“The grace or the selfishness?” demanded one of the seneschals. “I believe you have only one child, Lady Iolande, and Alzeu had need of a son.”
Iolande cast him a look that could have curdled fresh milk.
“Who was his sire?” the king asked.
Iolande looked back at him. “An ostler we employed at the time.”
“An ostler?” one of the king’s counselors echoed skeptically.
Dagobert almost agreed with him. She would call him the son of a mere ostler?
“He was a finely made man,” Iolande said tightly. The faint flush that stained her cheeks lent credibility to her tale.
Dagobert might have laughed aloud in other circumstance at the absurdity of this declaration. Even he knew that his mother had thawed for no man other than his own sire. The bustle between the ministers behind him told Dagobert that they believed her tale and he permitted himself to wonder whether her audacious ploy might actually work.
“Who else knows of this?” the skeptic demanded.
Iolande treated him to her most frosty glare. “For the sake of my husband’s honor, the tale never left our chamber. The ostler and even the boy had no inkling of the truth.”
“And where is this ostler now?” demanded another.
“It has been almost thirty summers since I have seen the man,” Iolande admitted. “My husband would no longer have him within the keep and he was dismissed. I know not where he went nor even the fullness of his name.” This answer was received less happily, but the king rose to his feet when he saw that there were no more questions.
“Indeed we must confer over this new development,” he told Iolande with a polite nod of his head. She curtsied in response. Excited chatter broke out amongst the observers as the king and his advisers filed into a small antechamber behind the court.
Dagobert was amazed by his mother’s lie, but remembered how she had asked him to abandon his quest. She would have him deny his sire to save his own life, instead. Despite any qualms he had about supporting an untruth and any shame that lie in denying his birthright, the prospect of survival was dangerously tempting. Unable to help himself, he stole another glance at Alienor.
His wife was obviously upset, perhaps uncertain what to believe, and he let the sight of her distress fill all the hollow spaces within him. He dared to hope that she truly cared for his welfare.
Years with Alienor were the only inducement that could have convinced him to endorse this lie and he felt his heart sway in favor of Iolande’s move. Alienor’s gaze was fixed on the door to the antechamber and Dagobert took the opportunity to survey her, realizing that his memory had done her an injustice.
’Twas a deep gold kirtle she wore that highlighted her coloring wondrously, so full in cut that the babe was easily hidden within its drape. Dagobert had not seen the garment before. He glanced to the man beside Alienor, having nary a doubt that ’twould be Eustache who cared for his wife. He was shocked to recognize Jordan de Soissons.
What was that black-hearted knight doing here? And standing alongside his Alienor as if he had every right in the world to be there?
Alienor glanced down to Dagobert in that moment and he had not the time to conceal his fury. She recoiled and took a half step backward. The way that Jordan seized her arm and steadied her brought Dagobert closer to murder than he had ever been.
The king and his counselors filed back onto the dais above him as he struggled to make sense of what he saw. That the knave bought clothes for Alienor was sign enough that she warmed his bed. The very notion that his wife welcomed Jordan, of all men, while he languished in prison made Dagobert yearn to rip the man apart with his hands. How could she have chosen the one man who had betrayed him? He wondered yet again what role Alienor had played in his downfall. Had she not urged him to take the main road? Had her encouragement not brought them to Toulouse and Raimon’s treachery?
Would Dagobert deny his legacy for this woman? Never! Would he renounce his sire to spend years with a woman who betrayed him time and time again? Never! Only Eustache had seen the truth of her ways and he had been a fool to discount the man’s insight. No longer! He was born of the line of kings in truth and he cared not who knew it. He would die of the line of kings, as well.
“We have reached a decision,” a clerk’s voice came from above, the little man jumping back when Dagobert leapt up from his place with blazing eyes.
“You can make no decision without all of the facts!” he roared, disregarding the warning in Iolande’s eyes as he reached for the front of his tunic. “Alzeu de Pereille was my sire and my mother knows it well, for I bear the mark of his line.” He grabbed two fistfuls of the cheap cloth and the fabric rent, baring his chest to all.
“Behold the mark of kings!” he cried, savoring the shock that settled over the features of those assembled when they saw his birthmark.
It was the shape of a cross, burning red upon his flesh, just as Alzeu’s had been.
“My lord,” a noblewoman gasped. She fell to her knees before Dagobert with tear-filled eyes and reverently pressed her lips to his bare and dirty foot. “Long have we awaited your return.”
He had but laid his hand on her head before he was surrounded by masses of people brushing their lips across his toes and his fingertips. A few bold ones dared to touch the port-wine cross of his birthmark itself. Others tore snippets of his robe and stole them away. The healing powers of kings were said to permeate even their garments. Dagobert recalled tales of old kings and his forebears who had gone amongst their people and returned naked.
And now ’twas happening to him.
Dagobert looked up to meet his mother’s horrified gaze. She shook her head and abruptly turned away, disappearing almost immediately into the press of people. He tried to spot Alienor in the crowd but could not. His heart sank when the jailer bound his hands behind his back with a newfound roughness and Dagobert realized the high price of his injured pride.
Chapter 10
“Iolande!” Alienor shouted at the older woman’s departing figure. She knew that if she lost sight of Iolande she would never find her again in Paris.
“Alienor!” Jordan was snared in the crowd somewhere behind her, but Alienor ignored his cries. They both fought against a seemingly endless press of people, all bent on reaching Dagobert.
Her path cleared and Alienor hastened onward when she spotted Iolande ahead.
The older woman’s lips softened at the sight of her. “I thought ’twas you,” she confessed, an uncharacteristic quiver in her voice. She gathered Alienor into a tight hug as soon as she could. Alienor was surprised to feel the older woman trembling slightly and she returned her embrace tightly. Iolande pulled back and glanced downward when the fullness of Alienor’s belly pressed against her. “How is the child?”
Alienor lifted one finger to her lips. “Well enough, but Dagobert said to keep its existence secret,” she whispered.
Iolande nodded in understanding. “I am relieved to hear that he retains some measure of his wits.” She flicked a glance at the people pressing against the door to the dungeons and her anger with Dagobert’s impulsiveness was more than clear.
“But I do not understand,” Alienor admitted, unable to keep from asking the question. “Who was Dagobert’s sire?”
Iolande snorted. “Alzeu, of course.”
Alienor’s heart leapt at this confirmation of the tale Dagobert himself had told her. “Then why...” she began to ask, but got no further before the older woman cut her short.
“I thought to save the fool’s life,” Iolande explained bitterly. “But, ever like his sire, he would have none of it. These men take their vows too seriously.”
“Would you not have him keep his word?”
“I would have him live.”
Alienor opened her mouth, then closed it again, uncertain what to think of Dagobert’s decision. Why had he declared himself of the line of kings when the possibility of his freedom loomed so near? She recalled
the blaze of his eyes when he had met her regard and feared she knew. Was it because of her presence? Was he so reluctant to spend his life with her that he would rather die?
Or did he keep his vow to his father, and insist that the truth be known?
Jordan reached the women then, his lips curving in a smile when he saw Iolande.
She spoke sharply to him before he could greet her. “’Tis none other than the serpent himself.” She turned to Alienor, her expression disapproving. “I had hoped that you were not in his company.”
“Jordan obtained my release,” Alienor explained.
“And to what purpose?” Iolande demanded. “Surely we all know this knight to be a less than altruistic soul.”
To Alienor’s surprise, Jordan straightened and faced Iolande squarely. “If I ever had a dubious purpose in your view, ’tis abandoned now.”
Iolande snorted while Alienor stared at Jordan in shock.
Then she remembered his gasp when Dagobert had bared his chest.
Surely he was not one who believed?
“I had not guessed that the old tales came truly to life,” Jordan confessed with apparent sincerity. “I thought only that Dagobert preyed upon his people’s beliefs to further his own ambition and there is naught lower, in my view, than that.”
“Then you had no understanding of the full measure of the man,” Iolande replied.
Jordan had the grace to redden. “I would never have believed it if I had not seen the mark of the cross myself.” He ran a hand over his hair and looked astonished. “To think that there was truth in the old tales all along. To think that the kings of Rhedae exist!” It seemed his entire world had been turned askew by the restoration of his faith in legends and tales, but Alienor remained skeptical of his changed perspective.
“I owe an apology to your house, Countess,” he said to Iolande.
Her expression thawed slightly but her tone did not change at all. “Words have little cost and less merit,” she said. The knight looked abashed at her censure. “And seizing my son’s wife for your own lends little credence to your apology.”
Alienor gasped at Iolande’s assumption but Jordan shook his head. “I have not laid a hand on her.”
“A likely tale.” Iolande scoffed, but Alienor saw that she was not sure any longer.
“The lady refused my advance,” Jordan continued. “She vowed to remain faithful to her husband while he lived.” He turned quickly to Alienor. “Have I not honored your wish?”
Alienor felt the weight of Iolande’s gaze on her, as well. “Aye.” She turned to Iolande. “There is a widow who sees to his needs, as she did before my arrival. He sleeps on a straw pallet, leaving me the bed.”
Iolande looked thoughtful for a moment, then addressed the knight. “’Twould indeed seem that you change your ways, serpent, but I would still know the fullness of your intent.”
“My insult is not yet repaid,” Jordan acknowledged with a nod. “Indeed, there is only one task I may assume to undo the wrong I have brought to you and your family.”
Iolande said naught, but waited and watched.
Jordan took a breath and his next words fell in a rush. “I would make amends for my part in seeing Dagobert imprisoned by correcting the wrong. I will help to secure his release.”
Fear flashed in Iolande’s eyes even as Alienor caught her breath in wonder, then the older woman ushered them quickly into the sunlight.
“’Tis hardly fitting to discuss the matter in the king’s own hall,” she chided. Her expression had changed, though, and Alienor knew they both felt new hope.
“Come stay with Alienor,” Jordan offered. “The widow will be more than happy to welcome me for the fullness of the night.”
And so it was done, though the notion of accepting Jordan’s hospitality would have been unthinkable but moments before.
There was naught like solitude and certain death to persuade a man to reconsider the choices made in his life. Dagobert had no distraction from that task in his dark cell beneath the palace.
Why had Alienor been with Jordan? Once his jealousy had faded and his reason returned, Dagobert could not explain the situation. He knew Alienor was not witless, and he had no doubt that she disliked the knight who served the crown. She could not be in his company by choice.
And where was Eustache? Dagobert had not spied his friend and comrade in the court. It was possible he had missed the older knight, but Eustache had not been near either Iolande or Alienor. What if he was not in Paris?
If Eustache was not in Paris, then he could not have sponsored Alienor’s release.
And that conclusion gave Dagobert a very plausible reason for his wife being in Jordan’s company. How that unscrupulous knight would have enjoyed finding Alienor in distress! Dagobert had no doubt that a man like Jordan would have been quick to ensure that Alienor was in his debt.
And she was possessed of such honor that she would not have fled him, not if his coin had seen her freed.
Dagobert paced and paced, but he could find no other explanation, as much as he disliked the one he had found.
Worse, it was his own fault. His lady wife was alone in Paris, alone without a denier to her name, in possession of only the clothes upon her back. He had brought her from Montsalvat, away from every person she knew. If she was beholden to a man like Jordan because of his own choices, Dagobert could only despise what he had done.
He had wondered once what he had to offer his bride, but the truth was he had given her far less than was even her due. He had put the pledge sworn to his father above his marital vows to her, even though he knew that their chances of success diminished with every passing day. He had ceded to Eustache’s distrust of all others, even though his heart had urged him to trust his wife. He had refused to speak to her, or to confide in her, and in so doing, he had lost any right to expect her respect—let alone her affection. She carried his child, despite his shortcomings, and he bowed his head in the darkened cell, wishing his fate could be otherwise.
He had erred and he had failed. Dagobert wished with all his heart that he might have the opportunity to make amends, but he knew that would never be. He loved Alienor, but he had never even hinted of his feelings for her. He loved her compassion and her fortitude. He loved the fiery flash of her eyes, and her loyalty to one—such as himself—who had done little to deserve it. He had given her pleasure, but that, he knew, was far less than her due.
He would die with the burden of his failure to his lady wife upon his heart.
Little did he realize that his fervent wish was destined to come true.
’Twas two days later that the announcement was made: Dagobert would be executed at dawn the subsequent morning. Iolande, Alienor and Jordan met in the room that the women shared over the bakery to argue their options one last time. Time had run out on their heated dispute, and all knew that for lack of a better alternative, they would have to follow Jordan’s plan. Neither of the women liked it, but both were forced to concede that ’twas the most likely scheme to yield success.
Late that evening when the city had quieted, the threesome reached the palace. Iolande pressed Jordan’s hand between her own, her gratitude finding no words in these last moments. She nodded once to Alienor before slipping into the darkness to do her part, her darkly shrouded figure quickly blending with the shadows. Alienor took a deep breath as she entered the hall with Jordan and they began their ruse.
“’Tis pure folly to think you will be allowed to see him,” Jordan complained loudly as they crossed the threshold. He wore a long cloak as well as his tabard and tunic, and had his helmet tucked beneath his arm.
Alienor began a tirade of recrimination at his poor treatment of her. He made an effort to soothe her, but her voice rose in accusation. Their dispute immediately drew the curious glance of the lone guard before the entrance to the great hall.
Exactly as had been planned.
“You are too cruel to deny me this one small kindness and thus dis
patch my soul to purgatory.” Alienor allowed her tears to fall. “He is my husband, sworn to me before God, and ’tis my duty as a wife to bid him farewell.”
Jordan shook his head with impatience. “You know that you might have easily been accommodated earlier in the day,” he snapped, even as she wailed more loudly. “How like a woman to see her way clear when the timing is most inconvenient.”
“A single kindness I ask of you before we wed, and you would deny me even this simple request,” she cried. “Did the priest not threaten me with purgatory if I did not do this thing? But you have no concern for my eternal damnation. You only think of the interruption of your own earthly pleasures.” She spat this last comment with fury.
“Have I not devoted myself to your care?” Jordan demanded, his tone conciliatory.
Alienor cast him a haughty glance. “Only in anticipation of the pleasure I could provide you,” she replied, and he looked acceptably surprised. “’Twill be a cold marriage bed you find, sir, should I be headed for purgatory.”
Jordan rolled his eyes then met the gaze of the court guard with a shrug.
“You are too cruel, sir!” Alienor began to weep noisily and fell to her knees.
Jordan approached the guard. “I had no choice but to bring her here, despite the hour,” he confessed with the air of a man driven to distraction. “She has fair driven me mad since she heard tell of the man’s fate.”
“Which man?” the guard asked.
“Dagobert de Pereille,” Jordan supplied.
The guard nodded. “Aye, the dawn will be his last.”
“She is his wife.” Jordan sighed. “At least until we are wed tomorrow.”
The guard eyed Alienor. “’Twould seem the lady is yet fond of the man.”
Jordan snorted. “Women! ’Tis difficult enough to understand them. She was happy enough when first she heard the news, making me promise we would wed right after the execution, then tzut—” he snapped his fingers “—she began to weep like a child.” Jordan leaned closer to the guard, who listened with rapt attention. “She feels guilt, she tells me,” he confided as if he could not believe the stupidity of the claim. “’Tis this purgatory nonsense and I cannot convince her to see the true way of things.”
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