“Aye, I know him by sight,” said Garnar.
“Count, I have a letter from Charles.” He pulled a folded and
sealed square of parchment from a pouch hung at his belt. This he
handed to Theu who, after examining the seal, broke it and read.
The men in the hall shifted about, the tension among them easing a
bit. Marcion looked at India and smiled. Hugo’s eyes were on
Danise.
“Since Hrulund cannot read,” Theu said,
handing the parchment to Bishop Turpin, “I would ask you to read
this letter aloud so that he, and all the others assembled here,
will know its contents. I want no one to accuse me of cowardice for
ending this day’s fight.”
Turpin took the letter, made a little
ceremony of holding it close to the candle to better see the royal
seal, and then unfolded it.
“‘Charles, by the grace of God king of the
Franks and the Lombards and patrician of the Romans, to Count
Theuderic of Metz,’“ Turpin read. “‘Having received your report of
your recent activities in Saxony, we do hereby order you to bring
the woman called India to Agen at once. Escort her yourself, for we
would meet her before we leave for Spain.’ This is Charles’s
signature. You will know it, Hrulund, for as usual he has written
it in the form of a cross.” Turpin held the letter up so all could
see the royal name.
“Hrulund, our present dispute must be set
aside,” Theu said when Turpin had refolded the letter and returned
it to him. “I know you would not have me disobey Charles. I and all
my men will leave here at once.” The note of challenge in his voice
made Hrulund frown uneasily. Turpin sent a cautionary glance in
Hrulund’s direction, as if to quiet any possible protests over this
decision.
“I quite agree,” said Turpin, adding, “You
must learn to support the coming campaign with your whole heart and
soul, Theuderic, for it is right and necessary and the best thing
for all Franks.”
“No,” India cried out, “it is not.” At a
flashing look from Theu, she fell quiet again, but not before
Hrulund had turned his gaze from Theu to India and then to Sister
Gertrude.
“So, Firebrand,” sneered Hrulund, “this
explains your sudden distaste for warfare. You have been listening
to foolish women.”
“I was opposed to the Spanish campaign before
I ever met any of these ladies,” Theu returned hotly. “As I told
you last night, I will say what I think to Charles if he asks my
opinion, but I will follow wherever he leads. I can do no more
without violating my conscience.”
“Pah! It’s not your conscience at all, it’s
the women’s doing.” With a swift movement Hrulund lifted his sword,
holding it up by the blade, the heavy gold pommel uppermost, the
flaring gold quillons where pommel and blade were joined giving the
weapon the appearance of a cross. He went down on one knee, still
holding the sword up before his face. In the candlelight, his face
took on a burning purity, an ecstatic quality that silenced any
objections to his action among the onlookers and stilled all
movement in the hall.
“I swear now as I have done in the past, upon
my sword, upon the tooth of St. Peter and the drop of St. Basil’s
blood sealed within its pommel – upon these sacred relics I do most
solemnly swear that for all my life I will love only Charles and
the warfare that does him honor. I would rather sleep with this
sharp-edged blade than with any woman, for I know my beloved
Durendal will never betray me. For God, for Charles, and for
Francia!” With that cry, Hrulund kissed the place on his sword
where hilt and blade met, gazing at the weapon with luminous eyes.
A moment of profound silence followed his oath taking, until he
rose. Sword hilt in his hand now, he lifted the weapon high again,
its blade gleaming silver-blue in the light when he moved it. “I
call upon you all to pledge yourselves anew to Charles and his
noble cause. Swear now, good men, upon your knees, with hearts
untainted by earthly desires. Promise your sword arms and your
lives to aid Charles in carrying the True Faith across the Pyrenees
to free Spain from the wicked Saracens!”
India looked toward Theu’s men. A few of them
had partially lifted their swords at Hrulund’s words, and every
face save Marcion’s was alight with the same glow that lit
Hrulund’s features. In another moment, they would all be on their
knees as he had bidden them. In that instant India understood the
dreadful glamour of the man, and knew why he was called a hero.
“We have sworn to Charles before this,” Theu
said, apparently immune to Hrulund’s charismatic personality.
“There is no need to pledge ourselves again.” At his words, his own
men released their weapons, putting them away and turning from
Hrulund. The charmed moment was over.
“Theuderic,” Hrulund said, “you have gone
soft from too much love. Women drain a man’s energy and blunt his
vital force when he ought to keep himself free to think only of the
service he owes his king on the battlefield. Women make a man weak
because he wants to return to his love instead of desiring a
glorious death in battle.”
“Perhaps,” Theu said softly, “you are too
willing to do battle and think too little of living in peace.”
“Peace is for cowards and weaklings,” Hrulund
returned. “I care only for serving my king, as you should do.”
“I honor your courage,” Theu replied, “and I
respect the great love you bear to Charles. But in this matter of
the Spanish campaign, Hrulund, you are wrong.”
“Unsay that insult, Firebrand, or I’ll cut
you into pieces! I am
not
wrong!” His eyes fierce, his face
hard, Hrulund took a step toward Theu, brandishing Durendal in his
hand.
“If you kill him,” came Sister Gertrude’s
sharp voice, “how will you explain to Charles that you ignored his
expressly stated desire to meet with Theuderic?”
That stopped Hrulund. He lowered his
sword.
“For Charles’s sake only, I will let you
live, Firebrand,” he said. “And I will pray that you regain your
courage in time to prove yourself in battle in Spain.”
India let out the breath she had been
holding, but when Hrulund spoke again, she was filled with
dismay.
“Turpin, we cannot let Theuderic and these
women go to Agen unescorted, and we will not be able to leave for
another day or so. Let me send my man Autar with them.”
“While I feel certain that Count Theuderic
and his men are capable of protecting the ladies,” Turpin replied,
“still, Autar has served me well as a messenger in the past. With
your kind permission, Hrulund, he will do so again, for I ought to
write to Charles.”
“We will have to set out at once,” Theu
objected.
“By the time your horses are ready and your
men have mounted,” Turpin promised, “the letter will be written and
Autar will join you. There will be no delay.” He left the hall,
Autar following him.
“You,” Hrulund said to Theu, “will pay for
your refusal to pledge yourself to Charles.”
“It is meaningless for a man to repeat an
oath he has already taken,” Theu responded. “Charles heard my oath
when he was elected king, and he knows I will keep it until I
die.”
“God willing, that will be soon.” With a look
at Theu that would have driven a lesser man to his knees in terror,
Hrulund turned on his heel and motioned to his men to follow him
out of the hall.
“Garnar,” said Theu, “will you ride to Agen
with me?”
“I have other letters to be delivered in
Paris and Noyon,” Garnar replied. “I am only grateful that Sister
Gertrude heard me inquiring at the convent if any knew of your
passage through Tours. Otherwise, our paths might have crossed
without our knowledge.”
“Then we must thank Sister Gertrude,” said
Theu, with a look at the nun that suggested he might want to thank
her for more than delivery of a royal letter.
“Did they lock all of you in barren cells as
they did me?” India asked. It was Hugo who answered her.
“Each of us was put into a cell with a guard,
so we could not talk to each other or aid Theu if he needed us. It
was Marcion who was clever enough to overpower the guard who
brought his morning food. He knocked my guard unconscious, too, and
together we released the other men. I am sorely disappointed in
Count Hrulund, and in Bishop Turpin, over this affair.” Hugo added,
“I think we ought to protest their ungracious treatment of us to
Charles.”
“Charles has enough to occupy his thoughts
just now without his nobles coming to him with their quarrels, like
squabbling children to a parent,” Theu responded.
“You haven’t told us yet how Turpin and
Hrulund treated you last night,” Marcion said to Theu.
“They fed me an inadequate dinner while
trying to convince me to give up all my objections to the
campaign,” Theu replied with a casualness that made India look hard
at him and wonder exactly what
had
happened. She wanted to
tell Theu about her own interview with Turpin, but she could not do
it there in the hall. If she did, Theu might well decide to go in
search of Turpin and Hrulund and begin a new fight with them.
“I am sorry I missed hearing Hrulund’s
attempts to argue with reason,” Marcion said to Theu. He laughed at
the idea. “Only that thickheaded ox would think to bully you into
submission. The man is so single-minded he can talk of nothing but
weapons and battle.”
“And how much he distrusts women,” India
added. “Was he ever actually betrayed by a woman, or does he just
fear it might happen?”
“Those around him would be a lot happier if
Hrulund could love some other human being besides Charles,” Theu
answered, giving India a strange, lingering look that left her
breathless. “Hrulund is betrothed, but he pays no attention to the
poor girl. He even convinced her brother to take her away from
court to keep her safe from frivolous influences, though many think
he only wanted to avoid her.”
“The gossips claim he has never lain with any
woman,” Marcion told India, “and I half believe the tale.”
“He’s a hard man,” Hugo said, clearly still
disturbed by the events of the day and night just passed. “A great
warrior, but not a friend I would want.”
“No,” India said. “He’s a saintly man, a
fanatic who can carry others along with him. When he knelt with
that sword in his hands, I felt a stirring of battle fever myself,
and I ought to be completely immune to that kind of thing. There is
a terrifying purity about Hrulund that makes him dangerous.”
“From what I’ve seen of him,” Sister Gertrude
put in, “I think India understands Hrulund well. Now, Count
Theuderic, I would like to suggest to you that we depart from this
hall before Hrulund changes his mind about letting us go. I have no
taste for the bloodshed that will surely result if he tries to stop
us.”
“You are right. Hugo, see to the lady
Danise,” Theu ordered. “Marcion, give Sister Gertrude your arm.
Eudon, Osric, see to the horses. The rest of you help them. India,
come with me.”
No one made any attempt to prevent their
going when Theu led them toward the courtyard. Just behind her,
India overheard Marcion speaking to Sister Gertrude.
“Lady,” Marcion said, “like Theu, I thank you
for your timely arrival. I could kiss you for your good sense.”
“I pray you will not,” said Sister Gertrude
with all of her accustomed sharpness. “It was to escape the kisses
of brutish men that I first entered a convent. I have no wish at my
age to endure such embraces now.”
“Then I will confine myself to eternal,
chaste devotion to you,” teased Marcion.
India saw Danise look at Hugo just then, with
laughter in her eyes. At least Danise did not feel the same way
about men that Sister Gertrude did, although, after meeting
Hrulund, India could understand why a Frankish woman might prefer
not to marry.
“You did not need to look so frightened back
there,” Theu said to India, capturing her attention away from Hugo
and Danise. “There was no real danger.”
“You might have been killed!” she exclaimed.
“And I was terrified in that cell they put me into. I had no idea
what would happen to me, or to you and your people. Didn’t you
think about me and wonder if I was all right?”
“I had Turpin’s word that you would come to
no harm,” he said with great reasonableness. “Do you not believe
the promises made by the bishops in your own country? You were kept
in that room to protect Hrulund’s men from you, lest you stir
lustful thoughts in them. Hrulund does not allow his men to take
women. He is right when he says it is best not to love women, for
they do weaken a man’s purpose. It was foolish of me to let you
come here. You should have stayed at the convent with Sister
Gertrude and Danise, as I wanted you to do.”
“You don’t care about me at all, do you?” she
cried, furious with him for being so unconcerned when she had been
badly frightened – and angry with herself for loving him so much.
He had warned her soon after they met that he would never love
again. She ought to have believed him.
“I care whether or not you reach Agen safely,
because Charles wants to see you,” he told her, giving her another
peculiar look and sounding as if he was trying to convince himself.
But she was too hurt and too angry with him to pay any attention to
what he might be feeling.
“You could have been killed back there,” she
said again as they emerged into the courtyard. “We all could have
been killed.”
He stared at her, looking so disturbed and
unhappy that she finally forgot her own rage long enough to wonder
what was wrong with him.
“I cannot,” he said, as if arguing with
himself. “I swore I would not, not ever again. I will not allow
myself to feel this way.”
“Theu, what is it? What’s the matter?”
He did not answer her. He only shrugged his
shoulders and headed toward his horse, which Eudon was holding.
“Mount, all of you,” he called over his
shoulder. He took care not to look in India’s direction. “Let us be
gone from here.”