The Cross and the Dragon (35 page)

Ganelon broke from the guards, his tunic and cloak tearing. He raced for the window, threw open the thick shutters, and leapt. The guards dropped the rags in their hands and ran downstairs. The women rushed to the window. They heard something snap. Ganelon screamed, let out a stream of obscenities, and called to his guards. Alda heard a tramp of feet and horses’ hooves leaving the courtyard.

“That cur!” Theodelinda cried. “He had his guards in the courtyard. He had planned to leave in the middle of the night after…” She grabbed Alda and held her in a fierce embrace. Alda felt her mother tremble with fury. “How could I be so foolish to endanger you? When I heard a man’s voice in the solar, I wanted to scream and choke him with my bare hands, but reason told me to be quiet and summon the guards.”

Alda heard the beat of horses’ hooves in the courtyard and knew Ganelon and his followers were descending the mountain and escaping justice.

“Mother,” Alda said, still shaking, “if you had not summoned the guards, he would have succeeded. No woman could have fought him off.”

Alda heard a moan behind her and turned toward the sound. Veronica stood near the top of the stairway. “I should have never left your side,” she wailed. “How will you ever forgive me? If I was not restless and wandering in the hall…”

“He would have killed you,” Alda said softly.

Alda heard Werinbert sleepily call for his grandmother.

“Saints be praised,” Alda sighed, “he is unharmed. Mother, you should attend to him.”

As Theodelinda soothed her grandson, Alda shivered as the cold draft blew against her bare feet. Her knees felt like water. She gathered her cross and dragon off the floor and held them to her heart.

“Hush, my dearling,” her mother said. “Grandmother is here. That wicked man is gone now.”

“Why he here?”

“He is not here. He will never return. We will kill him if he does.”

“Why?” the boy asked.

Alda listened as she stood near the candle and fumbled to string her cross and dragon on a ribbon and tie it.

“Because he is wicked,” Theodelinda said.

“Why he wicked?”

Alda slipped her cross and dragon over her head and then opened a chest. She let her blanket fall and pulled on her shift, wondering what her mother was going to tell Werinbert. Veronica stood and unfastened her cloak, which had covered her shift, and started to dress.

“He does wicked things,” Theodelinda replied.

“Why?”

“I do not know,” she said softly.

“Why, Grandmother?” Werinbert’s voice revealed his frustration. “Why he do wicked thing?”

“He is swayed by the Devil,” Theodelinda answered.

“Why?”

“My dearling, that I shall never know.”

“Why do you not know?”

“Oh, child.”

“Where Mother?”

Theodelinda was silent.

“Where Mother?” the boy repeated.

“I do not know,” Theodelinda finally said. “Let us pray to the Mother of God to protect her and our family. You remember how it goes?
Ave Maria
…”

“…
gratia plena
,” Alda murmured.

* * * * *

After Werinbert finally fell back to sleep, Alda, Theodelinda, and Veronica finished dressing and descended the stairs to the hall. Alda shuddered as she passed the dead guard at the foot of the stairs. Ganelon had stabbed him in the back.

Theodelinda ordered the servants to fetch the priest, fetch a coffin for the man, and throw another log on the fire. The women stared into the flames unable to say anything more.

Moments later, the captain of the guard approached Theodelinda, bowed, and said, “I regret to report that the count of Dormagen has escaped our justice.”

Theodelinda nodded for him to continue.

“By the time we arrived at the courtyard,” the guard said clenching his fists, “the gate was already open, and the guard at the gate was dead.”

“How did he die?” Alda asked, wincing.

“Some worm slashed his throat,” the captain growled. “We searched the grounds and found that all of Count Ganelon’s possessions were gone, even his packhorses.”

Theodelinda buried her face in her hands. “How could I have been so foolish?”

Although Alda’s hands still trembled, she hated to see her mother racked with guilt. She touched Theodelinda’s shoulder.

“Countess, he had been long in planning this,” Veronica said. “Think about it. He was charming to you and Alda, but not his new wife. He had Gundrada’s things placed in the hall and made it easier for his servants to leave in haste and do it quietly. He had his guards already in the courtyard when he came to the solar.”

“Why did I not see this?” Theodelinda’s eyes were filled with tears. “If Beringar were still alive, I would ask him to challenge Ganelon to a duel and avenge us, but Beringar’s son is so young and inexperienced with the sword…” Her voice trailed off.

“I know, Mother.” Alda studied her hands. “Ganelon would kill him. I have no desire to see more death among our kin.”

“Perhaps, you can tell the king,” Veronica said.

“Knowing Ganelon and his twisted piety, he would tell the king I tempted him,” Alda said bitterly.

“That is the most ridiculous thing,” Veronica spat.

“But would the king think so?” Alda asked. “Ganelon’s fool of a wife would probably extol his virtues and fair looks and say I led him astray.”

“The king might believe you,” Veronica said. “Neither he nor the queen like Ganelon.”

“Even with our allies at court,” Theodelinda said, slumping, “the king needs his nobles to see him as a fair judge. To settle the matter, he would order a duel, and we already know the outcome of that.”

“I was so worried about you and Werinbert, I thought he had…” Alda paused.

“You thought he had what?” Theodelinda asked.

“I thought he had killed you both, but… I think Werinbert is still alive because I am still alive.”

“If Werinbert dies,” Theodelinda whispered, “you would inherit Drachenhaus.”

“Ganelon could not abide that. If Ganelon and I had wed and Alfihar died childless…”

“He would have been master of Drachenhaus. Is that why he is so vile? Does he think our house is rightfully his?”

“He said he was going to take what was rightfully his.” Alda grimaced. “He said… he said he would engender Drachenhaus’s true heir in me.”

“If Ganelon had succeeded,” Theodelinda murmured, “his son would become count if Werinbert died.”

“I will never be free of that man,” Alda said half to herself, shivering. “And if I die, there is nothing to stop him from murdering Werinbert.”

“Daughter, I will have this castle under heavy guard,” Theodelinda said. “No harm will come to you or to Werinbert.”

“He will try again to stain my honor or kill me. If not by his own hand, perhaps by an assassin’s.”

Theodelinda bowed her head. Alda knew they were thinking the same thing: they knew Ganelon, but an assassin could take any guise, a merchant, a pilgrim, even a traveling priest. Not even a husband could protect Alda from that.

“The only way this family will ever be free of him is for me to disappear,” Alda murmured.

* * * * *

For several days, Alda agonized over what to do. She had come all this way to her home, her birthplace, Drachenhaus. She wanted nothing more than to stay with her mother and nephew. Now she dared not remain where Ganelon could find her. But there was nowhere to go… except the abbey at Nonnenwerth. The more she thought about it, the more sense a retreat to Nonnenwerth made. She would be hidden but close to home.

Alda then wrestled with how she would tell her mother. Theodelinda had been through enough heartbreak. There would be no good time to tell her. Alda searched for her mother and found her in the kitchen planning dinner. Although it was smoky, Alda welcomed the warmth of the fires. Alda spoke as soon as Theodelinda was done ordering the servants.

“Mother, I wish to take orders at Nonnenwerth,” she said softly.

“Are you certain? It will not be like the life you are accustomed to. And I have heard rumors about how strange the abbess is.”

“Mother, I have already told you I shall not marry again. I would rather be a bride of God than take my chances with another man.”

“But the abbess…”

“I have heard the same rumors. A strange mistress is better than being left to the mercy of Ganelon.”

“A nun’s life is not that of a countess,” Theodelinda said. “And when you take the vows, you will not be able to inherit.”

“I shall have a year before I must decide to take the vow. I shall not be far, and you and Werinbert can visit me from time to time. Tell the world I am on a spiritual journey. Let them think it is a pilgrimage.”

Theodelinda looked down.

“Even if I do take the vow,” Alda said, “Ganelon will not know where I am or if I am alive or dead, and that will ensure Werinbert’s safety.”

Chapter 24

When a merchant boat arrived two days later, Alda bade farewell to Werinbert. He cried so much that Alda almost changed her mind. Almost.

She kissed him. “One day, I hope you will understand why I did this.”

“No, Auntie, no,” he wailed.

Alda swallowed back her own tears.

“You need not do this,” Theodelinda said as she and Alda embraced. “There must be another way.”

“There is not,” Alda replied, “none that I want.”

“Once you have taken the vow, you may never be able to leave the island.” Theodelinda’s hold tightened.

“Mother, I wish to be removed from the world,” Alda said gently.

“It might not be the life you think it is. Please, Daughter, reconsider this.”

“I have made my decision.”

When Alda started to walk away, her mother clung to her hand. Alda looked down and wondered about her decision. She then straightened her shoulders and told herself to be strong. This was for the best. She gave her mother’s hand a final squeeze before letting go.

As she rode down the mountain path accompanied by Veronica and a servant driving a cart, Alda looked over her shoulder. Her mother was hugging Werinbert. Alda turned away so that she would not start weeping.

At the bank of the river, the servant loaded tapestries, bolts of cloths, and a chest with coins and most of Alda’s jewelry onto the boat. It was part of her dowry to the Church.

“There is no room for my horses, dogs, or hawks,” Alda told Veronica. “Mother will have to send them over later. I shall have Mother sell my cattle.”

Alda removed the necklaces and bracelets she was wearing, except for her cross and dragon, and pressed them into Veronica’s hands. Alda took a breath. Leaving Veronica was like leaving a part of herself.

“This is for you,” Alda said. “I shall have no need of them.”

“Do not leave,” Veronica said, her voice cracked. “How shall I live without you?”

“You have been with me all my life.” She laid a hand on Veronica’s shoulder. “But you should make a life of your own now. You know you will always have a home at Drachenhaus.”

They lingered in an embrace before Alda stepped into the merchant boat. Alda gazed up at the tree-covered mountains that would forever loom over her. Most of the bare trees were brown and gray, punctuated by evergreens. She looked at the river, reflecting the gray of the clouds, a lifeline, a connection, bearer of goods from the kingdom and the rest of the world, and now the watery path to the abbey.

Alda looked behind her. Veronica stood on the shore.
Loyal as always
.

“Are you certain you want me to take you to Nonnenwerth?” the merchant asked.