“Said you’d have warhorses,” the man said, looking at their warhorses. “Said you might be hurt.” His eyes stared at her shoulder. “Said they’d pay if we found you.”
“It’s not us,” Bradius said. “We’re just two travelers heading home. Nobody would pay to find us.”
“Said they’d pay.” The man stared at Trudi, his eyes cold and uncaring.
“I can pay,” Trudi said. She pulled a denarius out of her pocket and held it out to him. Bradius stiffened at her offer but stayed silent. “I can pay you to say nothing.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, the coin disappeared from her hand and arrived in their questioner’s. He smiled at them, bowed, and walked away whistling.
“We’ve got to go,” Bradius said. “You just confirmed for him that we’re the ones they’re looking for.” They mounted up and rode east.
Bradius rode them hard. They rode throughout the day, slowing only to save the horses. Trudi begged him to stop on several occasions. They skirted several villages, avoiding any human contact. He finally relented just outside of Metz and pulled off the road into a small forest of oak trees and pines. The trees filtered out much of their afternoon light. Bradius moved south of the path into a stand of short pine trees.
Dead pine needles covered the ground in a reddish gold blanket. The forest deadened the sound of their voices to that of a whisper. Once they dismounted, Bradius broke out what was left of their provisions and made Trudi eat a full share. Once he was satisfied that her needs were met, he sat down next to her with his back to the tree.
“How will you know if they are following us?”
“We already know that.”
“I mean, when they are close. You knew with Pippin. I remember.”
“You never really know until you hear them. Sometimes it’s the sound of metal clanking on metal in the wind, or a voice that carries past its owner’s intent. I could hear Pippin behind me. He did nothing to hide the sound of his men, until the last.” Bradius’s eyes looked at the ground. “I have always had a talent for knowing without any evidence.”
“A useful skill,” Trudi said.
“Of late, yes.” His face grew serious. “If they see you, the hunt is over. All that matters then is how long it will take for them to catch you.”
Trudi shivered. “Then let’s just make sure they never see us.”
“I thought we’d go into Metz. We need some supplies, and you look like you could use a decent night’s sleep.”
Trudi almost laughed at this. “I could use a night’s sleep?” she asked. Since the day she found her wrists bound and tied around a horse, Bradius had not slept a night. He might have dozed now and again, but the man never slept. Trudi would wake in the middle of the night to find Bradius staring into the fire, his wine cup in hand, a haunted look in his eyes. Whatever demons came to him came in the night.
Every morning, she’d discover bags under his bloodshot eyes and wonder how he kept going. He rarely spoke in the morning. When he did, his words often growled behind mucus caught in his throat. What he said usually made little sense. She took the habit of not bothering him until well into the morning.
“Do you have enough money for an inn?” he asked.
She nodded.
“There is one in town. The owner is discreet.”
“The town will be watched.”
“Unless Aistulf himself is there, who would recognize us? I’m just a soldier of fortune with his mistress, traveling to Selz.”
Trudi’s eyes flashed at the term. Catching the look, Bradius said, “Would you prefer ‘serving girl’? Or perhaps ‘wife’?”
“How about ‘niece’?” Trudi said. “And we’re pilgrims on our way to the holy land,” she said. “Your piety will be disguise enough.”
Bradius chuckled. “Very well then. I will be your Uncle Otto. And you …?”
“Your not-so-obedient niece Hildie.”
Metz was gray and foreboding. They followed cattle into the town, walking through the wake of the herd’s waste. Hawkers sold their wares on the street, relics from the Holy Land, oils from the East, herbs and elixirs to cure every malady from baldness to impotence. Alehouses lined the street, as did their patrons—clusters of men who stared boldly at Trudi as they passed. Bradius nodded to a pair of prostitutes. Seeing Trudi’s stare, he shrugged apologetically.
Bradius led them through better and better neighborhoods until the streets they traveled weren’t quite so questionable. They stopped at a modest inn named The Pious Widow, which, although spare, was both clean and inviting. The ‘widow’ turned out to be a woman named Myrna, who had indeed been widowed but could be no older than twenty-five. She greeted Bradius by throwing herself into his arms and hugging him to her breast.
“Oh, Bradius, I thought you were dead.” She continued clinging to him, although her eyes registered Trudi’s presence and surveyed her from head to foot and back again.
“Where have you been?” she scolded Bradius.
“I had a little run in with Pippin,” he said.
“Did you kill the bastard?”
Bradius looked at Trudi and then back to Myrna. “No,” he said.
“Did you find your son’s body?”
“Yes,” he said, his eyes cast down. Trudi stared at him. During their ride, he had said nothing more of his son. Bradius let Myrna go, took a deep breath, and continued. “I found him. There was a mass grave. After Carloman’s army moved on, the townspeople came out to bury the bodies of the dead. They said that in the Frank’s camp, they found the body of a beheaded young boy. They were so incensed by it that the tale of his murder spread throughout the countryside. Hundreds came to aid the villagers in their task. They buried him last in the mass grave.
“They led me to the field where he was buried, although I could have found it without them. The smell of the place drew carrion and animals to it. A large mound marked the grave. Unum was there. His head was with him.”
“Did you bring him back with you?” Myrna asked.
“His death held such significance to those people that no place I could take him would promise more.”
Myrna took Bradius back into her arms. Her eyes welled with tears. Trudi had stepped forward, her hand out, but found that she was afraid to touch him. After a long moment, Bradius let Myrna go. They turned in Trudi’s direction.
“I need to introduce you to someone,” he said.
“Hildie,” Trudi said, again extending her hand to the widow. “My name is Hildie.”
Myrna took her hand and smiled warmly, but her eyes remained cold. “So nice to meet you.” Her eyes returned to Bradius. “There are Romans looking for you,” she said.
***
After lounging in a long overdue bath, Trudi came down for dinner to find Bradius and Myrna huddled in the serving room, whispering to each other. She hesitated, unsure what to do until she smelled the lamb stew wafting in from the kitchen. It made her stomach growl. She took her meal by the fire and ordered ale to wash it down. She attacked the bowl when it arrived and ordered more when she was done.
She expected that Bradius and Myrna would finish their private conversation and invite her to their table. But long after her meal was gone, the two seemed as engrossed in each other as when she walked into the room. Trudi ordered more ale and decided to wait. When that drink was finished, she ordered another. Eventually, she realized they had no intention of inviting her to their table. Angrily, she decided to retire for the night.
The stairway seemed so narrow. She had trouble navigating its turn. Her foot slipped on her way up the stairs, and she had to steady herself on the wall. It took her forever to reach her room. Opening the door, she stepped inside and leaned against the wall. Exhausted, she slid down it until she was sitting on the floor.
She must have dozed. A noise on the stairs roused her, and she cracked open her door to see who was coming. She saw Myrna taking Bradius into the room at the end of the hall. She had guessed this was ho
w the evening would end by the way Myrna touched him. He didn’t return these intimacies, but he certainly didn’t stop hers.
And he didn’t stop at her door. Not that it should matter, Trudi told herself. But the thought of them together made her angry. Why hadn’t Bradius just told her? At least she wouldn’t feel so stupid. Of course they were lovers. His wife had died many years ago. Why shouldn’t he find comfort in the arms of a willing widow? The image of this, however, made her shudder. She shut the door silently and leaned back against the wall.
She didn’t know what to do. If Bradius was here with Myrna, what was she doing? She was trying to get to Bavaria. Bradius had said he would accompany her because he had nowhere else to go. But clearly that was false. He did have somewhere to go, or at least someone to go to. And it certainly wasn’t her.
That thought rattled around her head for some time stark and alone. Not her. Did she want it to be her? Her stomach began to knot, and she suppressed the idea. What was she thinking? She was going to Bavaria to marry Odilo. Bradius was a convenient ally, a mercenary. How could she care for someone like him? She didn’t. She couldn’t.
She would leave in the morning. If he wanted to come with her, that was his decision. But she would not wait around biding her time while he dallied here, making eyes and more at “the widow.” In fact, she would tell him that now. He should know so that he could have some time to make his decision.
She stood, swaying slightly, and opened her door. Marching down to Myrna’s room at the end of the corridor, she raised her hand to knock. From inside the room, she heard a moan. Her hand froze. It was a woman’s voice, low and aroused. Trudi heard it repeated twice before it dawned on her what the moan implied. Her hand remained stuck in the air and her feet to the floor.
Her face flushed crimson. She had been such a fool. How could she have let herself have feelings for this man? How could she want him? But she did want him. She did. She wanted to be on the other side of this door, wanted to be in his arms, wanted to be moaning his name in a low and aroused voice. The knot in her stomach sank deep within her, and sweat bloomed from her skin.
Clearly, he didn’t want her. Not her. The starkness of that thought pierced her like a blade. Not her. Not her. She couldn’t face him in the morning. She couldn’t take Myrna’s condescending smile. She saw herself standing alone in the corridor, pathetic in her girlish crush on a man who didn’t care for her. Not her.
She ran. She ran to her room and shoved the contents of her existence into her two sacks and, leaving a denarius, made for the door of the inn. She strode to the stable, woke the stable boy to saddle her horse, and lit out in the night. She could not stay, she told herself. Not now. Not under the same roof with them. She had to get away. Had to.
It was well after midnight but well before dawn. She left by the main gate and took the Roman road toward Selz. She spurred her horse and rode hard into the night. It wasn’t until much later that she slowed her pace and discovered that she was weeping.
Silly girl, she chastised herself, wiping away her tears. You still have power. But she didn’t feel powerful, and her tears fell nonetheless.
***
A ray of morning light stabbed its way through the shutters, penetrating his sleep. Bradius stretched out his hands to shield his eyes and reveled in the rest his body had received. Sleep rarely found him, typically only after he had made love.
Although she was no longer there, the bed still held the impression of Myrna’s body and her musky scent. He inhaled deeply, remembering how soft her skin felt in his hands and how playful she was. Looking up at the door beside him, he wondered how relentless the day of an innkeeper must be. He was hoping she would return to—
An enormous blow hit the door from the other side, and its frame splintered in front of him. Bradius recoiled at the impact. A second crash destroyed the door, and three Lombard soldiers stood before him, one with a blade pointed at his neck.
“Gentlemen,” Bradius pretended to greet them casually, propping himself up on his elbow and pushing away the blade. “Has Myrna taken a husband since I last was here? I swear I had not a clue. I’m not the kind of man who would cuckold—”
One of the soldiers punched his face. Bradius crumpled under the blow, pain lancing through his head. When he sat up, blood poured from his nose. The soldiers clearly did not want to chat, so he waited for instruction. He didn’t have to wait long.
A tall, elegant man in Lombard armor escorted Myrna into the room. Without hesitation, he reached into the bed, grabbed Bradius by the hair, and pulled him to his feet. Bradius stood facing the commander, naked and irate.
“He doesn’t know that she’s not here,” Myrna said. “She left last night.”
“I need you to tell me where she is going,” the commander said.
Not here? Bradius was stunned. Where could she be? Could she have left? Was she hiding? “She’s going home,” Bradius said. “She’s a peasant girl from Nancy. I’m taking her home to her—”
Bradius didn’t even see the blow coming. It caught him on the cheek.
“Tell me where she is,” the commander said.
“If she’s not down the hall,” Bradius said, testing out the movement of his jaw, “I don’t know where she is.”
“Search the building,” the commander ordered one of his men. “Get some clothes on,” he told Bradius. “I will meet you in the serving room downstairs.”
The commander was sitting alone at one of the serving tables. Bradius assumed all other patrons had been chased away. He approached the table, and at a gesture of invitation from the commander sat down opposite him.
“I am Aistulf,” the commander said.
“Liutbrand’s son,” Bradius said.
“And you are?”
“Bradius, formerly of Burgundy.”
Aistulf’s eyes widened in surprise.
“You fought against me at Narbonne.”
Bradius nodded.
“Then you know whom you were accompanying?”
“Yes.”
“Was she your hostage?”
Bradius smiled but said, “No.”
“Given your history, I am surprised by your presence here. As an enemy of her late father and an enemy of her brother, why are you here with her?”
“I am in her debt.”
“You owe her money?”
“My life.”
“And now you are escorting her?”
Bradius nodded.
“Where?”
“Wherever she wishes to go.”
“You know that is no answer. Please, humor me. I have a right to know. I am her betrothed.”
Bradius did not respond.
“You, of course, knew that,” Aistulf stated, sitting back from the table. After a moment’s reflection, he leaned forward again. “I’m curious about your relationship with Hiltrude. You say you owe her your life. Are you romantically involved?”
The questions took him by surprise. He had never allowed himself to consider it, yet … “You found me in another woman’s bed.”
Aistulf nodded, his eyes hard. “A fact that has saved you, my rebellious friend.” He signaled to two of his knights. “Don’t kill him, but make sure he needs a few days to recover.” And with that, Aistulf left the room.
Two hands pulled Bradius to his feet and dragged him to the wall behind him. He struggled to free himself until one of the soldiers kicked him in the groin. Pain lanced from his crotch to his stomach, and nausea swept over him. It took every bit of control he had not to vomit. He found himself lying on the ground looking up at his attackers. He watched them kick his body and face until the pain overwhelmed him. In time, his eyes swelled shut. He could no longer see. All that was left to him was his ability to feel the blows hitting his body.
***
Her hands were raw and stiff and red and chapped. Letting go of the reins, Trudi rubbed her fingers together and cupped them before her mouth. Her breath was warm and wet, billowing white
in the afternoon light. It did little, however, to fend off the cold. She shivered and pulled her brown cloak tightly around her shoulders. It was useless in this mountain weather.
Not for the first time, Trudi had second thoughts about her midnight flight from Metz. Maybe she had gotten the wrong idea. Maybe Bradius would have come with her. Maybe he would have left Myrna behind. Maybe …
No. Bradius did not want her. She felt foolish for thinking he might.
Although she left well past midnight, Trudi had found that she could ride without hindrance. She could clearly see the road’s broad hard outline in the moon’s half-light. It was what she couldn’t see that had bothered her.
Everywhere she looked, she saw danger in the darkness. Black against the horizon, the trees, and shrubs became threats to her. At every turn, marauders and highwaymen waited. How could she defend herself with one arm? Dread seeped into her. Her stomach knotted. She found it hard to breathe. No matter that none of these specters ever materialized, her fear began anew with every change in the landscape. She pushed her horse hard through the night.
It was midmorning when she heard the soldiers on the road. It was just as Bradius had said; voices carrying on the wind, gruff words, and a clank of armor warned her that pursuit was close. She hid from them in the forest. Tethering her horse in the trees, she circled back to watch the road. She stayed hidden in the underbrush, sitting with her back against a poplar tree. In truth, she had needed a rest. Her temples pounded horribly, and her shoulder ached. She laid her head against the trunk and closed her eyes.
She heard their search before she saw them. Three warhorses with Lombard soldiers trotted into view, hunting for tracks in the road. All wore similar uniforms, short chain mail that covered their torsos and a mail skirt made in three sections for flexibility. They moved methodically. Hunters, she thought. It made her heart skip a beat. She hadn’t bothered to cover her tracks. A trickle of sweat formed at the back of her neck and slid down her spine. They moved slowly up the road. One drew near to her hiding place, checking her side of the road. Trudi held her breath.
A lone traveler tried to pass the soldiers heading south. Immediately, the soldiers stopped to question him. Trudi couldn’t hear their words but recognized the tone. Their voices rose threateningly. The soldier on her side of the road moved menacingly behind the traveler. The gesture wasn’t missed. The man shook his head vigorously and pointed back to indicate where he’d been and then forward to show where he was going. At last, they let him leave.
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