The Miracle Thief

by Iris Anthony

  The Dane looked at my father’s foot and then shook his head.

  The archbishop spoke once more, pointing at my father’s foot.

  He shook his head again and made a show of putting his hand to his sword.

  My father sent the cleric an accusatory glance. “You said he had agreed.”

  “I assure you he did. He does.” As the archbishop was speaking, the monk pantomimed getting down on his knees and kissing my father’s foot.

  The Dane responded with a barrage of angry words. Then he turned and spoke to his compatriots, pointing to my father and then at his own foot.

  A rumble passed through the pagans. They stepped forward as one, hands at their swords.

  My father’s men responded in kind until my father lifted his hand and addressed himself to the archbishop. “Then he does not agree?”

  Someone behind the chieftain hooted. Another man picked up the sound, and soon the rest of the men had caught up that strange, wild cheer. It set the hackles at the back of my neck on edge.

  Andulf stepped in front of me as he drew his knife from his belt.

  My father placed his hand atop it, raising his other as if in supplication. “I have come here freely, and they have treated with me freely. If they have objections, then they must make them known.”

  The monk ignored the archbishop completely and spoke directly to my father. “The objection is to the gesture of obeisance, Sire.”

  The Dane had pulled one of his men from the crowd, and now he thrust him forward, toward us. The man turned and said something to the chieftain. That giant of a man unsheathed his sword and pointed it toward my father.

  Around us, all had fallen silent.

  Though the Dane did not take his gaze off his man, he spoke to the translator with words both clear and slow.

  The monk’s face flushed, and he cleared his throat before speaking. “He says this man will kiss your foot, Sire, in his place.”

  “No.” My father did not hesitate in his reply.

  The chieftain pressed the tip of his sword into the man’s chest.

  That man lifted his chin, though he held his ground. He looked as pleased with the chieftain’s idea as my father had been.

  “If the chieftain will not honor our agreement, then neither shall I.”

  No man on either side seemed even to breathe.

  The translator did not bother to pass on the message as the chieftain abandoned the threat of his sword and gave his man a mighty shove.

  My father’s jaw went tight. “Robert will receive the show of fealty in lieu of me.”

  The count’s face went pale and then flamed with sudden ire. “Sire, I must—”

  “You must do what I command if you wish to have your borders protected.”

  His face devoid of all emotion, Robert bowed to my father and then walked toward the Danes. Sweeping his mantle behind his shoulder, he posed, one foot in front of the other.

  The chieftain’s man took a long look at us, hate gleaming from his eyes, and then turned his attentions to the count. He took his measure from tip to toe, and then he spit onto the ground.

  The chieftain barked something at him.

  The man’s mouth twisted into a grimace. Just when I thought he would refuse to do it, he bent. But instead of pressing his lips to Robert’s foot, he lifted Robert’s foot to his mouth.

  The count stood there, teetering for one long moment, arms thrashing in desperate search of balance, and then he tumbled backward to a roar of derision on the side of the Danes.

  On our side there was laughter also. The archbishop was smirking, and from several of the nobles came outright guffaws. Even the eyes of my knight, who stood beside me, were dancing with mirth.

  Only two men, save Robert, found no amusement in the count’s humiliation: my father and the chieftain. I hoped it was not an omen of things to come.

  ***

  The count refused any aid and came to his feet, hand on his sword.

  My father caught him by the forearm, though the count tried to shake him off. “There has been enough of this posturing. You wanted your treaty, and you shall have it. Was that not the purpose for all of this?”

  Robert bowed and released the grip on his weapon, though his eyes still glittered with rage.

  “These pagans do not understand our ways. It will be in your best interests, Robert, to find some tolerance for your new neighbors.”

  “I will tolerate nothing but adherence to the treaty!”

  “Enough! Sometimes overt hostility is better in an ally than hypocrisy and covert treachery. At least you know where he stands.”

  Robert’s gaze dropped, and when my father put forth his hand, he was slow to kiss it.

  As I glanced over toward the Danes, I saw the chieftain eye me. I stepped behind Andulf to save myself from his gaze.

  My father’s guards and counselors followed us down the road, through the trees, to the river’s edge. When we reached our side, my father asked the archbishop to join us in the walk to the villa. “I have received a summons from the court in Lorraine. I may be away for some time.”

  He was leaving? Now? After he’d just promised me to the Dane?

  He grabbed the cleric’s crozier when the man would have kept walking. “It is you, now, who must find a way to keep all the promises you have made.”

  “Sire?”

  My father nodded back toward the other side of the river. “The terms have been agreed upon. We will await Saint Catherine’s blessings, and I shall return in December.”

  Though I would soon be leaving as well, knowing my father considered the matter settled made me uneasy. But the archbishop nodded assent, and my father passed us both as he strode toward the palisade.

  I would have asked him to wait, would have asked him not to leave so quickly. Indeed, I hurried up the road after him, but I soon realized my entreaties would have done no good. While we had been with the Danes, the household had been hard at work. The queen’s cart was waiting in front of the porch, and its silk canopy, buffeted by the wind, shimmered in the sunlight. One of her men was helping her into it. A groom awaited with my father’s favorite horse.

  As my father mounted, despair and panic scoured my stomach. I had never been left before. Always, I had gone with my father. I had been his constant—his favored—companion. Until now.

  “Do not leave me here alone!”

  Father turned in his saddle, regarding me with a curious curl to his brow. “I thought you wanted to go to the abbey.” He prodded his horse and rode toward me, leaned down and put a gloved hand to my cheek. “The Lotharingians have offered their throne to me. It is what I have been hoping for, and I cannot delay.”

  Of course he could not. Lorraine was the beloved homeland of my great-great-great-grandfather Charlemagne. If father could take their throne, then he could unite the rest of the empire. Of course he must go.

  “Perhaps you should speak to the nun there, at Rochemont. The one who tended the relic. It seemed to do you some good before.”

  I clutched his hand. “I will.”

  “May God go with you. I will see you when I return.” He left in a flurry of dust, taking all of his men with him.

  ***

  My father had not been gone long when Andulf found me. I was instructing my maids to pack for my own journey. No good would come in delay. The mountains would soon be ringed in snow.

  He made a desultory swipe at a buzzing fly. “The king should not have left before concluding the treaty.”

  I paused in my task. Was he conversing with himself, or was he addressing me? “He did conclude it.” As much as there was to conclude before I made my visit to Saint Catherine.

  “Then why did the archbishop summon the Dane, my lady?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “After your f
ather left, the archbishop summoned the Dane.”

  I could think of no good reason why he should have done so. And even those reasons were discarded when I left my chamber and slipped into the great hall. The chieftain was there, towering above the others. In some uncanny, heathen way, he must have felt my presence, for he suddenly turned and raised his cup to me.

  My knight stepped forward, to my side.

  The room was not even half-filled, and even then there were only the count’s men-at-arms and a few clerics. The count himself had chosen to stay at the villa. It was not unexpected, since these lands in Neustria had fallen under his protection, but he seemed to have claimed the estate just as surely as he’d tried to claim the throne. His banner now had the place of honor, and his men the best seats at the banqueting tables.

  As I walked into the hall, the archbishop’s translator had turned from the Dane to relay a message to the count. “The chieftain will wait until December, but the girl will not go to the abbey. She will stay with you in Rouen.”

  I could not keep myself from speaking. “That was not the agreement! I am to inquire of Saint Catherine at—”

  Not one of them acknowledged I had spoken, save the Dane, and he looked at me with such ill-concealed interest that I soon wished I had not. But I could not let them disregard the agreement my father had made. “I am to go to Saint Catherine at the abbey in Rochemont. That’s what my father, the king, commanded.”

  The archbishop’s translator glanced away from the archbishop toward me. But it was the count who spoke. “The Dane will not allow it.”

  Not allow it? “He already agreed to it.”

  “He fears an early winter. He does not wish to lose you along the way. Nor do we, my lady.”

  I might have been charmed by his sentiment, but it was clearly an afterthought.

  The Dane was staring at me again, and in a gathering where he towered above every man, it was difficult to ignore him. A flush swept me from head to foot.

  The count’s smile was perfunctory. “We do not dismiss the king’s command. In lieu of your journey to the abbey, the relic will be brought to you.”

  How could it be brought to me if it were in the chapel at the abbey? Besides, I didn’t want the relic. I wanted to know God’s will. “There’s no need. I simply wanted the chance to ask Saint Catherine if—”

  The archbishop responded with a pinch of his mouth. “If Saint Catherine blesses the marriage, then she will allow her relic to be moved to Rouen. My nephew, the canon, will be able to go and return much more quickly than you would.”

  I eyed the canon.

  “It will save you the journey.”

  But I did not want to be saved the journey, and I did not want the relic here. I wanted to go there, to the abbey up in the mountains. I wanted to experience, for one last time, the peace that had seemed to reign there, and I wanted to speak to that nun again. In spite of all reason, in spite of her having spent her life at the abbey, I felt certain she would understand.

  But the count was already speaking to the translator, and the archbishop was all but ignoring me. The translator’s gaze wandered to me as he listened to the count and then, once the count was done speaking, he verified the message he was to pass to the Dane. “There is no reason for the princess to journey to the abbey. If Saint Catherine agrees with the marriage, the baptism, and this alliance, then she will allow herself to be brought here.”

  Robert nodded, and the translator turned toward the Dane.

  Had not one of them listened to me? “But—”

  The archbishop sighed as he rubbed at a spot beneath his ear, tilting his miter precariously to the side. “Is this not what you wanted? A chance to let Saint Catherine decide?”

  “Yes… but I do not think that—”

  The Dane was pulling some rust-stained ring from his arm and offering it to the translator.

  The monk shrunk from the giant, shaking his head.

  The Dane grunted and then moved toward us, trying to give it to the archbishop. It was then I saw it for what it was: that metal arm ring he’d dipped in blood back at the meadow. The streak from it still marked his arm. When the archbishop would not take it, he thrust it toward me.

  I side-stepped him as Andulf moved to stand in front me. But though I sought the count’s help, he refused to look at me.

  I beseeched the translator. “What does he want me to do with it?”

  “It is a gift. This means you belong to him. He wants you to put it on.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Juliana

  ROCHEMONT ABBEY

  I wanted to think that perhaps the new abbess’s coming was evidence of Saint Catherine’s intervention on my part. The abbess might be young, and she might be preoccupied with things other than God’s service, but had not the Almighty been known to use just those kinds of people for His purposes? And it was not unknown for churchmen to ally themselves with nobles like her father. As the Count of Bresse had said, these were troubled times.

  But the count’s presence—his silk robes, his golden finger rings—had returned me to memories of my youth. And a small, increasingly strident voice inside my heart kept insisting men’s plans often had nothing to do with God and everything to do with their own gain. But even so, it was not difficult to convince myself none of that mattered…except when I remembered I had not truly fulfilled my promise to the abbess. I had not spoken; I had not, in fact, offered to lead as she had asked me to.

  But what was I to do about it now? The new abbess had been chosen. The bishop had confirmed the choice. Both man and God had presumably acted, and done so in concert. Although in between the offices and on the way to the refectory for our meal, quite a lot of words were being exchanged between the sisters. And not one of them saw the abbess’s coming as the will of God.

  If she were a king or a pretender to the throne, I might have worried. But our abbey was not a kingdom. Our doings did not affect the world beyond our gates. And the abbess herself was not immune to God’s great design. If He had let her be chosen, then there must be some reason for it. That is the thought I clung to in order to push the other away: the idea that I was responsible, that I should have spoken. That I should have been the one sitting in her place.

  I contented myself with Saint Catherine, trying not to care overmuch for things beyond my control, but the abbess made it increasingly difficult. She was haughty. She was discourteous. She was unkind. And she brought with her to the abbey a type of company we were not used to keeping.

  Her family, her father, and her brothers, the nuns might have overlooked. I might have overlooked. But there was a young nobleman among them who, if I was not mistaken, looked on her as if she were not a nun. As if she had not given herself to Christ. I might have warned her that God is a jealous bridegroom and man a capricious companion, but she did not seek my approval nor my advice.

  I tried to coax myself from my suspicions, and truly, I had almost succeeded, when I came upon them one night after compline. In the darkness cast by the overhanging cloisters, they were entwined in a lovers’ embrace.

  I closed my eyes, fearing that if I opened them, I would confirm what I thought I had just seen. And then, starved for passion, for the sensation of desiring and being desired, I opened them and watched their frenzied gropings. And I remembered it all then: the birth of desire, of passion…and of love.

  ***

  Charles caught me while I was going up the stairs with a ewer destined for his mother’s evening ablutions. He was coming down with his retinue of nobles’ sons. I pressed myself against the wall to let them pass, but he saw me and halted them all.

  “Juliana! Did you hear it? Did you hear?”

  Not certain how I must respond, I curtsied as normal to give myself time to decide how to reply. “Yes…Sire.”

  “Sire!” He chortled. “How good it is to hear that wor
d! Finally, I am to be king!” His grin was wide, his tone exultant. He grabbed up my hand and swept me along with them, down into the great hall where they began to dance and drink themselves merry.

  I stayed for a while, to enjoy his good spirits and see him rewarded for his many years of hopes and his mother’s extraordinary efforts, but then I knew I must leave. I was wanted upstairs, and my absence must have long ago been noted. Skirting the party, I made once more for the stairs, but there, he intercepted me.

  “Don’t go.”

  “Charles, I have to. Your mother awaits.”

  He took the ewer from my hands. “For once, can you not forget about her and please me instead? Come dance with us; come celebrate.”

  “I did. I have.” Perhaps I had not in actuality danced or partaken in the festivities, but I had watched. “And now I must go.” I reached for my ewer.

  He held it up, just out of reach.

  “Charles!” I took a swipe at it, but he raised it even higher at the last moment.

  “Please, Juliana.” He lowered it, clasping it to his chest. “You of all people must understand how much this means to me. How can I not exult when what we have waited for these many years has finally come to pass? And why should you not celebrate with us?”

  My gaze wandered from him to the knot of nobles and hangers-on who reveled just behind him.

  “One dance. Please. That’s all I ask.”

  I looked again into the eyes I knew so well. Into that face I’d seen every day for all of my fourteen years. The long jaw. That noble nose. The eyes that so often danced with amusement. Like brother and sister we had always been. How could I refuse him? “Just one.”

  As the music began a new melody, the circle parted to make room for us, pulling us around the large hall. That first dance turned into a second, and the second into a third. How could my heart not be glad my childhood companion had finally received what was his rightful due?

  As the third dance came to an end, I pulled my hand from Charles’s.

  He turned, reaching after me. “Don’t—”

  “I must go.”