by Speer, Flora
There came the hurried sound of sandaled feet entering the infirmary, and then a pair of gasps. Brother Anselm and one of his assistants had arrived. Both men halted abruptly when they recognized Charles.
“Sir,” exclaimed Brother Anselm, “I am surprised to see you here.”
“It’s clear to me you’ve performed a blessed service in your care of Dominick,” Charles said. “You and your assistants have my deep thanks, Brother Anselm. I won’t forget what you’ve done.
“Dominick,” Charles went on, turning back to the man on the bed, “when you are feeling strong enough, Gina will answer all your questions. I don’t want to tire you further, so I’ll bid you a good night’s rest.”
“Good night, my lord,” said Brother Anselm, looking somewhat flustered as Charles departed. “Lady Gina, what has happened in my absence?”
“As you see, the fever broke, and Dominick is awake. He complained of being cold, so we moved him to a dry bed.”
“I am amazed and confounded,” said Brother Anselm, shaking his head as he observed Dominick.
“Why should you be?” asked his assistant. “Our prayers have been answered. Even as we knelt in the church, praying for Count Dominick s recovery, he awakened. It’s a miracle!”
“He won’t be awake for long if we don’t feed him,” Gina said, afraid that all the priests and brothers would come traipsing into the infirmary to have a look at the miracle man and, by their well-meant but tiring attentions, drive Dominick back into a state of unconsciousness.
“Broth,” said Brother Anselm, meeting Gina’s warning look. “I recommend freshly boiled chicken broth, served in a clean bowl.”
“I want meat,” Dominick said.
“Perhaps a bit of day-old bread crumbled into the broth,” Brother Anselm suggested in a conciliatory way.
“Perfect,” Gina responded with a smile so bright that both brothers blinked at her.
“Meat,” Dominick muttered.
“Broth,” Brother Anselm repeated, and he departed for the kitchen to find some.
“Are you all deaf?” asked Dominick. “I want meat!”
“That’s a sure sign of recovery,” said the assistant brother. “Every man becomes difficult as soon as he begins to feel better. If he tries to get out of bed or calls for his sword, just yell for me, Lady Gina. I’ll be seeing to the other patients.”
“I am not being difficult,” Dominick said. “I’m just hungry.”
“You have been very sick,” Gina told him, “and you will remain weak for some time yet, so do as Brother Anselm advises. He’s a fine physician.”
“What happened to me?” Dominick asked. “I know where I am, but why am I here?”
“We were attacked by Fastrada’s people,” Gina began. Hoping to keep him lying quietly in bed, at least until Brother Anselm returned, she told him all of it, including Charles’s decision to keep Fastrada under what amounted to house arrest, with her loyal attendants removed from court. She decided the almost-empty infirmary was private enough to satisfy Charles’s restrictions on repeating the sordid tale.
“Dominick, you saved my life,” Gina ended her story. “You attacked a gigantic war horse with an eating knife. I never imagined such bravery existed in this world.”
“Were you hurt?” he asked, holding her fingers in a surprisingly tight grip.
“Only a minor wound that’s well on its way to healing,” she said. “So are Lady Adalhaid and Harulf and Deacon Fardulf all recovered. Assuming you recover completely, the only lasting injury will be Charles’s broken heart – unless, after the past few weeks, he finds that his heart was only bruised rather badly, not broken beyond repair.”
“I want to go home,” Dominick said.
“Well, unless you are willing to travel through the streets of Regensburg in a litter,” she told him, knowing he would never consent to that mode of transportation, “you will have to stay here in the infirmary for a few more days, until we can build up your strength.”
“I mean, home to Feldbruck.”
“It will be quite a while before you are well enough to make that long journey,” she said.
“If I were at Feldbruck, I’d recover more quickly.”
“I’m sure you would. Getting you there is the problem.”
“I want you beside me every night.”
“Oh, Dominick.” She was about to kiss him, until she saw Brother Anselm approaching with a tray on which rested a bowl of steaming broth and a chunk of bread.
Though he claimed to be hungry, Dominick was able to swallow only a small amount of the broth before he fell into a deep sleep.
“It’s natural slumber,” Brother Anselm assured Gina when she expressed renewed concern. “He will recover now; I’m sure of it. We will feed him each time he wakens.”
Gina remained with Dominick, holding his hand and watching him sleep until Harulf arrived just after dawn to take his shift of nursing his master.
“Don’t disturb him too much,” Gina instructed after telling Harulf the good news. “Brother Anselm says he needs to sleep.”
“So do you,” said Harulf, seeing her yawn.
He had brought Eric, another of Dominick’s men-at-arms, to escort her through the early-morning streets. Once at home, Gina stripped off her gown, fell into bed, and slept until Ella wakened her in late afternoon.
Dominick’s condition improved so rapidly that no more than a single day passed before he was complaining about being confined. Harulf got him out of bed and supported him as he tried to walk about the infirmary. He walked a little farther each day, wearing the tunic and trousers Harulf brought him, though he still spent most of his time lying on his bed.
“Harulf is bringing another man-at-arms tomorrow,” Dominick said to Gina one evening. “They will take turns helping me. You won’t have to spend so many hours sitting here.”
“I don’t mind sitting with you.”
“I mind it. The time has come for me to begin working to regain my strength, and I will need men, not women, to assist me.”
“Of course, my lord,” she said, trying to hide her hurt feelings from him. She left his bedside quickly, before she could burst into tears.
Brother Anselm’s assistant, who was close enough to overhear the conversation, stopped her headlong flight to offer a sympathetic explanation. “Dominick’s impatience is simply what Brother Anselm warned you would happen. It’s all part of his recovery. However, I am concerned about your health,” said the assistant. “You are pale and wan. Haven’t you been eating and sleeping, as you should?”
“I’ve been too worried about Dominick to care about eating or sleeping.”
“Are you ever light-headed?” The assistant’s eyes were sharp as he regarded her.
“Occasionally,” she admitted. “I’m sure it’s due simply to the stress and strain of recent weeks.”
“That could be the reason. However, I grew up in a large family, with older sisters, and I do wonder…” The assistant paused, as if considering how to phrase what he wanted to say. “My lady, there are certain women’s problems that it would be most improper of me to discuss with an unmarried lady. If you feel ill, I would advise you to speak to Lady Adalhaid.”
“Thank you. I’ll do that.”
But she didn’t have a chance to speak with her friend, for Dominick decided he wasn’t going to stay cooped up in the infirmary any longer. One afternoon, without having mentioned his plans to Gina or Lady Adalhaid, he bid Brother Anselm and his assistants farewell and walked to his house, arm-in-arm with Harulf and Eric.
By the time he reached his front door, Dominick’s companions were practically carrying him, and there was an untidy masculine scramble to get him undressed and into his bed before he disgraced his manhood by fainting.
“I feel recovered already,” Dominick announced, and he promptly lapsed into sleep.
“He does that a lot lately after he has exerted himself,” Harulf said to Gina. “Brother Anselm assures us he
will grow stronger with regular exercise.”
“Thank you for that valuable bit of medical information.” Gina’s response was so sharp that Harulf departed from the bedchamber as fast as he decently could. Hands planted on her hips, Gina glanced around the garment-strewn chamber, her gaze coming to rest on Dominick’s sleeping form. “He does look peaceful,” she said to Lady Adalhaid.
“Let him be,” Lady Adalhaid responded. “Let him do as he wants, and don’t protest. He’s not a child you can keep under your control. It’s time for Dominick to be about manly business again.”
“Well, he won’t want me sleeping here until he’s fully restored to health. Do you mind if I move in with you for a while?”
“Of course not. It won’t be for long.”
The next morning Dominick began working out with his sword. Every day thereafter he and Harulf and the other men-at-arms gathered in the open yard behind the house to practice. Each midday Dominick’s companions carried him to the bathhouse, where they soaped and rinsed him, then dragged him to his room and tossed him into bed to sleep until evening.
Following Lady Adalhaid’s advice, Gina bit her tongue on the objections she longed to make about this harsh regimen. She told herself that Dominick was eating well and sleeping long hours. She could see his progress. The debilitated muscles in his torso and arms were beginning to fill out again as his body regained its taut, sleek contours. His cheeks were no longer hollow.
There came a day when he bathed himself without help after his workout and only needed to lean on Harulf’s shoulder to get from bathhouse to bedchamber. Two days later, he did it all on his own. His face and upper body were tanned, and his blond hair was bleached in streaks from the long hours he spent in the sun. Eric shaved off his beard for him and trimmed his overgrown hair. By the end of his first week at home, Dominick was beginning to look like the man Gina had met at Feldbruck. But he still treated her as if she was of no importance to him.
Brother Anselm came to see him, and, after a private examination to which Gina was not invited, he declared that Dominick was almost fully recovered.
“And much sooner than I expected, too,” Brother Anselm said to Gina after Dominick excused himself to go horseback riding with Harulf and Eric. “But then, when he was carried into the infirmary, I didn’t really expect him to live. I have learned from you, Lady Gina. Hereafter I will follow the methods of the physicians of your country and use only boiled water and newly decanted wine to wash open wounds. I still intend to include a great deal of prayer, of course.”
“Good idea. You want to cover all the bases,” Gina said. As usual, her twentieth-century slang came out quite differently in Frankish, and she and Brother Anselm both laughed, though he couldn’t possibly know why her speech was occasionally so odd.
Gina was surprised to learn there was no charge for all the time Brother Anselm and his assistants had spent caring for Dominick, nor for the use of his bed in the infirmary.
“Secular physicians and barber-surgeons charge fees,” Brother Anselm explained. “Ours is charitable work, for the glory of God.”
“But surely you deserve something in return,” Gina protested.
“Will you feel less indebted if I tell you that Count Dominick has made an extremely generous donation to the infirmary, which is to be used for food and supplies to treat the poor souls who come to us?”
“Yes, it would help. Thank you for telling me.” Dominick hadn’t told her. In fact, he seldom bothered to speak to her. He didn’t have time, for his every waking hour was taken up with masculine pursuits. He was hunting again, often riding into the forest with Charles and his nobles.
“It was fun while it lasted,” Gina said tartly to Lady Adalhaid. “Now he doesn’t need me any longer. Perhaps he’s tired of me. There’s no mystery left.”
“Oh, you foolish girl! You and Dominick are about to embark upon the greatest of all mysteries.” Lady Adalhaid burst into laughter. “Haven’t you guessed why Dominick has been working so hard? It’s because he wants to come to you a whole, strong man. His pride won’t allow him to offer his weakling self to you.”
“Is that so?” Gina stabbed her needle through the seam she was mending. There was always so much sewing to be done. Clothes were seldom thrown out; they were repaired or remade and worn again until the cloth in them was reduced to rags, which were then used for cleaning. “So, Dominick imagines I prefer brute muscles and sunburned skin to – to—”
“To a man who is pale and weak from long illness,” Lady Adalhaid finished for her. “Just so, my dear. It’s the way men think. You will never change a man s opinion on the subject of physical strength, so don’t try.”
“Is that motherly advice you’re giving me?”
“Take it as you will. I suppose Dominick did tell you that Charles wants to see us tomorrow morning?”
“Count Dominick hasn’t said a word to me since he wished me a good day early this morning.”
“I was afraid of that. Wear the red silk dress tomorrow. I’ll lend you some of my jewelry.”
“Oh, my lady!” exclaimed Ella, rushing into Lady Adalhaid’s chamber and plopping down on a stool. “Wait till you hear the latest gossip. Everyone in the marketplace is talking about it.”
“Now what?” asked Gina. She noticed Lady Adalhaid’s disapproving glance at Ella, but Gina was weary of sewing, and she didn’t want to discuss Dominick any longer.
“Well,” said Ella, obviously bursting with the news, “you know that Queen Fastrada hasn’t been seen in public since the day of Hiltrude’s wedding. Now everyone is saying that she has taken to her bed. That’s why she sent so many of her attendants away. It’s because she has stopped participating in court functions, so she doesn’t need as many ladies around her.”
“Very sensible,” said Lady Adalhaid in a tone that made Gina look hard at her. Nothing in Lady Adalhaid’s expression betrayed any knowledge of the truth of Fastrada’s situation, except for the twinkle in Lady Adalhaid’s eyes.
“And now,” Ella continued, “Charles intends to depart from Regensburg two days hence. He is to make a grand royal progress throughout Francia. And Fastrada won’t be going!”
“Really?” said Gina, keeping her eyes fixed on her sewing.
“Don’t you see what it all means?” cried Ella. When neither woman responded, she said, “The rumor is that Fastrada is with child again. That’s why she stays in bed. She’s sick every morning. It’s clear she’s hoping for a son this time, and she won’t jeopardize the baby by traveling.”
Again, neither woman said a word.
“I’m going to tell Imma and the cook,” Ella said, sounding offended by the lack of interest in her gossip.
“Do you think it’s true?” Gina asked as soon as Ella was gone.
“With Fastrada, almost anything is possible, but frankly, I doubt it,” said Lady Adalhaid. “My friend, Lady Madelgarde, knows all the court news. During that night I spent with her, she recounted everything that has happened since Fastrada banished me from the palace. Madelgarde claims that Charles has been living a celibate life ever since the plot to dethrone him was discovered.”
“But he wasn’t celibate before that time, and Fastrada was very demonstrative toward him in public. I’m thinking of the night when you and I first met.” Gina frowned. “Wouldn’t it be just like Fastrada to produce a son and use the baby to worm her way back into Charles’s good graces?”
“I consider it highly unlikely that she is with child. Despite Charles’s constant attentions during the first ten years of their marriage, Fastrada was able to conceive only two daughters. Ella has made a great deal out of a few rumors. I don’t think we need to worry about Fastrada any longer.” Lady Adalhaid suddenly stopped talking, looking guilty. Then she broke into a naughty grin. “Besides, I would never dream of uttering a single word on so delicate a topic. Neither should you. Such gossip is for servants.”
“Right,” Gina said, and they both went back to their
sewing.
* * *
Once again Gina, Dominick, and Lady Adalhaid stood in Charles’s private audience chamber. He kept them waiting, and when he finally appeared, Alcuin was with him.
“Dominick, I am glad to see you looking so well,” Charles said in a jovial way, as if he hadn’t seen Dominick on the previous day, when they went hunting together. “Lady Adalhaid, I understand you are planning to return to Trier.”
“As soon as I take my leave of you, my lord,” she said. “I have only stayed so long to help nurse Dominick back to health.”
“And a fine job you did. Perhaps too fine.” Charles looked from Lady Adalhaid to Dominick to Gina, and on her his gaze rested. “Lady Adalhaid, if you depart from Regensburg, there will be a scandal.”
“I beg your pardon?” Lady Adalhaid looked as if she was about to burst into laughter.
“How can you leave a lovely young woman and such a handsome, vigorous young man to live alone in the same house?” Charles asked, his gaze still on Gina. “Lady Adalhaid, you know as well as I do what everyone in Regensburg will say about that arrangement. No, it will not be seemly for you to leave. Lady Gina requires a chaperone.”
“I do not!” Gina exclaimed, annoyed that they were talking about her as if she weren’t present. “I’ve never had a chaperone in my life.”
“But you have,” said Alcuin. “That is what Lady Adalhaid has been to you since shortly after you came to Regensburg.”
“She’s my friend,” Gina said.
“All the better,” Charles told her. “Since she is your friend, surely you cannot want to prevent her from returning to the home she so loves?”
“What’s going on here?” Gina demanded. “Dominick, do you know what these people are up to?”
“No, I do not,” he said, frowning, “but I suspect we are about to learn. Lady Adalhaid, never tell me you intend to take Gina to Trier with you? I won’t allow it.”
“You won’t allow it?” Gina turned on him. “I’ll go wherever I please. You, who won’t give me the time of day lately, have no right to tell me what to do.”
