Timestruck by Flora Speer

Charles’s first wife, though the Church claims they weren’t
really married because no priest blessed the union. There now, you
are all clean.”
    “Just in time, too,” Gina said. Having dried
her arms and legs while Ella talked, she pulled on the loose robe
and collected her discarded clothing, preparing to leave the
bathhouse. “Another few minutes of explanations and I’d never get
your royal family straightened out in my mind. And I thought the
British royals led complicated married lives! So, when the Church
proclaimed its new rule a few years ago, Pepin was declared
illegitimate, just as Dominick was?”
    “That’s right,” Ella said. She opened the
bathhouse door, letting in cooler air that banished the warm and
steamy atmosphere. “We must hurry. You don’t want to be late.”
    When they reached Gina’s room, a new gown was
spread out on the bed, with a clean linen shift to wear
underneath.
    “Of course, it’s one of Lady Hiltrude’s
gowns. Hedwiga altered it for you to take to Regensburg,” Ella
said. She picked up the shift and slid it over Gina’s head.
    The gown was bright blue silk with bands of
green and blue embroidery edging the wide round neck and the long
sleeves. There was no waistline; the skirt flared out from Gina’s
hips into swirling ripples of fabric.
    “It’s beautiful.” Gina spun around, watching
the way the skirt moved. “I feel like a princess.”
    “Lady Hiltrude never looked so pretty in it,”
Ella said, tugging the bottom of one loose sleeve into place. “She
always wore such a sour face. You are almost always smiling. That
makes all the difference.”
    “Me, smiling?”
    “You probably don’t notice, but it’s true,”
Ella said. “It’s too bad you don’t have any jewelry to set off the
dress.” She looked at Gina as if expecting her to produce some.
    “I’ve never been much for jewelry,” Gina
said. “I don’t like the cheap stuff and can’t afford the good
stuff, so I do without.”
    “In that case, you are ready.” After pausing
only long enough to listen to Gina’s heartfelt thanks, Ella
departed for the kitchen.
    Gina was grateful to have a few minutes alone
in which to prepare herself to meet the royal elder son who had
been displaced as heir by his able-bodied, Church-approved younger
brother.
    In his tunic and trousers of plain dark wool,
Pepin Hunchback did not look much like a prince to Gina. She
guessed he was a year or two younger than Dominick, and with his
pale hair and blue eyes he was certainly handsome, though he gave
the impression of having little physical strength. That was natural
enough, given his so-called deformity. Gina didn’t notice it
immediately. Not until Dominick glimpsed her and beckoned for her
to join the group of men clustered in the middle of the hall, and
Pepin turned around, was she able to see the physical problem that
meant he could never be king of the Franks.
    One of Pepin’s shoulders was noticeably
higher than the other, and the distortion had evidently twisted his
spine so that he walked with an odd, sideways gait. He tended to
balance himself on one whole foot and the big toe of the other
foot.
    “Lady.” Pepin bowed over Gina’s hand. “I
feared Dominick would invite only men to his table. How pleasant to
find you here.”
    Gina didn’t know whether to curtsy or call
him “my lord” or “prince.” She settled for a simple “Thank you,
sir,” and Pepin didn’t seem to notice anything amiss.
    “Here is Father Guntram,” Dominick said,
indicating a tall, skeletally thin man in a dark monk’s robe. The
priest Ella had declared a great holy man bestowed a fierce and
disapproving glare on Gina, then pulled Pepin aside and began to
speak with him in a low voice.
    “Ella told me who they are,” Gina said to
Dominick.
    “And warned you not to be offended by Pepin s
appearance,” Dominick said. ‘Tm glad she did. You hid your reaction
well.”
    “Why should I be offended?” Gina