by Speer, Flora
Chapter 17
There was no large feast that first night of India’s stay in Agen, just a light, informal meal of roasted game birds, bread, and cheese. There was wine, but no one drank much because Charles had such an aversion to drunkenness that he had almost single-handedly transformed the drinking habits of the previously bibulous Franks. Nor, so Bertille informed India, did Charles like long, formal banquets unless there was a special reason for them.
“He says we will feast and make merry once the army is victoriously returned to Francia,” Bertille added. “For these last few nights before his departure, he wants quiet evenings.”
Charles and Hildegarde sat together at the head table with their three surviving children. Six-year-old Charles, called Charlot, was a sturdy, flaxen-haired boy who wore his own miniature sword and freely climbed upon his father’s knees, thus displacing his three-year-old sister Rotrud, who howled at this treatment until Charles took one child in each arm and bade them behave or go early to bed. Baby Carloman gurgled happily in his nurse’s arms while Hildegarde cooed at him and offered a crust of bread for him to chew in place of his thumb. It was a pleasant domestic scene, with the lords and ladies of the court relaxed and talking with familiar ease to both king and queen, but for India the earlier half of the evening was spoiled by the absence of Theu and his friends.
Still, Alcuin was present, sitting at a table with Adelbert and another cleric. Leaving Bertille and Danise talking together, India approached the scholar. He stood as soon as he saw her.
“May I speak with you about something very important?” she asked.
“Please join me here.” He indicated the bench from which he had risen. As soon as India was seated, he took his place again, glancing backward once to be certain his shoulders would screen them from the notice of the other clerics. “You may speak freely. I perceive that you are worried.”
“I know I cannot prevent the army from going to Spain,” she said, “but can you tell me any way that I might convince Charles to take extra precautions, especially on his return?”
“Charles has taken all the advice he will hear on the subject of Spain,” Alcuin replied, closely watching her reaction to his words. “He will conduct the campaign in the way he thinks is best. I can tell you that he never risks the lives of his men unnecessarily, which is one reason why they follow him so willingly. I see my answer does not comfort you.”
“I know that something terrible is going to happen,” she said. “I have to try to prevent it.”
“Your concern is for Count Theuderic. It is natural for a woman to fear for the man she loves. My advice will be the same as Charles’s was. Women and clerics both must learn this difficult lesson. Do not interfere in matters on which no man will listen to you. You cannot change what will happen.”
“That’s just the trouble,” she cried. “I have to change it. I have to!” Her voice rose on those last words, and a nearby couple turned to stare at her. She knew she would have to get herself under control before she attracted more attention. She fought back her tears and the ever-present fear that gnawed at her. While she struggled, Alcuin never took his steady gaze from her face.
“Tell me,” he asked, once she had regained her composure, “is your homeland truly so far away? Many long years’ journey, you said.”
“It’s true.”
“Then how is it that your husband knew about the Spanish campaign before he died? Charles did not decide upon it until last autumn, yet you claim to have been traveling for years to warn us against it.” He gave her such a concentrated, direct look that she could not move or in any way escape his next questions. “Was your husband a magician? Did he foresee the future?”
Here was the danger she had feared if she said too much. She knew she would have to answer Alcuin truthfully but very carefully. He was too intelligent to be fooled for long by lies or evasions, yet evasion and half-lies were all she dared to give him. She hated the need to do so, wishing she could tell this wise and obviously good-hearted man everything that had happened to her.
“Robert Baldwin was not a magician; he was a scholar,” she said. “I was only his secretary and now am but the carrier of his message. His knowledge and his intelligence were far greater than mine.”
“I have known women who outdistanced many men in both, Charles’s mother and sister among them, and a few ladies of this court also. Whatever your full story may be, I sense in you no evil intent, only the desire to protect those you love. India, I beg you, take my advice for which you asked.” His ink-stained right hand covered hers, the touch imparting a genuine solicitude for her. “During the short time remaining to you, do not torment yourself or Theuderic with your fears for him, nor press him to change what he will do in battle. Love him, give him all your heart, and the day after tomorrow send him away with a smile. When he is gone, pray constantly for his safe return. Weep then, if weep you must, but not now, not while he is still with you.”
She was saved from making an impatient answer to advice she did not want to hear by the sudden appearance of Bishop Turpin, Count Hrulund, and Autar. Turpin, in full bishop’s regalia, greeted Charles and Hildegarde with severe dignity. Hrulund fell on both knees before Charles, bowing his head so low that India half believed he would touch his forehead to the floor.
“My lord king,” Hrulund proclaimed in a loud voice, “I come before you prepared to give my life in your service.”
“Let us hope that won’t be necessary,” said Charles, shifting little Rotrud a bit higher against his shoulder so he could motion to Hrulund to rise.
“I will perform any task you set me, dare any danger, and count it nothing for your sake,” Hrulund replied.
“It would please me,” Charles told him, “if you would have a care for your life and the lives of your men.”
“I can think of no greater glory than to die in your name while killing black-hearted Saracens,” said Hrulund. He went on in this way, passionately vowing the complete extermination of every unbeliever in Spain.
“Alcuin,” India said, still watching Hrulund’s posturing, “He is the most dangerous man in Charles’s army.”
“Charles understands him well and uses the man to his own advantage,” Alcuin told her, patting her hand again. “You need not concern yourself about Hrulund, my dear.”
Upon hearing those words, she understood at last that no one would take her fears seriously. There was no way for her to prove that she had come to Francia from the future or that she knew what would happen in Spain. It was a miracle that Theu believed her. No one else would. If what had happened to her was beyond her own comprehension, how could she expect Charles and his friends to understand it? Her conversation with Alcuin had frightened her, for his searching questions had almost led her into saying more than she should. With a long sigh, she admitted that Theu was right. The only thing for her to do was keep quiet, let history take its course, and pray that Theu and all his band of friends would survive the coming warfare.
At that point in her thoughts, she saw Theu, Marcion, and Hugo enter the room. They went at once to Charles, who was still listening to Hrulund.
“Theu,” cried little Chariot, not caring that he interrupted Hrulund’s latest boast, “look at my new sword. Will you practice with me?” He jumped down from his father’s lap and ran to Theu, who stooped to admire the wooden blade. Hrulund looked about angrily, but Charles only smiled.
“He’ll be a fine warrior in a few years,” Charles said to Theu, pride in his son sounding in every word. He glanced around the room. “This is what I like best. It’s good to have my family and my dearest friends near me. The memory of this evening will cheer my heart until we are all together again.”
“Some of those friends are impure and unworthy of you,” declared Hrulund in his most arrogant tone. “Count Theuderic found a strange woman in Saxony and has taken her as his concubine. Autar can testify to that.”
“Indeed I can,” Autar spoke up. “One day, while
we journeyed here from Tours, I discovered him alone in a field with the woman India, kneeling before her, replacing her boots. From his tender manner toward her, it was clear to me what they had been doing.”
“My lord,” Theuderic began to protest, but Charles held up a hand, silencing him. Setting Rotrud down with a gentle hug, he rose, and when he looked up from his tiny daughter to his friends he was laughing.
“In a field, eh?” he said. “I’ve done the same myself more than once. So long as the lady is willing – and a widow, not an innocent maiden – and the weather is dry, where’s the harm? Now, Hrulund, Autar, understand this: not all men can maintain your unblemished purity, my friends. Keep a little charity in your hearts and do not chastise the rest of us for loving our women often and well.”
India saw Hildegarde blushing at her husband’s words and could feel her own face flaming.
“Well, Theu,” said Charles, grinning broadly, “what have you to say to this accusation? I will listen now.”
“When we return from Spain,” Theu responded, smiling back at his king, “I will marry India, if she will have me. Since she has no male relatives in Francia, I have already spoken directly to her.”
“And I, my lord,” spoke up Hugo, seizing the opportunity to make a request dear to his heart, “will also ask for a lady’s hand when I return. Perhaps one day my children and Theu’s will further cement our long friendship by intermarrying. And all of our children, I know, will gladly follow your heirs when we three have gone from this world.”
“Theu has mentioned your hopes to me, Hugo,” said Charles. “I approve of your choice. You need only win an estate large enough to satisfy the lady’s father. I think it will not be a difficult task for you.”
Hugo rightly took these words to mean that he was assured of a substantial reward once the Spanish campaign was completed. He could not keep himself from looking at Danise, who gazed back at him with shining eyes, so that everyone present saw the happiness and the bright dream that lay between them. India saw something else in addition. She saw Hrulund looking at Theu as if he would like to run him through on the spot. An instant later, Charles began to talk to someone else, and Hrulund was forced to move aside. Theu came to where India still sat beside Alcuin. The two men exchanged a few friendly words.
“Excuse me,” Alcuin said to them. “I believe Charles wants me.”
No sooner had Alcuin left them than Bishop Turpin approached.
“Lady India, what a pleasure to meet you again.” Turpin smiled at her. Before he could say anything more, Theu stepped in front of India.
“If you touch her,” Theu said to Turpin with barely suppressed violence, “if you threaten her again, or frighten her in any way, or lay one hand on her, I will forget who you are and punish you as you ought to be punished. Harm India, and your priestly robes will no longer protect you.”
“If I were you, I would not be so hasty.” Turpin’s fixed smile did not reach his eyes. “Were I you, I would never forget that a bishop is not without his own power. Nor would I trust a woman about whom nothing is known.” Turpin’s smile vanished. With a chilling glance at India, he moved on to speak to someone else.
“I hope you were not embarrassed,” Theu said when they were as alone as two people could be in that crowded room. “I thought it best to warn Turpin.”
“I think you should not have angered him,” she responded, “but I thank you for trying to protect me. I also appreciate what you said to Charles.”
“I meant every word,” he assured her. “I begin to hope you may be able to remain with me. After all, Ahnk has attempted twice to take you back, and he has failed both times. As for Autar’s accusations, no one here will think less of you for lying with me. Widows are free to love where they choose, especially those who do not have great estates to consider.”
“I want to spend tonight with you,” she told him, “and every moment until you leave.”
“It cannot be tonight. Charles will keep us up late, talking and planning. He loves to work at night, when others are abed. But at mid-morning, put on your riding clothes and join me at my tent.”
“Theu,” called Charles, “we are going to the council chamber.” Most of the warriors present, along with Alcuin, Adelbert, and a few other clerics, left the room with him.
Hildegarde headed toward the women’s quarters, holding Rotrud by one hand, Chariot by the other, and followed by the nurse with the baby. Danise and Bertille were talking to Bertille’s mother. No one noticed when Theu put his arm around India’s waist and drew her near for a swift, hard kiss.
“Until tomorrow,” he said. “When I finally sleep this night, I will dream of you.” He was gone, leaving her to look after him with a resurgence of her earlier fear, yet with an odd renewal of hope. If he was right and Hank could not take her home, if he returned safe and whole from Spain, they might have a future together after all.
She shared a bed with Danise again that night, and found herself bound to listen to Danise’s girlish happiness.
“What good fortune for us that Charles likes Hugo,” Danise whispered. “I am sure he will return to me a wealthy man, and then, since we have the king’s approval, my father cannot object to our marriage.”
“There are still many battles to be fought before that day comes,” India reminded her, hoping to calm the girl so they both could sleep.
“I know it,” Danise whispered back, “and I will pray for him every day that he is gone.”
In the morning the ladies all went to chapel, then broke their fast with bread and a little wine. Hildegarde was not feeling well and had asked for Sister Gertrude and Bertille’s mother, Lady Remilda, to attend her, so there was no one to object when India changed from the borrowed blue gown to her own tunic, trousers, and boots. Nor did anyone stop her when she left the palace and made her way from the town to the outlying fields where Theu’s tent was pitched among dozens of others in what had become an auxiliary town.
He was waiting for her with her horse and his own. In the midst of that military encampment, with his men all about, he gave her only a brief, unemotional greeting before he helped her to mount. They rode out of the camp, away from all the noise and the bustle of packing and loading baggage carts, past smoky cooking fires and the smell of roasting meat and boiling cabbage, past itinerant merchants who hoped to dispose of their wares to the soldiers, and past the inevitable camp followers in tawdry rags who would trail after the army into Spain, taking with them their pimps, their children, and occasionally their aged parents.
Soon they had left the camp behind. Agen was built in a pleasant spot between the protection of the wide River Garonne and a high hill that guarded its back. Theu headed toward the hill, keeping the horses at a walk. As they climbed higher, more of the landscape came into view. Below them rolled the Garonne, joined near Agen by the sleepy River Gers, which flowed into it.
“The army will cross there,” Theu said, pointing to an ancient stone bridge, “and take the Roman road into the mountains.”
She could see the foothills, green with spring, the leaves fresh and new on oak trees and birch and chestnut and, in the far distance, beyond the first rippling rise of land, the darker shades of evergreens. And then came the Pyrenees themselves – white-capped, rocky, stretching all across the southern horizon.
“And beyond the mountains, Spain,” she said, noting the now-familiar knot at her heart. There were other words on the tip of her tongue, words of warning, begging, pleading words, but she remembered Alcuin’s advice and did not speak them.
She was rewarded for her reticence when Theu leaned across the space between their horses to kiss her, his tongue teasing along her lips, one of his hands brushing deliberately across her breasts. The tight feeling in her chest eased, replaced by the warmth his touch always roused in her. If she did not know yet where he was taking her, she was certain of what they would do when they got there. A heavy, sweet ache began far inside her.
Theu foun
d a spot where they were sheltered by trees but still could look out upon the scenery below. He spread his cloak for them to sit on, and brought out bread and cheese and a small jug of wine from his saddlebags.
“We won’t be disturbed here,” he said, drawing her down to sit beside him and putting his arms around her.
“The food,” she began, but he stopped her half-hearted protest with his mouth.
“We will eat later,” he informed her in his commanding way. “I want you now. And you want me, or you would not be here.”
He was not wearing chain mail, not on this occasion, and he made short work of removing his clothes. India had her outer garments off and was pulling at the straps of her teddy when he put his hands on top of hers.
“Let me,” he said, and pulled the teddy downward in rough haste. He had barely removed it before he was on top of her, his mouth searing hers, one hand in her hair, the other holding her face still for his kiss, and all his weight on her, fastening her to the earth. The ache that had been growing inside her suddenly became an all-consuming need. Caught in a delirious surge of passion, she shifted her legs, allowing him to fit between her thighs. In one swift, determined thrust he was inside her, where she wanted him to be, and her clamoring emptiness was filled. She clutched at him, raking her nails across his back in her urgent desire to be closer, ever closer to him, to make herself one with him. It was a hard and fierce joining, and a brief one, for their mutual climax was almost instantaneous and it caught her like a whirlwind, tearing thought from her mind and breath from her lungs. She heard a woman scream and a man cry out, and then she knew nothing except her body’s violent throbbing.
