“Wait outside,” Turpin said to the guard. To
the scribe he gestured with one smooth white hand. “You, too. Leave
us.”
When they were alone, Turpin motioned to
India to come forward. He was a good two inches shorter than she,
and there was about him a facile, almost oily manner that she found
repulsive. His hands, now folded before him at waist height, were
plump, with tapered fingers ending in clean, shining nails, as if
they had recently been manicured and polished. The amethyst ring of
his rank gleamed in the candlelight.
“From what heathen country do you come, that
you do not bow to a bishop?” Turpin demanded.
“A country where all men and women stand
upright and address each other with respect,” she answered. “A land
where people are not thrown into cold prison cells without just
cause or any explanation.”
“The room where you are housed is no prison
cell,” Turpin told her. “Hrulund’s own men sleep in such rooms and
do not consider it a hardship.”
“Yet in Francia there are men who indulge in
luxuries.” India looked pointedly around the bishop’s own room. She
expected some scathing retort from Turpin, but instead he smiled at
her.
“Well said. Not all of us wish to endure the
rigors of a warrior’s life. Please be seated, Lady India.”
“I’ll stand.” The only places to sit were the
bed or the stool the scribe had been using, and Turpin was blocking
her way to the stool.
“I insist that you sit.” There was steel
beneath the bishop’s mellifluous tone and his eyes were hard. “Let
me offer you wine.”
“You gave Theu your word that we would be
unharmed,” India reminded him.
“Have I harmed you, sweet lady?” His eyes
still hard, Turpin spread his plump hands. “I have merely invited
you to sit.”
Unwillingly, India perched on the very edge
of the bed, watching Turpin pour out the wine. She wanted to refuse
it, but thought it would be unwise to anger him. She took the gold
and jewel-decorated glass he offered, and barely touched her lips
to the wine.
“What do you want of me?” she asked.
“To know you better.” Turpin sat down beside
her. India tried to move away from him, but the railing at the foot
of the bed prevented her from going far.
“Why should you be interested in me?”
“Autar knows little of women, but he judged
you rightly when he called you unusual. You are a fascinating
mystery. You are also lovely.” Turpin leaned nearer. “I believe you
and I could easily become close friends – perhaps even allies.”
Turpin reached across India to place one hand
on the foot rail of the bed. Since she wanted to avoid physical
contact with him, his movement forced her backward until her head
came to rest on one of the silk pillows. She was now reclining,
with Turpin bending over her. India seriously considered tossing
into his face the contents of the wineglass she still held. What
stopped her was the thought of Theu and his men. She would not do
anything to put them into any greater danger than they were in
already. Still, she had no wish to be assaulted by this too-slick
man who was looking at her in the same way a cat regards a cornered
mouse. She almost expected to see Turpin’s tongue come out and lick
his lips in anticipation. She tried to think of a way to avoid him
without angering him. Then she recalled the manner in which he had
used the name of the king of the Franks to stop Hrulund at a tense
moment. Perhaps the same invocation would make Turpin pause,
too.
“Sir,” she said, pressing yet further into
the pillows to avoid touching him, “I do not know exactly what you
expect of me, but I must remind you that you may not harm one who
wears the royal medallion while carrying a message to Charles.”
Turpin drew back until he was again sitting
upright on the side of the bed. India began to breathe more easily,
but almost at once she wished she had not spoken.
“Ah, yes, the message.” All the intimate
suggestiveness was gone. Suddenly, Turpin was alert, sharp-eyed,
and determined to have the information he desired. “I am one of
Charles’s closest confidantes. You may therefore give the message
to me.”
“I can’t do that. Surely you understand the
need for discretion in such a matter. I cannot believe that you,
Bishop, would ever want me to betray either your king or my master,
who made me swear to deliver the message to Charles’s ears only.”
The thought of how many falsehoods were in that declaration nearly
took India’s breath away. She wasn’t used to lying so profusely,
and she wasn’t sure Turpin would accept what she said. He was
frowning at her, looking as if he would make some irritated
rebuttal, when the door flew open and Hrulund walked into the room.
Turpin leapt to his feet.
“Well?” Hrulund demanded. “Have you got it
out of her yet? What is this message she claims to be carrying? Is
there any message at all, or is she lying, like every other
woman?”
“Turpin, you were trying to entrap me,” India
exclaimed, more to see how Hrulund would respond than out of
genuine surprise. She had understood perfectly well what Turpin was
trying to do. She stood and approached the two men, her fists
clenched as if she were angry.
She should have expected Hrulund’s reaction.
His disdainful gaze touched her face, then moved to the wrinkled
coverlet and the disarranged pillows.
“You were trying to seduce Bishop Turpin,” he
accused her.
“Don’t you see what a wily, cunning man he
is?” she cried. When Hrulund just stared at her as if she were some
disgusting insect, she answered her own question. “No, of course
you don’t. You can’t see beyond the tip of your sword. Hrulund, I
ask you to believe this much – even a woman would not violate the
confidence of a message sent to Charles. I will not betray your
king. Even a mere woman and a foreigner would keep faith with so
great a man as Charles.” Seizing the medallion, she held it up so
he could see it clearly. She felt no shame at all in piling lie
upon lie, not when dealing with these two men. Thinking she saw a
faint warming in the twin glaciers that were Hrulund’s eyes, she
decided to press whatever advantage she had won with him by her
passionate declaration of loyalty to his king.
“For Charles’s sake, can’t you put aside your
feud with Theu?” she asked. “You would each be more valuable to
Charles if you could work together instead of quarreling like
jealous brothers.”
“He does not love Charles as purely as I do.
No one does.” Hrulund’s eyes were totally icy once more. “Theuderic
and I were born to hate each other.” Going to the door, Hrulund
called in the guard.
“Take this woman back to her room,” he
commanded.
India was glad to go. When the guard looked
at her and jerked his head toward the anteroom, she instantly
obeyed the unspoken order. But behind her, Hrulund did not shut the
door quickly enough. As she followed the guard across the anteroom
and started down the stairs, India could hear Hrulund arguing with
Turpin.
“It is shameful,” Hrulund declared, “to allow
your lustful impulses to dictate your actions. You wanted to bed
her!”
“What about your impulses?” Turpin replied.
“You could not restrain your impatience, so you came in too soon.
If you had given me just a little longer with her, she would have
told me everything we want to know.”
The door closed then, cutting off whatever
else the two men said to each other. India went down the staircase
shaking her head in wonder at her own escape from Turpin’s room and
feeling grateful to Hrulund for bursting in when he had. It was not
until she was once more alone in her cell – for that was what it
was, no matter what Turpin called it – that she began to shiver in
delayed reaction to danger. She might have been killed by either
man, and she knew it.
Her fear for Theu and for the rest of their
friends almost choked her. She slept no more that night.
“So, the oil lamp went out at last, did it?”
asked her guard, pushing across the floor in her direction a wooden
plate on which lay a chunk of bread and a little cheese. “It
doesn’t matter. It will be daylight soon enough.”
“Isn’t there anything for me to drink?” she
asked.
“Hrulund is right,” the guard said. “Women do
nothing but complain and make foolish demands on a man.” But he
placed a jug of water beside the plate of food, and before he left
her and secured the door, he added a new lighted oil lamp so that
she could see to eat.
Alone once more, India managed to swallow the
stale bread and part of the moldy cheese, but, remembering Hugo’s
remarks about the dangers of water, she drank nothing in spite of
her thirst. Instead, she used the vile-smelling pot in the corner
of her cell, then used the water to wash her face and hands as best
as she could. By this time a feeble light was coming in the window
slit, and she could hear church bells in the distance. She began to
walk back and forth across the cell to warm herself. Much later,
when she had begun to give way to a new fear – that she would
remain where she was indefinitely – she heard a muffled noise
outside her door. It sounded suspiciously like a scuffle followed
by a smothered cry. She backed against the wall, wondering what
would happen next. When the door swung open, Marcion appeared,
followed by Eudon.
“Thank heaven.” India sagged in relief.
“Time to go,” Marcion said.
Upon leaving the cell, India was immediately
surrounded by four of Theu’s men, all of them holding their swords
at the ready. She was so glad to see them that she almost started
to cry. She controlled herself, knowing that they would think her
weak if she gave way to tears.
“Where is Theu?” she asked, as calmly as she
could.
“Above. Hugo and the others will have joined
him by now. No doubt he’ll apologize for not being able to rescue
you himself.” Marcion led the way to the long staircase.
“Have they hurt him? Or anyone else?” They
were moving so fast up the steps that she was breathless.
“Not yet.” Marcion grinned at her. “There’s
nothing to worry about. Everything will be all right.”
“Don’t be so sure of that,” she replied,
looking around as they entered the large hall where the day before
they had first met Hrulund. Theu and the rest of his men were
there, swords drawn, facing Count Hrulund and two dozen or so
tough-looking warriors, each with his weapon in hand. Only Bishop
Turpin was unarmed. He stood by the single candle, his red robes
glittering when he moved, turning first toward Theu and his men on
one side of the hall, then to Hrulund and his companions on the
other side. From the tension among the men, India had the
impression that she had walked into the beginning of a
swordfight.
“There is no need for this,” Turpin said just
as India and her escort joined Theu. “Hrulund, you would be better
advised to wait until you can spill Spanish blood. Leave Theuderic
and his men to fight for Charles in Spain.”
“But he has opposed the campaign,” said
Hrulund, taking a menacing step toward Theu, who raised his sword
and waited, his eyes never leaving Hrulund’s face. “It is not right
for Theuderic to disagree with Charles.”
“A difference of opinion does not constitute
disloyalty,” said the bishop. Hrulund’s response to this remark was
to scowl and shake his head as if he found it difficult to
understand the concept of loyal disagreement.
“If you want to fight,” said Theu, “I am
willing.”
“It would greatly please me to end your
life,” Hrulund replied.
“Charles will not like this,” cautioned
Bishop Turpin.
“I will tell him I have killed a pack of
traitors,” said Hrulund, moving his sword to include all of Theu’s
men in the threat.
“Enough talk,” growled Theu, crouching in
readiness. “If you cannot believe my word when I say I am loyal to
my king, then I will prove it by force of arms.”
“You,” returned Hrulund, baring his teeth in
a fierce grin of anticipation, “will die, here and now.”
India was so frightened she could not speak
or move. Nor, it appeared, could anyone else in that hall do
anything to stop the bloodshed that surely would follow Hrulund’s
words. Everyone was staring at the two men facing each other, all
of them waiting for the first strike. It was not long in coming.
Suddenly Hrulund leapt forward, both hands on the hilt of his
sword, aiming a mighty slash at Theu. Their swords clashed
together. India heard the sound of metal sliding against metal as
Theu parried the blow, forcing Hrulund backward by a couple of
steps.
“Put up your weapons!” So intent upon the
swordplay was everyone that at first the angry female voice did not
penetrate their concentration. It was not until Sister Gertrude
spoke again that she was given any attention at all.
“You foolish and ignorant men, do you know of
no way to settle your differences except to kill each other? My
lord bishop, how can you allow this disgraceful display?”
“I would prevent it if I could,” said Turpin.
“I’d rather see them killing Saracens than other Franks.”
“Well, I
can
prevent it.” Showing no
evidence of concern for her personal safety, Sister Gertrude walked
forward between the two groups of armed men. She was followed by
Danise, by the serving woman Clothilde, and by a young man in dusty
clothing who looked about with great interest. Having reached the
place where Theu and Hrulund still stood glaring at each other with
their swords ready for further action, Sister Gertrude stopped. She
put out a hand to Theu’s wrist and pushed his arm down to his side.
She would have done the same to Hrulund, but he leapt backward, not
allowing her to touch him, lowering his sword without her
pressure.
“Garnar, come here,” called Sister Gertrude,
and the young man with her came forward at once. Sister Gertrude
pointed. “That is Count Theuderic.”