“Yes, yes,” he interrupted with an irritating dismissive wave of his hand. “Do not be concerned, cara, I have more important things to worry about than you.”
There was little point in arguing, despite the insult and the lustful glint in his eye. An emperor awaited.
William made the sign of his Savior across his body. “May God go with us.”
Filled with regret she’d ever left the safety of Sicilia, Francesca followed her husband.
To the Victor
As the emperor and duke prepared to mount and make ready to receive the homage of the Italian count, Lute made his way back to his company.
Rubbing the grit from his irritated eyes, he accepted Mitte’s reins from Kon. “Get the men to their feet, brother adjutant,” he quipped. “We’re off to the beach.”
“They won’t be happy about it,” Kon replied.
“Who can blame them?”
As expected, loud grumbling rose from the ranks when Kon conveyed the order, but Lute didn’t worry unduly as he mounted his beloved horse. He was proud of his men and of what they’d accomplished on the long march through Italy.
Kon arched his brows. “It’s amazing. You command Saxons, Bavarians, Swabians and Franconians, yet somehow they all respect you.”
It was good to hear words of praise in this godforsaken place even if they came from his little brother. “Couldn’t do it without a first-rate adjutant.”
Kon’s sweating face reddened even further and he smiled wryly. “We’re just born leaders, we Wolfenberg men.”
As the gates of the town creaked open, Lute thrust out his chin. Wolfenbergs were indeed leaders of men, a trait inherited from their father.
A party emerged through what he saw now was only one gate, led by a portly nobleman he assumed was the count Brandt had spoken of. He narrowed his eyes but was too far back to tell if the man was young or old, dark or fair. It struck him that he walked erect and with dignity, despite his girth.
The waves of heat distorted everything. Overheated horses swished tails and stamped in annoyance at the plague of invisible sandflies. A thousand men anxious to be out of armor panted with thirst, weapons clanking as they shifted their feet, stirring up more clouds of dust.
He was confident of the obedience of most of his soldiers, but he worried about a handful of Saxons he’d inherited from Heinrich after a regrouping in the aftermath of the siege of Salerno. They were bullies, but Kon would keep an eye on them. They seemed not to know how to respond to his gentle manner.
Not without difficulty, the portly count bent the knee before Lothair and kissed his boot, then rose slowly to kiss the bejewelled hand. When he gestured towards the town Lothair and Heinrich set their horses in motion and rode one at a time through the narrow gate. Johann and the emperor’s adjutant followed while the count ate dust in their wake.
From the steps of the castle, flanked by a handful of her uncle’s soldiers hastily garbed in William’s livery, Francesca watched the Holy Roman Emperor ride into Termoli amid swirling clouds of grit. At least in Sicilia there was always a pleasant breeze off the Etruscan Sea. Here it seemed the wind brought nothing but hot sand from the Adriatic.
Lothair was unexpectedly elderly but she was more surprised by the youth of the second usurper. She fisted her hands as the Saxons rode to the foot of the steps and dismounted, handing off the reins to officers who’d accompanied them.
They were close enough now for her to see the younger man’s face. The angelic cupid’s bow mouth belied every monstrous thing she’d ever heard about Duke Heinrich the Proud.
The emperor put a foot on the bottom step, eyeing her curiously. She stiffened her spine and dug her fingernails into her palms, determined not to bow.
William hurried to the emperor’s side. His fawning subservience disgusted her.
“May I present my wife, Francesca,” William gushed, holding out one plump hand to her while he brushed off the front of his armor with the other.
For a moment she was tempted to spit in Lothair’s face and reveal her true identity, but William was right that such an action might result in all their deaths. She clenched her jaw and swallowed her ire. “Welcome to Termoli,” she declared, strangely pleased when he smiled upon hearing his own language. It might be amusing after all to be the Sicilian cat toying with an imperial mouse.
He scaled the steps with surprising agility for a man his age. “You speak German.”
She extended her hand as if she was the empress and he a mere courtier. “My father was from Bavaria,” she purred, having decided that keeping more or less to the truth was the best course of action.
Lothair brushed a kiss across her knuckles, but a frowning Heinrich strode up beside them. “Bavaria? Who was your mother? I don’t recall a knight from my duchy marrying into the Apulian nobility.”
Her belly clenched. She’d forgotten Heinrich was Duke of Bavaria as well as Saxony. “My father would have been far beneath you in rank, my lord, and wouldn’t have come to your attention.”
He eyed her curiously for a moment, then stalked off into the keep, his lackey at his heels.
She would have to be more careful and remember she was dealing with a wily fox. At least the remark about her father’s rank was the truth, but Heinrich had no doubt heard of a German knight who’d married King Ruggero’s sister.
Her dry throat constricted when she realized Lothair was waiting for a reply to something he’d said. “Forgive me, your Highness. It’s difficult to hear with this wind, and I am out of practice. My father has been dead these many years,” she lied, fluttering her eyelashes.
The emperor proffered an arm. “Of course, and I speak too quickly. Will you accompany me on a tour of the castle?”
She accepted his offer of escort, smugly aware there was little to see in the pathetic edifice. “My honor.”
As they proceeded into the keep she couldn’t resist a backward glance at William, but the main gate had now been opened and the arrival of imperial troops in the deserted streets had captured his attention.
Beach Brawl
Lute narrowed his eyes against the late afternoon sun and surveyed the hundreds of tents pitched haphazardly along the shoreline. They stretched for at least a mile from where he stood to the town’s substantial defensive wall that looked like it had sprouted from the rocks. Decades of buffeting from wind and saltwater had left their mark on the weathered stones.
Following the advice of Brandt’s adjutant, they had elected to have their men camp away from town, on slightly higher ground, agreeing that when the tide came in, the tents pitched on the beach in the shadow of the wall risked being inundated with water. Vidar never failed to find the best places to camp.
“It means a longer walk to the town,” Lute said to his brother.
“Better than waking up in salt water, and it’s not as sandy here.”
Brandt and Vidar approached on foot from the area nearby where their men were camped. The adjutant nodded to the wall. “Tide’s coming in. They’ll be sorry.”
Brandt looked back along the expanse of golden sands. “Instead of parading our men through the deserted streets, we could have marched around the walls and camped here anyway.”
“But Lothair wanted his symbolic triumphal entry,” Lute quipped.
Kon snorted. “Triumphal entry! Welcomed by a count and a haughty looking woman flanked by a handful of soldiers. I never set eyes on another soul.”
Lute recalled the tall woman who’d entered the keep on the emperor’s arm as if she was the empress. Her demeanor was striking, as was her coloring. “I think she’s the first fair-haired woman I’ve seen in Italy. I wonder who she is?”
“Must be Loritello’s wife,” Kon replied.
The notion bothered Lute. The count must boast hidden attributes to have won the hand of such a beauty.
“I didn’t think Lothair spoke Italian,” Brandt remarked. “Yet he was obviously conversing with the woman.”
“Mayhap
she speaks German,” Vidar suggested.
More of the scene came back to Lute. “Whatever was being discussed, Heinrich looked none too pleased.”
Brandt shrugged. “Nothing much pleases the Duke of Saxony.”
Lute understood Brandt’s resentment of Heinrich. He’d almost died at the hands of thugs from the Duke’s personal guard who’d ambushed him at Johann’s wedding. Their father had been distraught at his failure to protect a guest, albeit one sent as a representative by an enemy.
Thoughts of the wedding and his happy life in Saxony filled him with nostalgia. He closed his eyes. “I miss the green valleys of home. What I wouldn’t trade for a refreshing dip in the Elbe.”
He shaded his eyes and looked out to sea. “Why not a quick swim? I’ve never seen water so blue.”
Kon surveyed the men milling around the tents. “What about them?”
Lute made a decision. “Pass the word. Every man is given leave to swim while the cooks prepare the evening meal.”
The command spread like a grassfire and soon hundreds of naked men were running down to the beach, shouting like gleeful children. Some paused to gawk at jellyfish, others chased tiny crabs.
Only Vidar remained in the camp. He stood like a statue, hand on the hilt of his sword. Ever watchful.
Lute ran into the waves and dove under, relishing the smooth warmth of the salty water on his weary muscles.
He’d swum many times in the chilly Elbe and in the deep pool below Sophia’s waterfall, but swimming in the sea was different, more challenging, yet more pleasurable. Certainly warmer.
Splashing in the waves brought back happy memories and it was good to see the men relax and enjoy themselves. There had been few opportunities since they’d left Saxony months before.
Standing in waist-deep water, toes curled into the sandy bottom, he raked wet hair off his face with both hands and looked up to the heavens. He was about to utter a silent prayer of thanks that he’d survived to this point when Brandt’s voice broke into his thoughts.
“Something’s wrong.”
He turned to see Vidar striding towards a group of men in the water a hundred yards away, dismayed to recognize them as the Saxon bullies from his company.
A fight had apparently broken out and the beefiest thug was holding another man beneath the waves. His cronies urged him on while others were attempting to interfere. Their shouts could be heard even over the roar of the incoming surf.
“Schiesse,” Lute swore, catching up to Brandt as they strode through the water to the scene of the melee. “Can they not enjoy life for a few minutes without trying to kill each other?”
His brother-by-marriage made no reply and the mask of fury on his face was perplexing. After all, they were Lute’s men, yet Vidar waded into the water fully clothed and clamped a hand on the bully’s neck.
Apparently taken by surprise, the assailant let go of the drowning man who came up, gasping for breath. Others rushed to his aid and carried him to the sands where he lay coughing up seawater.
The thugs voiced their loud objections to the interference until Brandt seized the bully’s arms and helped Vidar drag him from the water and to his knees.
Lute recognised the offender. “I’ll take care of this. It’s Schurke, from my company.”
“Nein!” Brandt shouted, towering over the bully, fists clenched.
Lute had never seen Sophia’s husband display such anger, but a breach of discipline among his men was his responsibility.
“I recognize this wretch,” Brandt spat. “He is one of the men who attacked me in Wolfenberg.”
Lute glanced around, searching for any sign of confirmation on the faces of Schurke’s cronies, but they had conveniently disappeared. “How can you be sure?” he asked. “It was dark.”
Seething with anger like an avenging sea god, Brandt seemed unable to speak, but Vidar hissed, “I’ll warrant my lord’s stolen dagger will be found among his possessions.”
For the first time Schurke raised his head. His troubled eyes betrayed his guilt.
Lute turned to Kon. “Adjutant Wolfenberg, this man is to be detained while his belongings are searched. Report back to me.”
“I will go with them,” Brandt hissed.
“No, bruder, you will stay with me,” Lute insisted. “Vidar can go in your stead. If a dagger is found, he will confirm if it’s yours. If Schurke is the guilty one I will see him imprisoned and punished. Surely this little castle has a dungeon.”
Assured the efficient Kon had matters in hand, he took Brandt by the elbow. “Walk with me.”
As they hastened away from the scene, he glanced briefly to the top of the wall, dismayed to see that the emperor had apparently watched the unfortunate episode.
He suddenly became keenly aware of his nakedness when he realized the fair-haired countess stood at Lothair’s side.
The emperor seemed preoccupied and annoyed with events taking place below and apparently hadn’t noticed Francesca’s fascination with the hundreds of naked men cavorting on the beach.
Her knowledge of the male body consisted of what her older, married sisters had told her, which was basically nothing. The prudish twins grimaced at the mere mention of male parts. It always struck her as ironic that she was the only daughter who’d inherited her father’s fair hair, but her mother’s Sicilian temperament.
The tour of the battlements had provided a unique opportunity. From what she could see, men were definitely made differently from women. It came as no surprise that their legs were more muscular, their hips narrower—but the uniquely male parts at their groin…
Petra had once hinted with great distaste that a man joined his body to a woman’s by means of the appendage, but from this distance it wasn’t clear how that might be accomplished. It was however apparent that some of the appendages were bigger than others. She supposed that was reasonable since women’s breasts varied in size. The notion evoked a pleasing memory of her twin sisters’ envy of her own copious globes. She was indeed her mother’s daughter.
She wasn’t sure if Duke Heinrich had noticed her preoccupation. He’d hurried away as soon as the fight broke out, followed by his young adjutant, who seemed even more bothered by what was taking place below.
It was evident the scowling William was displeased. He grasped her wrist and pulled her away from the wall. “The wife of a count cannot behave like a whore,” he hissed in her ear.
She had an urge to slap his fat, red face, but Lothair might notice, though his attention was still on the beach. She pulled away from his grip. “I am merely keeping a close eye on your enemies,” she spat back.
First Encounter
Francesca was taken aback by the arrival of two imperial officers at the entryway of the hall just as the evening meal was being served.
She couldn’t be absolutely certain but it seemed to her they were the well-muscled men who had brought the beach fight to an end.
Naked they’d intrigued her; in full uniform they were stunning. Tall, dark, broad-shouldered. They could pass for brothers, except their facial features were different. One had a slightly hooked nose that only added to his allure. The other had the intriguing face of a mischievious angel.
The emperor and duke left their places immediately without so much as a word of pardon, leaving only Heinrich’s adjutant at the table. He’d been introduced as Johann von Wolfenberg. Judging by his obvious concern about what was transpiring between the young officers and the duke, she hoped he might be a source of valuable information. Aware conversing with the young man would raise William’s hackles, she nevertheless edged towards him.
“Are those the officers who interfered in the brawl?” she asked, fluttering her eyelashes.
He dragged his attention away from the discussion and looked at her as if she’d spoken Greek. “Ja,” he replied absently, returning his gaze to the men. “Rödermark and Wolfenberg.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Your brother, perhaps?”
“
Half-brother, and the other man is my brother-by-marriage.”
Curious!
The two stood facing her. Both were tall and dark-haired, but she saw a facial resemblance with only one of them. “The taller man is married to your sister?”
“Ja.”
“It must be difficult for him to be so far away from his wife. He’s young. They cannot have been married long.”
Johann finally gave her his undivided attention. “Brandt and I were married within sennights of each other. Our wives are in Saxony.”
William cleared his throat, then cleared it again. “Your food is getting cold, cara.”
She pouted at him. “I am gathering information,” she whispered, in case the young adjutant spoke her language.
She might have known from his lack of interest in her flirtation that he was married. Turning back to Johann, she enquired, “And what of this brother?”
She raked her gaze over the young officer with the angelic face, recalling the sea water glistening on his broad shoulders and the long legs that carried him quickly along the beach. Not to mention the rather eye-catching male parts at his groin and the…
“Lute isn’t married.”
Lute!
William’s grasp on her arm jolted her back to the hall. The dingy place was always stiflingly hot. Suddenly it felt like an inferno. Could the loathsome count tell she was fascinated by the Saxon? She was in unfamiliar territory. No man had caused such unsettling stirrings in private places.
She glared at William’s hand and he quickly removed it. “You forget yourself,” she whispered, satisfied when he looked away.
She leaned back towards Johann. “Are they being chastised?”
“Nein. They brought the soldier they arrested to the dungeon.”
“He will be thrown into a cell simply for a fight on the beach?”
Johann shook his head. “A dagger was discovered among his belongings. It was stolen from Brandt months ago.”
Romantic Legends Page 67
