Part of her was glad that her brother was not the saint she imagined him to be. It had been a year since Charlemagne’s invasion of Vienne, and a long while since the siblings had had time to speak to each other of their loves and desires. Roland always needed Olivier more than she did, it seemed.
It was not without tears that Aude pulled herself away from her brother’s tent and began the slow progress in the dark toward the Saracen camp, knowing her only chance was to confront the giant. His tent would be easy to locate, since it was apparently the largest of all, and it would not take her long to ford the river and then blend in among their people. She kept as quiet as a ghost, and no sentry nor hound detected her presence as she approached.
Men moved about between the tents, singing and talking in a strange language she could not recognize. But she couldn’t spend all her time dawdling and wondering after their speech. The sun would be rising soon enough, and her brother’s fate was still in her hands.
Aude made steady progress, winding her way through the camp. Unlike the haphazard layout on the other side of the river, the Saracen camp had a precise grid plan, with each of their square structures placed in neat rows of nine. The result was long alleyways between the tents, which helped Aude considerably in navigating her way without drawing attention. Moving fast, she used the shadows to her advantage, crouching and glancing around corners before proceeding.
Fierabras’s tent was taller than the rest, but it was guarded at the front by two yellow-robed monks, their heads down. Aude doubted she could get past them without causing a commotion.
She felt around the side of the tent for any weaknesses in the canvas, and found a loose lace. Swallowing her fear, Aude pulled the fabric open just enough to see inside.
The tent was dimly lit, but empty. No giant. Not even giant-sized furniture or clothing or armor. The room was decorated in a foreign fashion, to be certain, but there was nothing gargantuan about it.
Relief flooded her body, and she almost collapsed in tears. It was all a ruse, and she would not have to endure the loss of her brother.
That hope evaporated, though, when she felt a hand clamp over her mouth and the pressure of a knife at her back.
“Be silent,” said a harsh whisper in her ear, in accented Latin, “and they won’t kill you.”
Aude didn’t have time to realize just how curious that statement was until she was pulled into another tent, two rows over, and turned around. She found herself staring at a young man, perhaps no older than her thirteen years. He would be handsome someday, perhaps, but he was mostly teeth and tousled hair. There was a familiar look to his face though, especially about the cheeks.
In the struggle, her hood had fallen off. She had cut her hair to her shoulders and tied it back, but not gone so far as to tonsure herself. While Turpin may have found her far from feminine, the look in the young boy’s eyes gave her reason to doubt she had convinced him.
“You’re not a monk,” he said, and he sounded disappointed. Then he grimaced. “You’re… you’re a girl.”
She got a better look at him and at last she could place his face. Floripas. This must be her brother, Fierabras. “Well, you’re no giant,” she said, summoning all her strength to get the words out. She was still shaking.
“This doesn’t make sense,” Fierabras said, folding his arms across his chest like a petulant child.
“Perhaps not,” said Aude. “Little does, these days.”
“They told me you’d be skulking around. The yellow monks. But… you’re not what you’re supposed to be. What, the Franks are so starved for clergy they’re allowing women in?”
“No, I came here disguised.”
“It’s not a very good disguise.”
“No, I suppose not. But I had a good accomplice. Mostly,” Aude said. “I escaped Aachen in order to keep an eye on my brother. You might know his name.”
Fierabras did not miss a mark. “You’re Aude of Vienne, then. Roland’s betrothed.”
He even said her name correctly, switching for a moment to Frankish.
She nodded.
The recognition of her status changed him utterly, and he took a deep breath, shaking his shaggy head. The more Aude looked upon him, the more tired he appeared. The dim light of the tent cast even deeper shadows on his face, perhaps, but there was a weariness there far beyond his years.
“And you’re Fierabras. The giant,” Aude said.
“Not right now, I’m not,” Fierabras said.
“What do you mean by that?”
He produced a wooden stool and she sat.
Fierabras sat on another stool and took her hands in his, and to her surprise Aude did not recoil. His fingers were warm, slightly callused. He wore two rings, both elegantly wrought and worked in gold. Tired though he was, he must be just as frightened as she.
“They worship a god… a strange god. These yellow priests, the ones that guard my father Balan. Their deity has no name, or else they tell us his name cannot be spoken. My father has been utterly bewitched by them.”
“But what has this got to do with you?” Aude asked. Her stomach felt slightly queasy, and she was having a hard time concentrating on his eyes without blushing.
“The yellow priests, they make me change in here. The great tent is a decoy, so if assassins come in the night they find it empty of the monster,” he said. “They keep me in here and make me use that.” He pointed to a leaden box by the door. “Once the sun rises, I cannot exit the tent until I am changed. There is a scepter in there, topped with an ancient paw from some beast of old. I do not know. They say I am the right age. The child of a king, and… virgin. And when I take the scepter, I change, become the monster. I am lost to rage and a dark fury, as if I can see into the eye of all creation and it’s just a black, roiling void of chaos.”
“And your father approves of this torture?”
“I assume so, but I do not know. I haven’t seen him in months. Floripas thinks he may be ill, or ailing, but the priests keep him from us. Do you know how many men I’ve killed?” Fierabras’s eyes filled with tears.
“I’m sorry. I want to help. I do not want my brother to number among your casualties.”
“What could you possibly do?” asked Fierabras.
“The Queen of Heaven came to me in a dream,” Aude said, feeling the story spill out of her before she could stop it. “I was so afraid when I heard that Olivier was going to fight you, but She spoke to me so loudly and so clearly — She told me I was to find a way to convince Turpin to take me, and I did. She said I would find the heart of the poison, and I thought that was quite literal, but now I see it’s you. You are at the heart of this poison.”
“I cannot abide by your gods,” Fierabras said.
“But where have yours led you? To these priests who corrupt your body and turn you murderous?”
The young man shook his head, letting go of Aude’s hands. “I want to be free of this.”
“I think I know how I can help,” she said.
“What do you mean?” he asked. “I am trapped here.”
“Stand up.”
Fierabras did as she asked, and they stood eye to eye. Aude untied the rough monk’s habit she had worn for weeks, and let it fall to the ground. She revealed to Fierabras her naked body, thin and weak as it was, and not yet made into that of a woman. Turpin was right. She looked like a boy.
Outside, the sound of soldiers mustering could be heard. Aude noticed the light in the tent brightening ever so slightly. The sun would rise soon.