Wheel of the Fates: Book Two of the Carolingian Chronicles

by J. Boyce Gleason

  “Do you know who this is?”

  Both knights nodded. “Then you know if you persist with this ridiculous charade, he will kill you where you stand. And if he doesn’t, you will likely hang for murdering the mayor.” She glanced over her shoulder at Pippin. “I’m betting he kills you. Now, you have two choices. You can apologize to me and answer a few questions from the mayor, or you can persist in this silly confrontation that will ultimately cost you your lives.”

  She stepped aside so that they faced Pippin directly once more. “Which will it be?”

  The second knight didn’t hesitate. “I beg your forgiveness, Madame.”

  The first knight was sweating profusely. His eyes were angry and kept moving from the Comptesse to Pippin. He shifted his weight from foot to foot. “It’s an affront to the Lord our God.”

  “It’s an affront to no one. Who is your commander?” Pippin asked, his voice low and lethal.

  “Commander Raymond de Beauville,” the second knight replied. The first knight’s face grew redder by the second.

  “Do you believe that his rule supersedes mine?” Again, Pippin directed his question to the first knight the only one who still posed a danger.

  “This is a religious matter. The Knights are advocates of the Church,” the second knight replied.

  “Have the Bishops issued an edict on this subject which has failed to come to my attention?” Pippin watched the first knight’s eyes. They would give him away if he attacked.

  “We are the keepers of the faith!” The first knight was insistent. “We confront evil. We confront faithlessness.”

  “Not here, knight.”

  “God’s word is law!”

  Pippin harrumphed. “I am the law.”

  The first knight raised his sword and rushed at Pippin. It was a move based in anger rather than skill and Pippin’s knife caught the man just below the rib cage. Pippin could have killed him. The knight’s armpit had been vulnerable. He let the knight slip to the ground and turned to face the second knight.

  The man didn’t go for his sword. Instead, he made the sign of the cross.

  Pippin pointed to the first knight, now covered in blood. “Take your man here back to de Beauville. Tell him I expect his presence at my command tent by the eighth bell tonight. In the meantime, no subject of mine is to be harassed by his men on penalty of death. Is that clear?”

  The knight nodded and bent to retrieve the fallen knight.

  Pippin turned back to the Comptesse. She stood facing him, her two children pressed to her sides. The boy was crying. The girl looked up at him dispassionately. The Comptesse clearly was furious.

  “You have a lot to learn, boy.”

  “I just saved your life!”

  “There was no need for violence. You baited him. You almost begged that knight to attack you. It was an adolescent display. How will you rule Francia when you can’t even rule yourself?”

  “He attacked me.”

  “Only because you didn’t tell him what else he could do.”

  “I would think you would be grateful.”

  “Obviously, you haven’t thought much at all.” She turned to her son and daughter. “Come children. Our audience with Lord Pippin is over.”

  Stunned, Pippin watched them leave.

  Chapter Eight

  Paris

  Miette offered a gloved hand, allowing it to hang in the air with just the slightest bend to her wrist. The elderly Duc de Tricot captured it and swiftly brought it to his lips. The speed of this gesture didn’t go unnoticed by his wife. Smiling to herself, Miette embraced the Duchesse next, kissing the air near both cheeks as one would a familiar. The woman stiffened in her arms. Again, Miette smiled. She was sure that the Duchesse hated seeing a commoner like her marry into nobility, but it had to be an affront to the woman’s sensibilities to have her serve as hostess to the future king.

  “We should arrange to have tea one day soon,” Miette offered.

  “Yes. Yes, of course.” The Duchesse de Tricot reddened. Miette knew full well that the older woman would never have tea with her. Based on the way the Duke’s eyes lingered on her chest, however, Miette was sure he held no such reservations.

  “As the future King has yet to be elevated to the throne, there’s no need to kneel in his presence.” Miette’s voice brooked no objection. “A simple bow and a curtsy will do. He is to be addressed as ‘Your Grace’ and shouldn’t not be touched under any circumstances. Wait until he addresses you before speaking, and I will advise you when the audience is over. At that time, you should bow again and walk backwards three paces, before turning towards the door. Do you have any questions?”

  Miette was delighted that the redness of the Duchesse’s face was turning a shade of purple.

  “Perfect.” Miette turned to lead the couple into what had recently been the grand salon of her husband’s villa. Since Childeric’s arrival she had redecorated the hall to accommodate the endless stream of nobility come to extend their respects to the future King of Francia.

  Two knights stood guard over Childeric, one by the door to the hall through which they entered, and one directly beside his chair. Both, according to her husband, were absolutely loyal to the future King. Salau, the one by the throne, was his champion. He was a brute of a man with a pockmarked face and one misshapen ear.

  Her father had once taught her to look to a man’s eyes to judge his worth. He said they always defined a man far better than the clothes he wore. When Miette first looked into Salau’s eyes, she saw nothing but cruelty. The man valued nothing. Worse, when Miette saw herself in Salau’s eyes, she was nothing. She couldn’t stand the sight of him.

  Even today, when she walked into a room, Salau’s eyes mocked her. A shiver ran up her spine. She refused to look at him, concentrating all her attention upon her future king.

  He was seated casually at the end of the hall on a chair that had once belonged to her husband’s late father, Ragomfred the Elder. As happened every time Miette saw Childeric, all other thoughts disappeared.

  Somehow, his eyes owned her, absorbing her into their depth. Her breathing became short and labored, her heart pounded and her skin blushed. His magnetism drew her across the room, and she had to strain to keep her stride stately as she led the Duc and Duchesse to him. By the time she reached his presence, her undergarments were wet through. She folded herself into a curtsey and waited for Childeric to nod. When he did, she stood and announced her guests.

  “Your Grace, may I present the Duc and Duchesse de Tricot.” Miette turned and was pleased to find the couple trying to bow as she had instructed them.

  “I’m delighted to make your acquaintance,” Childeric said and Miette stopped listening. She had stood through dozens of audiences and knew that nothing but banal pleasantries would be exchanged. Their value to her was the status she received throughout Paris as the hostess of the future king – that and the frustrated looks she caught from the condescending likes of the Duchesse de Tricot.

  To occupy herself during their audience, Miette watched Childeric’s hands. She imagined his long, bejeweled fingernails slowly raking down the length of her body.

  It had been three weeks since Childeric had uttered the words, “You will, of course, be my mistress.” But, as yet, he had failed to act upon his bold assertion. There was no question that he continued to want her. Daily, he devoured her with his eyes. Yet, he never again mentioned his intention. And there had been ample opportunity. She couldn’t understand his hesitation.

  Miette was more than willing; she was in fact desperate for him. She spent hours in her room, imagining his hands exploring her. And, in their absence, she had begun to use her own. She imagined him slowly removing each article of her clothing until she was naked before him. She imagined long passionate kisses on her lips, her neck, and shoulders. And when he disrobed, he was always ready for her.

  Each morning, she blushed with shame when she saw him; he had to know how eager she was. Endlessly,
she played hostess to his audiences with the Frankish nobles and waited for a wink, a nod, a touch, a kiss – anything that would trigger the romance she so desired. Why did he make her wait?

  Childeric was beginning to tire of the Duc and Duchesse de Tricot. His hands always wandered when he was bored. Miette let the Duchesse babble until the old woman took a breath, and then stepped forward.

  “Milord and Lady, his Grace thanks you for your visit today. He asks for the Lord’s blessing upon you and your children.”

  The Duke and Duchess looked up confused. Their eyes went first to her and then to Childeric and then they shuffled to comply with her directions. They bowed and backed away three steps, bowed again, and backed up three more. Still uncertain, they bowed yet a third time and then turned hurriedly to leave the room.

  Miette nearly laughed out loud. The knight at the door escorted them out and closed the door behind him. She was still smiling when she turned back to face Childeric. His eyes caught hers and he motioned for her to approach. One corner of his mouth curled provocatively. She stepped forward cautiously, keeping her eyes averted from the hated Salau. Please let it be now!

  Childeric leaned back into her father-in-law’s chair and with both hands pulled open his robe to the waist. He was naked beneath it. His erection rose above creamy white thighs and a thick, black tuft of hair. It was just as she had imagined it would be. Miette couldn’t breathe.

  “Do you know how to use your mouth?”

  Miette’s stomach clenched with the shock of his question. She was both thrilled and repulsed by it. She wanted to touch him, to hold him, yet she was horrified at the bluntness of his proposal. And with Salau standing beside him! She pried her eyes away from Childeric’s erection to look up at his champion. The knight’s eyes were alive with amusement.

  “Salau never leaves my presence.” Childeric answered her unasked question. “It’s an unfortunate consequence of being a Merovingian. There are so few of us left among the living.”

  Miette looked at him imploringly. Not like this, she silently begged.

  He held out his hand, his eyes reassuring.

  “Do you know what to do or shall I instruct you?”

  Although a virgin, Miette had had girlfriends who took great delight in informing her about the ways of the marriage bed. And there had been a young boy once when she was thirteen; she knew enough of what to do. She looked down at him, thrilled that he wanted her. But not here. Not like this. Not with Salau watching.

  Her heart pounded in her ears. She knew intuitively that if she refused, he would not ask her again. And, she knew that she would never again serve as his hostess. Her place at court would be lost cast aside as if it never existed.

  This knowledge, however, paled before a new compulsion that gripped her. She couldn’t take her eyes off his nakedness. She wanted him. Her face flushed. A deep need within her urged her forward and overwhelmed her hesitation. She wanted him even if it was under the hateful eyes of Salau. She knew she would comply, whatever he asked of her; her need was that great. Miette stepped forward, her knees weak and her head light, to kneel before her future sovereign.

  “Good girl,” Childeric whispered.

  Salau chuckled.

  Miette bowed her head.

  ✽✽✽

  Tedbalt brought her lilies. They were so beautiful Bertrada almost wept.

  It was the third morning since she had spewed the contents of her stomach onto her plate and destroyed what had been, up to that point, a perfectly wonderful dinner.

  It was Aude who had come to her rescue. While the rest of their guests sat stunned at Bertrada’s regurgitation, her younger sister was at her side spreading a napkin over the former contents of her stomach. Aude wiped the residue off Bertrada’s face and cooed into her ear.

  “Everything will be alright, Bertie. Don’t you worry about a thing!”

  Aude instructed Tedbalt to carry Bertrada to her room and then turned to the innkeeper and signaled for him to clean up the vomit left behind on the table. The man adroitly whisked away the tablecloth and quickly spread a new one. It was all over in seconds.

  Except for the humiliation. Bertrada had never been so ashamed in her life. She had wept most of the night, cursing the wine she drank and her own inability to handle it. Never before had it affected her so. She had even vomited the next morning.

  By the third day, Bertrada began to feel somewhat more stable. Only a touch of nausea remained. The shame of the incident, however, lingered with her. When Aude announced that Tedbalt was downstairs waiting to see them, Bertrada shook her head no.

  “You have to see him,” Aude scolded. “He comes by every morning.”

  Reluctantly, Bertrada consented.

  She fidgeted in her drawing room while Aude went to retrieve him. Within moments Aude was back ushering Tedbalt into the room. The two were laughing gaily and Aude hung from his arm. Bertrada wasn’t sure why this bothered her as much as it did. It was perfectly acceptable behavior. It was just that Aude seemed to enjoy it so much.

  Bertrada’s eyes, however, were drawn to Tedbalt; whose presence in her room was having the same impact on her as it had at the inn. She found herself, once again, stunned by how handsome he had grown during their years apart.

  And he carried an armful of lilies.

  Blinking back unexpected tears, Bertrada took the flowers into her arms. “They’re beautiful,” was all she could manage to say.

  The lilies’ scent, however, billowed around her, making her lightheaded. She wondered when she last had eaten solid food. Tedbalt towered over her. Looking up into his face, Bertrada suddenly felt quite dizzy.

  “Here, let me have them.” Aude took the lilies from Bertrada’s grasp. “I’ll fetch some water. Why don’t you two sit down?” It seemed more of an order than a suggestion.

  But Bertrada barely heard her. Without the flowers in her arms, she felt naked. She wasn’t sure of what to do with her hands and could think of nothing to say. She stood looking up at Tedbalt, her cheeks blushing.

  “I hope you are feeling better,” Tedbalt said.

  “Yes, yes, forgive me.” Bertrada recovered herself and laughed. “I am much better, thank you. Although I’m still terribly embarrassed about-”

  “Please, don’t be. There is no reason to – ”

  “It was just so awful.” Bertrada turned away from him. “I don’t know how it happened.”

  “I’m only glad that you feel better.”

  “She’s fine, now.” Aude reentered the room with the lilies in a vase. She placed them on a table across the room from Bertrada. “A touch of tainted food, that’s all.”

  Before Bertrada could venture an opinion, Aude had turned and grabbed Tedbalt again by the arm. A huge smile adorned her face. “Tedbalt has a surprise for us!” she announced, standing on her tiptoes.

  “Yes.” He smiled in turn. He cleared his throat and took on a more formal air. “I hope the two of you will consent to be my guests at a ball at the home of Lord and Lady Ragomfred next Saturday evening.”

  “The King will be there!” Aude squeaked.

  Bertrada smiled at Aude’s enthusiasm. The girl was so excited by anything that had to do with the Merovingian. Bertrada, however, was wary. She wondered what Pippin might say if he knew she was going to a ball where the would-be heir was in attendance. People still associated her with Pippin - and he was mayor. She wasn’t sure of the politics. But then again, she was done with him, so why should she care?

  While her inner musings ran on unabated, Bertrada couldn’t help but notice that Aude had yet to let go of Tedbalt’s arm. Frowning, she also noticed that he didn’t seem to mind.

  “We’d love to go,” Bertrada said. “I think it would be wonderful.”

  Aude clapped her hands like a little girl. Tedbalt laughed at her exuberance.

  “We will of course,” Bertrada said, taking her sister’s hand, “need to buy new gowns for the occasion.”

  “Of course!�
� Aude laughed. “What would a ball be without new gowns?”

  “A room full of lonely men?” Bertrada offered.

  All three of them laughed.

  “We’ve little time,” Bertrada said. “M. Le Compte de Soissons, you will have to excuse us.” She looked to Aude. “We have some shopping to do.”

  Aude’s face, however, fell at the suggestion. Her cheeks were burning. She looked to Tedbalt and then to Bertrada.

  Tedbalt too, looked uncomfortable.

  “Yes, of course,” Aude said looking at her hands. “It’s just that-”

  “We had planned…” Tedbalt cut in.

  Neither of them could finish the sentence. Bertrada looked from one to the other as understanding bloomed within her.

  “You’ve made plans to do something else.” Her heart felt like it had collapsed inside her chest.

  Tedbalt looked aghast. “We didn’t expect that you would recover so quickly.”

  Bertrada looked to Aude, disappointment dripping from her eyes.

  “It’s just a boat ride.” Aude was pleading for forgiveness. “I didn’t think your stomach could handle it.”

  “You can still join us, of course,” Tedbalt said.

  Bertrada held up her hand to stop the conversation. “That won’t be necessary. You both are right. I’m still a little too queasy to be riding in a boat on the Seine. You two go ahead. If my strength returns, Aude, I’ll shop for the two of us. You go. Have fun.”

  Relief flooded their faces.

  “Are you sure?” Tedbalt queried.

  “It’s quite alright,” Bertrada took his hands and walked him to the door. She smiled and looked past his long straight nose into his eyes. Something in them stirred, a memory, something. A barrier seemed to fall away and Bertrada thought for a moment she could see into his soul. She saw him hesitate. He felt it, too. Again, she felt lightheaded and had to look away.

  Laughing at her weakness, she took his arm. “Enjoy yourselves. I’ll join you next time.” They stopped at the door. Bertrada turned her cheek to accept Tedbalt’s kiss. He leaned forward and she felt his body brush up against hers. She leaned into it ever so slightly until her breasts lingered against his chest. Surprised, his eyes recaptured hers.