by Iris Anthony
“To Rochemont. That’s where she went. I thought that’s why you wished to go there.”
My mother. At Rochemont.
Oh, God.
Oh, God! I had sent the Danes to her. Sweet Jesus in heaven, have mercy on my soul. Have mercy on her soul.
I had worried to think myself a martyr, and all of this time I should have been worried for her sake instead. If she should be killed, or worse, because I sent the Danes to her…how could I ever forgive myself? But why had no one ever told me? Why had I not known?
“My lady?”
“I have murdered her.” I turned into myself, keening with guilt and regret.
He enfolded me within his arms. And when I thought I might go mad with the thought I had killed my own mother, he held me still.
“Stop that bellowing in there!” Someone, some man, banged against the door.
Leaving me, Andulf strode to it and kicked at it, rocking the frame.
The man only shouted again. “If you had not run away, you would not be in such a state!”
The truth of those words only made me cry the harder. I would not be here, Hugh would not have been harmed, Andulf would not have been wounded, and my mother would not have been placed in mortal danger if I had not been afraid. If I had not lacked faith. If I had trusted in Providence, as I had started out by doing, then none of those would have happened.
Andulf came back and sat beside me.
I leaned against him as my breathing slowed and my tears stopped. Through sorrow-glazed eyes, I watched as the light grew dim and the scents of food began to waft through the cracks in the barn. Though the people did not feed us, they did let the goats back in. And then they barred the door again.
Andulf shooed the animals away, and then he took up his place on the pile of straw once more. Lying down, his back against the side of the stall, he gestured for me to join him.
I hesitated, overcome by a sudden sense of propriety. But we had already slept side by side, and I had already helped to press the scar of a sword into his thigh. I lay down, pulling my knees up into my tunic and tucking it around my feet.
He reached out his great arm and pulled me to his chest, wrapping a side of his mantle around us both.
“I do not think—”
“Don’t. Just sleep.” I tried to move from him, but his arm imprisoned me. “Do not think—”
I tried not to, but I could not help it. “What was my mother’s name?” Had I met her when I had visited the abbey?
“Juliana.”
Juliana. Sister Juliana. Keeper of the relic. She who had once told me: Do not despise the life you have been given. But the only thing I had ever done was despise the woman who had given that life to me.
We lay there for some time as the goats settled themselves into the hay for sleep and the townspeople shut themselves up in their homes.
“I do not think I can do it. I cannot marry him.” I whispered the words. “Not even, God help me, for the winning of ten thousand souls.” Surely no one had ever been more lacking in faith than I. “I do not think I am brave enough.”
“There is not one other woman in the kingdom who would dare to do the things you have done. And I will be there at your side.”
“But I am not strong enough.”
“I will be strong when you cannot.”
“I do not have faith enough.”
“Then I will have faith when you have none.”
I glanced up at his hand, which he had wrapped around my forearm. “You would—you would come with me? When I marry the Dane?”
“I have pledged to serve the king wherever he would have me serve, and he gave me charge of you.”
“But what of your mother?”
“I can look after her interests as well as your own. I have done so these many years.”
“But—”
“She would tell you my first duty must be to my king.”
“I cannot think that—”
“Do not think. Sleep.”
He settled his chin atop my head and proceeded to do just that. And soon, lulled by his deep, slow breaths and comforted by his warmth, I surrendered to sleep as well.
***
The next morning, I listened to the fluttering of birds and the rustlings of goats for I could not say how long before I became aware that Andulf had wakened as well. I had held myself still for his sake, but now I relaxed against him.
His breathing stopped for a moment, and then it began again. My arm lay pinioned by his, neither tight enough that I felt bound to him, nor loose enough that I considered myself free of him. I could have reached out and taking hold of his arm, secured him to me, or I could just as easily have pushed him away, but I did neither.
Hold me.
I could have sworn I had not given words to that thought, but slowly, gently, his arm enfolded me as he pulled me to himself. “I do not know what you wish, my lady.” He whispered the words in my ear.
Neither did I. And so I said nothing, and we lay there, together. The town was slow to wake, and I could not say I minded.
When we heard someone approach, his arm tensed, and he pushed up on his elbow. When the bar was withdrawn, he seized me and thrust me behind himself.
All the warmth we had accumulated between us wasted away into the fetid air. The chill that swept me was not unanticipated, but I had not known I would feel so bereft. They tossed some bread to us and then left us alone once more.
He retrieved it, handing half to me as he came back to sit beside me.
“How long can they keep us here?”
He sighed. “As long as they wish. They have no reason to let us free.”
“Then I must tell them who I am.”
He gripped my hand. “If you do, all hope of escape will be gone. As you are now, you could be any woman hoping to take the veil. If I can speak to the mayor alone, I can barter for your liberty. But if you tell them who you are, you can be no one but yourself and then they will have to summon the count’s men.”
And all the trials and all of his wounds would have been for nothing. Except… “Then you will be able to take me back to the count with good reason for our delay, and no one will know what I had once wished to accomplish.” My hopes would have been lost, but his honor would be preserved, and he would retain my father’s esteem. He would still be able to ask for the return of his family’s estates.
“Do not do it. You once asked what kind of sacrifice it would be if you were forced to marry the Dane. You wanted the chance to decide for yourself. I am giving it to you.”
“But I am not forced to make this sacrifice. This one, I choose.” I pulled my hand from his, flung myself at the door, and beat upon it. “Come! I have something to say!” Andulf took me by the shoulders and swung me to face him. “Do not do it, my lady. I beg you. They think you are trying to take your vows. Their inquiry will yield nothing, and we will be freed, and then you can do as you wanted. If you tell them who you are, then you will be returned to the count, and there will be no hope of escape.”
“But one word will put this all to rights.”
There was a pounding of feet and a sliding of the bar, and then the door stuttered against the earth and finally opened. “What is it?” Three men stood in the doorway, looking in upon us.
“Don’t!” Andulf lunged toward me.
I threw myself at one of the men’s feet. “I am Princess Gisele, daughter of King Charles, and this is my knight. It is us for whom you search.”
Andulf pulled me away from the man and took me up in his arms. “Do not do this!” He retreated to the depths of the barn. “She is not the princess. Do not listen to her.”
It took two of the men to loosen his grip on me. And once they did, they dragged him out and away from the barn.
I followed at their heels. “Where are you
taking him? This is my knight! He is returning me to the Count of Paris at Rouen.”
Andulf broke from them for a moment and wrenched around to look at me as one betrayed. “Do not listen to her. She lies!”
One of them struck out at him with a goad, while another captured his arm and twisted it behind him.
“Unhand him! I command you to unhand him. Now!”
When the men would have let Andulf go, the mayor walked up to us and stopped them. “How do we know you are who you say you are?”
“Send for the count’s men, and they will tell you I speak the truth.”
The mayor stepped forward, and then he waved his hand toward Andulf. “Put them back into the barn. We’ll do as she said.”
As they let go his arms, Andulf grabbed me about the shoulders. “Why do you do this?”
“What would you have me do? Allow you to fall into dishonor for not bringing me back? If the king will not keep you, then who will have you? How would you gain back your estates? And what kind of life would I live with your dishonor on my conscience?”
***
The mayor could not quite bring himself to believe my claims, but he could come to no other explanation for my boldness in proclaiming to be the princess. We were moved into his house and given his room. We were fed meat and sweets and wine. After days of traveling without those luxuries, I could not say the gestures were unappreciated, but as we waited in relative ease, our sense of doom grew greater with each hour that passed.
Three days later, the count’s men came for us.
The whole town turned out for our leaving. The mayor made some pretty words about generosity of spirit and the virtues of forgiveness, hoping, I suppose, I would forget the manner in which we had been treated. The man who had grabbed me at the first was there as well, but his eye was blacked, and he had a rag tied around his head. Our horses were given back, and Andulf was returned his weapons.
We were not taken from the town as captives, but we did ride with men both behind and before us. There was no chance to deviate from the road; neither was there much opportunity to talk without being overheard.
We spent a night at one of the count’s villas, and then left the next morning, breaking for dinner at an inn midday. The count’s men made time for sport outside after their meal, but I could find no pleasure in their antics. Soon my father would return, the Dane would come, and the relic would no doubt be presented to us.
Andulf knelt beside me, peeling an apple as we watched the men. “Come away with me. There is yet a chance for escape. Especially while they distract themselves.”
“You said yourself that there is not even one man on this earth who is free. Who am I to want what no one has ever had one hope of possessing?”
“But—”
“You may be a knight, but you are nothing without a lord. And I may be a princess, but I am nothing without my father, the king. We both owe allegiance to the same master. And how could he be pleased by my flight?”
“If you go back, the pagan will have you.”
“Only if God wills it.”
He was gripping his knife so tightly his knuckles had gone white. “God has willed famine and calamity and all manner of misery. How can you hope He would spare you what He does not spare everyone else?”
I felt my resolve begin to wobble. But then I remembered the words of Sister Juliana—of my mother—at the abbey. “I must not despise the life I have been given.”
“Then I shall come with you. I shall ask to be given to your guard.”
“And forfeit your life at court? And your chance to reclaim your estates? I will not allow it.”
He severed the apple with a slice of his blade. “You have no choice in the matter.”
I laid a hand on his arm.
He flinched at my touch.
“You have pledged your allegiance to my father, have you not? And he has need of men as noble and honorable as you.”
“You wish to be rid of me.”
“I shall always be your friend.”
His lips twisted in a mockery of a smile. “I have many friends and no need for more.”
I stiffened as if he had slapped me.
With a violent twist of his wrist, he threw the apple into the grasses that lay before us. “I have never considered you a friend. My duty, yes. My lady…my love. Friendship has never had one thing to do with it.”
One of the count’s men passed near. When he was gone, I spoke my words quickly beneath my breath. “Then I am grieved, for what I need most is a friend. And if I go to the pagan, you would not be able to help me anyway.”
“I would protect you.”
I put my hand on his. “And he would kill you for it. I will not have you give your life for my sake.”
He turned his hand to capture mine. “Not even after you have given up your freedom for my own? How could I offer any less than you have given me?”
“I did not do it with hope of gain. Two should not sacrifice themselves together, when only one is required.”
CHAPTER 32
And so I arrived back in Rouen at the count’s palace, where I repaired to my tower and refused all company. Andulf stood watch on my door, but it was from across the courtyard instead of at the tower’s base below me. It seemed the count trusted him even less than he had before.
I had expected Hugh, my boy champion, to appear at the window ledge, but he did not come. Not that night or the one after or the one after that. And when, finally, I dragged my trunk to the window, I saw his stairs had been wrenched from the wall.
He was gone.
To Paris said one maid when I asked. To Orléans said another.
And so I waited to see what would become of me.
But I did not wait in vain. I prayed Saint Catherine would protect my mother, and I also prayed God would grant me strength to endure what was to come.
The canon had not returned by Christmastide. And neither had my father. He sent a message to the count: he had decided to stay in Lorraine.
Epiphany came, and it went, and still there was no word from either man. My hopes had become twisted around a spindle of despair. Was I to think the canon had been delayed in his journey, or dared I to hope he was not coming at all? I hardly knew whether to pray for the impossible or to resign myself to what was most probable. Hope and desolation warred within me until I was tired to the point of exhaustion and despondent of ever having mentioned Saint Catherine to anyone at all.
It did not help that the Danes who encamped outside the city rampaged through the countryside at will. I heard the chieftain, Rollo, often numbered among the count’s company. And when he came, it was with Poppa. If they had not married in the Danish way, as both the count and the archbishop insisted they had not, I was told they certainly acted as if they had.
I had no visitors, save the maids, until there came a knock upon my door one forenoon.
“Who is it?”
“It is I, my lady.”
Andulf. I removed the bar and pushed the door open.
“Your father comes.” After he had finished speaking, he turned on his heel and descended the stair.
I spent a few hurried minutes combing my hair and exchanging my tunic for a silk one. I dug through my chest for my jeweled golden girdle and then looped it around my waist.
My father and the queen entered the palace yard with a flurry of banners and the fanfare of trumpets. Instead of his usual advisors, he was surrounded by strangers. I tried to approach him, but everyone jostled for a place beside him, and I ended by being pushed back into a pile of snow. Before I could extricate myself, everyone had repaired inside.
Everyone save Andulf.
As he looked at me, he nodded and then lifted his brow as he gestured toward the palace.
I stiffened my resolve, squared my shoulders, and determined
to speak to my father at once. Even then I might have been relegated to the very back of the hall, but Andulf proceeded with me, allowing me the honor of walking before him, but also keeping me within the expanse of his arms. Still the strangers and the count’s men seemed to conspire to keep us from my father, but by both embracing me and propelling me forward, Andulf passed me through the crowds to the dais. And then he stood in front of it, arms crossed, as if daring any to try to breach him.
“Gisele!” My father opened his arms to me, and I dropped to my knee and kissed his hand.
As I rose, he gripped my hand and had me come up to stand beside him. “You are well?”
I nodded.
“Did you enjoy your journey? What did Saint Catherine say?”
“I was not allowed to go.”
He gave off searching the crowds that had gathered and rested his eyes upon me. “But I gave you permission before I left.”
“The archbishop decided to send a canon instead. And then the Dane sent some of his men along as well.”
“To consult the relic?”
“To bring it back to Rouen.”
All the blood seemed to drain from his face. “Good God in heaven, they will have murdered them all. I thought… I had hoped…” His gaze was anguished, his words heavy with sorrow. “What have I done?”
“I have come by other troubling news. I have heard the Count of Paris and the archbishop spoke with the Dane prior to the treaty.”
He looked at me uncomprehendingly. “Yes, in order to come to terms.”
“But they did it long before that.” I stepped closer to him. “The Dane did not request my hand in marriage. They offered me to him.”
“The archbishop already told me that.”
Why could I not make myself understood? “It did not have to do with the treaty. They wanted me wed to him so I could not be wed to another. They wished to block an alliance.”
His eyes left mine and came to rest upon the count. “How do you know this?”
“Because…because the count’s son told me so.”
His gaze had turned from the count to me. Puzzlement furrowed his brow.
I took care in explaining my flight from the palace. Although I emphasized my rude treatment at the count’s hands, I did not dwell long on my detention in the countryside, and I did not mention the incident with the boar at all.
