by Jill Hughey
David’s silence could not blind her to the beauty of the building they approached. It was built of stone, with tall arched windows on the ground level, and additional clerestory windows set in a short wall partway up the roof. A heavy arched wooden door stood open, beckoning worshipers inside for the Sunday service.
The impressive exterior did not prepare Rochelle for the glory of the interior. Light from the many windows filled the basilica. Grayish-white stone columns topped with elegantly carved capitals stood ranked down both sides of the main seating area, supporting arches that held the clerestory wall. At the opposite end of the building a central apse with a curved back wall and three light-filled windows contained the main altar of the church. A smaller altar stood to each side, housed within its own walled apse. She had never seen anything manmade as brilliant as this building.
“This is beautiful, even more beautiful than the palatine chapel,” she breathed to no one in particular. Marian exclaimed her agreement.
“It is,” Theo agreed. “We are quite proud of our little church. It was just finished in the last year or so.”
Rochelle let go of David’s arm and walked forward until her legs pressed against the back pew, oblivious to the many faces turning to see the most notorious visitors to Ribeauville these many years. She looked up at the high ceiling, letting her eyes travel the length of it until they dropped to the carved and gilded altar. “And so you should be proud! There is something about the design. The symmetry! It just draws you forward to the altar. Such beauty, as if you are closer to heaven just by entering!” Forgetting his coolness in her excitement, she turned to David. “Do you like it?”
He maintained an austere expression of boredom on his face as he thrust out one arm impatiently, indicating she should make her way down the side aisle. The joy in her died, replaced by confused embarrassment. She ducked her head as she passed in front of him.
Rochelle sat stiff-backed and grim, nearly deaf to the priest’s tinny, grating voice in which he delivered a lengthy message. The church was packed to capacity and David sat stock still next to her, his arms crossed over his chest, his hip squeezed against hers and an upper arm pressed against the side of her breast.
What had happened in the hour between Riculf’s visit and their departure for church? David had switched from gentle reassurance to downright rudeness. Why? She clung to his promise of both last night and this morning that they could talk.
He would certainly give her the opportunity to explain herself as best she could. The thought of it made her stomach sink, given his present mood, but she could no longer stand the voice of her own conscience. Since the day she had sent Gilbert on that fool’s errand, its disquiet had risen from a warning whisper to a howling scream. Much more of it would drive her mad.
When the service finally ended, they rose like convicts being moved from one cell to another, silent and glum. Rochelle walked beside her mother back to Theo’s house, waiting for her chance. No good opportunity presented itself. David pointedly walked behind her, maintaining a steady conversation with Theo.
At the front door, she simply had to place herself directly in his path. “David, please, you said we could talk.”
He rudely interrupted her. “Excuse me, Rochelle, this is my day of rest. Will you take care of Magnus this week and keep him with you? I will see you on Friday at the tournament.”
He stepped past her and through the large door. She was so stunned she didn’t even think to follow, held in place by the realization that he knew of her plot against him.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Rochelle waited in Theo’s hall all of Sunday, but did not see David again. The long day was a torment, but the evening, listening to the insufferable maidens in Theo’s hall, or The Damsels, as she had begun calling them to herself, provided a special form of torture. The only advantage it offered was hearing an unabridged version of the news and gossip of the day. Though Rochelle had no desire to partake of the festival atmosphere of the town, The Damsels and their parents obviously lapped up every bit of amusement offered in the streets, including the entertainment of loose tongues.
On Monday night, Rochelle pressed her fingertips to her temples, wishing instead to place them in her ears and howl. The Damsels focused on the arrival of Louis the Pious this afternoon. His entourage had quickly raised a veritable city of tents. His mood had almost as immediately been broadcast through Ribeauville.
“The emperor,” Blond Damsel reported, “is quite put out at his son Lothair for demanding this tournament. This betrothal was, after all, arranged by the Louis himself.”
“I heard from my father,” Brunette Damsel added, wide-eyed, “that he threatened to give even more land than Alamannia to his young son Charles as punishment.”
“But that would make Lothair even angrier!” cried Skinny Mousy Whiny Damsel.
“Precisely,” agreed Brunette Damsel, “but you need not worry. Louis is only threatening.” She emphasized the last word as though explaining something complex to a young child. “In truth, my father says, he will let the tournament commence and he will not interfere. My father says this is a vote of confidence for David. The emperor fully expects his chosen warrior to win.”
“I hope he loses,” the Blond Damsel said. “My father spoke to him last week. If he gets free of her,” pointedly cocking her head toward Rochelle, “he might just marry me.”
“I daresay he may well be more interested in any of us than her,” Mousy Damsel chirped. “Imagine his disappearing the first day his betrothed is here! He spent countless hours in this very room before she came.”
“He was probably driven away by the disgust of her throwing herself against his naked chest. How obscene!” protested the brunette. “It is a pity we all must suffer his absence because of her wantonness.”
Blond Damsel lifted her hand to her chest. “The environs were much improved by his presence.”
The three giggled together, and began their ritual listing of David’s attributes.
“His shoulders are so broad.”
“His hands appear quite capable.”
“His hair is the perfect color, with just the right amount of wave.”
“His legs are long, and my father says he sits a horse admirably.”
Rochelle’s own knowledge outpaced their own, and she let herself drift away from their inappropriate musings to recollections that brought her infinite pain. His shoulders were not only broad but well padded with muscle that flexed under a woman’s fingertips. His hands, though callused, had only ever caressed her with gentleness. His hair hid evidence of his will to survive and the secret of his debilitating headaches. And as for his legs, in addition to sitting a horse well, he understood the importance and value of a worthy mount, even to a woman. None of these silly twits would appreciate a gift like Regret.
“He is so perfect,” Blond Damsel concluded. “A loss would tarnish him a bit. But just think. Friday at this time, he could be betrothed to one of us!”
Brunette Damsel added, “Perhaps he will throw the match just so he can!”
Rochelle bit her tongue for the thousandth time in the last two days, and moved her fingers to her eyes, pressing in hard. She could no longer even curse her own stupidity.
And so on Tuesday night, she showed no outward reaction when The Damsels discussed with enlivened malevolence the rumor spread widely through town that Rochelle had hired Riculf. He had bragged about it last night in his drunkenness and now everyone assumed she preferred the Frank to David. Rochelle of Alda was a schemer, her name as good as dirt. And David the Bavarian, well, one should almost feel pity for him if he ended up married to her.
In her private agonies, in her hours of reflection and regret, she had only one thread to hold, one hope to hang her whole life upon. She was still betrothed to David. She’d signed a contract in the royal chapel in Aix-la-Chapelle. If given the chance, she would surrender everything and anything to fulfill that promise so grudgingly made in Aix.
And she might have to do just that, as Louis had demanded that Theo bring her to his tent on the morrow.
On Wednesday morning, Rochelle entered the emperor’s tent on Theo’s arm. The opulent furnishings momentarily stunned her out of the nervousness caused by Louis’s summons. From the exterior, the tent appeared a larger version of all the tents in Louis’s immense camp, except for two distinct standards marking its entrance. But the interior flaunted rugs, furniture, tapestries and drapings that all but disguised the temporary nature of the structure. Ornate oil lamps stood at regular intervals, and a table groaning with ripe fruit, cheeses, and breads sat to one side.
A cluster of men rustled around near the center of the tent, parting to reveal Louis seated on a heavy square chair. His eyes pierced Rochelle before he lifted his thin-nosed face. He was obviously displeased.
“Leave us,” he said shortly. All but one of the clerks filed silently away, the last delicately closing the heavy flap of the tent.
Theo led Rochelle forward a few steps. When he stopped, she knelt, noting that the rugs over soft grass were more forgiving than the stone of the aula palatina in Aix, and quite certain that it would be the only forgiving thing in this tent today.
“Theophilus,” Louis called. “I am pleased to see you and very pleased at the able warrior you recommended to me for this…person.” He waved his heavily ringed hand vaguely toward Rochelle.
Theo uttered a concise reply while Rochelle felt a flush rise on her cheeks. She studied the wool of the carpet, noting that even an emperor’s rugs bore bits of dirt.
Louis continued with small talk. “The town is in high readiness for the event. I have seen this, and hear the revelry in the streets. The people so enjoy an event before the long night of winter comes upon us.”
“Yes, sire, and I imagine quite a few more visitors will arrive over the next two days.”
“They will, undoubtedly, be treated to the same rumor I have heard.”
“Perhaps,” Theo agreed reluctantly.
“Think you I should believe such idle talk?”
“I suspect you might, though I have no factual confirmation, sire,” Theo replied reluctantly.
“Which is why I requested the presence of this person,” he said with obvious disdain.
“I will speak for her in this matter, if it pleases you.”
“No, it does not please me and no, you will not speak for her. She was vocal to a fault at our last meeting and I have no doubt she will find her tongue again today.” He sighed dramatically before addressing her. “Lady Rochelle.”
“Yes, sire,” she answered. She did not have to fake her deference because she had no pride left. She was a laughingstock in the town. She had betrayed the man she loved, leading directly to his public humiliation, and probably estranging him from her forever. What could an emperor do or say to diminish her?
“Do you deny the rumor?” Louis asked harshly.
She addressed her reply to her knees. “Meaning no disrespect, sire, but which rumor? There are several in town about me.”
He huffed impatiently. “Did you form some pact with Riculf?”
After a miserable, apologetic glance at Theo, she nodded.
“You did this, knowing it was my intention for you to marry elsewhere?”
“Yes.” Her voice was little more than a croak. I did this knowing David would always protect me, that he was kind and careful of my feelings and solicitous….
“There is nothing more disgusting than a treacherous female,” Louis said as though discussing a rotten piece of fish.
Rochelle gathered what little explanation she could. “I tried to undo it. I told Riculf the agreement was void,” she said, hating the pleading sound in her voice. I know I’ve made a terrible mistake.
“She did, sire,” Theo insisted, “I heard her, in my own hall Sunday morning.”
“And?”
Theo cut across her. “One can only surmise by his bragging about town that he is disinclined to release the lady. Not very honorable of him. Sire, everyone knows how fickle a woman can be, how easily unsettled. It was the action of a foolish girl, but she shows regret, sire. Even before it became public, she has been in misery.”
“Hmm,” Louis said thoughtfully.
Theo continued. “Have no doubt if Lothair had not requested this tournament, she would be married by now to the man of your choosing. She had come a long way under David’s guidance. The tournament offered a silly girl what seemed an opportunity. In a moment of pique,” he added, as if an afterthought.
Rochelle kept her head down, wanting to kiss Theo’s feet. She had known coming in here that she would never be able to defend herself without it appearing her regret owed to the publicity and consequences she now faced. Theo had just explained her situation better than she could herself, and hopefully extracted a measure of sympathy from Louis in the process.
“No matter what you tried to do after the fact, young lady, I do not see any way to untangle this knot you have created. What have you to say about it?” Louis asked unkindly.
It was the opportunity she’d hoped for, the chance to gamble everything. “I believe my betrothal contract with David has precedence,” she said firmly, her heart hammering in her chest. She hazarded a glance upward to assess his reaction.
Louis and Theo both leaned forward slightly. Louis gestured to the clerk who bent to whisper in his ear.
Louis nodded at his clerk, conversing softly, “Yes, yes, they have been betrothed a month or more, but it is still a sticky business. She is supposed to go with the estate. Those other three are expecting to marry her.”
“I will leave Alda,” Rochelle said simply. “The one who wins can have it. The protection of the land is the important thing to the empire, not whether I am on that land or not.”
“Rochelle!” Theo cried. “You would do this?”
She looked at him levelly. “I welcome the opportunity to prove my loyalty. I…I beg my emperor to grant me that opportunity.” Heartbreak was here and also in her future, but she could bear anything if David stood next to her. She could bear nothing if he was gone. An escape route had opened that led her back to David. If that route took her away from Alda, then so be it. So be it.
Theo nodded before turning to Louis, obviously pleased. “I do not think David will lose. But if he does, tell the victor that Rochelle would not be a good wife for him, that you will not allow him to be bound to a woman of questionable loyalties.”
Louis nodded, considering Theo’s idea. “An honorable man should not be saddled with a devious wife. So, if the winner is other than David, you will relinquish Alda.”
Rochelle was not hurt by these insults. She hardly heard them. The road opened before her, giving her one more chance to catch the happiness she’d pushed away with both hands.
But the paths laid by royalty were never clear or easy, it seemed. They enjoyed setting their vassals on torturous trails, and with his next words, Louis did just that to Rochelle. “If David wins, I will release him from the betrothal contract if he wishes, for the very same reason. An honorable man deserves better than a devious wife. Win or lose, Lady Rochelle, you should be prepared to leave Alda forever.”
The honorable man in question had no idea he was the topic of discussion in the emperor’s tent. David had left Theo’s house Sunday afternoon, loaded Woden with provisions, and moved to a clearing in the hills. He didn’t mind living out of a tent. In fact, this was how he had spent much of his adult life – camped out awaiting one battle or another at the behest of said emperor. Usually hundreds or thousands of other men surrounded him, but the solitude was preferable this week, especially to the company of a specific female he’d sooner not see.
Theo came on Monday and Tuesday morning to help him train. They practiced against one another using weapons and fists. David looked forward to these hours. He had grown stronger and faster since his arrival in Ribeauville. Theo would grab unexpected weapons at strange times, forcing David to prepar
e for any trick Riculf or The Black might employ. He even leaped on David’s back one day during the midday meal, ending up with a blade to his throat for his trouble.
David enjoyed their sparring, but his friend also brought news of Rochelle. He tried to appear unconcerned, casually asking every morning if Rochelle was well. After all, his intention to separate himself could not extend to ignoring her safety. On Monday and Tuesday, Theo had given brief assurance of her health. On Wednesday, when Theo did not arrive within a few hours of dawn, David began to worry.
He’d already donned most of the armor he would wear in the tournament: a leather brunia over his body and iron-splinted greaves on his arms and legs. He tried to occupy himself with strengthening exercises, but couldn’t concentrate. After a few moments jogging the perimeter of the clearing he realized he’d stopped where Woden grazed to mindlessly wipe the stallion’s back as though preparing to saddle him. He muttered a prayer of thanks when he saw Theo clear the edge of the woods on the back of his own war horse. He traveled at an exasperatingly slow walk.
“Where have you been? Is all well?” David called, even though he knew Theo would not approach so casually if there had been any trouble in town.
Theo waved a hand in greeting, waiting until at a comfortable distance before he spoke. “There have been developments. Rumors. Riculf has been bragging around town about this agreement.”
David squinted up at the sun, his heart sinking. He supposed it had been too much to hope her betrayal would remain a secret.
“How did you know it was true?” Theo asked gently.
“She tried to tell me herself, several times.”
“That is something, at least. I did not think her capable of it. Guess I was wrong.”
“That still does not explain why you are late.”
“Rochelle was summoned to an interview with the emperor. I escorted her there this morning.” He dismounted his horse, laying his lance on the ground to one side.
