“There is no need for you to understand.”
“Do not speak to me in such a brutal way. I
have during this afternoon endured Clodion’s threats and insults,
and then Redmond’s endless politeness. I thought you and I were
friends. No, more than friends, for I told you about Hugo and I
allowed you to kiss me.” She clamped her lips shut, refusing to
remind him that he had declared his wish to become one of her
suitors. Obviously, he had changed his mind. But, why? Seeing a
familiar figure in clerical garb approaching, Danise made another
attempt to convince Michel to explain his actions. “Here is Alcuin.
I believe he has come for that discussion you agreed to have.
Perhaps Alcuin can help you.”
“I don’t need help.” Michel flung away from
her, and then stopped short, staring not at Alcuin but at the
slender young cleric with him. “
Hank
? Is that really
you?”
“It is not,” said the young man. “I am
Adelbert.”
“But I thought – I hoped – oh, hell and
damnation, I imagined you might have a conscience after all.”
“I assure you, I have,” the young man said.
“Though why the state of my conscience should interest you, I do
not know.”
“There has been a mistake made here,” Alcuin
said. “Adelbert, I have no further need of you just now. You may
leave me and do whatever you wish for the remainder of the
day.”
With a fearful backward glance toward Michel,
Adelbert sped away.
“I am free for the next hour or two,” Alcuin
said to Michel and looked at him expectantly, waiting for his
response.
“I find I have no need to talk,” Michel said.
“You may have heard of the decision I made this morning to join
Savarec’s men-at-arms. I am content with my choice, and have no
questions left.”
“I doubt if any thoughtful man has no
questions at all about his life,” Alcuin said, “but I shall not
press you to speak when you would prefer to be silent. However,
where Charles is, there am I also. If you should change your mind
while we are still at Duren, you have only to ask for me.”
“Excuse me,” Michel said. “I have an
appointment to meet Redmond.”
“He has no appointment, or Redmond would have
mentioned it to me,” Danise murmured, gazing after Michel’s
departing figure. “Master Alcuin, what is wrong with him? Has some
new ailment come upon him? He is so unlike himself.”
“I think it is rather the end of an ailment,”
Alcuin replied. When Danise looked at him in surprise, he went on,
“In Agen last year, when our friend India first met Adelbert, her
reaction to him was the same as Michel’s just now. Astonishment, a
hint of anger, then embarrassment and, in India’s case, an attempt
to pretend she had made a foolish mistake.”
“What are you saying?”
“That India and Michel both know someone who
closely resembles Adelbert, a fact which suggests to me that they
both come from the same country.”
“We can’t know that. Michel doesn’t remember
-” Danise stopped, one hand at her mouth. “He could only think he
recognized Adelbert if he
does
remember. Master Alcuin,
Michel’s memory has returned! But why did he not tell us?”
“For some deep reason of his own,” Alcuin
said. “I sense no more evil in Michel than I ever did in India.
Rather, Michel is confused and unhappy – and angry with this
Ahnk
person for whom he mistook Adelbert. Danise, I believe
we ought to remain silent about Michel’s recovery of his memory.
When he is ready to announce it, he will. Noblemen have their
reasons for what they do, and women and clerics should not
interfere.”
“Do you believe he is a noble?” Danise asked,
hoping it was true, and that Michel was unmarried as well. It would
make such a difference if he were not wed. She pushed away that
thought because it made her feel guilty and uneasy. She had no
right to feel about another woman’s husband the way she felt about
Michel.
“I believe Michel has a noble heart,” Alcuin
responded to her question, rather evasively. “Let us trust him
until he can make a full explanation.”
* * *
In the days that followed Danise began to
fear that Michel would never provide her, or Alcuin, with an
explanation for his sudden change in behavior toward both of them.
He spent most of his time with the men, a fact that was not
particularly notable. At gatherings such as Mayfield, Frankish men
tended to congregate together, leaving the women to their own
devices.
Thus it was that Danise stood a little apart
with Hildegarde and the other women during the sporting contests,
watching Michel reach the finish line first in a horse race against
Redmond. Later, again from a distance, she saw him wrestling with
various young men. Frequently he lost in that particular sport, but
twice he did win. He laughed with carefree pleasure when Redmond
clapped him on his bare shoulder. He accepted the congratulations
of the other men and acknowledged the applause of the queen, but he
did not once look toward Danise.
From comments made by her father and Guntram,
and from Danise’s own observations, Michel seemed to her to be
growing steadily tougher and more daring. The man who had once been
her helpless patient, the would-be lover with whom she had shared
an intimate and revealing afternoon, was now an intimidating person
whom she seldom dared approach.
Sometimes she found Michel almost
frightening, as on the day when, having wandered away from the
royal tents to the far side of the encampment where the horses were
penned and where the men gathered to practice with their weapons,
she saw him riding out of the camp with Savarec and Redmond. All
three of them wore chain-mail
brunias
and were armed with
broadswords. The troop of twenty men who followed them were also
armed and wore chain mail or heavily padded woolen tunics.
Danise did not know that Michel had acquired
chain mail. No one had bothered to tell her and she had not thought
to ask. She stared at him, marveling at the hard set of his face,
noticing that he looked as ready for battle as any of the other
men. She could see no softness or gentleness in him.
“Why are they all garbed for war?” she asked
of no one in particular. She did not expect an answer from the men
on foot who hurried by her on their own errands, but she quickly
received a response from a surprising source.
“They are looking for Autichar.”
“Master Alcuin, what are you doing in this
part of the camp?” cried Danise.
“I came bearing a final instruction from
Charles to Savarec,” the scholar replied. “When Charles thought of
it, there was no one else immediately available, so I offered to
carry the message. It is a pleasant morning for a walk.” Alcuin
paused beside Danise, both of them watching the men on horseback
who were heading into the forest.
“I thought Autichar had gone home to
Bavaria,” Danise murmured.
“So did we all, until Charles received word
that your erstwhile suitor was seen not far from Duren. Charles
thought it wise to investigate the rumor.”
“My father told me only that he would be gone
for two or three days on a mission for Charles,” said Danise. “Now
I think I should be worried about them.”
“They are warriors all. Even Michel sits his
horse like a man well used to riding. They will know how to deal
with Autichar if they find him. There may be nothing in the story
of his presence in the vicinity.” Alcuin began to walk back toward
the royal tents and Danise went with him. “Danise, I hope you will
join in our discussion again this evening. The remarks you
contributed last night were most intelligent.”
“Thank you, Master Alcuin. I plan to be
there.” Danise was flattered to be included in the learned group of
men and women who, each evening, gathered about Charles and Alcuin
for lively talk on a variety of subjects. Sometimes Alcuin or one
of the other clerics would read aloud from a book Charles had
chosen. Most often it was Saint Augustine’s
The City of God
,
but whenever Charles gave them the choice, the clerics voted for
the lighter works of the Roman poet, Virgil. Some of them could
recite verse upon Latin verse from memory, and they had a habit of
choosing the most romantic poems. Danise especially liked the
nights when they all watched the stars come out while Alcuin
explained the circular motions of the heavenly bodies as set forth
centuries earlier by the great Egyptian astronomer, Claudius
Ptolemy. These informal meetings were pleasant endings to busy
days, and ordinarily Danise could turn her full attention to what
was being discussed. But in recent days there lurked in her bosom a
growing discontent.
If Savarec imagined that exposing his
daughter to the life of the Frankish court would turn her away from
any inclination toward a religious vocation, then his plan was
succeeding. With each day that passed since her coming to Duren,
Danise was more certain that she could not return to Chelles to
live. She thrived upon the new responsibilities that had fallen to
her, first to the care of the injured Michel and now to the queen
and the royal babies. She was deeply fond of Charles and Hildegarde
and of their children. She yearned to enjoy the same kind of happy
family life they did. Therein lay the source of her discontent, for
every time she admitted her true wishes to herself, Danise suffered
severe pangs of guilt for betraying Hugo and the dream they had
once shared. This inner conflict cast its shadow over the sunny
warmth of mid-May. Danise knew she could not long avoid making
several important decisions, and it seemed to her that whatever
choices she might make, she would be unhappy.
The continued importunities of Count Clodion
only added to her concerns. With her father away on the mission for
Charles, leaving Guntram in charge of Savarec’s men-at-arms who
remained at camp, and with Sister Gertrude spending much of her
time with the queen, Danise too often had to fend off Clodion’s
romantic advances on her own. Clodion was annoyingly
persistent.
“There you are,” he said one afternoon when
Danise was returning to her tent after a morning spent with
Hildegarde. “I have been waiting for you, my dear.”
“I cannot stop to talk with you now,” Danise
responded. “I am tired and I have a headache.”
“Of course you have. A young woman is often
bothered by such trifling infirmities. It is a sign that you ought
to be married. A good husband would know how to cure your headache
in a most agreeable way.”
“I do not think so.” Danise tried to continue
along the path to her tent, but Clodion stepped in front of her.
She moved to one side. He blocked her way again. Danise stepped to
the other side. Clodion was there, too. “Kindly let me pass, Count
Clodion!”
“If you want to reach your tent, I will
require a toll from you,” Clodion told her. “A kiss, or perhaps
several kisses, will do nicely.”
“I do not wish to kiss you.”
“You pretend to be shy now, but once you are
in my arms you will soon begin to moan in ecstasy. Come, Danise.”
Clodion stretched out his arms. “Come to my bosom and let me tutor
you in the pleasures of the body.” He appeared to be blissfully
unaware of the shudder this image evoked in Danise, and of the
anger that quickly followed upon her revulsion.
“Count Clodion, if you do not stand aside and
let me pass, I will scream. Guntram is nearby. He will hear me and
come to my rescue.”
“That black-bearded barbarian?” Clodion
sneered. “No doubt he lusts after you, too. How many other men
trail in your sweet-scented wake, Danise? Do you take pleasure in
discovering just how many of us you can torment?”
“If you suffer torment, Count Clodion, it is
of your own making. I have never encouraged you to believe I care
for you. Surely you can find some other woman who will happily
receive your lustful attentions. I do not find your suggestions
pleasing.”
“I know the kind of woman you are,” Clodion
said with a self-assured smirk. “You delight in driving a man mad
with cruel words and repeated refusals, while all the time your own
lust is rising in response to your chosen victim’s discomfort.
Women like you want to be conquered, not wooed. You need to be
bound and gagged and beaten. Only then can you find the true
ecstasy of roughly joined bodies and the gasping release of
fearful, driving passion.” Clodion was breathing hard.
“You are disgusting.” Danise backed away from
him. “I tell you now, Count Clodion, that I want nothing more to do
with you. I will not speak to you again, and when my father
returns, I will tell him that I will never marry you. And, I will
tell him why!”
“How cleverly you play your little game,”
Clodion said. “How angry you look, how dark and dangerous are your
eyes. You will say nothing to Savarec, my dear. Your father’s
righteous anger would only spoil your passionate anticipation of
the rapture you will find in my bed. One day soon, you will be
mine.”
“Never! I will live the rest of my life at
Chelles rather than marry you. Now, if you do not go away at once,
I will tell Charles that you have been bothering me.”
“More threats. How delightful. How
stimulating.” Clodion did not move. Danise seriously contemplated
trying to run around him and back to the royal tents. Only her fear
that he might capture her and actually embrace her kept her
standing where she was. The thought of Clodion touching her made
her feel ill.
At that instant of indecision she saw two
groups of men approaching. A trio of nobles walked along the path,
heading for the tents just beyond Savarec’s, while from behind her
father’s tent came Guntram and one of the men-at-arms. Guntram saw
her and hastened forward just as the nobles reached them.
“Clodion,” said one of the nobles, “join us.
We plan an afternoon of gaming, not to mention drinking some fine
wine and enjoying the company of a couple of willing camp
followers. What say you to a wager or two?”