All The Fine Realms

Chapter 1.

March, A.D. 768,

Elza did not attend another Marchfield for five years. By then much in her life was altered, and unhappily so. Only a week before leaving her home she had learned why her father wanted her present at the earlier spring assembly. At first she had been frightened by Frambert’s explanation, but having reached the Frankish encampment she found her qualms fading as she faced the result of her father’s negotiations on her behalf. Or rather, on his own behalf. As always, Frambert had acted to his own advantage and Elza’s feelings had counted for nothing with him.

Elza? I asked you a question. Martin’s fine lips curved into a half smile as if he could not imagine a negative response. He extended one hand toward her. Will you marry me?

Elza stared at him. He was remarkably attractive. His light brown hair gleamed in the spring sunshine, his eyes were as blue as the woolen cloak the wind kept blowing against his strong, straight legs, and save for the red line of a scar on his left cheek, he was without physical blemish. The short scar was no blemish, but rather a mark of honor, won on the field of battle in Aquitaine the year before, where he had fought shoulder to shoulder with King Pepin’s sons.

Elza understood that there could be only one answer to Martin’s proposal. The marriage arrangements had been settled between his father and hers, and they had been approved by the king. Frambert had explained that King Pepin was pleased, for he wanted the disparate sections of Francia welded together into a single land, and such marriages were one means of achieving his goal.

The wedding would take place the day after tomorrow, binding together this handsome young man so aptly named for blessed St. Martin of Tours the soldier-saint, this son of a wealthy Neustrian count, and herself, daughter of Count Frambert of Austrasia. Thus, in a small way, Neustria and Austrasia would become members of the same family. So important did King Pepin consider the marriage that only Elza’s death, or Martin’s, could prevent the ceremony.

It was kindness on Martin’s part to trouble to ask her. The asking told Elza that she was fortunate in her father’s choice for her. She put out her right hand, laying it in his, and felt his warm fingers close around hers.

Yes, she said in a firm voice, I will be happy to marry you.

Your father told mine that your mother produced seven sons and one daughter before she died, Martin said. Tucking her hand into his elbow, he began to walk with her across the field. Behind them, Elza’s aged maidservant and self-appointed guardian, Cela, kept a respectful distance while still making her presence known by occasional coughs or throat-clearings.

Your father also said, Martin went on, that you have managed his household well since his wife’s death four years ago.

Elza’s pleasure in her betrothal was dimmed by the mention of her mother, who had died during a protracted and painful childbirth. The last child Hadwisa had borne to her lord had been given at the age of two as an oblate to a monastery, to spend his life within its walls whether he wished to do so or not. Elza had been surprised by her father’s action. She had not thought he cared enough for her mother to make the boy a painful reminder of his late wife. But Frambert had never shown any interest in the baby, had indeed refused even to look at it. Perhaps he had loved her mother after all.

Elza missed little Jaron. She had seen much of their mother’s sweetness in the child, and until he was taken away his care had been largely her responsibility. She still puzzled over her father’s decision to send the boy to a monastery, for of the seven sons Martin had mentioned, only three had survived childhood. Besides Jaron, now lost to Elza forever as if he were dead, twelve-year-old Roswald and ten-year-old Conrad remained. Both of them had come to court with Frambert and Elza, to be given over for training in the palace school that King Pepin had established. After their schooling was completed Frambert would expect his sons to make their own way in the world while bringing increased honor to his name.

Elza reminded herself once again not to dwell on the inevitable changes taking place within her family. Her own life had become increasingly uncomfortable of late. Revilda, her father’s concubine, was determined to marry her lover and made no secret of her opinion that it would be easier to attain her goal if the children of Count Frambert’s first marriage were no longer under foot, especially Frambert’s capable daughter.

A noble girl was given little choice when she was no longer welcome in her father’s home. She could marry or enter a convent. Though possessed of a firm religious faith, Elza felt no desire to become a nun, and considering Revilda’s petty tyrannies, she would have been happy to marry almost any man her father chose for her. That the man was young and handsome and apparently disposed to be agreeable toward her she regarded as a near-miracle. There could be no hesitation on her part, and no regret. She would marry Martin gladly and care for him and love him with all of her affection-starved heart until the day death parted them.

I shall expect healthy sons of you, Martin told her rather severely. I want as many sons as you can give me.

She knew that would be her primary duty in marriage. She did not think she would mind fulfilling it.

I will do my best never to disappoint you, she said. I will always respect and honor you.

Then ours will be a successful marriage, he replied, smiling at her with such charm that Elza freely entrusted her heart to him.

Elza was three months short of her fourteenth birthday. Martin was just seventeen.

It was March in Francia. The sky was a deep, cloud-dotted blue and a brisk, early spring breeze blew across the land, stirring all of it to new life, though rumor said King Pepin was sorely ill, worn out by years of bitter fighting against Aquitaine. Gossips whispered that he was likely to die soon. Many believed the present Marchfield would be Pepin’s last.

To the yearly meeting had come all of the king’s nobles to sit in council with him on important matters. They could debate, and even raise objections on occasion, but the final decisions were always Pepin’s alone. This year many hoped he would declare one last renewal of the campaign against the Aquitainians, who had continued their defiance of Frankish power through eight previous summers of brutal warfare.

But military concerns were not the only reason for the presence of so many at Marchfield. As usual, the noblemen had brought their wives along, so they could renew valuable friendships among the other ladies present, especially the highly placed and influential women of Queen Bertha’s immediate retinue. A few, like Elza’s father, included marriageable daughters in their train, bringing the girls to meet, and some to marry on the spot, the men to whom their fathers had betrothed them.

Across the wide, grassy fields spread the gaily colored tents and pavilions of the royal court, with nobles and their servants moving between the temporary abodes or gathering in the open areas to talk for a while. On the outskirts of the encampment the inevitable merchants had appeared to set up booths and display their wares: silks and gold ornaments from far Byzantium, or furs and amber from the cold north, rich fabrics and brilliant blue or yellow tiles and fine daggers from the Moorish kingdoms of Spain.

A troop of horsemen rode across a corner of the field toward a stream, scattering a bevy of well-dressed ladies who were returning from the stream, so the ladies resembled fluttering blue and red and green butterflies. Horsemen and ladies laughed merrily, enjoying the brief incident. Their voices carried easily to Elza’s ears as she walked beside Martin toward a large blue wool structure which she recognized at once as Queen Bertha’s tent. They had almost reached the tent and Elza’s mouth was half open to protest to Martin that she had received no invitation to visit the queen, when a group of young men and women burst forth from the entrance.

There was no mistaking the golden-haired man in the midst of them. He had grown taller since Elza had last seen him and his once-slender frame had filled out to muscular perfection. He stood a full head taller than his companions and his bright gaze ranged restlessly about the scene as if to tale it all in at once glance. The penetrating blue gaze fell on Elza and paused, assessing her weighing her worth, before he began to smile his greeting.

Elza, Count Frambert’s daughter, he said. I trust you are not lost today?

No, my lord, but I am surprised that you remember me.

How could I forget one who swore lifelong friendship to me? Here is another who will welcome your friendship. Reaching out one arm Charles drew forward a slim girl who was standing a little behind him. This is my wife, Himiltrude. And you may as well meet the rest of my companions at once. You will learn to know all of us well, for I won’t let Martin leave my side. Not for a while, at least.

The startled expression that appeared on Martin’s face when Charles recognized Elza and called her his friend quickly changed to one of warm pleasure. It took only a moment of reflection for her to understand what Charles meant. When King Pepin died, Charles would surely inherit a large part of his father’s extensive lands. When that happened Charles’s closest companions would no longer be simply noble young warriors; they could easily become powerful magnates. Her father had explained this to her when he told her who she was to marry.

The brown-haired Himiltrude was smiling at her, a shy, timid smile that Elza readily returned. When Himiltrude moved to put out one hand her loose gown flowed across a slightly swollen abdomen and Elza realized that Charles’s wife was with child.

These dear companions, Charles told Elza, continuing his introductions, "are Amalar and

his wife Libusa, Kilian and his wife Herlinda, Gelion, who cares for little but horses and eating, and Balarat, who is a scholar as well as a fine warrior. More of our friends you will meet later. Were you coming to visit my mother?"

I have no wish to disturb her, Elza stammered, uncertain what Martin intended by bringing her to the queen’s tent, and trying desperately to remember who each of the people she had just met was. Realizing it would take time and familiarity to sort them out, she gave up the immediate effort except for Himiltrude, whose soft brown eyes and gentle manner held the promise of friendship.

She won’t be disturbed, Charles assured her, pulling back the tent flap as he spoke. Come along; I’ll present you myself.

Martin looked pleased at this offer, so Elza stepped forward, then paused, waiting for Himiltrude to precede her. With a shy dip of her head, Charles’s wife scurried into the tent like a frightened little mouse. At Charles’s gesture Elza followed her.

The interior of the tent was as dim as Elza remembered it. To one side was a wooden bed frame topped with a red mattress and matching cushions. A few stools were scattered about, some fur rugs lay on the well-trodden dirt that was the tent floor, and low, three-legged braziers provided heat. In a corner stood a small wooden shrine to St. Bertrada, with twin candles burning before it.

Seeing her son re-enter the tent so soon after leaving it, Queen Bertha came toward him with an inquiring look, bringing two men and a young woman in her wake. The queen was a tall, big-boned woman, more than a bit overweight. Her size combined with her brilliant, gold-embroidered robe and heavy gold necklaces to give her a commanding aspect that left little doubt as to her royal status. Elza tried to control her nervousness while Charles presented her to his mother.

I remember your dear mother and you, too, when you were only a small girl. You are most welcome here, Elza. The queen’s full. low-pitched voice carried more true welcome than had the earlier sound of her daughter-in-law’s whispered, half-frightened words of greeting. Bertha indicated the others who stood with her. Here is my younger son, Carloman, his wife Gerberga, and Bishop Gervald, who is my private chaplain.

Carloman did not look much like his brother. Still in his late teens, he was smaller, darker, and he lacked the air of barely restrained energy that was so much a part of Charles’s personality.

Elza saw something else in him, for the look that Carloman shot his older brother was one of pure hatred. With only a single word to acknowledge Elza’s presence, a bow to his mother, and barely a nod in his brother’s direction, Carloman stalked out of the tent.

Away with you, too, Queen Bertha said to Charles, her obvious affection for him neatly covering the uncomfortable pause that followed Carloman’s departure. Take Martin and Amalar and the rest of your young men and go hunting or practice with your swords somewhere. Leave the ladies with me. Elza, your father cannot complain if you remain in my company where no harm can come to you.

My servant is outside, Elza objected. Cela is elderly. She was once my nurse, and she should not be left standing in the wind or she will catch a chill.

I’ll tell her toc come in here, Charles said, pausing on his way through the tent flap to look back at her.

Yes, do, responded Queen Bertha. Elza, your concern for a faithful servant speaks well of you. The babies are coming in a few minutes. Your Cela may help with them if she likes.

The men were scarcely gone and Cela had just appeared in the tent when two serving women arrived with the queen’s grandsons. One was a handsome boy about two years of age; the other was only a week or two old.

Gerberga has given me two great joys, said Queen Bertha, taking the baby from its nurse and propping it against her shoulder. How sweet he is, how tiny, and yet how strong. She caressed the soft blond fuzz on the baby’s head and kissed it.

Me, too, cried the older boy, tugging at her skirts. Bertha bent down to gather the lad into her free arm and lift him, also.

I hold the future of Francia in my two hands she declared, laughing.

I hope to bring you more joy when my child is born, murmured Himiltrude, in the soft, half whisper that Elza was beginning to think was her natural voice.

The slender girl seemed lost among the large-boned Franks. Even Gerberga, who was a Lombard princess, had a well-rounded figure and, apparently, a firm sense of her own worth, for she smiled at Himiltrude in a condescending way and when she spoke it was with a certain sly sharpness.

Let us pray to the Good Lord that your children will be stronger than their mother, though you surely will not have an easy birth if it’s a large child you bear. And well it may be a big baby, if we can judge by its father’s size.

Seeing Himiltrude’s already pale face turn even whiter at mention of what awaited her in a few months, Elza spoke quickly, wanting to allay Himiltrude’s fears.

The father’s size is not always important, she said to Gerberga. My mother had a dear friend who was even smaller than Himiltrude, while her husband was tall and quite heavy. Her son was small, like his mother, and the birth was an easy one. For all his small size, the boy is now a healthy ten years old.

You cannot be certain Himiltrude’s babe will be small, responded Gerberga, a flash of malice lighting her dark eyes. What if it does resemble its giant father?

Not all women die in childbirth, Elza snapped, angered by Gerberga’s obvious attempt to frighten the timid Himiltrude, as you yourself have proven twice.

Elza has you bested there, my dear. Queen Bertha’s hearty laugh rang out, startling the baby she still held and making it cry. The older boy, like most young children not wanting his movements restricted any longer than necessary, began to squirm and whine. Bertha nodded to the nurses to take both of them from her. As soon as her arms were free she brushed at a damp spot on one of her sleeves. Go with your children, Gerberga, and see that they are fed and their linen is changed. Then seek out your husband and do your best to calm his angry spirit. I do not want him opening old wounds with his brother.

When Gerberga, the nurses, and the royal children were all gone, Bertha turned to Himiltrude, speaking in a kind voice.

You look tired. Go to your own tent and rest, for your good and the good of the child you carry. Cela, please accompany her and see that she lies down for a while. Elza will remain here with me for now. If I am to take her into my service, I must talk with her first. Libusa and Herlinda, you are dismissed until later. Elza, Bertha continued turning her full attention to the girl, I want you to understand what your duties will be.

As Bertha spoke, Bishop Gervald moved out of the shadows near the little shrine where he had remained while the women talked.

Understand, Elza, the bishop said, that what is spoken among the three of us here in this tent is to be kept in strictest confidence.

I will not repeat one word, Elza said, looking straight at Bertha, not even to my father or my betrothed.

Good. Sit down, both of you. Bertha pointed to the stools before taking her own seat on the elaborately carved wooden bed, which had railings around three sides. Red cushions were propped against the railings, and with the queen’s girth made greater by the spreading of her scarlet robes as she sat, the royal bed suddenly took on the appearance of a wide throne.

Elza, I speak freely to you because you are the daughter of one of my husband’s most trusted advisors, said Queen Bertha. My two sons are constantly at odds. While I must admit that Charles is the more amiable of the two, he has not yet learned the wisdom of refusing to take offense at Carloman’s jibes. And lately, unfortunately, Gerberga has begun to attack Himiltrude with words, and sometimes with deeds. This continued exacerbation of the tension between my sons must be stopped before it can seriously disturb King Pepin.

Recalling the hatred in Carloman’s eyes when he looked at his older brother, Elza wondered if any means existed by which the two could be reconciled. She doubted they had ever been friends. There was a nine-year difference in their ages, and while Charles appeared to be an easy person to know and like, her brief impression of Carloman was of dark secretiveness and envy of his golden-haired, hearty brother.

Do you believe there is something I can do to help? asked Elza.

A little while ago, you defended Himiltrude against Gerberga, the queen said. I saw how Himiltrude looked upon you with hopeful eyes. I believe she is lonely and I suspect she is too weak in spirit to hold my son’s fidelity for very long. I say this even though she comes of good Frankish stock and I chose her myself for Charles.

The marriage was not blessed by the Church, put in Bishop Gervald. Their union is only friedelehe"

The Church’s blessing could not change the kind of person Himiltrude is, Queen Bertha responded sharply. Blessing or not, the child she carries is legitimate. And in the beginning Charles loved her. I think he cares for her still.

Elza understood what the bishop was implying. Divorce was common among the Franks, with few social repercussions for either party unless the wife was guilty of flagrant adultery. The Church frowned upon divorce, as it frowned upon the institution of friedelehe, which was a sort of common-law marriage by the old Frankish customs. The Church was not strong enough in Francia to prevent either the informal marriages or the easy ending of them. All Bishop Gervald could do was express his disapproval.

Still, if pale Himiltrude’s child were a girl and not a son, or if it died at birth or shortly afterward as so frequently happened, she might not be given a second chance to provide a son for her husband, whether Charles cared for her, or not. The combination of mother-in-law and bishop allied against her would likely prove too formidable for Himiltrude’s influence on Charles.

I want you to become Himiltrude’s friend, Queen Bertha told Elza. As her confidante, and as a lady in my service, you will have every opportunity to learn when difficulties are likely to arise between my sons or between their wives. Were you to report such instances of potential conflict to me, I may be able to stop any problems before they occur.

You expect me to spy on Charles and Himiltrude, Elza said.

On his stool beside her, the bishop stirred.

You need not have put it so baldly, he told her. You must learn to be more tactful, Elza.

I would, of course, be grateful, said Queen Bertha, smiling serenely, unruffled by Elza’s sharp exclamation or her chaplain’s words. The benefits to your future husband could be most pleasant. And to your father. Your two younger brothers have come to court with you, have they not?

Were one of your brothers to decide to enter the religious life, Bishop Gervald told Elza, I would be pleased to encourage his career.

I already have a brother in a monastery, Elza said before taking time to think. Immediately, she wished she had not spoken, then knew that it made no difference. Both the bishop and the queen probably knew already about her youngest brother. Bishop Gervald’s next words proved her speculations were correct.

I believe, said the bishop, that Jaron is now four years old. Let us hope he has a long and healthy life ahead of him in which to do our Lord’s bidding.

Indeed yes, said the queen, crossing herself with great solemnity. Well, Elza, will you help us in this important task of keeping peace in the king’s family? More specifically for your duty in this matter, of keeping peace between these two sisters-in-marriage?

I am to be married myself the day after tomorrow, Elza objected, wishing she could think of a stronger reason to avoid becoming a spy. I must then obey my husband’s wishes in all things.

Again it was Bishop Gervald who answered her.

Within a week or two, Martin will join King Pepin and his sons in the march to Aquitaine, said the bishop. This year Duke Waifar will surely be defeated, after which Aquitaine will become a part of Francia, with Aquitainian lands to be distributed among Pepin’s brave warriors. During the coming warfare, what safer place for your new husband to leave you than in the company of Queen Bertha and the other royal ladies? He paused, letting the implied promises, and the threats, hang in the air.

Elza felt as if she was being drawn into a complicated web woven by queen and bishop. There could be no turning back, for she had promised at the beginning of their conversation that she would reveal no word of it to anyone. She would not have asked her father for advice in any case, and she did not know Martin well enough to open her heart to him, but lingering childhood affection made her wish she could talk to Cela and unburden herself to her old nurse and hear her advice. Elza tried to tell herself that what the queen wanted – peace among the members of the royal family – was an admirable goal. It was the spying that bothered her, the repeating of conversations meant to be private, and the suggestion of repercussions against her brothers if she did not do what was being asked of her.

You have not answered me, Queen Bertha prodded gently.

I was thinking of all the implications of what you want me to do, Elza responded.

You needn’t think. Bishop Gervald’s voice was hard. You need only obey. Answer the queen, girl. Consider the benefits for you and your family and delay no longer.

I want no special benefits, Elza said, meeting Queen Bertha’s eyes squarely. I will do what you ask because I believe you mean well.

"How dare you judge the queen?’ demanded Bishop Gervald, rising from his seat in anger.

Leave her alone, said the queen. She bent upon Elza a look of stern approval. "You do not yet know our ways at court, but I can tell you are clever, and I believe you will learn quickly. Join your betrothed at the feast tonight. My sons and their wives will also be there. Use the occasion to advance your friendship with Himiltrude. You will be occupied all day tomorrow with the preparations for your wedding, and the following day with the ceremony and all that comes after it.

"I will give you three days. On the fourth day, present yourself to me early in the morning

and when Himiltrude comes to bid me good day, I will lend you to her, to keep her company. Like you, she has only an aged nurse for attendant and she will be glad of your presence. You may go now." Bertha lifted one hand in dismissal.

Outside the blue tent the sun still shone brightly and the spring breeze still blew. Gaily dressed Franks moved among the tents as they had only an hour before, yet the color and brightness were dimmed for Elza. She thought of the one subject the queen had not mentioned that, if the rumors were true, was vitally important to the relations between Charles and Carloman. That subject was King Pepin’s failing health.

She was diverted from her somber considerations by the sight of her father coming toward her, bringing with him Martin and an older man whom he introduced as Count Hugh, Martin’s father.

What have you been doing all this time? asked Martin, regarding her curiously. You look most serious, Elza.

Queen Bertha wants me to become one of her ladies, Elza reported, choosing her words with care. She and Bishop Gervald spent a long time explaining what my duties will be.

That’s wonderful. Martin beamed at her. I knew she would like you at once, just as I did.

I hoped for this when I spoke to the queen yesterday, said Count Frambert. This is good news.

Indeed, added Martin’s father. We may be certain that Queen Bertha will always exert a strong influence on both of her sons, so a close relationship with her can only be to our advantage, don’t you agree, Frambert?

I do, said Frambert. I am pleased with you, Elza.

Thank you, sir, she replied, wondering just how pleased either father would be if they knew she had been asked to spy for the queen. Or perhaps they would have expected it. They were both experienced courtiers, after all.

Elza saw King Pepin later that day. He was of medium height, stocky in build, with a square chin and a face that might once have been handsome but now was lined from years of worry and the cares of ruling a large, fractious kingdom. There could be no doubt he was ill. He moved with a painful gait, and she saw that his hands and his legs and feet were swollen. Yet, when a few of his nobles drew near and began to speak to him, Pepin changed. He pulled himself up so he looked taller, he smiled graciously and somehow, clearly by force of a determined will, he began to walk with his men as easily as the youngest among them.

Watching him, seeing the quiet bravery with which he fought his body’s frailty. Elza felt her heart swell with pride and affection. Her father had told his sons of Pepin’s magnificent courage in battle, and of the careful way he ruled Francia. He was severe with wrongdoers, her father had said, but he was always fair. He was a king the Franks could respect and follow loyally, for he would never abuse their loyalty. He was a king worthy of the title he bore and for his sake Elza decided she would do the best she could to help Queen Bertha keep peace among his sons and daughters-in-law.

She sat beside a somewhat preoccupied Martin at the open-air feast that evening, with his friends surrounding them on the benches allotted to Charles. One of the men, Kilian, who sat on Elza’s other side, was a few years older than the rest of them. Kilian’s wife, Herlinda, was across the table from Elza, a dark, slender woman with bottomless gray eyes and beautiful robes of pale blue and silver. The other married women wore their hair braided, or pinned up in a topknot decorated with jewels, but Herlinda’s hair was loose, covered by a sheer silver scarf. Dangling from the scarf exactly between her eyebrows was a magnificent gray pearl held by blue enameled wings. Her eyes were outlined with dark paint and her lips were red. More than her startling beauty, her sharp wit seemed to charm the men who sat near her, though Herlinda rather pointedly ignored the other women at the table.

Looking around the feasting area, Elza saw Carloman and Gerberga at another table nearby. She watched Gerberga lean toward her husband and say something that made Carloman look at Charles. His brother’s back was toward him, and Carloman sent such a glance in Charles’s direction that Elza felt a sudden chill along her spine. It did not take much intelligence to understand why Carloman loathed his brother, not when there was a vast kingdom waiting to be inherited and Carloman was the younger son. It was the Frankish custom for a father to divide his estate among his sons, but from her brief encounter with Carloman in Queen Bertha’s tent and from what had transpired after Carloman left, Elza thought he might well covet all of Pepin’s lands for himself, and she found it easy to suspect Gerberga of encouraging him in his ambition.

Meanwhile, at his own table, Charles reigned with easy grace. He ate well; in fact, he ate so much that Elza wondered at his taut, muscular figure. Not having the stomach herself for the Frankish habit of consuming as much wine as possible at every meal and frequently between meals, too, Elza was pleased to see the men and women at Charles’s table following his abstemious example, in contrast to most of the guests at the evening’s feast.

Charles included the women in his conversation, even leaning forward to look down the table in Elza’s direction and question her about her journey to the Marchfield.

Was the road you took in good condition? he asked. Were you able to travel quickly? Where did you stay at night? What sort of accommodations? Was the food tolerable?

Elza responded with good humor, understanding that Charles was gleaning from her answers vital information about a land that might soon belong to him. Suddenly he was on his feet, advancing along the table to her side, where he sat down astride the bench to question her more closely. Over his shoulder she saw Martin nod in approval.

Do you sing? asked Charles, changing the subject with unexpected swiftness. Elza heard Himiltrude’s soft laugh at the question.

No, my lord, Elza said.

That’s a pity. I like to hear women’s voices lifted in song. It’s the most pleasant sound in the world. Since your speaking voice is so pleasant, perhaps you would try to sing?

I would only embarrass myself for trying, and you for asking, Elza responded. My nurse, Cela, claims I sound like a raucous crow. Anything more Elza might have said was stopped by

Herlinda’s cool, mocking voice from across the table.

Surely you do not listen to the words of that senile old hag. I heard her telling Himiltrude some dreadful tale of the days when she was young, though how anyone could possibly remember what happened so long ago I cannot imagine, nor who would want to listen to her stories. She seems to be a vile-tempered creature. I was forced to slap her when she refused to run an errand for me. I expect you to punish her for her insolence.

Elza looked at Herlinda in silence. Why the woman should speak to her with such hostility she did not know. She was aware of Charles sitting in tense stillness on the bench near her, waiting to learn what her reaction would be to what was unquestionably a deliberate challenge.

Cela has cared for me since I was a baby, Elza said with measured calm. It is true that she can be ill-tempered when her joints ache, but I know she loves me. Today she was under the queen’s orders to stay with Himiltrude, not to do favors for other women.

Humph. I cannot abide old women, Herlinda said, turning her head to look at Martin. They are so wrinkled and ugly, and so slow. She sent a seductive smile in Martin’s direction, as if expecting him to comment on her own youth and beauty. Martin said nothing.

So, Charles murmured, drawing Elza’s attention away from Herlinda to himself, you are loyal, even to a servant. It’s an admirable trait. Pay no attention to foolish prattle, Elza. Ah, I see the king is leaving the feast, so we are free to rise and go, also. Good, I’m tired of sitting in one place for so long. Taking Elza’s arm, he helped her to stand, then excused himself to go to Himiltrude.

I fear Herlinda is a cruel woman, Himiltrude said to Elza later, after they had left the feasting area and were returning to their various tents. She should not mock the elderly, nor encourage others to do so, for if God spares us, we will all be like them one day, and then I am certain we will not enjoy the younger folk laughing at us.

She is very beautiful, Elza remarked.

And dangerous, said Himiltrude. Beware of her. Suddenly, impulsively, she threw her arms around Elza, hugging her tightly.

Now, there’s a good sign, said Charles, who was walking with Martin just behind the two women. The large male forms separated them from the rest of the men and women who had been part of Charles’s company during the feast. As we are friends, Martin, so are our ladies. We are blessed, all of us.

Yes, breathed Elza, looking at Martin. She saw his eyes slowly focus on her face, as though he had not been aware of her presence before that instant. She thought it was strange, because they had been sitting beside each other all evening. Then Martin smiled and her heart warmed.

Did you know, Martin said to Charles, that, though we have been betrothed for several years, I have never kissed this lady?

You must remedy the oversight at once, responded Charles with ready humor, or the betrothal isn’t legal, even as the marriage isn’t legal without the bedding?

Oh, Charles, surely not, murmured Himiltrude in her soft, whispery voice. Her eyes were wide and serious. If the fathers agreed and the parchments were sealed, there can be no doubt of the betrothal.

I don’t think you should take the risk of any question being raised at the last moment, said Charles, winking at Martin.

For an instant Martin’s face held an odd expression, almost of hope, and Elza, with a stab of fear, began to wonder if he wanted to withdraw from the betrothal contract. But then Martin took her hand.

Shall we seal the contract properly, here before witnesses? he asked.

If you wish. Elza began to tremble. She saw Amalar with his wife Libussa, both of them smiling at her, and behind them the benign face of Kilian, and the beautiful Herlinda, who was frowning.

I do wish it. Martin’s hands came up to hold her face between them. Slowly he lowered his head to her until their lips touched. When his arms settled around her shoulders Elza put her own arms around his waist. His mouth was gentle, tender, infinitely sweet, and Elza felt a warmth growing inside her, an answering tenderness.

Then she was free of his embrace, still trembling a little, and he was kissing her lightly on her forehead. She opened her eyes to his smiling face. She put up one hand to touch his cheek and he caught it in his and kissed her fingers.

I cannot bear it, cried Amalar. He threw his arms around his wife in a gesture of comically exaggerated emotion. The sight of this youthful passion has awakened my own desire. Come, my dearest Libussa, to our tent at once! Catching her by the hand he pulled her away from the group, with Libussa laughing and protesting that he was shocking their friends.

And I, murmured Herlinda, leaning seductively against her husband’s side and caressing his chest, would have my dearest Kilian in private also.

A red-face Kilian excused himself and his wife with flustered haste, but Elza noticed that Herlinds’s eyes were hard when she looked in Martin’s direction. Her feeling of uneasiness when she saw Martin staring back at Herlinda was disrupted by Gelion, who cried out in mock despair.

And here stand I, alone in the flower of my youth! No wife have I, and must slake my thirst upon some merchant’s daughter or, worse, upon the females who gather out at the fringes of our camp.

Had you a wife, you’d have no need to leave your tent in search of feminine companionship tonight, said Charles with a promptness that suggested the two of them had engaged in similar discussions in the past.

Had I land, I’d have a beautiful wife who craved my embrace, returned Gelion, eliciting a burst of laughter from both Charles and Martin, while Elza and Himiltrude pretended not to hear. But all will come in good time, my friends. I may yet win renown in the next campaign and – who knows? – perhaps I’ll also win an exotic Moorish princess whom I shall convert to the True Faith and marry. Ah, here is Balarat. Join me, Oh Faithful Friend, and we’ll find twins to keep us company this night.

Not I, said Balarat. I have reading to do.

You cannot be a scholar all the time, Gelion protested, least of all after heavy feasting, which wearies the mind. With that, he grasped the arm of the unwilling Balarat and dragged him away.

Would that we could all always be as happy as we are this night, said Charles, gazing after them, one arm around Himiltrude. Then, shaking himself and giving Himiltrude a squeeze, he added, Until tomorrow, dear friends.

Martin walked Elza to the tent next to her fathers’ that she shared with Cela.

Two nights from now I’ll take you to my own tent, he said. Then, softly, with one hand laid gently on her shoulder, You need not fear me, Elza. I will not hurt you, and my hope is that we will learn to live together in peace and contentment.

It is my hope, too, she whispered, lifting her head in hope that he would kiss her again. After a short hesitation, he did. It was an abrupt kiss, almost as if he was angry, but in her inexperience she decided it was passion he felt and was trying to keep it in check until their wedding night. She trembled in joyful anticipation just thinking about it. She wanted Martin to desire her, for she believed she was beginning to care for him.

When the ever-watchful Cela coughed from within the tent, they separated with a guilty little laugh on Martin’s part, and said good night in haste. Later, Elza lay on her pallet in the small tent and tried to imagine what it would be like to lie in bed beside Martin. And she knew, with the absolute certainty of youthful innocence, that he was all she would ever want in a man.

.

Chapter 2.

The sky was lightening into a deep greenish-blue, but the sun had not yet risen when a slender figure in a dark, clinging robe slipped out of the tent belonging to Kilian and made its way to that of Count Hainmar just a short distance away.

Hainmar was not abed, as the glowing light within clearly showed. He sat reading in a cushioned chair that was drawn up to a table. The lamp hanging from the tent pole above him illuminated the richly appointed tent, the carved wooden bed frame, the warm colors of silk and woolen pillows, and even several Moorish carpets strewn upon the dirt floor. When the tent flap was pulled back Hainmar turned his sleek, dark head to see who dared to disturb him at his work.

Pepin keeps you up too late, dear brother, said his visitor, pushing aside a head scarf to reveal the equally dark head and similar features of Herlinda.

I expected you before this hour. Hainmar gestured to the stool on the opposite side of the table. Still, it’s just as well you waited. I was not able to send my secretary away until just a few moments ago. You might have met outside.

I saw no one. Herlinda seated herself on the stool. As I have said before, Pepin uses you too hard.

He needs my services. No one else among his nobles is so capable of organizing the men or the supplies he needs for a long campaign.

Oh, others are capable, said Herlinda with a knowing glance. It’s just that you have convinced him that you are the only one to do it. Clever Hainmar. Tell me, my dear, what will you do after he dies?

I’ll convince the next king that I am indispensable, replied Hainmar.

Convince Charles to grant you as much power as you hold now? Who can tell if he will? The man keeps his thoughts under such close control that none can truly know his heart, but I sense he is only waiting for the day when he will seize all the power of Francia in his own hands and hold fast to it, to use it for his own ends. And no one can say what those ends might be.

You speak only of Charles and do not mention Carloman. Have you anything to report to me that suggests Charles will be left the greater part of Pepin’s kingdom? Has the queen said anything? Or Gerberga, perhaps? If she’s angry enough, she will reveal almost anything.

Nothing has changed since last we talked, except that Pepin looks more ill each time I see him. I am sure you have observed as much for yourself. Will he really be able to ride into Aquitaine again?

If strength of mind can get him there, he will lead his troops, said Hainmar. His illness comes and goes. Some days he is surprisingly vigorous. The important factor is that whatever the condition of his health, all the counts will follow him, and they will gladly fight and die for him. Now, why were you late for our appointment?

When a woman’s husband requires her company in his bed, she has little choice. Herlinda’s lovely mouth twisted with a mixture of disgust and scorn.

Ah, dear Kilian. How he worships you. Is he still the same? Hainmar asked his sister.

He is still clumsy and over-hasty, if that is what you mean. I wish he were not such a good man. Were he unkind to me, I could hate him and my hatred would make it easier to pretend a passion I do not feel. Instead, I pity him. He wants to please me, yet he leaves me unsatisfied.

Which Martin does not.

Martin. Herlinda clasped her hands tightly together in her lap.

Take your pleasure with Martin, Hainmar said, but do not love him.

I do not. Herlinda did not meet her brother’s eyes. She stared at her hands instead. Martin is skillful and vigorous, and he satisfies me as Kilian never does.

You must reveal all the details to me some time, Hainmar responded dryly, but not now. Time grows brief. Martin marries tomorrow morning.

You need not remind me. I have met Elza. She is tall, blonde, handsome, and healthy- looking, Herlinda reported. She drew a shaky breath. Elza will probably give Martin a dozen sons and have great pleasure doing it.

Are you jealous? Hainmar watched her closely as she answered.

No. Martin will never love her. I have bound him to me so tightly that he will never stop wanting me and the passionate release only I can give him. His need of me burns in his blood day and night.

Did he tell you that? If so, take care, for men are notorious liars when they want a woman to be compliant to their lustful wishes.

Don’t mock me, Hainmar. Martin will give Elza sons, which is his duty, but she will never hold his heart as I do, and he will come to me whenever I want him. Never fear, I know how to manipulate Martin.

Your confidence is encouraging. Hainmar permitted himself a rare smile.

You promised me that when Elza and her family arrived at court you would explain to me why you suggested to King Pepin four years ago that Martin ought to marry her, and why you wanted me to seduce Martin.

So I did, and I am bound by my promise. Hainmar rose, went to the entrance of the tent, and looked out. The sky was growing