A Dancer in the Infinite - Chapter 8

Chapter 8

The Merkovingian Princess

As an analogy one can imagine an intelligent amoeba with a good memory. As time progresses the amoeba is constantly splitting, each time the resulting amoebas having the same memories as the parent. Our amoeba hence does not have a life line, but a life tree. – Hugh Everett

I See my life go drifting like a river
From change to change; I have been many things --
A green drop in the surge, a gleam of light
Upon a sword, a fir-tree on a hill,
An old slave grinding at a heavy quern,
A king sitting upon a chair of gold – William Butler Yeats.

    

     Regenulfa stared out the window of the chateau, breathing in the air, watching the clouds roll by.  When she was a child she would lay upon the grassy slopes of Incourt in Brabant, her ancestral homeland, and imagine what shapes she could make out.  See could see wolves, and dragons, horses and knights in their willowy shapes.  But today, she was not was seeking shapes in the passing cloud lands.  She was looking for succor from her fate.  Some Heavenly sign that she would be freed what she feared the most:  marriage to Count Carte’, her cousin.

The year was 644, and Regenulfa was in what was then the castle in what was to become la Cite’ of Carcassonne, that she would soon be mistress of.  But she wanted no parts of being the lady of a castle, a count’s wife.  She had seen her mother and grandmother and great-grandmother hold such stations, as Merovingian princesses they had done their duty, and helped consolidate the allegiance and holdings of the High Kings, whose vassals where held under suzerainty in part by marriage.  The ties of love and blood had helped keep the peace in Frankish Gaul for centuries.  She understood what was expected of her.  Her parents and kin were all in the castle preparing for the nuptials of the count and his princess-bride.  Ancient and noble was her line.  They were preparing the feast, making the vestments, her mother, no doubt, was overseeing the work on her wedding gown and crown of flowers.  These thoughts left her gasping for breath, even in the chill air of the open window.  She could feel the walls closing in on her.  She would likely only leave the castle save for her weekly visit to the church, on the weddings of her children.  Children?  Inconceivable to Regenulfa.  She was not made to bear children, nor give her love to a man.  Deep inside her she knew this.  She had said nothing about her hesitations to anyone.  They would not understand.  She felt guilty and nervous for even feeling such thoughts.  It was a betrayal to her father, to her family.

     She could stand this no more.  She rushed from her room, down the flights of steps, past the bustle of the wedding preparations, and out the gate.  No one saw Regenulfa run.  She tore across the grassy lawn in front of the chateau, panting hard.  She could barely breathe.  She didn’t care.  She would not get married.  She would not live as a prisoner in her own life.  She could not.  God forgive her and save her treacherous soul, she prayed.  She ran.  And she prayed as she ran.

     Not too far from the castle lay a deep, thick forest.  She knew not where she ran, as she had never visited the vicinity before.  But the forest would hide her from her fate.  Better to die alone in the sweet woods of God’s Nature then to live a hundred years the prisoner of marriage, of duty, of expectation.

     Regenulfa broke through the underbrush at the edge of the woods, barely slowing down as briars ripped at her dress.  She had no time to find a path.  She climbed the hillside on her hands.  She would not slow her speed if she could help it.  She imagined that everyone was just behind her, grabbing for her; reaching to pull her back to her destiny.  She wanted no parts of their version of her destiny.  She would seek her own, and if it was to die of starvation, or to be eaten by beasts of the wild, then God’s will be done.  She placed her life in his blessed hands.

     “Lord Jesus, help me,” she said, not in a whimpering voice, but a clam voice, full of courage.  Now, she was having no trouble breathing at all.  Her fear was quickly diminishing the deeper into the forest she climbed and pushed.  Her confidence grew and it surprised her.  She was the mistress of her own destiny now.  The green canopy overhead was freedom.  The leaf covered ground was liberty.

     Regenulfa of Incourt, Daughter of the Duke of Brabant, House of the Merovingian Kings was free.  No one even realized she had left.