”
The meaning was not lost on his son. “Yes, Father.”
Leaving his men in position, Bellon nodded at an armed foot soldier outside the entrance who opened a tent flap and let him enter.
Guillaume sat on a chair near a small fire, with Clovis and two other soldiers facing him. “Ah, Bellon.” He rose and clasped his arm. “Have you concluded your urgent issue?”
Bellon inclined his head briefly. “Not quite, lord duke. But I’m close.” His gaze went to Clovis, who glared at him.
Guillaume gestured to the benches. “Join us. We were just discussing our latest attempt at breaching the impasse.”
“Thank you, but…I’d rather have a word in private if I may.”
“Now?” The duke cocked his head. “As you wish.” He turned to his visitors. “If you could leave us. We shall pick up our discussion later.”
“Lord duke.”
Bellon nodded at the two commanders as they passed him, then held Clovis by the arm. To Guillaume, he said, “Clovis can stay. He might as well hear what I have to say.”
He ignored the duke’s raised eyebrows and pushed Clovis back to the bench. “Sit down!”
The warrior wriggled from his grip. “You can’t order me around, Bellon. I have to leave. I’ve a fair journey ahead of me.”
“So soon? I thought you haven’t heard all about the siege yet.” Keeping one hand on his sword hilt, he positioned himself in front of the entrance, blocking Clovis’ escape.
Guillaume reclined in his chair, watching him. He pursed his fingers. “King Charles wants Clovis to join him in his northern campaign.”
“The king will have to wait. A long time.”
“What do you mean?” Clovis blustered, facing him. “You can’t ignore a royal order.”
“Unless you have good reason,” Guillaume added sharply. “Do you, Bellon?”
“Yes, I do, lord duke. I must take Clovis back to Carcassonne to face a trial.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest, his gaze firmly on the knight.
“A trial?” Clovis scoffed. “On what grounds?”
Bellon took a deep breath. “On suspicion of abduction and murder of my wife, the countess Nanthild, and the murders of my servant Lot and my wife’s elderly companion, Amalberga.”
Clovis snorted. “Now Amalberga is dead? So she couldn’t have—”
“You don’t seem surprised, Clovis.” Guillaume’s quiet voice barely reached them.
“Amalberga died this morn; it’s true,” Bellon said. “But before she passed, she spoke…”
“What could the old hag possibly say? Nothing of worth.”
Bellon shifted his weight to his right leg. His heart raged, and he would have liked nothing more than rip the man in front of him to pieces. But he knew it was the wrong thing to do. The Franks had laws – laws he had agreed to uphold, as hard as it was. “Oh, but she’s not the only one who spoke. We have witnesses. You were seen up in the Orbiel valley.”
“Nonsense.” Clovis turned to Guillaume. “How much longer do you allow this upstart to insult me? I’m the king’s man.”
“You’re a cold-blooded murderer, Clovis. And you will face punishment for your actions.”
Clovis stepped up to mere inches from Bellon. “That would suit you, wouldn’t it? So you’d be the one dispensing so-called justice?”
“The deeds happened in my county. So, yes, I will sit in judgement of you on the morrow.”
“That’s ridiculous. I did nothing.”
“The villagers identified you. They’re already waiting for you in my keep. You were watching from a distance until Nanthild left, then you overtook her to set a trap. Only someone aware of strategic warfare would know of the advantages of the spot where they were attacked. Besides, you were always leering after my wife.”
Clovis snarled. “She was a pagan harlot.”
Bellon’s fist connected with the Frank’s jaw before the man could evade it. He staggered backwards, nearly tripping over a bench.
“You’ll regret this, Goth!” He straightened.
Guillaume’s hand pressed down on Clovis’ shoulder, and he spun round. “Surely, you don’t believe him, lord duke? He’s a liar; not even of Frankish blood!”
“Your sword, Clovis,” Guillaume ordered. “I’ve heard enough. The evidence against you appears to be strong.”
“Bu
t…he has made it all up. It must have been mercenaries.”
Bellon snorted. “There are no mercenaries in those woods. Only ordinary people. People who saw you. And don’t forget – I spoke to Amalberga before she died.”
Clovis paled. “She couldn’t have.”
“No,” Guillaume enquired. “How so?”
“I—”
“Your sword, Clovis.” The duke’s voice sharp, his free hand outstretched. “I will have that, and any other weapons you carry.”
“’Tis not just.” Clovis unsheathed his sword and held it aloft for a moment.
Guillaume swiftly moved behind him, his dirk at the soldier’s throat. “I won’t repeat myself.”
Bellon stepped forward and took Clovis’ sword, throwing it behind the chairs. Then he removed the dagger from the man’s waist. “Any other weapons?”
“I will kill you,” Clovis whispered hoarsely.
Bellon went around him until they stood nearly nose to nose. Looking down at the bristling knight, he said, “Try, and you shall die. It would be my pleasure.” He stepped back and called out, “Dagobert, take him!”
His captain entered and tied up Clovis’ hands, then looked to Bellon. “We are leaving right away?”
“Yes; before he can alert his men.”
Dagobert nodded and dragged Clovis outside.
“I’ll accompany you, Bellon. As your overlord, I will sit in judgment with you.”
Bellon suppressed a smidgeon of doubt. Guillaume would not stab him in the back, would he? King Charles would find many other suitable fighting men. He did not need this one.
But I do.
“As you wish, lord duke. But we must hurry.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Early June, 2018
Her nerves were getting the better of Maddie as she kept folding and unfolding her hands in her lap. Travelling in Léon’s business car, a black Audi A5, instead of her old Golf, had made the journey comfortable, but it couldn’t help soothe her agitated thoughts.
She preferred when it was her turn to drive, as she focused on the traffic, and she loved how the luxury car purred beneath her. But now, as they neared Beaune after over six hours on the road, she was glad Léon had taken over again. She felt sick with anticipation.
