Love Lost in Time

by Cathie Dunn

  “Ah, I see. I’ll bear your words in mind.” She gazed past him towards the towering peaks and made a sweeping movement with her hand. “And beyond these Pyrenaei lies Iberia?”

  “Yes, and with it, man-made trouble.”

  “Dangers lurk everywhere, it seems.” She shuddered, and he wrapped his arm around her. “As long as it stays over there.”

  “It’s far from our home. To reach the base of these magnificent mountains you have to ride for at least another three to four days, depending on the weather.”

  “And how much trouble is on the other side?”

  Beside her, Milo gave a harsh laugh. “The rulers – Visigoth and Saracen – switch their allegiances whenever the wind changes direction.” He sent an apologetic glance to Bellon.

  “You are right, Milo. Despite our joint efforts, they have dithered and turned traitor time and again. But King Charles has announced a new move across the mountains. As soon as it gets warmer and the snows melt, he will arrive here, and we will head south.”

  “And about time,” Milo added.

  “So soon again?” Hilda frowned.

  Bellon nodded. “I’m afraid we must. Fortunately, our own boundaries are now fairly safe. You can rest assured that you will have a suitable amount of armed men for the defence of Carcassonne. But Lupo of Vasconia has been stirring up rebellions in the west – at the coast of a sea far greater than the Mare Mediterraneum – and he and his Vascones warriors keep attacking the borders of Aquitania.”

  He could not hide a shudder. Those Vascones had a reputation for being fierce fighters, and he had encountered them in many small skirmishes. Open battle was not for them.

  Seeing Hilda’s look of concern, he smiled swiftly and waved off the dark mood. “But that will be for the spring. Now, we will ride on a bit further, to the small settlement of Rhedae, which lies on the route south. This territory is called the Razès, and it’s a strategic point for crossing east to west and north to south. Because of that, the settlement of Rhedae has recovered more quickly than other places, and is growing fast.”

  “It sounds intriguing. I’ve not seen any large settlements apart from Carcassonne.”

  “True, there are but a few, and many on the coast.” He helped her back into the saddle before mounting his stallion. “Rhedae differs from our built-up fortresses. You will like it. Shall we?”

  Hilda nodded and, together, they nudged their horses into a canter.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Early April, 2018

  Maddie had barely put the key in the lock when Bertrand pulled the door open and beamed at her. She could swear he looked like an excited boy who had made an unusual discovery. Well, perhaps he had…

  “Ahh, finally,” he almost shouted. Then he glanced behind her before his gaze met hers again. “Where is Léon? Is he not with you?”

  She nearly burst out laughing. Never mind that she was the owner of this house… “Non, désolée. He had a call from Gina. Something about a group and a missing key to the wine cellars.” She shrugged apologetically and felt sorry for him when she saw the disappointment in his eyes. “Am I allowed to come in?” She smiled and pointed at the corridor.

  “Oh, bien sûr!” Flushing a shade of crimson, Bertrand shuffled to the side to let her in. It was almost comical. His surprise didn’t have the full audience he clearly expected, but at least she would find out what went on here.

  “Léon will join us later, don’t worry. Salut,” she called to Monsieur Marti who stood leaning against the kitchen doorframe. “Ça va?”

  He laughed, nodding at Bertrand. “Well, I’m not allowed to continue just yet. Monsieur le Maire has forbidden me from continuing and informed the authorities.”

  “For what?”

  “See for yourself.” He moved out of her way and let her look over the mess that had been a kitchen floor earlier. They had removed two-thirds of the old tiles, together with the layer that had glued them to the base. Ah, now the tarpaulin-covered trailer outside her gate made sense. The builder must have taken all the rubble out.

  The drop was several inches deep, to allow for proper levelling, as expected. But in the far corner the mud looked more disturbed than elsewhere. Small mounds of earth had been heaped up, leaving large holes.

  “What’s there?” She dropped her bag and coat on the bannister in the corridor and stepped gently into the kitchen. It resembled…

  Her heart was beating faster, and she blinked.

  “Bones,” she whispered.

  A shiver ran down her spine, and, almost on auto-pilot, she crouched at a safe distance, not wishing to step on anything interesting. Half-uncovered, one piece was clearly a bone, possibly human, and another seemed to be part of a skull. It was like being on a dig, only in her own home. What were the chances!

  “Careful,” Bertrand whispered from the door. “It may be a person.”

  Maddie nodded. “Indeed. The curvature here that shows above the earth could point to a human cranium. The bone you have revealed, Monsieur Marti, could be a tibia.” She stood, facing them. “This is intriguing.”

  Both men nodded enthusiastically.

  The remains of a human being in her kitchen. “Could there be more?”

  Monsieur Marti shrugged. “I wasn’t allowed to check…” He glared at Bertrand who ignored him.

  “This is exciting, Madeleine, non?”

  “Absolutely. Excuse me for a second.” Her mind made up, Maddie headed past them to where she’d left her bag and began searching it. She hadn’t brought any utensils for an archaeological dig – who would expect something like this when renovating their kitchen? – but she had a brush for her blusher in her make-up case. That would do.

  “Ha!” She raised her hand, brandishing the cosmetic item. “There we are.” She went to the sink and ran the brush through her fingers until no traces of make-up remained.

  “But…Madame…Madeleine… Shouldn’t we wait for the professionals? I called the history museum in Carcassonne, and they said they’d call us back…though they don’t seem in a hurry.”

  Bertrand looked positively flustered, and for a moment Maddie worried he may be heading for a heart attack. On second glance, though, the look on his face resembled more a child waiting to open a Christmas present than a man close to cardiac arrest.

  “Please don’t worry, Bertrand, I have studied archaeology and have assisted at many digs…discoveries…across Europe and north-east America. This,” she pointed at the brush, “will help me. Would you like to watch?”

  “Bien sûr.” He nodded, delighted he had a front-row seat.

  She smiled at his enthusiasm.

  “Please stay outside the perimeter… Yes, it’s fine by the door. Monsieur Marti, would you lend me a hand, please?”

  The builder joined her. His eyes wide, he stared at the bones.

  “There’s nothing to worry about. Once we have uncovered these items and have checked the rest of the floor, your work can continue as planned. I hope…” She grinned.

  The poor man didn’t look reassured, but shrugged his shoulders.

  She knelt at arm’s length from the bone, which was half-uncovered, and gently pulled it up. “Monsieur, do you see the pack of kitchen towels over there, on the cupboard in the corridor? Yes? Please hand me one, so I can lay this bone somewhere safe, where it can’t be damaged. Take two, as you’ll need one as well.”

  Bertrand pulled two towels from the bundle and handed them to the builder, then sat down again in the doorframe.

  It often surprised Maddie how the tallest and heaviest of men could walk gently and gingerly when needed. Monsieur Marti’s heavy shoes barely touched the ground, and he immediately returned with the towels, handing them to her without coming near the find. A man of few words. Maddie nodded in thanks.

  She laid out a towel on the churned-up ground beside her and placed the bone onto it. Then she brushed off the earth that stuck to it. It was definitely human, in her view. She held it against her
forearm, then her thigh. Yes, too long for an arm bone; most likely a femur.

  “Could you please move this over to the far wall and place it on a fresh towel, so we don’t step on it by accident?”

  “Oui.” Again, Monsieur Marti did as bid, carrying bone and towel at arm’s length. Maddie suppressed a smile. Perhaps he was superstitious.

  “So, this bone… Is it human?” Bertrand’s whispered words reached her.

  She nodded and cast him a sideways glance. “I believe so, yes. But it’ll be up to the laboratory to establish how old it is – and whether it’s Visigoth, or later, or even earlier. So when the experts call you back, ask for someone to collect them for tests.”

  “I will. This is extraordinary!” His voice was still full of wonder. Then his brows knitted together. “When they come back from the lab, I’d like to keep them here. They’re local history.”

  “I agree, Bertrand. These would be perfect for the Minervens History Museum.”

  He beamed. “You would let us have them? Many finds from the cemetery have gone to bigger museums in the region.” His face fell, then his fighting spirit broke through. “But we shall keep these, in that case!”

  “Indeed.” Maddie smiled, then turned back to the corner and focused on the piece that looked like the top of a skull. The cosmetic brush was not ideal, but it was the best she could do. Soon, she’d removed enough of the earth surrounding the find to recognise the remains of a human cranium. Possibly a female, as it was smaller.

  Gently, she touched it with her fingertips. A sense of sadness settled over her. A woman left like that? Far away from any others. It wasn’t even a proper grave, unless someone had disturbed the bones in the past, perhaps without having known of them.

  Maddie had taken part in too many graveyard digs to know that this was different. And Visigoth graveyards were of a certain type, that much she knew. The way these pieces lay here, with no evidence of a sarcophagus or burial shroud, sent alarm bells ringing in her head. It didn’t have the sense of a proper grave.

  Finally, after what seemed like ages, she had freed the fragment from its shallow grave. She cradled the partial cranium in her hand. Her fingers tingled, and she gently laid it onto the kitchen towel to rid herself of this electric sensation. Slowly, she began to brush off the dirt. As the small clumps became loose, the scent of lavender rose from them.

  Maddie cocked her head, and a shiver ran down her spine. It had been a while since the last time. “Can you smell lavender, Monsieur Marti?”

  The builder hovered beside her. “Oui. C’est tellement bizarre.” He scratched his head. “Where is it coming from?”

  She pointed at the cranium. “From this, it seems.”

  He took a step back. “Maybe there are plant roots somewhere in the ground?”

  “Under the floor? No, I don’t think so.”

  Shrugging off the discomfort, she continued with her work. After a few minutes, tears stung her eyes, and she quickly wiped them off with the back of her hand. What was wrong with her? She’d uncovered many human remains over the years, yet this one brought up strange emotions in her.

  It felt…personal. Close.

  Must be because it happens in my kitchen, she thought. Just as well that Elizabeth didn’t witness this.

  Eventually, she brushed the last crumbs of mud from it and cocked her head, puzzled. Who was this person? She held out the cranium to the wide-eyed builder.

  “Monsieur Marti, could you take this over to the other bone and then give me your trowel, please?” Again, he did as bid with minimum fuss, carrying the cranium reverentially to the towel. Within seconds, the trowel landed in her hand, no words spoken. He stood back again, almost as if in prayer.

  The silence in the kitchen was only disrupted by sounds of scraping. Carefully, she loosened a second layer. After several minutes of digging, the trowel hit resistance. She put it aside and prised the mud apart with her fingers. It crept under her nails, but she didn’t care.

  It was as she thought. Another bone. This one shorter. A forearm, perhaps? She uncovered it gently and exposed it in full. After cleaning, it joined the femur and cranium on the towel. Then, getting into a routine, she dug on.

  Now in her element, it didn’t take her long to discover several slightly rounded pieces of bone. Ribs?

  “Can I have a fresh towel, please?”

  She handed Monsieur Marti the dirty dish cloth and received a clean one in return which she laid out beside her.

  Maddie smiled at the serious faces of her audience. “It’s quite something, isn’t it?”

  “Absolument!” Bertrand nodded. “What do you have there?”

  “Likely her ribs. From the shape, the bones should be those of a woman.”

  She freed three of them and put them on the towel. When she lifted the third one, she startled. Much to her surprise, she found what must have been a diagonal break crossing it.

  Like a cut.

  Looking back at the spot where she pulled the last, shorter piece out, she prised the earth apart. Yes, there was the second half. She swallowed hard.

  Now serious, she cleaned the four bones and checked them. “There’s two ribs with a cut. See?”

  Bertrand had come forward, and both men leaned over her. “What does that mean?” the maire asked.

  “Broken ribs mean she could have had an accident or a fight. Perhaps she broke her back whilst horse-riding. Or someone injured her with a sword.”

  “Mon Dieu!” Monsieur Marti exclaimed.

  Bertrand crossed himself. “La pauvre fille.”

  “It might explain why there seem to be only one person’s bones. If we could find the spine, that would tell us more, but yes, the poor woman…”

  Something horrific had befallen her. Tears pricked her eyes again and her skin crawled.

  But who had this person been? When did she live?

  And had she died a brutal death?

  Chapter Fourteen

  15th August, AD 778

  The pass at Roncevaux, western Pyrenaei

  “Ware! Attack!”

  “To arms!”

  “Vascones!”

  Spears came flying from both sides of the path. On their return to Francia after a brutal campaign in Iberia against the southern Vascones, the Franks had split from their allies again. The Lombards and the Burgundians had taken the easier road northwards along the east coast of the Mare Mediterraneum, but King Charles and his Frankish and Visigoth soldiers were crossing the western Pyrenaei. The pass at Roncevaux provided them with the most direct route back into Aquitania.

  They thought it was safe…

  Bellon ducked as yet another short spear whizzed past his head, almost scraping his ear. Beneath him, his stallion collapsed into a heap of mangled legs, its heavy body pierced by two lances. He pushed himself from the saddle and lay flat behind the bulky rump as the onslaught continued. He blinked hard. There was no time to mourn the loyal beast.

  “Put your helmets on and grab your weapons!” he urged those men from Carcassonne who had survived the campaign. “Shelter in the shrubs!”

  Surveying the area, he saw movement all over the woodland hillsides.

  Where had the attackers come from? And why had there been no warning from the lookouts?

  With little time to think, Bellon clumsily untied his helmet from the saddle and pulled it over his head, fastening the leather strap under his chin with shaky hands. Then he grabbed his shield. Glancing around, he realised the alarm cry had come too late for many of his fellow warriors. He took the hilt of his sword in a firm grip.

  Appearing from the thick leaf cover of the forest, men were crawling closer over the rocks of the steep mountain pass. Soon, he spotted two fighters nearby squatting behind a large oak. They were whirling their slings in the air before they turned to face him and his fellow soldiers and let loose a hail of rocks. He raised his shield, and the stones thudded against it. When he next dared a glance, four other men had joined them, some throw
ing their short spears whilst some prepared another volley of stones.

  He huddled behind his dead horse again, escaping another onslaught. Beside him, men were scrambling for their weapons and helmets, unprepared as they all were for such an attack.

  We should have known better.

  Then the Vascones overran them. His fellow soldiers did not have enough time to draw their weapons and fight back. Bellon had seen many skirmishes and battles, but this was no battle. It was a massacre!

  He fought off two attackers who realised that he was too well-trained and uninjured to engage in direct combat. With a few scratches, they escaped into the undergrowth as quickly as they had appeared.

  It was the perfect place for an ambush, and a small voice inside his head commended them for choosing it. Then, reality returned with another man, armed with a short sword and a dagger, facing him. He parried each stroke and kept an eye on the knife. The Vascones were hardy warriors, brutal and without mercy. As they circled each other, Bellon manoeuvred the man towards his fallen stallion, then pushed forward. Losing his footing in the blood-soaked ground, the warrior slipped, then stumbled over the horse’s legs. With a swift move of his sword, Bellon dispatched his attacker to Hell, or whatever the man had believed in.

  Huffing with exhaustion he looked around. Only a few of his men were still standing.

  “Run!” The cries from the vanguard reached him. “Retreat!”

  Had he heard correctly?

  “What? The king is leaving us to these heathens?” A young Frankish lord huddling down beside him stared at the trees, his eyes wide with horror. A gash on his temple was oozing blood.

  “It would seem so. Look!”

  Bellon watched in astonishment as the Vascones merged back into the forest, heading south, towards where his group had come from.

  “What is happening? Where are they going?”

  Around him, men gathered, always scanning the trees, but the attackers had left.

  The eerie silence was broken moments later when scores of cries rose at once.