by Speer, Flora
“The room where you are housed is no prison cell,” Turpin told her. “Hrulund’s own men sleep in such rooms and do not consider it a hardship.”
“Yet in Francia there are men who indulge in luxuries.” India looked pointedly around the bishop’s own room. She expected some scathing retort from Turpin, but instead he smiled at her.
“Well said. Not all of us wish to endure the rigors of a warrior’s life. Please be seated, Lady India.”
“I’ll stand.” The only places to sit were the bed or the stool the scribe had been using, and Turpin was blocking her way to the stool.
“I insist that you sit.” There was steel beneath the bishop’s mellifluous tone and his eyes were hard. “Let me offer you wine.”
“You gave Theu your word that we would be unharmed,” India reminded him.
“Have I harmed you, sweet lady?” His eyes still hard, Turpin spread his plump hands. “I have merely invited you to sit.”
Unwillingly, India perched on the very edge of the bed, watching Turpin pour out the wine. She wanted to refuse it, but thought it would be unwise to anger him. She took the gold and jewel-decorated glass he offered, and barely touched her lips to the wine.
“What do you want of me?” she asked.
“To know you better.” Turpin sat down beside her. India tried to move away from him, but the railing at the foot of the bed prevented her from going far.
“Why should you be interested in me?”
“Autar knows little of women, but he judged you rightly when he called you unusual. You are a fascinating mystery. You are also lovely.” Turpin leaned nearer. “I believe you and I could easily become close friends – perhaps even allies.”
Turpin reached across India to place one hand on the foot rail of the bed. Since she wanted to avoid physical contact with him, his movement forced her backward until her head came to rest on one of the silk pillows. She was now reclining, with Turpin bending over her. India seriously considered tossing into his face the contents of the wineglass she still held. What stopped her was the thought of Theu and his men. She would not do anything to put them into any greater danger than they were in already. Still, she had no wish to be assaulted by this too-slick man who was looking at her in the same way a cat regards a cornered mouse. She almost expected to see Turpin’s tongue come out and lick his lips in anticipation. She tried to think of a way to avoid him without angering him. Then she recalled the manner in which he had used the name of the king of the Franks to stop Hrulund at a tense moment. Perhaps the same invocation would make Turpin pause, too.
“Sir,” she said, pressing yet further into the pillows to avoid touching him, “I do not know exactly what you expect of me, but I must remind you that you may not harm one who wears the royal medallion while carrying a message to Charles.”
Turpin drew back until he was again sitting upright on the side of the bed. India began to breathe more easily, but almost at once she wished she had not spoken.
“Ah, yes, the message.” All the intimate suggestiveness was gone. Suddenly, Turpin was alert, sharp-eyed, and determined to have the information he desired. “I am one of Charles’s closest confidantes. You may therefore give the message to me.”
“I can’t do that. Surely you understand the need for discretion in such a matter. I cannot believe that you, Bishop, would ever want me to betray either your king or my master, who made me swear to deliver the message to Charles’s ears only.” The thought of how many falsehoods were in that declaration nearly took India’s breath away. She wasn’t used to lying so profusely, and she wasn’t sure Turpin would accept what she said. He was frowning at her, looking as if he would make some irritated rebuttal, when the door flew open and Hrulund walked into the room. Turpin leapt to his feet.
“Well?” Hrulund demanded. “Have you got it out of her yet? What is this message she claims to be carrying? Is there any message at all, or is she lying, like every other woman?”
“Turpin, you were trying to entrap me,” India exclaimed, more to see how Hrulund would respond than out of genuine surprise. She had understood perfectly well what Turpin was trying to do. She stood and approached the two men, her fists clenched as if she were angry.
She should have expected Hrulund’s reaction. His disdainful gaze touched her face, then moved to the wrinkled coverlet and the disarranged pillows.
“You were trying to seduce Bishop Turpin,” he accused her.
“Don’t you see what a wily, cunning man he is?” she cried. When Hrulund just stared at her as if she were some disgusting insect, she answered her own question. “No, of course you don’t. You can’t see beyond the tip of your sword. Hrulund, I ask you to believe this much – even a woman would not violate the confidence of a message sent to Charles. I will not betray your king. Even a mere woman and a foreigner would keep faith with so great a man as Charles.” Seizing the medallion, she held it up so he could see it clearly. She felt no shame at all in piling lie upon lie, not when dealing with these two men. Thinking she saw a faint warming in the twin glaciers that were Hrulund’s eyes, she decided to press whatever advantage she had won with him by her passionate declaration of loyalty to his king.
“For Charles’s sake, can’t you put aside your feud with Theu?” she asked. “You would each be more valuable to Charles if you could work together instead of quarreling like jealous brothers.”
“He does not love Charles as purely as I do. No one does.” Hrulund’s eyes were totally icy once more. “Theuderic and I were born to hate each other.” Going to the door, Hrulund called in the guard.
“Take this woman back to her room,” he commanded.
India was glad to go. When the guard looked at her and jerked his head toward the anteroom, she instantly obeyed the unspoken order. But behind her, Hrulund did not shut the door quickly enough. As she followed the guard across the anteroom and started down the stairs, India could hear Hrulund arguing with Turpin.
“It is shameful,” Hrulund declared, “to allow your lustful impulses to dictate your actions. You wanted to bed her!”
“What about your impulses?” Turpin replied. “You could not restrain your impatience, so you came in too soon. If you had given me just a little longer with her, she would have told me everything we want to know.”
The door closed then, cutting off whatever else the two men said to each other. India went down the staircase shaking her head in wonder at her own escape from Turpin’s room and feeling grateful to Hrulund for bursting in when he had. It was not until she was once more alone in her cell – for that was what it was, no matter what Turpin called it – that she began to shiver in delayed reaction to danger. She might have been killed by either man, and she knew it.
Her fear for Theu and for the rest of their friends almost choked her. She slept no more that night.
Chapter 13
“So, the oil lamp went out at last, did it?” asked her guard, pushing across the floor in her direction a wooden plate on which lay a chunk of bread and a little cheese. “It doesn’t matter. It will be daylight soon enough.”
“Isn’t there anything for me to drink?” she asked.
“Hrulund is right,” the guard said. “Women do nothing but complain and make foolish demands on a man.” But he placed a jug of water beside the plate of food, and before he left her and secured the door, he added a new lighted oil lamp so that she could see to eat.
Alone once more, India managed to swallow the stale bread and part of the moldy cheese, but, remembering Hugo’s remarks about the dangers of water, she drank nothing in spite of her thirst. Instead, she used the vile-smelling pot in the corner of her cell, then used the water to wash her face and hands as best as she could. By this time a feeble light was coming in the window slit, and she could hear church bells in the distance. She began to walk back and forth across the cell to warm herself. Much later, when she had begun to give way to a new fear – that she would remain where she was indefinitely – she heard a muffled
noise outside her door. It sounded suspiciously like a scuffle followed by a smothered cry. She backed against the wall, wondering what would happen next. When the door swung open, Marcion appeared, followed by Eudon.
“Thank heaven.” India sagged in relief.
“Time to go,” Marcion said.
Upon leaving the cell, India was immediately surrounded by four of Theu’s men, all of them holding their swords at the ready. She was so glad to see them that she almost started to cry. She controlled herself, knowing that they would think her weak if she gave way to tears.
“Where is Theu?” she asked, as calmly as she could.
“Above. Hugo and the others will have joined him by now. No doubt he’ll apologize for not being able to rescue you himself.” Marcion led the way to the long staircase.
“Have they hurt him? Or anyone else?” They were moving so fast up the steps that she was breathless.
“Not yet.” Marcion grinned at her. “There’s nothing to worry about. Everything will be all right.”
“Don’t be so sure of that,” she replied, looking around as they entered the large hall where the day before they had first met Hrulund. Theu and the rest of his men were there, swords drawn, facing Count Hrulund and two dozen or so tough-looking warriors, each with his weapon in hand. Only Bishop Turpin was unarmed. He stood by the single candle, his red robes glittering when he moved, turning first toward Theu and his men on one side of the hall, then to Hrulund and his companions on the other side. From the tension among the men, India had the impression that she had walked into the beginning of a swordfight.
“There is no need for this,” Turpin said just as India and her escort joined Theu. “Hrulund, you would be better advised to wait until you can spill Spanish blood. Leave Theuderic and his men to fight for Charles in Spain.”
“But he has opposed the campaign,” said Hrulund, taking a menacing step toward Theu, who raised his sword and waited, his eyes never leaving Hrulund’s face. “It is not right for Theuderic to disagree with Charles.”
“A difference of opinion does not constitute disloyalty,” said the bishop. Hrulund’s response to this remark was to scowl and shake his head as if he found it difficult to understand the concept of loyal disagreement.
“If you want to fight,” said Theu, “I am willing.”
“It would greatly please me to end your life,” Hrulund replied.
“Charles will not like this,” cautioned Bishop Turpin.
“I will tell him I have killed a pack of traitors,” said Hrulund, moving his sword to include all of Theu’s men in the threat.
“Enough talk,” growled Theu, crouching in readiness. “If you cannot believe my word when I say I am loyal to my king, then I will prove it by force of arms.”
“You,” returned Hrulund, baring his teeth in a fierce grin of anticipation, “will die, here and now.”
India was so frightened she could not speak or move. Nor, it appeared, could anyone else in that hall do anything to stop the bloodshed that surely would follow Hrulund’s words. Everyone was staring at the two men facing each other, all of them waiting for the first strike. It was not long in coming. Suddenly Hrulund leapt forward, both hands on the hilt of his sword, aiming a mighty slash at Theu. Their swords clashed together. India heard the sound of metal sliding against metal as Theu parried the blow, forcing Hrulund backward by a couple of steps.
“Put up your weapons!” So intent upon the swordplay was everyone that at first the angry female voice did not penetrate their concentration. It was not until Sister Gertrude spoke again that she was given any attention at all.
“You foolish and ignorant men, do you know of no way to settle your differences except to kill each other? My lord bishop, how can you allow this disgraceful display?”
“I would prevent it if I could,” said Turpin. “I’d rather see them killing Saracens than other Franks.”
“Well, I can prevent it.” Showing no evidence of concern for her personal safety, Sister Gertrude walked forward between the two groups of armed men. She was followed by Danise, by the serving woman Clothilde, and by a young man in dusty clothing who looked about with great interest. Having reached the place where Theu and Hrulund still stood glaring at each other with their swords ready for further action, Sister Gertrude stopped. She put out a hand to Theu’s wrist and pushed his arm down to his side. She would have done the same to Hrulund, but he leapt backward, not allowing her to touch him, lowering his sword without her pressure.
“Garnar, come here,” called Sister Gertrude, and the young man with her came forward at once. Sister Gertrude pointed. “That is Count Theuderic.”
“Aye, I know him by sight,” said Garnar. “Count, I have a letter from Charles.” He pulled a folded and sealed square of parchment from a pouch hung at his belt. This he handed to Theu who, after examining the seal, broke it and read. The men in the hall shifted about, the tension among them easing a bit. Marcion looked at India and smiled. Hugo’s eyes were on Danise.
“Since Hrulund cannot read,” Theu said, handing the parchment to Bishop Turpin, “I would ask you to read this letter aloud so that he, and all the others assembled here, will know its contents. I want no one to accuse me of cowardice for ending this day’s fight.”
Turpin took the letter, made a little ceremony of holding it close to the candle to better see the royal seal, and then unfolded it.
“‘Charles, by the grace of God king of the Franks and the Lombards and patrician of the Romans, to Count Theuderic of Metz,’“ Turpin read. “‘Having received your report of your recent activities in Saxony, we do hereby order you to bring the woman called India to Agen at once. Escort her yourself, for we would meet her before we leave for Spain.’ This is Charles’s signature. You will know it, Hrulund, for as usual he has written it in the form of a cross.” Turpin held the letter up so all could see the royal name.
“Hrulund, our present dispute must be set aside,” Theu said when Turpin had refolded the letter and returned it to him. “I know you would not have me disobey Charles. I and all my men will leave here at once.” The note of challenge in his voice made Hrulund frown uneasily. Turpin sent a cautionary glance in Hrulund’s direction, as if to quiet any possible protests over this decision.
“I quite agree,” said Turpin, adding, “You must learn to support the coming campaign with your whole heart and soul, Theuderic, for it is right and necessary and the best thing for all Franks.”
“No,” India cried out, “it is not.” At a flashing look from Theu, she fell quiet again, but not before Hrulund had turned his gaze from Theu to India and then to Sister Gertrude.
“So, Firebrand,” sneered Hrulund, “this explains your sudden distaste for warfare. You have been listening to foolish women.”
“I was opposed to the Spanish campaign before I ever met any of these ladies,” Theu returned hotly. “As I told you last night, I will say what I think to Charles if he asks my opinion, but I will follow wherever he leads. I can do no more without violating my conscience.”
“Pah! It’s not your conscience at all, it’s the women’s doing.” With a swift movement Hrulund lifted his sword, holding it up by the blade, the heavy gold pommel uppermost, the flaring gold quillons where pommel and blade were joined giving the weapon the appearance of a cross. He went down on one knee, still holding the sword up before his face. In the candlelight, his face took on a burning purity, an ecstatic quality that silenced any objections to his action among the onlookers and stilled all movement in the hall.
“I swear now as I have done in the past, upon my sword, upon the tooth of St. Peter and the drop of St. Basil’s blood sealed within its pommel – upon these sacred relics I do most solemnly swear that for all my life I will love only Charles and the warfare that does him honor. I would rather sleep with this sharp-edged blade than with any woman, for I know my beloved Durendal will never betray me. For God, for Charles, and for Francia!” With that cry, Hrulund kissed the place on hi
s sword where hilt and blade met, gazing at the weapon with luminous eyes. A moment of profound silence followed his oath taking, until he rose. Sword hilt in his hand now, he lifted the weapon high again, its blade gleaming silver-blue in the light when he moved it. “I call upon you all to pledge yourselves anew to Charles and his noble cause. Swear now, good men, upon your knees, with hearts untainted by earthly desires. Promise your sword arms and your lives to aid Charles in carrying the True Faith across the Pyrenees to free Spain from the wicked Saracens!”
India looked toward Theu’s men. A few of them had partially lifted their swords at Hrulund’s words, and every face save Marcion’s was alight with the same glow that lit Hrulund’s features. In another moment, they would all be on their knees as he had bidden them. In that instant India understood the dreadful glamour of the man, and knew why he was called a hero.
“We have sworn to Charles before this,” Theu said, apparently immune to Hrulund’s charismatic personality. “There is no need to pledge ourselves again.” At his words, his own men released their weapons, putting them away and turning from Hrulund. The charmed moment was over.
“Theuderic,” Hrulund said, “you have gone soft from too much love. Women drain a man’s energy and blunt his vital force when he ought to keep himself free to think only of the service he owes his king on the battlefield. Women make a man weak because he wants to return to his love instead of desiring a glorious death in battle.”
“Perhaps,” Theu said softly, “you are too willing to do battle and think too little of living in peace.”
“Peace is for cowards and weaklings,” Hrulund returned. “I care only for serving my king, as you should do.”
“I honor your courage,” Theu replied, “and I respect the great love you bear to Charles. But in this matter of the Spanish campaign, Hrulund, you are wrong.”
“Unsay that insult, Firebrand, or I’ll cut you into pieces! I am not wrong!” His eyes fierce, his face hard, Hrulund took a step toward Theu, brandishing Durendal in his hand.
