Raimon’s eyes narrowed again. “No more claims to the throne?”
“Nay, I no longer follow that path,” Dagobert folded his own arms across his own chest as he faced the other man, uncertain what to expect.
Finally Raimon nodded, then reached for his chausses. “Your friend is stubborn.”
“Indeed?”
“Indeed,” Raimon confirmed, shaking his head as he tugged on a chemise. “Under no circumstances would he renounce the legitimacy of your bloodline.”
“Eustache is very loyal.”
Raimon snorted. “Aye, and convincing, as well. I fairly had a revolution on my hands once he had made his round of the taverns.”
“Perhaps my arrival is not inconvenient.”
“Should you be able to convince him to abandon your quest, I will indeed be glad to see the last of him. ’Tis not inconceivable that one who escaped the king’s own dungeons should manage to flee Toulouse.” Raimon smiled a little. “Your unwilling accomplice, by the way, was released.”
“Who?” Dagobert feigned ignorance, though he would be glad to hear that Alienor’s accomplice had not suffered for his choice.
Raimon shook his head. “Surely you recall Jordan de Soissons? Tis my understanding he would say naught in his own defense, but his jaw was so bruised, the guards could only imagine he had been poorly used. There is some admiration apparently for his refusal to betray the lady who obviously deceived him to save her lord husband.”
Dagobert studied the floor for a moment, not wanting to reveal his relief at this news. He was not fond of Jordan and did not trust him, but he knew he owed that man a debt. He was glad that Jordan had not paid a higher price for his assistance to Alienor and himself.
Raimon hesitated a moment, considering Dagobert before he continued. “He was fortunate to lose no more than his spurs.”
“Aye.”
“They say he wed a widow and now bakes bread. The tale is difficult to credit, but then, I understand his origins were humble.”
Dagobert shrugged for he did not know. “That then is your price, Eustache’s verbal assent?”
“Aye, and the one you have already given me.”
“And what of my other belongings?”
“Yours regardless. None have I in this household who could even hope to wear your hauberk.”
Dagobert had only one last question. “What of Montsalvat?”
“I could gather assistance by Yule if you truly plan to abandon your quest. I enjoy a peaceful neighbor.”
“I have pledged as much to you already.”
Raimon extended his hand. “By Yule ’tis, then, neighbor.”
Alienor closed her eyes as another volley of rocks collided with the south wall. She would never become accustomed to the catapults’ assaults bombarding the fortress. All the day and half the night, week after endless week, the rocks battered the heavy walls. So far, the fortress had held, but three months of sustained attack had worn tempers thin. Losing the eastern face the previous week had done little to lift the defenders’ sinking spirits.
She prayed yet again that Montsalvat would not fall, then her womb clenched. Alienor leaned upon the wall until the contraction passed, certain that she felt the very stone trembling under the catapult’s assault. She took a few unsteady steps, trying to walk briskly as Iolande had bidden her to hasten the babe’s arrival.
What if the keep fell into enemy hands before her child was born? Alienor could not bear to think of it, yet she could think of little else.
Another crash echoed through the keep and she shuddered. She chose to walk to the north side of the keep, where the sound was somewhat muffled. She stepped into the bailey and eyed the moon high overhead, just as another contraction seized her. She stared at the moon, panting a little, as the pain increased with no sign of subsiding. ’Twas a crescent moon, golden yellow, one that looked as if it rolled upon its back.
The new moon cradled in the arms of the old. She recalled the line of poetry unexpectedly, not realizing that she echoed the moon’s embrace as she hugged her own belly. The contractions were growing ever closer and stronger, yet still Dagobert did not return.
It had been three months since he had left to seek Eustache in Toulouse, three months they had been without word of either man. They could be dead, and all at Montsalvat knew it well, though none spoke of it. The attackers still remained in the valley below; the catapults endlessly launched their volleys against the walls. Montsalvat’s cisterns had not run dry during the summer by some miracle. Autumn had brought vast offerings from the valley’s bountiful harvest by covert, nocturnal shipping.
But since the previous week, when the east face had been lost to the hired mercenaries, there had been no more messengers or supplies. They were on their own, three hundred souls facing ten thousand men. It did not take a skilled châtelain to calculate that they had insufficient food to survive the winter ahead. Ever hopeful of assistance from afar, they endured and the fight continued, but as more days passed without Dagobert’s return, Alienor knew she was not alone in fearing the fate of their liege lord.
There had been times when Alienor had blamed herself for driving him away with her ultimatum. There had been times when she knew he would have pursued Eustache at any price, for he was loyal beyond all else. She had convinced herself in the early days after his departure that he had been glad to find a task that would take him from her side. But why did he not return? He must know that she had heartily wished she could recall her demand even before they had reached Montsalvat.
He had almost vowed that he would return for the birth of their child. Almost. Alienor had reviewed every word he had ever uttered to her, seeking some hint of his intentions, and could not be sure.
Had he been injured—or worse—on his mission? His death neatly explained the complete lack of tidings they had received, including the last messenger who had gained the summit.
Alienor did not want to think of her husband dead, much less that she would have no opportunity to make amends with him. She wanted him to hold his child. She wanted to see him smile. She wanted to sleep curled against his heat each and every night.
As a widow, she would certainly take her consolamentum vows. ’Twas only now that Alienor realized how little she wanted the life of a parfait. A home and family, Dagobert at her side, ’twas this she wanted and no more, but she came to the realization too late.
She regretted that she had never shared the truth of her own heart with Dagobert. Though he had declined to speak with her to defend the secrecy he believed to be necessary, she had not been forthcoming either. How could it be that they would have no opportunity to make matters right and speak openly to each other? How cruel was fate?
The next contraction was enough to drop her to her knees. Alienor cried out for assistance, and an arm slipped around her waist.
“All is made ready, child,” Iolande whispered, and Alienor nodded, draping her arm over the older woman’s shoulders as she rose to her feet. Kado appeared on her other side and she gratefully accepted his assistance, as well. She made slow progress toward the solar, supported between them both.
“Is there word of Dagobert?” Alienor already knew the answer but was unable to keep from asking. Iolande’s lips tightened and she averted her gaze, as if she could peer through the walls to the land beyond or perhaps to the future itself. Alienor’s heart sank anew.
“Not yet,” Iolande said.
Alienor’s breath caught as her muscles began to tighten once more. “I always thought he would be here,” she whispered.
Iolande nodded, her concern for her son as tangible as the stone beneath Alienor’s feet.
“I sense that he comes,” Kado insisted cheerfully, but Alienor knew that he only sought to reassure her.
“’Tis more than a fortnight before the fullness of the moon,” Iolande pointed out.
Naturally, Dagobert would expect her to deliver with the full moon, but the words held little consolation for Alieno
r.
The midwife appeared out of the shadows as they made their way into the keep, offering an encouraging smile when she saw Alienor’s distress.
“’Tis better for the babe to come early,” she said, taking Kado’s place with a smile. She urged Alienor toward the stairs to the solar. “’Twill mean less time for you to wait, my lady. Indeed, you are fortunate in this, for the first is often much more reluctant to make his or her appearance.”
Alienor did not feel fortunate in this moment, but she managed to smile for the midwife as the three of them awkwardly climbed the stairs. It would be a relief to be more steady on her feet, even to see her feet again. Another contraction more violent than any earlier seized her and Alienor doubled over with the pain, her cheeks heating as a warm flood between her thighs revealed that water had broken.
The midwife became brisk with this sign. She hastened Alienor upstairs and onto the birthing stool. Sweat beaded Alienor’s brow, even when her clothes were stripped away and the chill autumn air touched her skin. She breathed as she was told, perched on the seatless chair, barely noticing the tingle of the coriander seed the midwife placed upon her nether lips to speed the birth.
Events rapidly blurred for Alienor. She saw the flames dancing in the brazier; she felt the rhythmic pain of her body forcing the child into the world. The cool cloths pressed against her forehead blending with her perspiration; the pounding of the assault against the south curtain wall blended with the relentless contractions of her womb. Through it all, she watched the steady path of the waning moon across the square block of night sky framed by the window. The crescent turned from orange to gold and finally to silver and still her body labored.
“The east side is taken?” Dagobert echoed, unable to believe the tidings that Roger shared. After an entire evening of creeping from shadow to shadow in the valley below Montsalvat, this revelation was less than welcome. He had found the home of Roger and his mother, only to learn this. Roger’s mother looked up from her tending of the fire at his sharp tone and Dagobert sought to rein in his agitation.
Eustache felt no such compunction, for he scowled at the smaller man’s words. “I should hope you received a goodly sum for your trouble,” he growled.
Roger paled at the accusation. “’Twas not me!” he declared, his voice dropping to a hiss as he continued despite Eustache’s skepticism. “’Twas outsiders, Basques hired to scale the slopes, and ’twas they who found the paths.”
Dagobert’s lips thinned and he met the cold speculation in Eustache’s gaze.
“They found the way all alone?” Eustache demanded with skepticism. His eyes lit with surprise when the smaller man turned on him.
“I had a tidy trade,” he snarled. “And I heartily regret its loss, despite your accusations.” There was an undertone of truth to his words. “’Tis perilous to scale either the north or south face, and ’twill be an important message indeed that warrants that climb.”
And a fine sum, no doubt.
“Have they taken the wall?” Dagobert asked, relieved when Roger shook his head.
“Nay, only the crest of the hill. But they hide amongst the rocks all over the slope.” He shook his head, sparing Eustache one last poisonous glare. “’Tis sufficient to make the climb too risky.”
“And a misstep on the south face is certain death.” Eustache’s gaze lifted to Dagobert.
Dagobert drummed his fingertips on the table, frowning to himself as he considered their options. Eustache was right about the south face. Worse, it had been so long since he had scaled it that he doubted that he recalled the way as thoroughly as he would have liked. If they lingered over their path, the light of the moon would reveal them to Montsalvat’s attackers, making them easy prey for the bowmen. He glanced out the window at the waning crescent of the moon, hating that the darkness of the new moon was still a few nights away.
A sense of urgency possessed him. Though Dagobert could not explain it, he knew only that he could not wait three or four nights. He ran one hand through the bristly growth of his hair and scowled, imagining an awkward way into Montsalvat and liking it not.
How he wished he knew what prompted this desire to be within the keep. Then he might better weigh the need against the risk. ’Twas too soon for Alienor to give birth, but he could not dismiss the sense that something was awry and his presence was needed. They would have to enter Montsalvat with the first light, for he could wait no longer.
Eustache must have guessed his reasoning or discerned his mood, for the other knight showed no surprise when Dagobert leaned forward to outline his plan.
The indigo of the night faded outside Alienor’s window, the patch of sky lightening to rosy pink and thence to crimson, and still she strained. Would this pain never end? Her muscles were trembling, her loose hair damp on her shoulders, her cheeks bathed in a mingling of sweat and tears. Iolande gripped her hands and urged Alienor ever on.
“I am so tired,” she whispered.
Iolande shook her head. “The babe comes in his own time. ’Tis not for you to decide to cease the effort.” She gripped Alienor’s hands tightly in encouragement. Alienor closed her eyes, feeling the strength of Iolande’s will revive her.
“The path is wide for the babe,” the midwife confirmed, patting Alienor on the shoulder. “When next the pain comes, you must push.”
“Push,” Alienor repeated under her breath and licked her lips. The tightness grew in her belly, a premonition of the contraction to come, and she took a deep breath, hoping ’twould soon be past.
“As I recall, ’twas most satisfying to cry aloud,” Iolande said.
Alienor almost had time to smile before the pain captured her in its relentless grip. She screamed and ‘twas most satisfying.
“Excellent.” The midwife glanced up from her place between Alienor’s thighs. “Once more.”
“’Tis close now,” Iolande assured her.
Alienor did not hear her, for the power of the contraction tore another scream from her lips.
“Clear the way, all clear for the cart,” Roger roared to the crowd on the village road ahead, while Dagobert and Eustache huddled together in the wagon. They were wedged between sacks of wheat, and the unsteady lurching of the wagon almost sent the stacked bags of grain tumbling on top of them.
Would the sentries actually let Roger drive the cart of grain up to Montsalvat’s gates? ’Twas sufficiently audacious that the ploy might work and was certainly worth a try. As they approached the sentry on the road, Dagobert was seized by doubts in the wisdom of his plan. Should they be discovered, they would surely be slaughtered on the spot.
The wagon came to a wobbly halt, Eustache granting Dagobert a grim look as the motion loosed one heavy sack and it landed close to his ear. Dagobert smiled at his friend’s disgruntled expression, then strained to hear the conversation just a few feet away.
“What have you here?” a gruff voice demanded.
Both knights fingered the hilts of their swords.
“A gift of wheat for Montsalvat,” Roger answered.
“Who sends this gift?”
Dagobert heard steps circling the wagon and braced himself to attack, should the cloth be cast back.
“I was bidden not to say,” Roger responded.
Dagobert closed his eyes in resignation at the clink of coins changing hands. He flicked a look to Eustache to catch his friend’s eyes rolling at Roger’s opportunism.
If only Roger did not find it profitable to betray them. Dagobert nearly drew his blade then and there. He must have been mad to trust this messenger whose loyalty was so easily bought and sold.
But who else could pass through the gates? Who else knew the way? Roger was the sole choice.
And what of Alienor? Had Dagobert not entrusted her care to this same Roger?
A cold fear gripped his heart and he wondered again whether she had safely gained the keep. He heartily regretted that he had not questioned Roger about this earlier. He had been too determine
d to reach her side with all haste.
Something scratched nearby, the sound seeming to come from the sacks of grain themselves. Dagobert froze, recalling the rats in his cell in Paris, sweat beading his brow as he examined the sacks he could see.
The men outside had been silent too long, he thought in sudden fear. Eustache’s hand landed heavily on his arm when he might have revealed himself. Dagobert met the steadiness of his companion’s gaze and watched Eustache shake his head. He exhaled unevenly, closing his eyes in relief as the voices rose once more.
“You are indeed a right-thinking man,” Roger said, the coins jingling as he dropped them into some place of safekeeping. His voice dropped to a whisper and Dagobert strained to hear his words. “’Tis from a lord who wishes to support his neighbor without endangering himself, you understand.”
The other man grunted in resignation before another clink of coins was heard.
Eustache shook his head in amazement at the little man’s skill and silently rolled to his back.
“I would have his name,” the questioner said grimly.
There was a heavy pause, as if Roger considered his loyalties.
Another coin evidently decided the issue for him.
“’Twas Raimon de Toulouse who sent the wheat,” Roger confessed.
’Twas true enough in its own way, even if Raimon had not known that they had commandeered the wagon of grain. Dagobert saw it as compensation for Eustache’s incarceration: the knight had been too weak to walk the distance home and they had no coin for horses. The wagon had been ideal.
“Nay, it cannot be so,” the guard argued. “He sent fifty knights to aid in the attack. Such a man as he would not contribute to both sides.”
Eustache rolled his eyes at this remark and passed his hand over his brow. Dagobert merely shot him a look, so intent was he on the conversation. Their passage hung in the balance and ’twould be Roger’s next arguments that would have to sway the man.
“’Twas a promise made to his sire,” Roger explained with persuasive confidence. Dagobert could picture him waving his hand into the air. “The elder Raimon and Alzeu de Pereille were great allies.”
Unicorn Bride: A Medieval Romance Page 27