by Speer, Flora
The problem was, she was no longer sure she could do that. Dominick’s understanding response to the story of her unhappy past, coupled with his willingness to let her leave his embrace even though he was sexually aroused, had changed her attitude toward him in a way she didn’t fully comprehend as yet. The man was capable of amazing self-control. He didn’t even seem to be angry with her for refusing him. And he hadn’t hit her.
By the time she and Dominick turned into the open gateway of his home, Gina was reeling with emotional and physical exhaustion. Thus, she didn’t notice at once how many people were gathered in the courtyard. Not until Harulf caught her horse’s reins and made Cela stop did Gina begin to pay attention to what was going on around her. There were half a dozen men-at-arms she’d never seen before, and more horses than usual. She saw Dominick leap off his mount and hasten to where Arno waited at the door of the formal reception room. The two of them disappeared inside. Gina looked to Harulf for enlightenment.
“Shall I help you dismount?” Harulf asked her. “Ella told me to look out for you. When you and Dominick were gone for so long, she said she was sure he had taken you over every hill and stream he owns, and you’d be stiff after riding so far your first time on a horse. Benet, come here,” Harulf called to a boy who stood nearby. He tossed Cela’s reins to the boy, then held up his hands to catch Gina.
“Thank you.” For the second time that day Gina fell off a horse and into a man s arms, but this was not at all like falling into Dominick’s embrace. Harulf was a robust, handsome fellow, but he was in love with Ella and simply helping her new friend. He held on to Gina’s shoulders until she was used to having her feet on solid ground again. Her hands on his forearms, she smiled up at him. “What a nice man you are.”
“Remind Ella of that,” he said, grinning. “Can you stand alone now? Benet will see to your horse. He’s one of the grooms, and a good one, too. If you are going to continue to ride, you’ll want to learn how to care for Cela, and Benet will be happy to show you what to do. This isn’t the time, however. We have guests. Only two, but they are an important pair, and you will probably want to wash and change your gown before the evening meal begins. Ella told me to say that.” He ended his speech with a self-conscious smile.
“Harulf,” Gina said, looking across the courtyard, “what are those two animals that are being led into the stable?”
“Those are donkeys,” Harulf answered. “Priests ride them.”
“The guests are priests?”
“One is. The other has refused for years to take his vows. Ella will tell you all about it,” Harulf said. “Will you be all right now? I should be on sentry duty.”
“Go ahead, then,” Gina told him. “I don’t want you to get into trouble on my account.”
“I won’t,” Harulf said. “Not for the sake of a guest. Dominick will understand.”
They parted, Harulf turning toward the wooden gatehouse and Gina heading for the hot bath her overworked muscles demanded.
To Gina s surprise, Ella was waiting for her in the bathhouse, ready with soap and a pile of clean towels and a robe for Gina to put on after she was dry. The big wooden bathtub was draped with a sheet to prevent splinters and filled with steaming water. The moist air smelled of lavender and thyme.
“What luxury! But how did you know when I was coming?” Gina asked as Ella helped her out of her clothes. She slipped into the herb-scented water with a blissful sigh.
“Because of our unexpected guests, the sentries were on the alert for Dominick’s return,” Ella explained. “They sent word to Hedwiga as soon as you were sighted. I suggested you could use some help to get cleaned and dressed and into the hall as quickly as possible, and Hedwiga agreed.”
“You told Harulf to meet me at the gate,” Gina murmured. “I appreciate that. Thank you for caring about me.”
She could easily have been lulled into sleep by the warmth of the water, but Ella wouldn’t allow it. Never had Gina been in and out of a bathtub so fast. Even so, while Gina washed herself, Ella used the time to explain who Dominick’s guests were.
“The priest is Father Guntram of Prum,” Ella said in a reverent tone. “He’s a very holy man. It is an honor to have him here. And such a long journey from Prum, too.”
“Who is the other man?” Gina asked while soaping her hair. “There were two donkeys.”
“That’s because Pepin can’t sit a horse without pain,” Ella said. “Even slow travel on a donkey is difficult for him.”
“Pepin?” Gina asked, reaching for the pitcher of rinse water. “Do you mean King Charles’s father is here?”
“No, that Pepin is long dead. This Pepin is Charles’s eldest son. He was named for his grandfather before – well, before his parents noticed his deformity.”
“What deformity?”
“He’s called Pepin Hunchback,” Ella said.
“You’re telling me the heir to the throne is physically disabled? That is good to know in advance.” Having rinsed her hair, Gina grabbed the towel Ella offered and began rubbing her head with it.
“Pepin is not the heir,” Ella said. “How could he be? He can’t ride a horse or lift a sword for more than a few moments, and thus he cannot lead the Franks into battle. A man so physically weak can never be king. Charles’s heir is Carloman.”
“Carloman?”
“Charles’s oldest son by his third wife,” Ella patiently explained.
“That would be Queen Fastrada?” Gina guessed as she stepped out of the bathtub.
“Oh, no,” Ella said with a laugh. “Fastrada is Charles’s fourth wife. The first two he divorced, and the third, Hildegarde, died. Hildegarde was Carloman’s mother. Pepin’s mother was Charles’s first wife, though the Church claims they weren’t really married because no priest blessed the union. There now, you are all clean.”
“Just in time, too,” Gina said. Having dried her arms and legs while Ella talked, she pulled on the loose robe and collected her discarded clothing, preparing to leave the bathhouse. “Another few minutes of explanations and I’d never get your royal family straightened out in my mind. And I thought the British royals led complicated married lives! So, when the Church proclaimed its new rule a few years ago, Pepin was declared illegitimate, just as Dominick was?”
“That’s right,” Ella said. She opened the bathhouse door, letting in cooler air that banished the warm and steamy atmosphere. “We must hurry. You don’t want to be late.”
When they reached Gina’s room, a new gown was spread out on the bed, with a clean linen shift to wear underneath.
“Of course, it’s one of Lady Hiltrude’s gowns. Hedwiga altered it for you to take to Regensburg,” Ella said. She picked up the shift and slid it over Gina’s head.
The gown was bright blue silk with bands of green and blue embroidery edging the wide round neck and the long sleeves. There was no waistline; the skirt flared out from Gina’s hips into swirling ripples of fabric.
“It’s beautiful.” Gina spun around, watching the way the skirt moved. “I feel like a princess.”
“Lady Hiltrude never looked so pretty in it,” Ella said, tugging the bottom of one loose sleeve into place. “She always wore such a sour face. You are almost always smiling. That makes all the difference.”
“Me, smiling?”
“You probably don’t notice, but it’s true,” Ella said. “It’s too bad you don’t have any jewelry to set off the dress.” She looked at Gina as if expecting her to produce some.
“I’ve never been much for jewelry,” Gina said. “I don’t like the cheap stuff and can’t afford the good stuff, so I do without.”
“In that case, you are ready.” After pausing only long enough to listen to Gina’s heartfelt thanks, Ella departed for the kitchen.
Gina was grateful to have a few minutes alone in which to prepare herself to meet the royal elder son who had been displaced as heir by his able-bodied, Church-approved younger brother.
In his tunic and tr
ousers of plain dark wool, Pepin Hunchback did not look much like a prince to Gina. She guessed he was a year or two younger than Dominick, and with his pale hair and blue eyes he was certainly handsome, though he gave the impression of having little physical strength. That was natural enough, given his so-called deformity. Gina didn’t notice it immediately. Not until Dominick glimpsed her and beckoned for her to join the group of men clustered in the middle of the hall, and Pepin turned around, was she able to see the physical problem that meant he could never be king of the Franks.
One of Pepin’s shoulders was noticeably higher than the other, and the distortion had evidently twisted his spine so that he walked with an odd, sideways gait. He tended to balance himself on one whole foot and the big toe of the other foot.
“Lady.” Pepin bowed over Gina’s hand. “I feared Dominick would invite only men to his table. How pleasant to find you here.”
Gina didn’t know whether to curtsy or call him “my lord” or “prince.” She settled for a simple “Thank you, sir,” and Pepin didn’t seem to notice anything amiss.
“Here is Father Guntram,” Dominick said, indicating a tall, skeletally thin man in a dark monk’s robe. The priest Ella had declared a great holy man bestowed a fierce and disapproving glare on Gina, then pulled Pepin aside and began to speak with him in a low voice.
“Ella told me who they are,” Gina said to Dominick.
“And warned you not to be offended by Pepin s appearance,” Dominick said. ‘Tm glad she did. You hid your reaction well.”
“Why should I be offended?” Gina asked. “Pepin can’t help it.”
“You have a kinder heart than many ladies,” Dominick said.
“Not really. I just don’t see any point in blaming a person for something that isn’t his fault, that he’d change if he could.”
Seeing the way Dominick was looking at her, as if he wanted to put his arms around her right there in the hall with all his people and his guests present, Gina decided to change the subject promptly. Tearing her gaze from Dominick, she glanced toward Pepin and his traveling companion.
“I don’t think the priest likes me,” she said.
Before Dominick could respond to her claim, Pepin left Father Guntram’s side and rejoined them. Gina noticed the priest’s disapproving expression, and some imp of mischief made her smile at Pepin with extra sweetness. She didn’t think many women flirted with him, and she was delighted when he smiled back.
“Will you be staying long at Feldbruck, sir?”’ she asked him.
“Only one night,” Pepin said. “We are on our way from Prum to Regensburg to see my father. It has been a long and painful journey, and I want to end it as soon as possible, but I could not come so far without stopping to visit Dominick.”
“If you are staying in Regensburg for more than a few weeks, we’ll meet again there,” Dominick told him. “You are always welcome at Feldbruck, but it is far out of your way. Knowing how much you dislike travel, I wonder why you didn’t seek me first at court and come here later if you didn’t find me.”
“Indeed,” said Father Guntram in a cold voice. “That would have been the sensible thing to do, as I have told you many times along the way, Pepin. Hear how your friend agrees with me.”
“You are always sensible, Father.” Pepin reacted with quiet dignity to the priest’s insulting manner. “Whereas I am not the most sensible of men, as you so often remind me. I conceived a great longing to sit far into the night with Dominick, drinking his excellent wine and reliving our youthful days together at the palace school.”
A most unreligious snort was Father Guntram s response to Pepin’s remarks, followed by an angry lecture on the virtue of exercising good sense on all occasions. Gina looked from the darkly frowning priest to the almost angelically blank face of the listening Pepin. It didn’t take a genius to see that something was seriously wrong between the two of them. In hope of a clue as to how she ought to react to the tension, she glanced at Dominick, only to find that his usually expressive face was almost as devoid of emotion as Pepin’s. Dominick’s bland silence further aroused her suspicions.
“How far away is Prum?” she asked him while Father Guntram was still ranting at Pepin.
“It’s west of Cologne,” he said, “and south of Aachen. A long day’s ride from either place, and several weeks from Feldbruck at the speed Pepin must travel.”
Gina tried to recall the map of Europe, picturing where Feldbruck was and where Cologne was.
“That’s hundreds of miles from here!” she exclaimed. “Ella told me that riding is difficult for Pepin, yet he rode all that distance on a donkey.”
“And?” Dominick watched her closely, as if he was waiting for her to reach a conclusion.
“Well, I’d say Pepin wants very badly to speak with you.”
“So would I.” Dominick’s response was so soft that Gina barely heard it. While she looked at him, noting the frown that drew his brows together and wishing he’d reveal what was on his mind, Father Guntram finished his lecture, and Pepin bowed his head as if in complete acquiescence to what the priest had said. But from the way Pepin’s hands were fisted at his sides and the stiff manner in which he held his crooked back, Gina suspected he was not as passive as he pretended to be.
That evening’s meal was not the usual simple fare of bread, cheese, and cold meat left over from mid-day. Hedwiga produced several hot, roasted chickens that Gina was sure were sacrifices from the chatelaine’s treasured flock of laying hens. There was a huge salad of garden greens and herbs sprinkled with violets and rose petals, plenty of fresh bread, and even a bowl of newly churned butter, which was a special treat fit for a king s son.
Pepin praised the food, thanked Hedwiga for her efforts on his behalf, and ate little. Father Guntram uttered no word of thanks but stuffed himself until Gina wondered how he kept his lean figure if he routinely ate that way.
It was not a pleasant meal. Father Guntram’s dark presence cast a shadow over the high table and, to a lesser degree, over the tables where men-at-arms and servants sat. Conversation was stilted, consisting of remarks about the weather, the difficulties of travel, and the chances of a good harvest. Gina detected undercurrents, but she didn’t know enough about Frankish society or about Dominick’s guests to understand what they were.
As soon as she could do so without being rude, she excused herself and fled the hall for the garden. It was quickly becoming her favorite spot at Feldbruck, especially at twilight, when all the floral and herbal fragrances released by the heat of the day combined into a single, complex perfume that was borne aloft by the gentle evening breeze. Gina meandered slowly along the gravel path to the sundial at the center of the garden, where she paused to inhale the sweet air.
A loud, haranguing voice coming from the direction of the great hall disturbed her peace. Almost certainly it was Father Guntram speaking.
“What is your problem, anyway?” Gina muttered, glancing over her shoulder toward the door to the hall. She saw a slender figure silhouetted there, and Father Guntram’s voice grew louder. Fearing that the priest, too, was planning to walk amid the flower beds and wanting to avoid him, Gina hurried past the sundial to the shelter of the trees at the other end of the garden. The sun was below the mountaintops, night was falling, and the shadows were growing darker by the minute. She was sure no one would notice her.
No sooner had she reached the trees than she heard footsteps on the gravel and the voices of two men, one of whom her heart recognized at once. It was not Father Guntram, but Dominick and Pepin coming along the path. She stepped forward to join them, then halted. The quiet, intense way they were speaking told her they were in the garden seeking the same privacy she had sought.
She knew what she ought to do, which was slip quietly through the trees to the open area where the garden ended. From there she could turn left and walk, unseen, around the wing where the great hall was, and enter the house through the kitchen door.
Whatever
Dominick and Pepin wanted to say to each other was no business of hers. She knew that perfectly well, yet she remained where she was, hidden in the deepening shadows of the trees, shamelessly listening to a private conversation.
“I can bear no more,” Pepin said. “My father knows that the last thing on earth I want is to become a priest. I don’t have the vocation, and I never will, yet he insists I must profess my vows. He has commanded Father Guntram to preach at me every day until I give in and obey. They say it’s because Charles fears me that he wants me out of the way.”
“They?” Dominick’s quiet voice interrupted Pepin’s passionate outburst. “Who are ‘they’?”
“The Bavarian nobles. They have invited me to join them.”
Gina heard Dominick’s firm footsteps pause. Pepin’s limping gait continued a few more paces. Then a sudden movement in the dimness told her Pepin had swung around to face his friend.
“Are you speaking,” Dominick said, “of the nobles who swore fealty to Charles after Duke Tassilo of Bavaria was deposed and imprisoned? The same nobles who, in return for their oaths, were permitted by Charles to retain their lands and titles?”
“Yes,” Pepin responded fiercely. “Tassilo and all his family were sent to monasteries and convents for the rest of their lives. It’s a habit my father has, his way of appearing merciful when other people prove inconvenient to him. It’s what he wants to do to me.”
“Tassilo was more than inconvenient,” Dominick said. “He was a traitor, over and over again, and Charles forgave him so many times that most people lost count. It’s a wonder he wasn’t executed years ago. When Tassilo was finally defeated in battle after his last revolt and then deposed, most of his nobles cheerfully turned their backs on him and swore themselves to Charles without a bit of hesitation. Pepin, don’t be taken in by those deceitful men. If they could so easily forsake their sacred oaths to their first lord, and then break their oaths to Charles, they will also break any oaths they swear to you.”
