In the Ruins
Page 140
Three servants and two guards appeared, looking anxious.
“Go on,” said Sanglant, and they looked at his expression and scurried away.
“Perhaps you have to force women to get them in bed with you, Wichman, and perhaps you mind not that they hate and fear you for it, or perhaps you even enjoy it, but I won’t tolerate it.”
“What will you do to me, Your Majesty?” he said with a sneer. “What can you do?”
Sanglant wiped a bit of blood from his lip. It would swell later. “Marry you to Bertha of Austra.”
“She’s dead! Your wife lost her!”
“She may not be dead. If she lives, she’ll find her way back to Wendar. What would you think of that?”
“You don’t scare me, Cousin. I’ll take the puling maiden that’s Bertha’s little sister. I hear she’s comely enough. And Westfall in the bargain. Or make me duke of Saony. That will make my sisters croak and bark! Too late for that, isn’t it! You gave Saony to your sister like a bone to a bitch, for she’ll never have the throne. What’s left for me, eh? I found me a tight sheath for my sword, as my consolation, so leave me be, you damned prick!”
He was wild, and aroused, no better than a dog that has scented a bitch in heat. Impossible to reason with.
“Do not touch this woman again.” Sanglant stood, and he braced himself as Wichman rose, brushed off his clothing, and laughed.
“Saving her for yourself? She’s handsome enough, if not as bright a jewel as your soulless wife.”
Sanglant punched him hard, and Wichman went down again, and this time rose afterward with more caution, rubbing his chin.
“I’m not angry, Wichman. Nothing you say about my wife can harm her, but it’s necessary for you to understand that on my progress you must curb your tongue.”
“I meant to curb my tongue in this warm creature’s lips. Why are you so stingy?” He took a half step toward Sanglant, but thought better of it. “Kings ought to be generous, not close-fisted, hoarding all the gold for themselves.” He walked away.
“My lord,” she said from the darkness where she hid. “Your Majesty. I thank you.”
He knew who it was. He’d known all along. “Have you any boon to ask of me, Frederun?” he asked her.
“Nothing you can grant me, Your Majesty.” She moved forward enough that he could see her shadowed face and the curve of her breasts and hip beneath her linen gown but not so close that he could touch her without taking a step toward her to claim her. “What I most desire I can never have.”
“Have you any need of a dowry to make your way? For a marriage, perhaps? To be released from your service in the palace?”
“I need nothing, Your Majesty. Only to be left in peace. I like my service here well enough and the company of the other women who are my companions. It is only men who trouble me.” A tremor afflicted her voice, and he knew he was partly the cause of it but that she could never say so.
“Are you content?”
She did not answer, but he heard her begin to weep.
“If there is anything, apply to one of my stewards.”
Her voice was hoarse and barely audible. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
Weary, he returned to his chamber, where Hathui had kept them waiting, just as he’d ordered.
“Is all well, Your Majesty?” she asked him as he entered. She had a way of squinting as she examined his face that made him feel quite naked, not in body but in soul.
“Only reflecting on my sins. Let us go to the chapel for the morning service. Then we’ll make ready.”
She nodded. It was impossible to know how much anyone had heard, but he understood well enough that there was little secrecy and less privacy on the king’s progress. He had known that all his life. This was the first time it chafed him.
2
ON the first day of the new year, 736, King Sanglant of Wendar and Varre, son of Henry, approached the cathedral on horseback with his magnificent entourage behind him, each one splendid and terrible in rich robes and gold or silver coronets, depending on their rank. Behind them rode the twoscore soldiers out of his personal guard who had survived the cataclysm in Aosta as well as another score newly brought into his service. Down the widest avenue in Gent they rode four abreast. There was just room on either side for folk to press back against buildings, to stare and call out and sing praises and weep as he rode past. When they came into the square, he saw that the entire expanse was filled with a multitude, the people who lived in Gent and those who had walked a day or even three days to the city in order to witness the anointing and crowning of the new king and to receive the bread that would be distributed in the wake of the ceremony.
“Go on,” said Sanglant, and they looked at his expression and scurried away.
“Perhaps you have to force women to get them in bed with you, Wichman, and perhaps you mind not that they hate and fear you for it, or perhaps you even enjoy it, but I won’t tolerate it.”
“What will you do to me, Your Majesty?” he said with a sneer. “What can you do?”
Sanglant wiped a bit of blood from his lip. It would swell later. “Marry you to Bertha of Austra.”
“She’s dead! Your wife lost her!”
“She may not be dead. If she lives, she’ll find her way back to Wendar. What would you think of that?”
“You don’t scare me, Cousin. I’ll take the puling maiden that’s Bertha’s little sister. I hear she’s comely enough. And Westfall in the bargain. Or make me duke of Saony. That will make my sisters croak and bark! Too late for that, isn’t it! You gave Saony to your sister like a bone to a bitch, for she’ll never have the throne. What’s left for me, eh? I found me a tight sheath for my sword, as my consolation, so leave me be, you damned prick!”
He was wild, and aroused, no better than a dog that has scented a bitch in heat. Impossible to reason with.
“Do not touch this woman again.” Sanglant stood, and he braced himself as Wichman rose, brushed off his clothing, and laughed.
“Saving her for yourself? She’s handsome enough, if not as bright a jewel as your soulless wife.”
Sanglant punched him hard, and Wichman went down again, and this time rose afterward with more caution, rubbing his chin.
“I’m not angry, Wichman. Nothing you say about my wife can harm her, but it’s necessary for you to understand that on my progress you must curb your tongue.”
“I meant to curb my tongue in this warm creature’s lips. Why are you so stingy?” He took a half step toward Sanglant, but thought better of it. “Kings ought to be generous, not close-fisted, hoarding all the gold for themselves.” He walked away.
“My lord,” she said from the darkness where she hid. “Your Majesty. I thank you.”
He knew who it was. He’d known all along. “Have you any boon to ask of me, Frederun?” he asked her.
“Nothing you can grant me, Your Majesty.” She moved forward enough that he could see her shadowed face and the curve of her breasts and hip beneath her linen gown but not so close that he could touch her without taking a step toward her to claim her. “What I most desire I can never have.”
“Have you any need of a dowry to make your way? For a marriage, perhaps? To be released from your service in the palace?”
“I need nothing, Your Majesty. Only to be left in peace. I like my service here well enough and the company of the other women who are my companions. It is only men who trouble me.” A tremor afflicted her voice, and he knew he was partly the cause of it but that she could never say so.
“Are you content?”
She did not answer, but he heard her begin to weep.
“If there is anything, apply to one of my stewards.”
Her voice was hoarse and barely audible. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
Weary, he returned to his chamber, where Hathui had kept them waiting, just as he’d ordered.
“Is all well, Your Majesty?” she asked him as he entered. She had a way of squinting as she examined his face that made him feel quite naked, not in body but in soul.
“Only reflecting on my sins. Let us go to the chapel for the morning service. Then we’ll make ready.”
She nodded. It was impossible to know how much anyone had heard, but he understood well enough that there was little secrecy and less privacy on the king’s progress. He had known that all his life. This was the first time it chafed him.
2
ON the first day of the new year, 736, King Sanglant of Wendar and Varre, son of Henry, approached the cathedral on horseback with his magnificent entourage behind him, each one splendid and terrible in rich robes and gold or silver coronets, depending on their rank. Behind them rode the twoscore soldiers out of his personal guard who had survived the cataclysm in Aosta as well as another score newly brought into his service. Down the widest avenue in Gent they rode four abreast. There was just room on either side for folk to press back against buildings, to stare and call out and sing praises and weep as he rode past. When they came into the square, he saw that the entire expanse was filled with a multitude, the people who lived in Gent and those who had walked a day or even three days to the city in order to witness the anointing and crowning of the new king and to receive the bread that would be distributed in the wake of the ceremony.
