The Miracle Thief (29 page)

“But one word will put this all to rights.”

There was a pounding of feet and a sliding of the bar, and then the door stuttered against the earth and finally opened. “What is it?” Three men stood in the doorway, looking in upon us.

“Don't!” Andulf lunged toward me.

I threw myself at one of the men's feet. “I am Princess Gisele, daughter of King Charles, and this is my knight. It is us for whom you search.”

Andulf pulled me away from the man and took me up in his arms. “Do not do this!” He retreated to the depths of the barn. “She is not the princess. Do not listen to her.”

It took two of the men to loosen his grip on me. And once they did, they dragged him out and away from the barn.

I followed at their heels. “Where are you taking him? This is my knight! He is returning me to the Count of Paris at Rouen.”

Andulf broke from them for a moment and wrenched around to look at me as one betrayed. “Do not listen to her. She lies!”

One of them struck out at him with a goad, while another captured his arm and twisted it behind him.

“Unhand him! I
command
you to unhand him. Now!”

When the men would have let Andulf go, the mayor walked up to us and stopped them. “How do we know you are who you say you are?”

“Send for the count's men, and they will tell you I speak the truth.”

The mayor stepped forward, and then he waved his hand toward Andulf. “Put them back into the barn. We'll do as she said.”

As they let go his arms, Andulf grabbed me about the shoulders. “Why do you do this?”

“What would you have me do? Allow you to fall into dishonor for not bringing me back? If the king will not keep you, then who will have you? How would you gain back your estates? And what kind of life would I live with your dishonor on my conscience?”

***

The mayor could not quite bring himself to believe my claims, but he could come to no other explanation for my boldness in proclaiming to be the princess. We were moved into his house and given his room. We were fed meat and sweets and wine. After days of traveling without those luxuries, I could not say the gestures were unappreciated, but as we waited in relative ease, our sense of doom grew greater with each hour that passed.

Three days later, the count's men came for us.

The whole town turned out for our leaving. The mayor made some pretty words about generosity of spirit and the virtues of forgiveness, hoping, I suppose, I would forget the manner in which we had been treated. The man who had grabbed me at the first was there as well, but his eye was blacked, and he had a rag tied around his head. Our horses were given back, and Andulf was returned his weapons.

We were not taken from the town as captives, but we did ride with men both behind and before us. There was no chance to deviate from the road; neither was there much opportunity to talk without being overheard.

We spent a night at one of the count's villas, and then left the next morning, breaking for dinner at an inn midday. The count's men made time for sport outside after their meal, but I could find no pleasure in their antics. Soon my father would return, the Dane would come, and the relic would no doubt be presented to us.

Andulf knelt beside me, peeling an apple as we watched the men. “Come away with me. There is yet a chance for escape. Especially while they distract themselves.”

“You said yourself that there is not even one man on this earth who is free. Who am I to want what no one has ever had one hope of possessing?”

“But—”

“You may be a knight, but you are nothing without a lord. And I may be a princess, but I am nothing without my father, the king. We both owe allegiance to the same master. And how could he be pleased by my flight?”

“If you go back, the pagan will have you.”

“Only if God wills it.”

He was gripping his knife so tightly his knuckles had gone white. “God has willed famine and calamity and all manner of misery. How can you hope He would spare you what He does not spare everyone else?”

I felt my resolve begin to wobble. But then I remembered the words of Sister Juliana—of my mother—at the abbey. “I must not despise the life I have been given.”

“Then I shall come with you. I shall ask to be given to your guard.”

“And forfeit your life at court? And your chance to reclaim your estates? I will not allow it.”

He severed the apple with a slice of his blade. “You have no choice in the matter.”

I laid a hand on his arm.

He flinched at my touch.

“You have pledged your allegiance to my father, have you not? And he has need of men as noble and honorable as you.”

“You wish to be rid of me.”

“I shall always be your friend.”

His lips twisted in a mockery of a smile. “I have many friends and no need for more.”

I stiffened as if he had slapped me.

With a violent twist of his wrist, he threw the apple into the grasses that lay before us. “I have never considered you a friend. My duty, yes. My lady…my love. Friendship has never had one thing to do with it.”

One of the count's men passed near. When he was gone, I spoke my words quickly beneath my breath. “Then I am grieved, for what I need most is a friend. And if I go to the pagan, you would not be able to help me anyway.”

“I would protect you.”

I put my hand on his. “And he would kill you for it. I will not have you give your life for my sake.”

He turned his hand to capture mine. “Not even after you have given up your freedom for my own? How could I offer any less than you have given me?”

“I did not do it with hope of gain. Two should not sacrifice themselves together, when only one is required.”

And so I arrived back in Rouen at the count's palace, where I repaired to my tower and refused all company. Andulf stood watch on my door, but it was from across the courtyard instead of at the tower's base below me. It seemed the count trusted him even less than he had before.

I had expected Hugh, my boy champion, to appear at the window ledge, but he did not come. Not that night or the one after or the one after that. And when, finally, I dragged my trunk to the window, I saw his stairs had been wrenched from the wall.

He was gone.

To Paris said one maid when I asked. To Orléans said another.

And so I waited to see what would become of me.

But I did not wait in vain. I prayed Saint Catherine would protect my mother, and I also prayed God would grant me strength to endure what was to come.

The canon had not returned by Christmastide. And neither had my father. He sent a message to the count: he had decided to stay in Lorraine.

Epiphany came, and it went, and still there was no word from either man. My hopes had become twisted around a spindle of despair. Was I to think the canon had been delayed in his journey, or dared I to hope he was not coming at all? I hardly knew whether to pray for the impossible or to resign myself to what was most probable. Hope and desolation warred within me until I was tired to the point of exhaustion and despondent of ever having mentioned Saint Catherine to anyone at all.

It did not help that the Danes who encamped outside the city rampaged through the countryside at will. I heard the chieftain, Rollo, often numbered among the count's company. And when he came, it was with Poppa. If they had not married in the Danish way, as both the count and the archbishop insisted they had not, I was told they certainly acted as if they had.

I had no visitors, save the maids, until there came a knock upon my door one forenoon.

“Who is it?”

“It is I, my lady.”

Andulf. I removed the bar and pushed the door open.

“Your father comes.” After he had finished speaking, he turned on his heel and descended the stair.

I spent a few hurried minutes combing my hair and exchanging my tunic for a silk one. I dug through my chest for my jeweled golden girdle and then looped it around my waist.

My father and the queen entered the palace yard with a flurry of banners and the fanfare of trumpets. Instead of his usual advisors, he was surrounded by strangers. I tried to approach him, but everyone jostled for a place beside him, and I ended by being pushed back into a pile of snow. Before I could extricate myself, everyone had repaired inside.

Everyone save Andulf.

As he looked at me, he nodded and then lifted his brow as he gestured toward the palace.

I stiffened my resolve, squared my shoulders, and determined to speak to my father at once. Even then I might have been relegated to the very back of the hall, but Andulf proceeded with me, allowing me the honor of walking before him, but also keeping me within the expanse of his arms. Still the strangers and the count's men seemed to conspire to keep us from my father, but by both embracing me and propelling me forward, Andulf passed me through the crowds to the dais. And then he stood in front of it, arms crossed, as if daring any to try to breach him.

“Gisele!” My father opened his arms to me, and I dropped to my knee and kissed his hand.

As I rose, he gripped my hand and had me come up to stand beside him. “You are well?”

I nodded.

“Did you enjoy your journey? What did Saint Catherine say?”

“I was not allowed to go.”

He gave off searching the crowds that had gathered and rested his eyes upon me. “But I gave you permission before I left.”

“The archbishop decided to send a canon instead. And then the Dane sent some of his men along as well.”

“To consult the relic?”

“To bring it back to Rouen.”

All the blood seemed to drain from his face. “Good God in heaven, they will have murdered them all. I thought… I had hoped…” His gaze was anguished, his words heavy with sorrow. “What have I done?”

“I have come by other troubling news. I have heard the Count of Paris and the archbishop spoke with the Dane prior to the treaty.”

He looked at me uncomprehendingly. “Yes, in order to come to terms.”

“But they did it long before that.” I stepped closer to him. “The Dane did not request my hand in marriage. They
offered
me to him.”

“The archbishop already told me that.”

Why could I not make myself understood? “It did not have to do with the treaty. They wanted me wed to him so I could not be wed to another. They wished to block an alliance.”

His eyes left mine and came to rest upon the count. “How do you know this?”

“Because…because the count's son told me so.”

His gaze had turned from the count to me. Puzzlement furrowed his brow.

I took care in explaining my flight from the palace. Although I emphasized my rude treatment at the count's hands, I did not dwell long on my detention in the countryside, and I did not mention the incident with the boar at all.

“And you did all this by yourself?”

“I was with her, Your Majesty.”

It was a great relief when the weight of my father's attention shifted from me to Andulf.

“You say I have been deceived, then.”

Andulf merely bowed his head.

Father looked at those gathered around and pinned the archbishop with a stare. “I treated with the Danes according to your counsel, because I trusted you.”

The cleric blanched and came forward, stammering.

“And you—Robert!”

That nobleman appeared as if conjured, when the crowd about him melted away.

“Why, in all of your speeches and all of your dealings, did you not happen to mention you had promised my daughter to the Dane long before talk of the treaty?”

The count's eyes sought the archbishop's.

“Why was I given to believe you spoke with me in honesty, that you were loyal to my throne when, in fact, you sought to block my alliance with Burgundy or Aquitaine?”

The count bowed his head. “I do not know, Your Majesty, how you have come by such information. The pagans are not to be trusted. They must have misrepresented—”

“Enough!”

The count swept forward, dropping to one knee at my father's feet.

“Explain.”

As he tried to account for himself, my father broke in. “And why did you keep Gisele from her pilgrimage?”

“It's so late in the season, Your Majesty. I did not think that—”

“And you allowed the Danes to go as well!”

“The idea was not to keep the princess from her inquiries. If Saint Catherine approved, we knew she would not mind leaving the abbey for the cathedral at Rouen.”

“And how could you believe the Danes would not destroy the abbey in their zeal to come by the relic?”

“It was not my idea, sire. It was the Dane who suggested it.” Robert stayed there, bent in two, hands clasped on his knee, looking for all the world as if he expected some blow to fall upon his shoulders.

But finally, my father sighed. “What is done is done. What has been promised has been promised.” I cried out in protest, but he only put out a hand toward me. “I will send a messenger to the abbey to see what has become of them.”

From his position on the floor, I saw the count exchange a glance with the archbishop.

My father seemed oblivious to the depths of their treachery. He was exulting that he had returned from Lorraine as King of Lotharingia. I tried once more to speak to him, but he only pushed my concerns aside. “If I can get the Burgundians to come over to our side, then I will have no more need to rely upon Robert and his contingent. The Count of Paris's days of influence are on the wane.” His thoughts had clearly left me and had taken up residence in the fabled land of Charlemagne. I despaired they might never return.

In the days that followed, Andulf certainly proved himself my friend. He escorted me, he waited upon me, he dogged my every step. What he did not know was that he tortured me with his every glance, his every word. But did I pray for the misery to stop?

I did not.

The Dane grew restless. Each day he demanded a private audience. Each day, the request was granted. And each day, he insisted he must leave to return to his lands and that he wanted to take me with him.

My father contended that we must wait for the canon's return.

I began to think the cleric might never come and that I had been freed from the treaty, when one evening, without any warning, the canon walked into the hall.

The counselors ceased their talking, and the knights ceased their carousing, and soon, the only one not aware of the canon's presence was the juggler. He kept on with his antics, throwing up one ball after the other until he turned and saw the hall had gone still. Then all the balls dropped at once, as if whatever magic had kept them floating had collapsed beneath them.

This canon was a man much changed from the one who had left. He who had started down the road toward the abbey was vain and much given to arrogance. The man who came down the hall toward us looked weary and worn. His habit was torn, his face dirtied, and his shoes were missing entirely.

To my father's right, the Dane shifted, his gaze sweeping the empty hall behind the cleric.

My father gestured toward the canon.

The archbishop stepped forward and offered his hand. The canon grasped the man's fingers and kissed his ring.

“Rise. The Lord has blessed you.”

But the canon did not move, nor did he release the archbishop's hand.

My father leaned toward them. “Tell us: are we to welcome Saint Catherine?”

The Dane, still gazing beyond the canon toward the back of the hall, pushed to his feet. “My men?”

The canon rose, clasped his hands before him, and gazed at the bare toes that peeked out from the hem of his habit. “Saint Catherine did not wish to come. The rest of the men who accompanied me are gone—burned up in a fire.”

Had he—what had he just said? My father turned to the archbishop. “Saint Catherine did not wish to come. There will be no wedding.”

“My men!” The Dane pounded the table with the flat of his hand.

In the midst of the chaos and general uproar, as all eyes focused on the Dane and his venomous rage, the canon was forgotten. He simply turned and walked away.

But I was not about to let him go so easily as that.

Slipping from the table, I caught him at the back of the hall. “What happened?”

“I do not yet have the words to speak of it. But know this: there were miracles and signs and wonders. The weak were made strong, and the proud were humbled…myself among them.”

“But Saint Catherine?”

“Saint Catherine stayed at the abbey.”

And my mother? That was the question for which I truly wanted an answer. “Were any others harmed?”

“The abbess met her death, but a new one has been elected.”

“And the abbey?”

“It is being rebuilt.”

Which meant it had been damaged. Guilt plucked at the chords of my soul. I had not wanted to destroy the only place I had ever truly loved.

***

The archbishop ground his teeth at the news, even as my father marveled at the wonder of it all; Saint Catherine had vanquished even the mighty Danes. And then he congratulated me, commending me for my great faith.

That spring, the Dane was baptized, and the Count of Paris's land was ceded to him. As we left Rouen in March, not one of our household looked back. My father and his counselors rode ahead as the rest of us followed, more slowly, behind. And I was not surprised when my father did what he always had done. He took my knight to be his own.

I did not stop him.

Andulf found me the morning my father and his retinue were to ride on into Lorraine without us. After a glance about the courtyard, he caught me by the hand and drew me into the stables. “Forgive me for taking such liberties, but are you unhappy with me, my lady?”

“No.” I closed my eyes. To the contrary, I was deeply and profoundly, most assuredly, blissfully happy with him.

“And yet you send me away. I do not wish—”

I put a hand to his lips to silence him. I wished he would…do I know not what. Take me into his arms? Kiss me?

He did none of those. Dropping to one knee, head bowed, he cupped his hands around his other knee. “If I have done anything to displease you, only tell me what it was, and I will correct it.”

How I longed to feel his arms about me once more. “You have done nothing but—”

He lifted his head, searching my eyes.

“Nothing but—” There was no word for everything he had done. “You have…you have protected me and rescued me and…and loved me.”

He bowed his head again at those last words.

“So how can I expect you to stay with me? If it is not the Dane I marry, it will be some other man. I would not want you to there, to be party to my shame in giving myself to another.”

He stood, holding my eyes with his own. “I ask you, I beg you, to reconsider. One word from you, and I know the king would replace me with another.”

“As you were forever reminding me, you are my father's man. It is only proper you should go with him.” I tried to smile. “You will gain his esteem as you have gained mine, and he will see you deserve to be given your father's lands. And then you can go to your mother.” I could not bear to look into his eyes, but yet I could not deny myself that final pleasure. To be known, to be loved, if only for a season. “I would like to be remembered, by just one person”—I took a ragged breath as I attempted to stop the pain that stabbed like a knife within my breast—“by
you
, not as a princess, not as the natural daughter of the king, but as myself.”

“How could I ever think of you otherwise?”