“A soldier’s life.” Tobias said. “You should be thankful you didn’t become a knight.”
Trudi shook her head. “Carloman would never allow this. Black humors grow in places like this. They’ll spread disease to the men in camp.”
After a quick tour of the grounds, Trudi was glad she had banished the market inside the city walls. It was a violent place. On more than one occasion, Tobias had to steer them clear of a fight. When he suggested they should return to the gate, Trudi was more than ready to comply, but then she heard Theudebald’s voice.
Raising her hand in signal to Tobias, she led him towards the sound while adjusting the scarf over her face. They found Theudebald outside an ale tent with two of his men. And from the slur of his voice, she was certain the man was drunk.
“We should have exposed him as an infant.” Theudebald spat. “Did you see Odilo prancing with those silly mustache soldiers? You would never know he was Godefred’s son. The man never left his mother’s teat and now he suckles off Charles’s daughter!”
Furious, Trudi moved to confront him, but Tobias pulled her aside.
“None of that, now,” he whispered. “Think of the baby. If you confront him, you’ll only make it worse.”
No one was restraining Theudebald. “I’ll make them pay. All of them! Especially Carloman and his cross-bearers.”
As if springing from Theudebald’s words, a lone priest strode into the marketplace across from them, holding aloft a large book.
“Shame!” The priest shouted at the throng of patrons. He was tall and lanky with dark hair and an impossibly large nose.
A Frank thought Trudi.
When the priest spoke again, the soft consonants in his speech proved it. “Shame! Shame on you sinners! Behold the Bible. Behold the book of God!”
Trudi had seen a number of bibles in her lifetime, but she was certain that few of the residents of Trudiville had ever been given the opportunity. Copied by hand in monasteries, the books were rare, and rumored to be powerful instruments of magic.
The priest singled out a prostitute who was enticing customers. A fervent flush spread across the priest’s face. “Fornicator!” His voice carried through the marketplace piercing the din of its trade.
“This shall be your salvation.” He held the bible aloft. "This is His word!! Pray with me for your sins to be forgiven. Pray with me that your soul may be saved from the eternal fires of Hell. Pray with me to follow the true path and I will lead you to salvation.”
A small crowd gathered around the lanky priest. “I am the way, the truth, and the light,’ sayeth the Lord. ‘No man cometh to the Father but through me.’”
Some of the onlookers stretched out their hands to touch the big book.
“Kneel,” the priest said and several of his newfound flock obeyed. He raised his hand and many of them bowed their heads. He waved the book over their heads.
“In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost,” he began.
“Fuck your ghost.” Theudebald sauntered into the crowd.
“We should leave,” Tobias whispered.
Trudi shook her head.
The priest turned as Theudebald came towards him. Holding the bible in front of him like a shield, he said, “The Word of God cannot be silenced by men.”
Without breaking stride, Theudebald hit the priest in the face. The man went down, and the bible flew from his hands. Spinning through the air, it landed face up in the mud. Its black and red lettering looked crisp and colorful against the brown sludge of the street.
The priest tried to stand, but Theudebald kicked him in the head and again the man went down, blood covering his face. The crowd stood frozen, stunned by the sudden violence.
Theudebald spat on the priest.
“I am the way and the light,” he mocked. “I’ll show you the way!”
Theudebald strode to the fallen bible and stood over it, fumbling with his breeches. He pulled out his penis.
“No,” the priest screamed.
“This is what I think of your book, cross bearer.” A thick stream of yellow piss poured from Theudebald onto the open pages. The priest scrambled through the mud on his hands and knees and threw his body over the book to protect it. Theudebald laughed and redirected his stream to the priest’s head. He pissed directly into the man’s ear.
The priest took it, refusing to relinquish his grasp on the book. Steam rose from his newly drenched robe as the urine cooled in the afternoon air. Some of those who had gathered to hear the priest started to laugh and taunt the man. Finally, Theudebald’s stream ran out. He smiled at the crowd and shook off the last drops.
“You don’t belong here, priest. Your bible doesn’t belong here. Go back where you came from or next time we’ll do more than just piss on your book.”
The crowd cheered as Theudebald walked away, his arms held wide as if accepting accolades for winning a tournament.
Someone in the crowd threw mud at the priest. Another stepped forward and kicked him back to the ground. Within moments a circle of four men had surrounded him, taunting and shoving him as he tried to escape. A crowd gathered and cheered as a particularly large brute hit the priest in the face with his fist. The priest crumpled to the ground.
“Enough!” Trudi was among them, using her body to shield the priest. “Stop this at once!”
At her sudden appearance, the group hesitated.
The brute sneered. “Get out of our way, little girl. Or we’ll have fun with you, too.” He took a threatening step towards her holding his crotch.
“Duchesse!” Tobias stepped forward to take her arm. “I’m sure these men mean no harm.”
The brute stopped short, a skeptical look crossing his face.
Trudi took off the scarf that had covered her hair and stared defiantly at him. “You will leave this man alone or I will have you lashed.”
The three other attackers scurried away into the crowd. Only the brute remained. He looked torn between fear and fury. Trudi had seen that look before and shifted her feet, anticipating his attack.
“Shall I call the guard, or are we finished here?” Tobias asked.
With a low growl, the brute spat on the ground. “Frankish whore.” He too, bolted into the crowd.
Trudi turned to help the priest to his feet. “You were very brave, Father. You saved the book.”
He brushed at the mud clinging to the cover. “I should have known not to bring it among this rabble.”
“I will send guards to protect you and your bible.”
The priest scowled before staring in the direction the brute had taken. “If there is war milady, I fear you will need them more than me.”
“War or no war, Odilo will protect me.”
The priest frowned. “Then you must pray that he survives it.”
Chapter Four
Laon
It was early morning, the air thick and cold and wet from the night rains. Sunlight crept over the horizon, splashing brilliantly over the sodden landscape. A small party of armed men rode south from the city on the road to Soissons. They looked small and impotent against the broad plain they crossed. Moving at a measured pace towards the horizon, their horses kicked up huge clumps of red and black mud behind them as they slogged through the swollen road.
High above them on a balcony overlooking the southern gate, Bertrada stood watching. It had been six weeks since Pippin had taken the same road south. She had stood on the same spot and prayed for him to turn his head – to look for her one last time – before he left her and Laon behind.
Bertrada had watched him ride out of sight, her heart sinking with every stride of his warhorse. Pippin’s back had not wavered. When the certainty of his absence finally struck her, she had collapsed on her balcony. It had taken three days for her tears to run their course, and still she was not over him.
To bury her pain, she had thrown herself into rebuilding Laon. As the daughter of the Compte, Bertrada had much to do and was welcomed doi
ng it. She rose with the sun to tend those who had been wounded in battle at the temporary hospital her father had constructed on the eastern side of the city. She changed bandages and bed sheets and chamber pots in a never-ending attempt to honor the service of the wounded. At lunchtime, she took food out to the workmen repairing the city walls. In the afternoon, she helped the church organize charity for the women newly widowed by the war. Before dinner, she met with her father to discuss reinvigorating trade relations with Soissons and Reims. She didn’t have time to think of Pippin. And she preferred it that way.
But as she watched these new riders’ progress across the plain, her features softened for just a moment and a single tear ran unchecked down her cheek.
Why did I let him go? She shook her head to dispel the thought and swiped at the tear with the back of her hand before turning away from the view. Stop being a silly cow! she scolded herself. Tilting her head back, she shook her hair out behind her and wrestled it up into a workmanlike bun.
There was a hammering on her door.
“Please, Bertie let me in!” It was her younger sister, Aude. “I’ve brought you some cakes and tea.”
Bertrada threw on the white smock she wore for her work at the hospital and opened the door.
“Thank God.” Aude blew into the room. She was a smaller version of Bertrada, though with brown hair instead of blond. “I was catching my death out there in the hall.” She carried a tray with the promised tea and cakes and set it down on the table in Bertrada’s drawing room.
“I have the most wonderful news!” Aude squeaked. “You will assuredly pee when I tell you!”
“You’ll have to hurry, Aude,” Bertrada pushed past her younger sister. “I’ve got to get over to the hospital.”
“Oh, you’ll wait for this,” Aude grabbed Bertrada’s hands and spun her around. Bertrada tried to hide the desolation in her eyes.
“Oh, Bertie!” Disappointment laced Aude’s words. “Not again. You do recognize that he’s only a man.”
Bertrada tried to turn away but Aude held on tight and pulled her onto the bed. “He’s not even that good looking! And all that brooding?” She made a scowling face to mimic Pippin and shuddered. “He’d never be able to have a conversation if you didn’t supply him with half the words.”
“You do him injustice.”
“I think not. The man’s a stone! If he wasn’t the son of Charles Martel, Father would never have let you see him.”
“I’m a grown woman, Aude. I choose who I will see.”
“My point exactly! You’re nearly twenty. Most men won’t even look at a woman past seventeen. Why are you wasting your time on Pippin? Mayors don’t marry for love. They marry for treaties.”
Bertrada sighed. “I’m beginning to think you’re right.”
“Hah!” Aude got up to pour them tea. “I knew you’d see it my way. Now I have just the man for you.”
Bertrada felt the blood drain from her face. “Oh Aude. I can’t even begin to think about another man.”
“Oh, you don’t need to think, Bertie.” A coy smile took her sister’s face. “Most of them like it better if you don’t.”
Bertrada laughed in spite of herself. “I’m serious, Aude. I’m not yet done with Pippin. It’s too soon for me to consider another.”
Aude poured tea for the two of them. “That man is gone. And it’s time for you to stop hiding yourself in the rebuilding effort. Oh, yes, I know that’s what you’re doing. You aren’t that generous a soul. Fortunately, I have wonderful news.”
Aude set aside her cup. “Next week, Father is taking us to Paris!” She squealed with excitement. “He’s hoping to open trade discussions to help us rebuild. He and the Compte de Soissons are throwing a dinner party and you and I will be the hostesses!”
“I don’t know, Aude. It’s just too soon.”
Aude’s eyes flared and then, her mouth pouted. “Don’t do this, Bertie. I’m sixteen, already past marrying age. If you don’t go, Father won’t let me. You must go.”
Bertrada looked down at her hands. She had to admit that it wouldn’t be right for her to stand in Aude’s way.
Almost casually, Aude said, “Tedbalt will be there.”
Tedbalt? Blood rushed to Bertrada’s face. So this wasn’t about Aude after all. The son of the Compte de Soissons, Tedbalt was born the same year as Bertrada and, from their earliest years, it was commonly believed that the two would marry. As children, they had played together. As adolescents, they had secretly kissed and groped their way through the awkwardness of youth. When they had turned sixteen, their fathers had even negotiated a dowry.
But that was before Pippin. All talk of dowries ended when Bertrada took to Pippin’s bed. She had been so sure of herself then, and so sure of him. Her father had been furious, and Tedbalt devastated.
“What are you plotting?” Bertrada eyed her sister. “Tedbalt is married.”
“Alas, the poor man is a widower,” Aude corrected, her eyes alive with implication.
The news stunned Bertrada. “When?”
“Christmastime. Annette died of dysentery.”
Tears sprung to Bertrada’s eyes. “She was never well, was she?” She made the sign of the cross and paused to honor the dead woman with her silence. With only the slightest look of vexation, Aude bowed her head as well.
Bertrada again made the sign of the cross to close the prayer and dabbed at the corner of her eyes. “How is Tedbalt?”
“He mourned. But of late he has been seen about Soissons. They say he’s returning to himself.”
“That’s good.”
“She was never his true love.”
“Stop it, Aude, I know what you’re about. I won’t go.”
Aude patted her older sister’s hand. “Then do it for me and for Father. He says it’s time for you to stop thinking about Pippin. And he’s right. That man will be the death of you.”
Bertrada’s eyes welled again. “But he loves me so.”
For the first time since she entered the room, Aude expressed some sympathy. “Of course, he does.” She tucked an errant lock of Bertrada’s hair behind an ear and wiped away a tear with the palm of her hand. “The man’s no fool. But loving a man like Pippin is never easy. You must be very sure of yourself or you’ll drown.”
Bertrada nodded her head, thinking for once she agreed with her sister. She was not sure of herself at all.
✽✽✽
Miette smoothed her skirts to make them more elegant, and then fluffed them out to make them look fresh. As the newly married wife of Lord Ragomfred, she had an impression to make and she planned to make it. She paced across her Paris living quarters scowling at any servants who crossed her path. At a sound from the street, she leapt to the window. Peering out discreetly, she groaned in disappointment. Would the king never arrive?
Her right hand strayed to her face as she watched the elegant and distinctive coaches rumble by on the street outside. She began playing with her eyebrow. Her fingers isolated the longest hair and instinctively plucked it.
The sharp pain brought a tear to her eye. Miette looked down on the curly black hair ruefully. When she was a child, she had picked up the strange habit and plucked all of the hair from her right eyebrow. It had taken half a year for it to grow back. A lady of the court shouldn’t act so childishly, she scolded herself.
Born the daughter of a commoner, Miette had always known that she would marry into a noble family. Her father, Maurice, was a Paris merchant and extraordinarily wealthy. And with half of the Neustrian nobles being land-poor, there was little doubt that her dowry alone would bring a long list of suitors.
She thanked heaven that she didn’t need to rely solely on her father’s wealth to attract offers from the leading families of Paris. She was proud of her waif-like beauty that drew men to her in droves. She cultivated this look of vulnerability, using powders to make her skin pale against her dark features and rouging her lips and cheeks for contrast.
S
he also had a practiced ability to appear frail and demure. She used this on occasion to protect herself from suitors she thought inappropriate. When she was attracted to a man, however, there was nothing like a bold, provocative stare to make him weak in the knees. If she wanted to, she could drive a man wild with desire and she loved the power this gave her.
That was, of course, before her father had made his decision. Why he picked Lord Ragomfred to be her spouse, she would never understand. More than twice her age, the man didn’t have an ounce of sexual desire left in his body. She shuddered, thinking of their wedding night. He had forced her to strip naked and to kneel before him on all fours like a dog in heat while he stroked himself. He was never able to consummate the marriage even though she had tried to help with her hand. In the end, he had blamed her for his impotence and stormed out of her room. They had been married a year and he had never once returned.
The tension this created within her was overwhelming. All through her courtship she had kept herself pure, waiting for the promised mysteries of the marriage bed. Now she would never know them. She would never know what it was like to be with a man or discover what lay behind the sly smiles of those who had. And the frustration of never being touched was unrelenting!
As if his sexual incompetence wasn’t enough of a burden to her, Ragomfred loved to gamble – not in the gaming rooms, like most men – but in the politics of court. He regularly challenged the mayors of the realm, even backing one of Carloman's rivals during the succession.
For Miette, the impact of that decision had been immediate. It was as if she suddenly had contracted a catching disease. She was snubbed across Paris from one salon to another. She could understand being shunned by Carloman’s wife, Greta, but what cause had Lady Hervet, Lady Dricot and Lady Trinon? No amount of civility mattered. She had been more accepted in court before she got married.
And now, her husband was upping the stakes.
A commotion in the hallway disturbed her reverie. Shouts came from the lower floors. “He’s here! Yes, hurry. The king is here!”
Miette checked the window and indeed her husband’s beautiful black and gold coach had pulled up to the gate of their villa. Her heart slammed inside her chest. Desperately, she tried to calm herself and restore the confident demeanor she had practiced for the occasion. She walked down the staircase leading to the front hallway, but arriving at the bottom, she couldn’t help herself; she broke into a run.
Wheel of the Fates: Book Two of the Carolingian Chronicles Page 6