Free Enoch's Device by Joseph Finley

lives Geoffrey had protected against raiders and famine, which had touched these lands twice in the six years she had lived here. Alais could not understand this great burden slipping onto her narrow shoulders, let alone grapple with the terrible loss that would accompany it.
    It was never supposed to be like this.
    She had been born a child of Aquitaine, the richest province in Gaul. Her grandfather was the third William, called Towhead for the pale flaxen color of his hair. He was both count of Poitiers and duke of Aquitaine, and her grandmother was the daughter of Rollo, then duke of Normandy. Her father, Odo, was cousin to the fourth William, called Iron Arm, who had ruled Aquitaine for nearly thirty years. William Iron Arm had strengthened his alliances by marrying his sister to Hugh Capet, the late king of France and father of the current king, Robert, and by arranging his own marriage to Emma, daughter of the count of Blois, who was lord of neighboring Touraine. Alais’ mother, Adelais, too, had been bound in a political marriage—a gift from her father, the count of Toulouse, who was currying favor with the house of Poitiers. Marriage, Alais had learned at a young age, was the way rich and powerful men enhanced their wealth and power. So it was predestined that she would someday be given in marriage to a man she had barely met, for reasons that had nothing to do with love. And that was the problem she always had with the situation.
    Being of noble birth, Alais had lived a carefree life. She spent much of her youth in the palace of Poitiers, her family’s ancestral home. There she would play in the gardens with their tiled Roman fountains and stroll with her family down the streets of the ancient city, in the shadow of its towering Roman walls. Outside the city, Alais and her sister, Adeline, would play hide-and-seek in the vineyards lining the hillsides that sloped down to the river Clain, or amid the ruins of the old Roman baths or the ancient amphitheater just south of the city. The amphitheater, with its archways, tunnels, and broken pillars, provided many of the best hiding places. These gave Adeline, who was often the seeker, fits while Alais giggled under her breath or dreamed of ancient times when poets and actors once graced the theater’s stage, performing for highborn Roman ladies who laughed and clapped and sipped wine from silver cups.
    It was during one such game of hide-and-seek, one May afternoon when she was eight, that Alais learned the legend of Saint Radegonde. After wandering far from the amphitheater, Alais sneaked back through the city gate and ducked into the convent of Sainte-Croix. It was the perfect hiding place, she thought—too perfect, perhaps, and she wondered if Adeline would ever find her. But there was also the problem of the black-robed nuns, who walked the convent’s halls in silent contemplation. Alais must hide from them, too, which, in the moment, meant descending a dimly lit stairwell that ended in a dark, narrow chamber. She was not scared of the dark, and this seemed as good a hiding place as any. A large stone slab of some type lay in the center of the chamber, and running her hands over it, she found that it was carved and polished. It was a bas-relief of a woman, slender and beautiful—a woman fit to be a queen.
    She jumped when bony fingers grabbed her shoulder from behind.
    “What do you think you’re doing here, child?”
    In the dim light penetrating from the stairwell, Alais could make out the withered features of a nun as old as her grandmother. But despite all the deep creases and wrinkles, the face looked peaceful, not angry.
    “I didn’t mean anything,” Alais said, shaking. She tried to pull away, but the old nun held her firmly.
    “You’re one of the children from the palace, aren’t you? Have you come to pay respect to Saint Radegonde?”
    Alais looked at her sheepishly.
    “That’s unfortunate. A girl like you could learn a lot from her. Do you