A cursory glance at the vast enclosure revealed only three stone buildings. A two-story villa dominated the space. The stables stood to the side, and a spacious, windowless larder looked large enough to store grain, nuts, dried fish, and meats for the long winters.
The bailiff led them to the luxurious villa probably built for the Roman general in charge of the ancient garrison. They entered through a wide double door flanked by two columns. Inside the main hall, a mosaic on the floor represented Pagan gods at play, but even Venus in the nude didn’t compare to Sigefroi’s earlier vision of the naked lass.
The baking aroma floated from a large oven built into the wall of the hall. Women stuffed a new batch of round loaves in the red brick mouth of the oven while children fed dry wood to the roaring fire underneath.
“Please, my lords, make yourselves comfortable.” The bailiff indicated the massive table then walked away, giving orders to the servants in hushed tones.
Sigefroi and Gunter sat on benches. Sigefroi removed his helmet, set it on the table and stretched his legs, welcoming the warmth.
Soon, Thierry came in from the stable and, although the bailiff scowled, Sigefroi motioned for the lad to join them at the guest table. Servants usually ate in the kitchen but Thierry was a squire, a future knight. Sigefroi loved him like a younger brother.
Thierry smiled broadly and sat next to him.
Sigefroi ruffled the lad’s blond hair. “You must be hungry.”
The servants brought trays loaded with a healthy fare of goat cheese, oven-warm buckwheat bread, fresh butter, and boiled eggs, along with goblets and a pitcher of ale.
Gunter winked at Sigefroi then addressed the bailiff who fussed with the servants, “Don’t you have wine to serve your important guests?”
The bailiff ambled toward the table, gazed down at his boots and pressed his thin lips together. “You see, we send the wine to the abbey in Trier... for celebrating mass.”
Gunter frowned. “All the wine?”
The rotund man bowed. “I’m afraid so.”
Sigefroi recognized the blatant lie. The man didn’t get his rubicund face from drinking water or weak ale.
Grasping his sword hilt, Sigefroi half rose. “Do not tell me that the protector of St Maximin’s Abbey can’t have wine, Bailiff! Not if you want your head to remain on your shoulders.”
The bailiff paled and bowed to Sigefroi, quickly, several times. “Of course, my lord. Anything for the protector of our abbey.”
As the man retreated toward the stone stairs leading down to the cellar, Sigefroi wondered how many casks the weasel had managed to sneak away from the good monks. A pitcher of wine came, and they devoured the food.
Once his stomach full, Sigefroi inspected the ramparts and climbed the stairs to the square watchtower, made of the same stone as the fort itself and just as old. A choice bird’s-eye view indeed. The tower overlooked the river, its stone bridge, and the wide Roman road from Rheims and Arlon to Trier.
Through the arched window, Sigefroi’s gaze embraced a dark green valley, and at the bottom of the cliff, the Alzette flowed in a gracious loop encircling the Bock promontory.
This would be the perfect location for his purpose, only a short day’s ride from Trier, the imperial city. Sigefroi could already envision his future might. From here, he would rule his lands, rally his vassals, and levy an army... the beginning of his dream.
Birds chirped in the vines, intruding on his thoughts. Sigefroi filled his lungs with crisp air, listening to the peaceful birdsongs. Among the twitter, he thought he heard singing. A pure angelic voice. He strained his eyes against the sun’s reflection on the snaking river. There, something disturbed the even flow. It looked like the naked lass he’d seen earlier.
How could anyone enjoy such frigid waters for so long? Just then, a bright flash of sunlight on water blinded him. Sigefroi raised one hand against the glare. The furtive apparition was gone. He waited eagerly for her to resurface, but she did not.
Now Sigefroi remembered where he’d seen the girl before. In a dream. That must be the root of his obsession, a fantasy straight from his imagination. He shook his head to dislodge the spell. He had to focus on the real world. He’d neglected his body’s needs. How long had it been since he’d ravished a woman? He needed to bed a wench... and soon.
* * *
Melusine had stopped singing to glance at the tower the moment she’d sensed Sigefroi spying on her from the high window. The barbaric knight had the piercing eyesight of a falcon. Good thing Melusine carried a small silver mirror in a pouch around her neck. Assessing the position of the sun, she’d angled the mirror to blind the importune knight.
That ought to teach him. As soon as Sigefroi shaded his eyes, Melusine dove, swimming upstream underwater. The man was becoming a nuisance. She needed to find out whether or not he was the one, and she knew exactly whom to ask. There were dangers involved, but she needed to know.
Past the safety of overhanging rocks, all the way to the Petrusse River, Melusine swam along the loops of the deep gorge until she recognized the grotto and the miraculous spring, where she worshiped the Mother Goddess. Despite the swollen river at this time of year, the grotto stood high up in the rock.
Melusine didn’t dare venture so far on shore in serpent form. Without her legs to run, discovery would be deadly. And even if she managed to escape by sprouting wings, she would have to leave the Alzette, the home she’d learned to love.
So she followed the current on to the next place of worship along the gorge, where two lofty oaks framed a rock formation in the shape of a giant skull. A magic place to be sure, but as often evil as holy. Twisted mortals misconstrued its power and used it to summon dark demons. Melusine shuddered at the thought as she hefted herself upon a rock and sang.
Gradually, her pristine chant purified the place. When birds and insects resumed chirping, Melusine felt satisfied that no thread of evil lingered. Eyes closed, she summoned the Great Mother.
“O Magnificent Goddess, our guide and mother on this hostile planet since the birth of mankind, hear my plea and look upon me.”
In the stillness that followed the invocation, the wind rustled, carrying a whiff of cherry blossom. When she opened her eyes, an eerie shimmer on the water told Melusine that her plea had been heard.
Upon Skull Rock, a giant face appeared, flawless and smooth. No emotions marred its serenity, but power stirred in the bottomless depths of the dark eyes.
“Unworthy daughter,” the woman’s voice whispered with surprising clarity. “How dare you summon me after your hideous crime.”
Melusine shivered at the reminder. “That was so very long ago, Great One. I was but a child and knew not what I did. I have suffered the curse ever since. Shouldn’t that be enough?”
“No curse can ever erase the torment you and your sisters caused to your loving father!” The strong whisper blew cold on her skin.
“I know that, Dear Goddess, and I will regret the deed all my life.” Tears threatened to overcome Melusine at the memory of her father’s fate. She also missed her two sisters, cursed and exiled to opposite ends of the civilized world with curses of their own. “But over fourteen decades of guilt ought to redeem my mistake.”
“How dare you question your punishment!” The voice snapped and echoed off the cliffs.
Remembering the might of the Goddess, Melusine checked her temper. “I dare not, O Great One. Our birth mother punished us as she saw fit.”
“That’s better.” The voice softened. “Now, state your request.”
“I wish to know if my freedom from the curse is near.” Melusine searched for a reaction on the giant stone face but saw none. “Is the knight I saw today the Sigefroi who can bring forth my release?”
The Goddess chuckled mirthlessly. “Aye, Sigefroi of Ardennes could release you from the curse, if you can get him to marry you.”
Melusine swallowed painfully. Still a virgin despite her age, she couldn’t fathom wedding this ruthless, unpredic
table knight. The thought brought with it fear, but also a secret thrill at the challenge.
Her chest filled with bubbling hope. “All I have to do is marry him?”
The clear feminine laugh bounced against the tall cliffs of the gorge. “No, that’s not all, child. There is much to do here. This countryside needs more peaceful fields, the rivers more traders, and the towns more markets. But above all, I want you to build formidable castles and stone fortresses to protect them all.”
“Me? But I know nothing about building fortresses!”
The great face upon Skull Rock smiled mysteriously. “You used to know... Have you forgotten?”
“Oh!” Heat rose to Melusine’s throat and cheeks. How humiliating to be reminded of such a simple principle as past lives. “I had visions, of course, but the knowledge is vague.”
“Close your eyes, child. I will show you.”
Melusine wanted to retort that she was no child, but thought better of it and obeyed.
Before her mind’s eye stood a splendid fortress, built for giants in forgotten times of demigods, and half-mortals much like her. Troy! Magnificent and impregnable, and in front of its walls stood Achilles, her enemy... Melusine, who wore many names even then, was worshiped as Athena by swarms of loyal Greeks.
She did remember Troy clearly now. She had inspired Ulysses. Told him to build a horse. After the victory she had studied the pattern of the gigantic stones. She had pondered over the genius of skillful builders and military leaders. Aye. She knew all about building forts. “I do remember now, Great One. I shall design the best stronghold for Sigefroi.”
“It may not be enough, though...” The whispering breeze stilled.
Melusine wondered whether the Goddess had departed. “Not enough?”
“Aye.” The vibration resumed. The Goddess was still here. “You must not only win Sigefroi’s love, but also love him back, become the source of his power, his pillar of strength, the root of his dynasty, the mother of his children. You shall protect and support him blindly, no matter what his actions bring. If you do, your heirs will rule from the North Sea to the lands of the Rus tribes in the east, and accomplish magnificent deeds.”
“I see...” A secret thrill coursed through Melusine’s body.
“But as Sigefroi becomes dearer than your own flesh and blood, you will suffer his disappointments, fear for his life, watch him grow old, and one day mourn his passing.”
Melusine remembered what her aunt Morgane used to say. The hardest thing about living so long is to watch those you love grow old, wither, and die. So, that would be her true punishment, the only pain that could redeem her from the curse... loving a mortal. “I understand, O Great One.”
“Yet, there is more, my child.”
“More?” Suppressing a protest, Melusine braced herself as she felt the worst was yet to come.
The face of the Goddess on Skull Rock hardened slightly. “Your unholy secret and your Fae blood must remain undiscovered.”
“Undiscovered?” Melusine stuttered with panic. “But if we live together, how can he not find out?”
“If by misfortune he chances upon your secret, he must take it to his grave.”
Melusine swallowed hard. “And that will end the curse?”
“Only if he keeps your secret.” The Goddess sighed, and Melusine felt her powerful breath on her cheeks.
Despite the harsh conditions of her release, Melusine allowed hope to warm her. “I thank you, for this rare opportunity to serve your higher purpose, O Great one.”
The Lady’s face on Skull Rock smiled sadly. “Beware, my child, of Sigefroi’s entanglements with the Church.”
The compassionate warning surprised Melusine. She shuddered at the words. “The Church?”
“Just as surely as he can save you from the curse, this ambitious knight can lead you to a horrible death.” The words of doom echoed through the gorge.
Melusine bowed, her heart racing. “I accept the challenge.”
“But in order to seduce a great knight, you will need a great sword.”
Melusine felt the ripple of power as a glinting blade surged straight up out of the water surrounding her rock. She recognized the sword. She had seen it before. As she bent to take it from the shining water, she uttered with reverence, “Caliburn...”
A hissing sound, a rustle on the wind, and the eerie power vanished. The Great One had left. Between the two trees, Skull Rock looked like its old sneering self again.
Melusine caressed the sword of power with great respect. Caliburn had brought many victories throughout history, and protected its bearers without fail. It had been her father’s sword for a time.
In a daze, Melusine realized that the sheen on the scales of her lower body had dulled. Her serpent tail had dried and itched. How long had she been out of the water? Holding the sword, she pushed herself off the flat rock and splashed into the welcoming flow.
The cold stream, however, did not ease her unrest. Like the splendid weapon, the offer from the Goddess carried a double edge. Would Melusine find with Sigefroi her redemption from the curse? Or would she end up burning at the stake?
Chapter Two
One week later, St Maximin Abbey in Trier, Ottonian Empire.
No music could charm Sigefroi’s ears like the grating of quill on parchment, especially when the deed being drawn granted him a coveted property, like just now. Around him, the high arches of St Maximin buzzed with the voices of many nobles, guards, monks, and curious folk attracted by the public event.
Despite the giant log burning in the monumental fireplace, Sigefroi felt a chill as he sat at the massive oak table. He had traded his chain mail for a white silk tunic and red woolen chausses that molded the muscles of his legs. Armed only with a short blade, he felt vulnerable in court attire.
Paying no heed to the two archbishops in full regalia, or to his brother Frederick of High Lorraine sitting across the table, Sigefroi focused on the movement and sound of the abbot’s quill. From somewhere in the monastery, the melodious voices of monks chanting the psalms marked the mid-morning prayers.
After returning the quill to the inkhorn, the abbot sprinkled thin sand to blot the rich brown ink then blew on it, sending the candle flames aflutter. Holding the open scroll, he cleared his throat and read.
“In exchange for the town of Feulen and its surrounding fields, St Maximin gives Sigefroi of Ardennes, son of the Duke of Lorraine, ownership of Lucilinburhuc, from the Alzette River to the old tree trunks lying about half a league outside the fortifications. The total property averages one manse, enough land to support a village of serfs and a noble family with the usual servants.”
Sigefroi knew full well the abbey profited from the deal. “I gather the good lands of Feulen will compensate you handsomely.”
The abbot offered a thin smile. “We appreciate your generosity, my lord.”
When the abbot handed the document to Sigefroi, eight silk cords hanging from the deed brushed the table. The prelate then pushed toward him the wad of green wax and the lit candle. The wax stick crackled and spattered when Sigefroi melted its tip to the flame. Laying two of the hanging threads on the smooth table, he lavished on them a generous amount of wax. Then he made a fist and stamped down the flat of his oval signet ring.
Leaning back in the chair, the venerable abbot sighed. “This little fort is a piece of history... given to our abbey by Charles Martell of France, two and a half centuries past.” He sustained Sigefroi’s stare. “But of late, the crops do not yield enough to maintain it the way it deserves.”
The face of the rotund bailiff with shifty eyes flashed in Sigefroi’s mind. Remembering the overstuffed larder at the end of a long winter, he knew the man cheated the good monks. Sigefroi would see that the bailiff received just retribution.
The abbot looked upon Sigefroi with indulgence... his way of telling him he’d overpaid by exchanging fertile lands for a worthless pile of rocks.
Sigefroi didn’t mind.
He had what he wanted. Only a warrior could grasp the full value of an inviolable fort. “While you need churches and abbeys to spread the true faith, Lord Abbot, a Christian lord needs fortresses to gather his armies, ward off the heathens, and protect abbeys and churches from greedy neighbors.”
Carefully separating the hardening wax from his signet ring, then the cooling wax from the tabletop, Sigefroi handed the document with its dangling seal to Archbishop Henri of Verdun, who had been talking in quiet tones with Archbishop Bruno, brother of Emperor Otto.
“And a Christian lord needs Holy Mother Church to validate his power,” Archbishop Henri declared in a stentorian voice.
A hush settled upon the vast hall.
“For without God’s rule and holy purpose, knights are naught but highway predators.” For emphasis, the Archbishop shook his fist holding a heavy brass seal, symbol of his position and authority.
A murmur of assent rose from the standing crowd witnessing the event from behind the red ropes a few paces away.
Sigefroi repressed a smile as he finished cleaning bits of green wax from his signet ring with one nail. He’d heard the prelate’s dramatic harangues before. “I couldn’t agree more, Your Grace.”
He knew better than to antagonize an archbishop. The Church crowned and excommunicated kings and emperors at will. Only with its support could any kind of power be achieved.
The prelate read the deed, mumbling to himself the Latin words, nodding at intervals. With a flourish that underlined the importance of the occasion, the archbishop delicately placed two silky cords across the base of his double seal. He filled the disk with melted wax before pressing the other half carefully upon it. Soft shiny waves oozed around the edges.
Sigefroi congratulated himself for his strong connections among the princes of the Church. Not all of them approved of a new power in their midst, however. Some corrupt prelates had requested outrageous donations to their cathedral funds while others demanded promises of military support. Once, Sigefroi even had to supply a comely wench to win a prelate’s good graces.
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