The two men began to talk about their sires and events of their childhood, mentioning people that they knew and sharing anecdotes while Alienor ate. The room was blessedly warm and she became sleepy as she sipped her wine and listened to the men.
“You are recently wed then?” Raimon asked at one point, the marked interest in his tone drawing Alienor’s attention.
“Aye, it has been but a few months.”
“I can only assume you hope for an heir soon,” their host remarked, something about his level of curiosity making the hairs prick on the back of Alienor’s neck.
“Perhaps we shall be so blessed one day,” Dagobert replied cheerfully. His hand slipped from Alienor’s shoulder to stroke her cheek gently.
She turned and glanced up at his uncharacteristic show of affection, knowing she would look the adoring wife but wondering why he had not spoken of her pregnancy. ’Twas far enough along that there was little danger of her losing the babe, and she almost parted her lips to mention the fact before the warning in his eyes silenced her. Instead she pressed a tiny kiss against Dagobert’s chin and spared a smile for Raimon.
“Perhaps someday,” she agreed, knowing that the blush that pinkened her cheeks at her falsehood only enhanced the tale.
Raimon chuckled to himself and raised his cup in salute. “I toast your health and happiness,” he said, and all three drank deeply of the wine.
Perhaps ’twas because she had fallen asleep before Raimon’s departure or perhaps ’twas simply that she had imbibed less of the wine that the sounds of heavy footfalls on the stairs woke Alienor in the darkest hours of the night.
From the sounds of clanging steel and stamping feet, a veritable army was assembling outside their door. Why? Alienor reached for Dagobert across the broad bed. He was not there. She sat up abruptly, only to have the room spin at her sudden move. What was amiss? She pressed her fingers to her temples and narrowed her eyes to survey the chamber. Dagobert sprawled in his chair before the fire, snoring softly but not awakened by the riotous noise. Alienor suddenly knew that all was not well.
She forced herself to cross the room to her husband and shake his shoulder. The walls seemed to swim and she marveled at the difficulty she had in walking. Surely she could not be this sleepy.
“Wake up,” she insisted, but to no avail. Dagobert’s arm fell loosely from his lap so that his knuckles brushed the floor, but otherwise he did not stir. She had never known him to sleep heavily. The volume rose as more men evidently arrived and Alienor’s heart began to pound in fear.
“Something is amiss, my lord,” she whispered as she shook her spouse again, this time more roughly. Dagobert murmured something incomprehensible under his breath and tried to brush her hands away.
The latch on the door jiggled, the sound echoing in the silent room. Alienor spun to stare at it. The iron latch moved again and someone spoke gruffly outside the door.
“My lord! Wake up!” In desperation, she slapped Dagobert across the cheek with all her might. His eyes flew open, his hands closing hard on her upper arms.
Before Alienor could explain, the latch rattled more insistently and the men’s voices carried into the room. Dagobert was on his feet, shoving Alienor behind him even as he reached for his blade in its scabbard on the table.
“Touch it not,” came the warning from the portal. Both Alienor and Dagobert looked to find Raimon framed in the doorway, a large retinue of knights with blades at the ready behind him.
Knights attired in the king’s gold and azure.
“You have no need of the blade now,” Raimon added. Alienor shivered at the open hostility in his eyes.
“Why?” Dagobert demanded, capturing Alienor’s cold hands in his own as he shielded her from the view of the men.
“Surely you know the rich price on your head?”
In despair Alienor dropped her forehead to lean against Dagobert’s back even as she heard the first knights step around their host and into the chamber. Dagobert was sorely outnumbered and no one would come to their aid this time. Raimon named that price and her eyes widened.
“’Tis a fair sum, is it not, and more than adequate to restore my coffers to their former state. ’Tis proving most expensive, this lording of lands we were taught to regard as an honor. Though you would know little of such woes at Montsalvat.” His last words were bitter, though Alienor did not know why. She felt the warmth of Dagobert’s hand tighten around her fingers. “Tell me, Dagobert de Pereille, do the locals still pay homage and tithe to the lost kings of Rhedae?” There was a sneer in Raimon’s tone and Alienor felt Dagobert stand taller.
The lost kings of Rhedae? But that was a fable.
“Our fathers fought together,” he reminded their host. “Would you so readily dismiss the loyalty of your own sire?”
“Our fathers were fools,” Raimon declared. “They gained naught by upholding the supposed claim of your birthright, naught but humiliation and terrorization. ’Tis the foolish claim of your line that we have to thank for the ongoing presence of the Inquisition, the ravaging of our fields, the death of our vassals, the pillaging of our wealth. Languedoc has paid a heavy price has Languedoc already, and my own daughter has been among the losses.”
“I heard of your Jeanne’s nuptials,” Dagobert said.
Alienor barely had time to note the thread of caution in his voice before the other man’s replied angrily.
“Nuptials,” he snarled, and Alienor peeked around Dagobert to see Raimon spare a hostile glance at the king’s knights arrayed behind him. “It was no easy task to sign that agreement.” He spoke in a murmur and Alienor thought she saw the glimmer of tears in his eyes. “We no longer need support the cost of harboring your kind in our midst.”
He turned to the knights and gestured to Alienor and Dagobert before turning away. “Take them now from my abode and do not wait until morning. I will not be host to such treachery any longer.”
Chapter 8
“We must search your persons for weapons,” a man said.
Alienor looked up to find a knight before Dagobert, a contingent of other knights behind him with their swords drawn. Raimon had vanished. Dagobert squeezed her hand tightly once more before he removed his chemise. Alienor watched a knight claim her husband’s mail and tunic.
They were truly being arrested. To what purpose? And where would they ride in the middle of the night? It seemed her thoughts were fogged from the wine and she had difficulty making sense of events. There was only a pounding in her head and fear in her belly.
Dagobert stripped to his skin, standing with dignity while the knight checked his garments for hidden weapons. The knight then demanded Dagobert’s signet ring. Dagobert’s lips thinned to a harsh line as he pulled the ring from his finger and surrendered it. Finally satisfied, the knight handed Dagobert his chausses, shirt and boots, his attention turning then to Alienor.
“And now the woman,” he said.
Alienor took a step backward.
“Not a one of you will look upon my wife,” Dagobert asserted, stepping between the knight and Alienor.
“You must understand, sir, that ’tis our duty,” the man began, but Dagobert interrupted him.
“Aye, and you must understand that my lady wife will not reveal herself to a company of men, as if she were a tavern whore,” he retorted. “Fetch a screen that she may disrobe out of view if you must examine her garments.”
Much to Alienor’s relief, the deed was managed thus, though still her cheeks burned scarlet. She and Dagobert were permitted their own garments, though his mail, weapons and any evidence of his insignia were long gone. Dagobert held her hand as if he sensed her terror at what was happening to them, and she wished that they had a moment of privacy.
Dagobert’s destrier had been saddled by the time they reached the dark courtyard, though without its caparisons, and the knight indicated that Dagobert might ride his steed.
“Where is my second beast?” Dagobert asked and the knight pointe
d to Raimon’s stables.
“We cannot let the woman ride alone.”
Dagobert nodded, his grip tightening once again on Alienor’s hand. “Then bring the beast with us or set it free to run,” he said. “The count has earned enough reward for his betrayal of a neighbor without the gift of such a fine horse.”
The knight studied Dagobert’s stern countenance for a moment, then nodded before he turned and instructed another to release the horse. That done, the man indicated another mount with a knight already astride to Alienor.
Dagobert shook his head, refusing to release her hand. “My wife rides with me.” When the knight looked as though he might contest the point, Dagobert indicated the way his charger’s reins were securely tied to two other knights’ saddles. “You do not mean that I should escape and I will not watch another fondle my lady on this last ride.”
The knight shook his head. “You have an argument for every detail.” He raised a hand in concession. “I cannot refuse you something so simple at this late hour.” With that, he waved Dagobert toward his horse and strode away in the darkness to his own mount.
Last ride. Dagobert’s words echoed through Alienor’s thoughts, drawing a shadow of dread over her heart. What had he meant? Their last ride together or his last ride ever?
“Where do we ride?” Alienor whispered as Dagobert lifted her up into his saddle.
“To Paris of course, love,” he murmured, swinging up behind her and anchoring her tightly against him with one arm. “To await the judgment of the king.”
“Judgment for what crime?” She could not fail to notice that he had used that endearment again.
“Disloyalty to the crown.” Dagobert’s tone was grim. “’Tis a hanging offense and one of which I am most assuredly guilty.”
Alienor twisted to face him but he met her gaze steadily, then nodded once.
The lost kings of Rhedae. ’Twas true.
Worse, her husband had a claim to the throne, and he would die for it.
The journey to Paris was slow, the combination of Dagobert’s destrier being tied to two other mounts and the size of the retinue of knights making daily progress almost nonexistent. It seemed that each morning Alienor could see the town on the next hill where they would end up stopping that night, and the monotony of the days fairly drove her mad.
That the drawn-out journey extended Dagobert’s life was the sole consolation. Despite the fact that they rode together, they had precious little time to talk in private, since another knight almost invariably rode close beside them. At night, their hands and feet were bound and secured to some heavy piece of furniture or post in a common room of the taverns where they stayed. They were permitted the luxury of sleeping beside each other. Though the others surrounded them, Alienor could still curl up against Dagobert’s warmth.
Occasionally as they rode together in the daylight she would feel his hand steal over her stomach, his gesture hidden by the fullness of her pelisson. Dagobert’s fingers would spread as he secretly felt the ripening curve of her belly, and if she glanced up at that moment, she would glimpse the faintest curve of a smile on his lips. Often, she would turn to burrow her face against his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist and feigning sleep after such a moment, content to feel his arms tighten securely around her.
’Twas the end of May when the troupe crested a hill and Alienor saw the dark snake of the river Seine for the first time. In its midst was the cluster of buildings on the Île de la Cité, the island that was the fortress of the Capetian kings. The buildings of Paris spread out around the island in concentric circles, shops and homes, markets and merchants’ stalls.
As the knights urged their steeds forward, doubtless glad to be within sight of home again, the details of the city became more distinguishable. Alienor was intrigued despite her fears for the future. She had never before seen such a vast settlement and the practical implications of its size were overwhelming. At Montsalvat, there were several hundred souls living within the keep, but adequate water and food could be a problem. Like the fortress, Paris had no crops and pastures within its walls. As they approached the city gates, the road grew ever more crowded with carts of perishables being hauled to market.
There was so much to see that it seemed only moments had passed before they were within the sprawl of the city, the smell of the streets temporarily destroying Alienor’s interest. Now she understood Guibert’s old jest that an experienced traveler could tell whether he rested one league or two from Paris simply by the pungency of the smell.
Far ahead, the double towers of Notre Dame Cathedral rose high against the cloudy sky. Their heavier square shape was a sharp contrast to the delicate spire of the newly completed Sainte Chapelle Church within the king’s palace. A light drizzle fell on the party of knights as they made their way to the citadel, the mist seeming an ominous portent of what was to come.
They made slow progress through the crowded streets, giving Alienor the opportunity to watch the bustle of bakeries and boucheries, the throngs of people returning even at this early hour from the markets. Children darted back and forth across the muddy streets, their mothers shouting while mongrel dogs barked at one another in feigned aggression. The mud road turned to stone as they approached the city center.
Horses’ hooves echoed on the stone, the sounds of the troop’s mounts blending with the footfalls of numerous other knights’ and squires’ steeds, plough horses and elderly beasts pressed into service to pull farmers’ carts. Pigs and goats milled around the company as they were herded toward the market. Pigeons and swallows swooped over the crowd, cats ignored everyone from their perches on window ledges, and a man’s voice raised in lusty song carried to their ears from some hidden courtyard.
They crossed the bridge to the island, the Seine rolling beneath them on its rapid path northwestward. Its dark surface hinted of mysterious secrets lurking in its depths. Alienor looked up with awe at the smooth stone face of the fortress that the king of France called his palace. The buff-colored stones were fitted together so expertly that the seams between the stones were barely visible. The smooth expanse rose high above the river and bridge, topped by soaring conical towers. Flags sporting the king’s insignia fluttered above the towers far overhead, the deep blue and gold that she had grown to distrust snapping in the breeze.
What fate awaited them here?
They were stopped at the gate by the king’s guards and dragged from the saddle, their hands bound once again. Alienor was shoved forward and she almost panicked. A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed that Dagobert was right behind her, his expression thunderous at their treatment.
The Great Room of the Capetian kings was built entirely of stone. The vaulted ceiling rose from gracefully rounded columns, and the supporting bows arched to meet at elaborately carved keystones. Fireplaces were evenly spaced along the two longest walls, fires blazing in two of them despite the early hour, the smell of roasting meat already rising in the air. Alienor scarcely had the chance to notice her surroundings.
The low rumble of myriad voices filled her ears, the warmth and noise telling her that the hall was full of men. The smoke from the fires stung her eyes as she was ushered through the hall. A great portal with a barred opening swung wide at the far end of the room and she was urged down dark stairs. The air grew damper and she shivered, feeling for each step with her toe despite the prodding of the man who pushed her onward. The darkness and inability to use her hands struck terror in her that she might fall, and the fathomless shadows gave no clue as to how long the staircase was.
A clang echoed down the staircase and the voices from above grew more distant as the heavy door closed. Keys jingled below, a lamp bobbed ahead, and Alienor’s eyes adjusted to the darkness enough to pick out a careworn older man sitting at a ledger. He spared a disinterested glance for Alienor and Dagobert, continuing with his scribbling.
“’Tis a casual pace you take, Imbert,” the jailer observed, making a note in his ledger
. “And with one the king is most anxious to entertain.”
“There were too many of us for the task,” the knight who had arrested them said. “And well you know it, Otho.”
The jailer flicked a thumb at Alienor. “Who is the woman?”
“His wife.”
The jailer’s eyebrows rose, his gaze now assessing as it slid over her. Alienor felt Dagobert stiffen beside her but she kept her eyes downcast, hoping that the situation would not become worse than it already was.
“’Tis no wonder you would have her to the last,” the jailer commented to Dagobert with a wink. “I will not be the one to spoil your pleasure.” He picked up his keys and worked through them until he found the one he sought. He shot a sharp glance at the other knight as he stood. “Have you naught better to occupy yourself, Imbert?” he demanded. “’Tis a foul smell you bring to my dungeon, truth be told.”
The other knight’s eyes narrowed but he stepped away, smiling as he eyed the jailer. “’Tis the king who plots my path, not I, and you know it well, Otho.”
The jailer watched the knight climb the stairs before turning his attention back to the two that stood before him. The two men studied each other in silence for a moment, the shorter man finally bowing his head in the gesture of deference.
“I am from Mirepoix,” the jailer confessed in an undertone, naming a town near Montsalvat, and Alienor’s heart leapt.
Might he assist them to escape? Some of her hope must have shown in her eyes for the older man shook his head slowly.
“No, lady. I am not so selfless as to exchange my family’s lives for yours.” Hope died a quick death in Alienor’s heart as the jailer took a few steps along the stone hallway. He beckoned for them to follow.
“’Tis not luxurious accommodations,” he observed as they trailed behind him. “You will have a larger, drier cell and each other’s company for this night at least.”
Unicorn Bride: A Medieval Romance Page 17