by Iris Anthony
But Charles’s half brothers had died in quick succession, and then his cousin had taken the throne, only to be deposed three years later. Though Charles ought to have been crowned right then, the nobles gave the throne to Odo, Marquess of Neustria, by reason of the prince’s young age. But not all had been lost. The King of East Francia supported Charles, and the Archbishop of Reims had finally crowned him king. Anything, even our love, seemed possible then, had it not been for his mother.
She took to taunting me. “You can do him no good, you know.”
I had never liked her eyes. They were small and black. And just then they glinted with ill-concealed rage. “I love him.” And by the Holy Mother’s veil, though I had tried everything I knew to keep my heart from caring, I loved him still.
“Love! What good is love in a time like ours? What use are promises of forever when he has yet to truly secure his throne?”
“But Odo must give the throne to him, now that Charles has been crowned.”
“Give it to him! Mark my words: the only way we’ll take that throne is by force. And we’ll need armies in order to do it.”
“But there is the Count of Poitiers. And the King of Burgundy. And the Archbishop of Reims.”
“Churchmen!” she scoffed. “If you love my boy at all, you’ll see you cannot help him.”
“But I believe in him.” I always had. Even when everyone else had deemed him illegitimate and did not think him worthy of the throne.
“And so do I. But he needs more than a sentimental heart and kind thoughts. He needs friends.”
“I am his most faithful friend of all.”
Her eyes had lost some of their heat then, and her mouth had softened. She had taken up my hand in hers and kissed me on both cheeks. “That you are, and that you have always been, but the time for friendship has passed, and the time for allies has come.” She gave my hand a squeeze. It was a wonder she did not break my bones.
“I could be an ally.”
“Can you bring us armies or empires? By marrying you, will Charles have access to men or horses or weapons? To princes or palaces?”
“No.” All I could offer him was one small girl child. The prince he had been hoping for had been born a princess instead.
“No.” She agreed with an imperious lift to her chin. “You can give him nothing at all. You are worthless. In fact, you are worse than worthless. Your very kindness keeps him from what he needs the most.”
“I do not think that—”
“Clearly you do not. For if you did, then you would understand a girl like you has nothing to offer at all. To anyone.”
My vision shimmered as tears rushed to my eyes.
“And now you are crying.” She put a finger to my chin and lifted it.
I met her eyes.
“It is for you, my dear, to listen and obey. If God in His infinite wisdom has made my son king, He has also made you a servant. Despite his half brothers’ reigns, despite your ascent to his bed, I think the lesson is clear: God always gets His way in the end, does He not?”
I gasped.
“How can you fight Providence and ever hope to win?”
“I—I never—”
She patted my cheek. “That’s right. You never will.” She drew her hand back and slapped me.
I dropped to the floor, hand to my cheek as I cowered before her.
“A girl like you can never come to anything. It’s simply not ordained. Stop trying so hard. If you truly love my son, then give him what he needs the most. Give him his freedom.”
***
I truly believe Charles did not know of his mother’s words to me. I never told him, and he never heard her. So far as he must have known, all was well with the world. And still he wanted me to take part in his.
“Come!” Charles had managed to coax me to another dinner, and then he had insisted upon musicians and dancing. Now he wanted me to join him in the dance. The commotion of the conversation and the laughter and the music reverberated from the palace walls.
I shook my head.
“Juliana!” He made a wide, sweeping gesture with his arm. “Come down here. Right now.” He was not as cross with me as he was pretending. There was yet a twinkle in his eyes.
No. I mouthed the word. There was no use trying to speak it. My voice had always been soft, and he would never have heard me over the screech of the fiddles and the clashing of the cymbals.
One of his men handed him a cup.
He took it, tipped it to his mouth, and drained it in one long swallow. And then he wiped his mouth on his silk sleeve as everyone cheered. “If she will not come”—he paused, and the hall grew silent—“I shall go get her!”
The men cheered and then stood aside as Charles stumbled toward the dais where I sat.
He stopped in front of it, hand on his chest. “My lady love! Do come. Please?”
I did not like it when everyone stared at me. I shook my head.
“Come dance with me.” He held out his hand and started to bow, but nearly stumbled in the doing of it.
“You’re drunk.”
He gripped the table and steadied himself. “I am! Which is why you must dance with me.”
The men were starting to murmur now, and I got the distinct feeling that concubines of kings were not supposed to refuse them dances.
“You do not—” He looked into my eyes. “You do not want to dance with me?”
“Not like this.” Not with leering, drunken men looking on. A simple circle dance was one thing, but I had not been trained in those more complicated than that. I had been kept too busy fetching things for the queen or reading from her psalter. And there were slippers on my feet, which were far too big, and a fillet atop my veil that kept slipping. I longed to seek the haven of my bed.
“You do not want to dance with me?”
I had said the wrong thing. I ought to have been more clever in refusing him, the way the Queen Mother and his men always were, but I had never known how to say yes when what I truly meant was no. “Come up here. You can sit beside me.”
He leaned forward, toward me. “It is time for dancing, not sitting. I have been sitting for most of my life!”
I leaned across the table toward him. “Then I must not keep you from it. And there are many who wish to dance with you.”
Taking up my hand, he pressed a kiss into it, and then he held it to his cheek. “You must watch me then.”
***
I did watch him. For a while. I watched as the daughter of a marquess smiled at him, and the daughter of a count filled his cup. I sat there as his men flattered him and plied him with drink. I smiled when he looked at me. I tried to smile whenever anyone looked at me, but it left me feeling dull and witless. I sat there a while longer still, while my new fillet pressed in on my skull. I stayed while my feet swelled and my slippers bit into my skin.
I stayed as long as I could, and then I made myself stay even longer, even as the Queen Mother’s words dogged me. Stop trying so hard. It’s simply not ordained.
Finally, when I could not stand it any longer, I stole from the great hall, up the stairs to our chamber.
His chamber.
My maid curtsied.
I nearly turned around, for I did not wish to be waited upon. I did not wish to be observed. I wanted only to be alone.
If God in His infinite wisdom has made my son king, He has also made you a servant.
I was not meant for this. Not for any of it.
The maid approached, waiting, hovering, wanting to serve me. But I did not want anything or anyone. Except for my daughter. “Where is the princess?”
“She is with her nurse.”
“Bring her to me.”
She paused.
“I want her.”
She left, and for several blessed minutes I
was alone. But then she returned with the nurse, though both were empty-handed.
“Where is my daughter? Where is Gisele?”
“She sleeps.”
“Is she well?”
“She is fine.”
“There is nothing I can do for her?”
My maid curtsied once more. “She does not need you.”
She did not need me. But clearly, eventually, she would need her nurse. I dismissed the woman, and then I let the maid undress me and unbind my hair. And after, I climbed into the bed.
She stoked the fire before she left. Once she had gone, I stared into the dark for a long while, trying to make sense of the life I had happened into. It had proved a better life than my own in every way. But I had come to the conclusion that perhaps the Queen Mother was right. Perhaps the best thing to do was walk away from it. Because one thing was certain: I had nothing to offer anyone at all.
CHAPTER 11
Anna
ALONG THE PILGRIMS’ PATH TO ROCHEMONT ABBEY
After leaving the town, I walked for some time with my eyes fixed on the road beneath my feet, for I did not wish to stumble. It was not the same as walking across the yard to feed the chickens. Here, the way was pitted with puddles. Passing carts and horses had thrown up clods of mud, which made for slippery and treacherous steps.
The sound of hooves and the splat of mud sounded behind me. Remembering my earlier encounters with horses and carts, I moved to the side of the road, not willing to be run down when I had only just begun my journey.
The rider was past and well away before I remembered I ought to have asked where this road was going. As I lifted my gaze to watch him ride out of view, I felt my mouth drop open as I saw something I had never seen before; or perhaps I should say I did not see any of those things I had been accustomed to seeing. The countryside was… It was empty as it stretched out before me. I slowed my steps as I glanced back over my shoulder. It stretched away behind me and to either side of me as well. There were no houses and no creatures and no people. It was vacant. And vast…and strange.
As I looked around I realized how very full the earth’s fullness was. How very splendid was God’s creation. I thought I had seen nearly everything there was to see from my window. It was only now, when there was not one of those things I was used to seeing, that I realized how very much more there was to the world. And I had never known it. Never even known to imagine it!
I saw—I saw trees! They had to be trees, didn’t they? I had read about them, but never before had I seen one. They were so big. But I had thought… Somehow I had gotten the impression they were supposed to have green leaves. The leaves I saw were yellow. As they flapped in the wind, they caught the sunlight, distilling it into gold. How lovely they were!
A soft thrump, thrumping filled the air. Up above my head, a flock of birds wheeled through the sky. I had heard birds chirping, but I had not known their wings alone could make such a soft, loud noise.
So bewitched was I by the sights I saw that I plunked my foot right down into a puddle. I could not help but laugh at myself as I pulled it out. How Mother would have despaired of me! With the sun above me, God’s great earth around me, and one of the servant’s jaunty songs on my lips, I walked along much lighter of heart than I had been.
And then, from behind me, I heard the chatter of conversation and a shout of laughter. Before long, a group of some dozen people overtook me. My mother’s words returned to me as I made my way to the side of the road to let them pass.
She had begun, in her last months, to utter warnings about this thing and that. Her admonitions had always started with “if.” If a person unknown should approach you and find you alone, then go to the nearest church and there appeal for sanctuary. If any should offer you something, do not take it; first demand of them what they expect in return. If any should grant you friendship upon the first acquaintance, you may accept it, but do not depend upon it, for ties of faith and loyalty are proved through time and not through words.
These people were so jovial, however, I could not help but decide my mother’s words did not apply to them. They each had a cross sewn upon their tunic, and they carried a peculiar sort of purse thrown over a shoulder. The men wore broad hats and carried hooked staffs. Perhaps… Were they pilgrims? There were several women among them; I dared to think I might ask them where they were going and where the road was headed.
As they passed, I spoke. “Pardon me. If you do not mind my asking, could you tell me please, where does this road lead?”
The man at the head of the group paused in step and then stopped. The others pooled around him and stood gawping at me. “This road? Why, to Chalons!” He looked me up and down. “And where are you going? If I may ask?”
“To the abbey at Rochemont. So I can pray at Saint Catherine’s chapel.”
“And so are we!” They seemed so happy to be doing so.
“So this is the right way then?”
“If it is not, then we shall all go the wrong way together!” One of their number gave a cheer, and the man lifted his staff, pointing it down the road. With a shout, they fell in line behind him.
I stood to the side so they could pass, but one of the women grabbed me about the arm and pulled me along with them. “There’s no need to walk by yourself. It isn’t safe.”
Was she offering me her friendship? If so, should I accept? Mother’s warning rang in my ears, but I did not have any other friends, and this woman seemed to be so kind. “I am Anna.”
“I am Helda. And very glad to know you.” She leaned close. “I have to say these pilgrims are hardly the best of the lot, if you take my meaning.” Her drooping chin shook like a cock’s comb as she waggled her head.
They all looked fine to me.
“Begging pilgrims’ alms from every stranger they meet and hoping for healing!”
“That is what I am hoping for too.”
“We all hope for something. But there’s no need to be so shameful about it, is there?”
“Shameful…”
“You have no idea what a sorry group they are. I joined them only for the safety of their numbers. To hear them talk, they are a disgraceful and pitiful lot, going on about all those things they do penance for and seek healing from!”
“But why would you hide your faults, if a mending of them is what you seek? Would you not then fail to obtain what you seek if you pretend not to need anything at all?”
“What strange ideas you have! They might at least pretend respectability. Why would God give you something when you’ve done nothing to better yourself? If you have done nothing to deserve it?”
But that was the point, wasn’t it? I had done everything I could think of to deserve my healing. I had almost come to think my own poor efforts had nothing to do with my request being granted at all. And that’s what I planned to tell Saint Catherine. I was going to cast myself upon her good graces, admit I was nothing and could do nothing and hope she could intervene in spite of it all. In spite of myself.
“Let me lean on you here for a moment.” She proceeded to do so with nearly crushing weight as she skirted a mud puddle. “This is your first pilgrimage?”
“Yes.”
“I thought so.” She nodded toward my bosom.
I looked down in horror, expecting to somehow see the absence of my bosom made plain, but all was as it should have been.
“You need to put a cross upon your breast.”
“I had no time before—”
“If you are going to undertake a pilgrimage, you must make yourself into a proper pilgrim; otherwise, it would hardly be worth the effort, would it?”
“I don’t—”
“How can you expect any to treat you as a pilgrim if they do not know who you are? And if you do not take the proper measures, how can you expect God to thank you for your trouble?”
“I confess I do not know.”
“Have you a handkerchief?”
“Yes.”
“Then when we get to the hospice, we can ask for some shears, and you can cut a cross from it and sew it on your tunic.”
I did not think, in fact, that I could. Mother had given up long ago on my learning to sew…or do anything that required two hands. I ought to have said right then I could not, but I did not wish to give this woman, who had been so kind, any reason to despise me.
She sent me another glance, and then she frowned. “I hardly know what you can do about not having a scrip…”
I thought my cloth did well enough, but the bishop had noted its absence as well. Perhaps I ought not have been so quick to make do.
“Maybe you could spare some of the money you would have given to Saint Catherine in order to purchase one. I’m sure God would understand.”
I was supposed to give money to Saint Catherine? “I—I have no money.”
“None?” She sent a glance to my tunic again, her gaze lingering on the woven trim that circled the hem and the sleeves. “I had thought… I mean… How are you expecting to care for your needs along the way?”
“I had heard the hospices will take care of me.”
“They will. But if you had even one coin, or two, they would take better care of you.”
I would have thought she might have said more as we walked along, for she had seemed more than willing to before, but for the rest of the day’s journey, she was silent. And when we reached the hospice of a monastery that night, she parted from our group without a backward glance.
We were greeted with a warm welcome, and our feet were washed. The monks asked for news, but I had none to give them. The men of the group went on about kings and counts and some great battle to the west, but they were things of which I had no knowledge.
