by Speer, Flora
They didn’t need a correspondent within the palace to learn what happened next. All of Regensburg was talking about the noble traitors who were tracked to Ratisbon and arrested there, and who were being transported back to court for trial. Rumor said Queen Fastrada was so horrified by the plot against Charles that she was insisting at every opportunity that all of those involved must be put to death, without exception.
“It isn’t just Dominick she wants dead,” Lady Adalhaid said upon hearing the latest story. “Fastrada has strong personal reasons for hating every man among them, for each of them has, at one time or other, spoken out against her. She never forgets or forgives a slight.”
“Now she will have her revenge,” Gina said. “Not to mention all the lands and titles those nobles held, which will revert to the crown and have to be redistributed. She will influence the decisions on who will get those lands and titles, won’t she?”
“You are learning.” Lady Adalhaid responded to Gina’s remarks with a bitter smile. “All the same, while I sympathize with anyone who dislikes Fastrada and her ruthless methods, treason is unforgivable and deserves the death sentence.”
“Only if a man is truly guilty,” Gina said. “We both know Dominick isn’t guilty.”
“Just so,” Lady Adalhaid agreed.
In Pepin s small room in the palace, he and Dominick were cramped for space even when they were alone. When Father Guntram was there, which he was for the better part of each day, the walls began to close in on Dominick until he would have given all he owned for a single hour out of doors in fresh air and sunshine, with Father Guntram far away and preferably gagged so he couldn’t talk.
“It is a wicked sin to wish for your father’s death,” Father Guntram intoned for the eighth time that day. His hand was on Pepin’s head, keeping the young man on his knees with his head bowed in a posture that the most uncaring observer could see was painful.
“I have never wanted my father’s death,” Pepin said. It was the same response he had uttered again and again during the last three days.
Every fiber of Dominick’s being strained to seize the heartless priest by the neck of his cassock and haul him away from Pepin. Dominick’s fists ached from the effort he was exerting to keep from smashing them into Father Guntram’s face, over and over, until the priest agreed to stop tormenting Pepin.
In spite of the anger that almost choked him, Dominick still had sense enough left to know that attacking Father Guntram was the worst thing he could possibly do. Aside from the crime of hitting a priest, which Dominick did not want on his conscience, Father Guntram would take any act of violence as proof of Dominick’s guilt, and he’d carry the tale to Charles. Or to Fastrada, which would be worse. So Dominick sat at the foot of Pepin’s narrow bed and stared at the rolled-up pallet that he spread on the floor to sleep on at night, and he pretended he didn’t care what the priest was saying.
“Come, Pepin, confess your sins,” Father Guntram urged. “You, too, Dominick. Confess and be shriven. Go to your deaths with hearts and souls made pure by honest repentance.”
“What death?” Dominick asked, lifting his head to stare the priest in the eye. “I haven’t done anything wrong. Neither has Pepin.” That wasn’t exactly true of Pepin, but Dominick wasn’t going to admit as much to a man who gave the Holy Church a bad name.
“You, a bastard, have much to repent,” said Father Guntram, releasing his hold on Pepin’s head to turn his fiery gaze on Dominick.
“I cannot change the circumstances of my birth,” Dominick replied. Then he stopped listening and let the priest’s words roll over him unheeded. He could bear the accusations, and with Father Guntram busy scolding him, Pepin would have a rest.
Dominick allowed his mind to wander to more pleasant subjects than Father Guntram or the approaching trial. He thought of Feldbruck, where the midsummer harvest was likely just beginning. In his mind he could see the mountains, the green forest, and the buildings tucked within the palisade, his home, the place he had earned with his strong sword arm and his blood. Lately, whenever he thought of Feldbruck, he saw Gina in the garden, sitting on the little stone bench, waiting for him.
He was trained to be a warrior, a man of steel and blood and violence, yet the image dearest to his heart was no longer a battle scene but the picture of a slender young woman with short, dark curls sitting beneath a tree with shimmering green leaves. When she saw him, she would rise and hold out her arms....
“Confess your crimes and be saved,” Father Guntram cried, his raised voice interrupting Dominick’s daydream.
“I have committed no crimes,” Dominick said. “Quite the opposite. I tried to prevent a crime from being committed.”
“Every man sins,” Father Guntram insisted.
“Mine are venial sins,” Dominick said, “which I will confess to my own priest when I see him again. You are not that priest.”
“Blasphemy!”
“What is? To point out the obvious fact that you are not my priest?” Dominick stretched, making the movement look as languid and lazy as possible. “I have nothing to say to you, Father Guntram.”
The priest drew a deep breath, a warning to Dominick that he was preparing to begin yet another lengthy exhortation on the subject of sins that were crimes against one’s liege lord as well as against heaven.
“Excuse me,” a new voice interrupted from the doorway.
“Alcuin, I’m glad to see you.” Dominick was on his feet, a welcoming hand extended to the tall, stoop-shouldered cleric.
“What business have you with these sinful men?” Father Guntram demanded in his usual rude manner.
“Actually, my errand is with you,” Alcuin said, turning a bland smile on the priest. “Queen Fastrada requests that you attend her. ‘As soon as possible’ were the exact words she used.”
“I shall return, Pepin.” Father Guntram spoke to the top of Pepin’s bent head. “Use this interval to consider all I have said to you. Repent of your wickedness. When I do return, I expect to hear a full confession of your sins.” Without a word of thanks to Alcuin for bearing the queen’s message, he left the room.
“I could better consider what he has said,” Pepin muttered, “if only he didn’t say so much. I can’t recall most of it.”
“That’s because he repeats himself,” Dominick said, and he bent to help Pepin to his feet. “Father Guntram has only two speeches. I think I have both memorized. I’ll drill you on them if you like.”
“No, thank you.” With a groan Pepin tried to straighten his back. “Bless you, Alcuin, for interrupting.”
“Speaking of sins, I am now guilty of a lie designed to remove Father Guntram for a little while. Are you being well treated?” Alcuin asked.
“Yes, aside from Father Guntram’s constant attendance,” Pepin said. “Please, I beg of you, don’t tell me he means well or that he is attempting to save my immortal soul. He has told me so too many times for the words to hold any meaning for me.”
“My boy, you did plot against your father,” Alcuin said sadly.
“But Dominick did not! Can’t you explain that to Charles and convince him to release Dominick?” Pepin asked.
“I have tried. So has Lady Gina. Dominick, I have disturbing news to impart.”
“Don’t tell me Gina has been arrested?” Dominick’s hand went to his side, where his sword hilt would be if the weapon weren’t safely at his house, left there because swords were not worn at the palace.
“Not Gina,” Alcuin said. “She and Lady Adalhaid are together, well guarded by Harulf and your other men-at-arms and well served by that delightful and intelligent girl, Ella.”
“Good.” Dominick ran his hands over the stubble on his jaw, wishing he could take a bath and shave. “What bad news, then?”
“Your brother, Bernard, has been implicated in the plot against Charles. He is being arrested at this moment.”
“Bernard?” Dominick scarcely knew whether to burst into laughter at the sheer l
unacy of the charge or to become seriously worried. “Bernard is Fastrada’s man. She will protect him.”
“It was Fastrada who denounced Bernard to Charles.”
“What?” Dominick gaped at Alcuin. “In heaven’s name, why?”
“I gather Bernard did or said something to annoy Fastrada. It’s easy enough to do.”
“So she is sending him to trial for treason?” Dominick shouted. “The woman is mad! If Charles lets her do this, so is he!”
“Keep your voice down,” Alcuin warned. Frowning, he looked from Dominick to Pepin and back again. “The situation becomes more serious by the moment. Both of you must guard every word you speak, particularly when Father Guntram is present. Do not confess, for Guntram will most likely not abide by the sacred seal of the confessional. He is too ambitious, too eager to gain Fastrada’s favor. Do not provide evidence that will surely be used against you when you come to trial.”
“Am I to be tried?” Dominick asked, knowing what the answer must be and prepared to hear his belief confirmed.
“Yes.” Alcuin bit off the single word as if speaking it hurt his tongue.
“What of Deacon Fardulf?”
“Fastrada has been attempting to convince Charles that Fardulf was a party to the meeting of traitors, and that after it ended he began to fear the consequences.”
“So he protected himself by rushing off to Charles and telling what he knew,” Dominick finished. “That version is not true. Gina and I both were in the church and saw how roughly Fardulf was treated. At first he didn’t want to go to Charles. He was afraid for his life.”
“The Church will protect Fardulf, and the truth will eventually be known,” Alcuin said.
“You do see what is happening, don’t you?” Pepin exclaimed. “Fastrada has found the perfect opportunity to destroy anyone who ever spoke against her, or who even just irritated her. She will use the conspiracy as a way to have all her enemies declared traitors.”
“How can Charles be a party to such viciousness?” Dominick asked. “It’s not like him. He has always been a reasonable man. If he refused to execute Duke Tassilo after all Tassilo did, including plotting against his life, then how can he justify a death sentence on anyone who has been arrested solely on Fastrada s instigation?”
“I do wonder how far Fastrada will go,” Alcuin said, “and when Charles will decide she has overstepped the power a queen of Francia rightfully holds.”
“Not soon enough for Dominick and me,” said Pepin. “By the time my father finally comes to his senses, we will be dead.”
“I will never be able to thank you adequately for what you’re doing,” Gina said to Alcuin. “This could prove dangerous for you.”
“My safety is irrelevant,” Alcuin said. “It is a matter of justice, and justice is the concern of every man and woman, whatever the cost may be.”
It was late evening, and they were in the now-familiar garden courtyard. The only light came from a few stars and from the open door of the corridor that led to Alcuin’s office.
“I asked Charles to join me after he was finished meeting with his councilors,” Alcuin said, explaining the arrangements he had made. “I used a freshly translated chapter of the Book of Genesis as an excuse, saying I wanted him to read a portion of it and give me his opinion on certain passages. I think he was glad to know he’ll have an hour when he won’t feel compelled to think about the trial tomorrow.”
“Where is Fastrada?”
“She has taken to her room, claiming a severe headache.”
“More likely she just wants a bit of privacy so she can dream up a few new ways to make decent people miserable.”
“I cannot think the queen is a happy woman,” Alcuin said in a dry tone that made Gina look sharply at him. She couldn’t see his face, just his tall shape looming beside her in the shadows.
“Baloney! That woman loves to be nasty.”
“Baloney?” Alcuin mispronounced the word and laughed softly.
“It s a kind of sausage.”
“Thank you, Gina.”
“For what?”
“You have just provided a few moments in which I did not have to think about the trial. It’s a relief to enjoy a small joke and laugh.” Alcuin touched her shoulder lightly. “We should go to my office now. Charles will be joining us soon.”
In fact, they waited almost an hour for him, and when the king of the Franks arrived, he looked weary. When he saw Gina, his handsome face creased into a scowl.
“Alcuin, you tricked me,” Charles said reproachfully.
“Not at all,” Alcuin said. “I do have the translation I spoke of, and I would appreciate hearing your comments on it. I admit, I did promise Lady Gina you would listen to her petition first.”
“As I said, a trick.” Charles sighed, looking at Gina. “I have just finished speaking with another woman, a lady I have known since I was a young man, who came to me to plead for the life of her son and to tell me she suspects that Pepin has been used and manipulated in this business.”
“I’m glad to know there is someone else who sees the conspiracy as Dominick and I do,” Gina said. She was about to launch into her plea for Dominick’s life when Charles spoke again.
“I will tell you what I told Lady Elza. There is enough evidence to sentence almost every one of them to death. They have been remarkably careless in their treason. When their houses were searched my agents found documents, letters and lists, stating names. A more clever group of men would have seen to it that even the smallest bit of incriminating parchment was destroyed.”
Gina stared at him, knowing Dominick’s house had not been searched and trying to figure out what that meant. Was it because Charles knew Dominick wasn’t among the traitors, or was Dominick’s name on one of those lists because he was Pepin’s longtime friend and, thus, guilty by association? Not knowing what evidence, if any, Charles possessed about Dominick, still she was compelled to continue fighting for him.
“You cannot possibly believe Dominick has ever wished you ill,” she declared in a firm voice. “He owes everything to you – his lands, title, and his position.”
“The same could be said about most of the other men under arrest,” Charles responded.
“Dominick told me once that you were like a second father to him.”
“One of the conspirators is a son of my own body. If Pepin could betray me, why not a foster son?”
“If you know anything at all about men, you must know that Dominick is honest. For heaven’s sake, he came to you and warned you about the plot!”
“It has been suggested to me that Dominick and Deacon Fardulf were originally part of the plot, that they revealed it to me only after they realized it could not succeed, and that they did so in hope of saving themselves.”
“You saw Fardulf’s condition the night we told you of the plot, and you saw his torn robe.”
“Fardulf could easily have torn his own robe, or Dominick could have torn it for him.”
“That meek, innocent soul was manhandled by a gang of ruffians. In a church!” Gina exclaimed. Outraged by what Charles had said, she spoke without considering the consequences of her words. “I came to the palace tonight, planning to get down on my knees and plead with you for Dominick’s life because I thought you were an intelligent, reasonable man. If you have allowed Queen Fastrada to corrupt your mind until you believe anything that vicious, spiteful, spoiled brat tells you about a person you know is honest, then you are not the man I thought you were. You are not the man the Franks believe you to be, not the man they honor as their king.”
She had gone too far, and she knew it. That was not the way to speak to a king, especially when she wanted something from him. She saw Alcuin’s disapproving expression and knew she had blown her chance to change Charles’s mind.
And yet, she could not bring herself to apologize. She wasn’t sorry for what she had said. Charles needed to hear the truth about Fastrada from someone who wasn’t a courtier wit
h a personal agenda to advance, or a traitor. She hoped she had made an impression on him, though she feared that Charles already knew what kind of wife he had and that, for some private, perverse reason, he wasn’t going to stop her.
Charles didn’t look angry over Gina’s harsh words. He just stood there with his arms folded across his chest, watching her closely. She made one more attempt.
“Dominick is completely innocent of treason,” she insisted. “So is Deacon Fardulf. You cannot believe Fastrada’s lies against them.”
“What I believe or do not believe,” Charles said, “will become known at the trial tomorrow. I will not discuss this matter with you any longer. You have my leave to depart, Lady Gina.”
There was no way she could protest or attempt to make him listen to a new plea. If she tried, she’d only hurt Dominick’s case. The sole action left to her was a polite withdrawal.
“Thank you for listening to me,” Gina said to Charles. To Alcuin she added, “I am sorry I’ve caused you trouble.”
“You haven’t,” Alcuin said. “Go now.”
She did. When she left the palace grounds she found Harulf waiting for her at the gate where she had left him. To his questions about the success of her mission she could only respond that she didn’t know what effect her pleas had had on Charles. She did not begin to weep until she was alone in Dominick’s room.
Chapter 17
The trial was held in the great hall of the palace. Charles sat in a simple wooden chair on a raised dais. He was clad in his usual outfit of undecorated woolen tunic and trousers, though for this solemn occasion he also wore his golden crown. His council, his secretaries, and a few clerics, including Alcuin, stood near him, ready to provide opinions or advice should he require either.
At one side of the hall, sitting in a row on benches, were the men Charles had appointed as judges, who were to listen to the case and offer a verdict. On the opposite side of the hall, at some distance from Charles, Fastrada was seated on a gilded chair, her ladies clustered around her. The queen’s face was hard, and her blue eyes glittered when she looked at the accused men.
