Love Lost in Time

by Cathie Dunn

  The mood turned serious. Too much so for Bertrand.

  “It’s not like you to shudder at the sight of old bones, Léon, eh?” The maire slapped him on the back.

  “True enough,” he conceded, laughing. “It’s just bizarre watching Maddie dig out bits of a human being, a once flesh-and-blood person who lived here.”

  “It is different to other sites, yes. But not unusual. Let’s try over there.” Maddie shuffled to the other side of the hole and began anew.

  Léon stepped forward and crouched next to her. “Can I help?”

  She nodded and handed him a small penknife. “Here, I found this in a drawer. But first, get your hands dirty in there.” And she showed him how to rake through the earth.

  Having someone join her made it far more focused. Together they uncovered further fragments of bones and placed them on a fresh cloth that Monsieur Marti put between them. They worked in companionable silence, only occasionally commenting on an interesting piece.

  To her surprise, she forgot the two older men watching them. Instead, she relished Léon’s closeness, his keen interest in what they found. She’d imagined him to be the impeccable businessman, but then she remembered that he told her he’d do much of the work on their vines himself. A man who got his hands dirty. She smiled to herself.

  “I’m just keeping the history group updated on our finds,” Bertrand said from his perch by the door. “I’ll be back in a moment. Jean, come with me!”

  “D’accord.”

  She heard Bertrand dial a number on his mobile as their footsteps receded.

  Minervens would soon get its own archaeological exhibition. She wasn’t joking. Not about an ancient cemetery, of which there were quite a few in the area, but an intriguing case of one lonely body.

  Oh, but what had befallen the poor woman? Glancing at the latest piece, a fragile finger bone, she shuddered.

  I wonder what you suffered. Are you at peace?

  ‘Non!’

  Léon withdrew his hand and toppled backwards, dropping the knife. “Putain!”

  Maddie sat up. “You can say that out loud. Jeez, so you heard her this time?” She turned her head to see him sit behind her, his face pale. Reaching out, she touched his arm. “Are you OK?”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “Yes, I think so. Was that…”

  “…the woman?” She looked at the bone. “I wonder. I’ve been hearing a female voice ever since I arrived, but I thought until now that it was only in my head. But you definitely heard her too?”

  “Loud and clear.”

  She lowered her voice. “Just as if she waited for Bertrand and Monsieur Marti to leave.”

  Léon nodded. “A good point. She sounded cross. Were you thinking of her?”

  “Yes, I was wondering whether she was at peace.”

  Heat shot through her fingers, as if she’d touched a hot oven tray. “Ouch!” She dropped the bone onto the loose mud and sat back.

  “Let me see.” He knelt beside her and took her hand, studying it. “Did it hurt?”

  “Yes, as if it was burning.”

  A small weal formed on her skin where the bone had lain.

  “This is serious, Maddie. I…I think you might need a doctor – and an exorcist!”

  She laughed out loud, but it sounded hollow to her ears. “For what? The poor woman is in bits, literally.” Squeezing his hand, she reluctantly retrieved hers. It felt good to be cared for. “Thank you.”

  Gently, she picked up the bone again, cool to the touch now, with her other hand and put it on the towel.

  “We need to find the rest of her, if we can. Then she deserves a proper burial.”

  “I agree. Shall we go on for another hour?”

  Casting a glance outside, she saw that dusk was settling fast. Soon, there wouldn’t be any daylight left, and the kitchen lamp only cast a meagre light.

  “Yes, let’s continue for a little while, then start again tomorrow morning.” She knelt on the cushion again and started to dig close to where she’d found the finger bone.

  Léon cleared his throat. “And dinner later?”

  Her eyes widened. With all the excitement, she had forgotten about their date. Well, not a date – a meal out.

  She sent him a sheepish glance. “Of course. But I’ll need a shower after this first.”

  The look he gave her made her head spin. Was he reading her thoughts? He smirked. “So do I. At home…”

  And he picked up his knife again and bent over the corner he was working on, a smile playing on his lips.

  A date, then…

  Chapter Sixteen

  Early September, AD 778

  The border between Vasconia and Aquitania

  Bellon held his breath, sinking deeper into the undergrowth until it fully covered him. The voices rang loudly through the forest. Vascones warriors. Had they found his trail?

  He thought he had been careful, crossing the rugged mountains mostly at night to avoid detection by Lupo’s cunning followers. Despite his anger, he had to admire the daring of the Vascones. They knew even the narrowest path in this large forest. And they knew how to hide.

  Unable to understand their strange dialect, he stayed calm. After what seemed like ages, the voices finally grew fainter. Relief flooded through him. Perhaps it was just a patrol, tracking Aquitanians.

  Closing his eyes, he waited until he heard no more sounds other than birds singing, then carefully prised the branches and leaves apart. Only the forest greeted him. He sat up and squinted at the early morning sunshine. Yet another hot day lay ahead. He could handle the heat – it was even hotter on the plain – but the humidity here tired him out.

  But he was so close to the route to Tolosa, and once he had left the mountains behind, it would be easier to travel. He brushed off the dirt and winced as he put pressure on his injured leg. When did he last change the bindings?

  Looking around, he found two clean large leaves and wiped the dew off them. Then he unwound the bindings and removed the old, grimy leaves he had put on the wound the day before. The gash still looked red, but it appeared to be healing a little. He wished he had Hilda’s knowledge of herbs and flowers. Alone, he was at a loss of which to use, so he simply rinsed it regularly, then clapped on some clean leaves to cover it before securing them.

  Eventually, he was ready to move on. Around him, birds were singing, and he even spotted a deer grazing in the distance. His stomach growled, and he took some berries he had collected the evening before from his pouch and chewed on the remaining handful.

  If his bearings were right, he would be in the plain – and in the relative safety of Aquitania – before noon. Risking another day in hiding when he was so close was no option. He had wasted enough time, and God only knew what news had reached Hilda. Before he departed, she had told him she was with child, and the thought had kept him going until the moment he had heard of the danger Milo had found himself in. Never had he wanted to give his wife the sad news of her father’s death in her condition. What sad timing!

  But then, after he had killed the three Vascones warriors that attacked him, he disappeared from sight and melted into the forest, cursing his injured leg. He had slowly approached the place of the attack on the rearguard, aware of potential men sneaking up on him from behind. But the path was still swarming with Vascones plundering the carts and stealing from the dead. From his hiding place, he saw Milo’s body lying on the path, unmoving. Rage tore through him when a man took Milo’s boots and cloak, rolling the body over uncaringly in his greed. Over the distance of thirty yards, Bellon, unable to challenge the thief without being killed, stared into Milo’s open, unblinking eyes, and he turned away in grief. Nothing he could do would bring back the man who had been like a father to him, who had entrusted his daughter to him. He could avenge his death now – and promptly die with him. Or he could live, for Hilda and their child. He knew what Milo would have wanted him to do, but never in his life had he had to make such a heartbreaking choi
ce. Resigned, he disappeared into the undergrowth.

  The pain in his heart was still raw, and Bellon had used several opportunities on his journey to kill Vascones outposts. After their victory, the fools had considered themselves safe, certain that Charles’ army had moved on swiftly. Plunging his sword into their bodies had briefly brought a sense of satisfaction, but the sadness and anger remained.

  As he continued his walk downhill, his thoughts morose, he looked for settlements, for a chance to borrow a horse, but any huts he came across stood abandoned. He used the half-derelict buildings to pause, to rest his sore feet and to light a small fire to roast a few morsels of meat, mostly hares he caught by setting traps – and waiting. Not much else he could do during the daytime, when Vascones could still pounce on any unsuspecting travellers.

  Apart from wild berries and some apples from trees in abandoned, overgrown fields he found no nourishment of worth. Crops had been burnt, and the people who had fled must have taken their livestock with them.

  He gazed around the plain opening up below him. Only the water of the Garona river, its levels low from the long, dry summer season, showed signs of life. Glad to leave the hills, and their treacherous tribe, behind him, he could finally head towards Tolosa in broad daylight. This would increase his chances of seeing traders who he could ask for a lift.

  A new sense of urgency surged through him. By now, Hilda would have heard the tidings of Roncevaux. Even King Charles might have stopped off, knowing that she had lost her father, and possibly her husband, in battle. And knowing the Frankish king, Bellon knew Charles would plan for the future of the stronghold.

  Eventually, much to his relief, he reached the route that followed the Garona towards Tolosa. After the last few days of hiding, walking in the dark and staying out of sight during the day, finding himself on a well-travelled road made him feel like he had finally returned to civilisation.

  Early that evening, he hailed a passing peasant, his cart full of apples and pears for the great market in the big town, and asked if he could join him. When the man, after eyeing him up, agreed with a grunt, he took a seat beside him.

  “Put your sword in the back,” the peasant said, his words revealing a broad Visigoth dialect.

  Relieved to have found a connection, Bellon placed his sword and shield on top of a large vat behind him.

  “Thank you. I’m grateful to you,” he said, aware of his blood-soaked look, then turned serious.

  “I don’t normally take strangers, but,” the peasant met Bellon’s gaze, “you look lost.”

  Grimly, Bellon nodded. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. I’m from Carcassonne, but have just come from the mountains. There was a battle…”

  ***

  Mid-September, AD 778

  Carcassonne

  Hilda leaned into the soft cushions of her chair and placed her bare feet on a footstool, grateful for the breeze entering through the narrow window. The days were warm, but, thankfully, the nights had cooled. Coming from the north, she suffered from the relentless heat. Even the residents of the fortress, though used to it, breathed a collective sigh of relief. Pruning of the vines had begun in the still intense early autumn sunshine, but Amalberga had ordered her to stay indoors and rest. Perhaps she was right.

  This evening, she had retired to her chamber early. Looking after Ervig’s group for the past week had tired her, and she found it hard to forgive herself for being unable to save Wamba’s arm. They had to cut it off just below the shoulder joint, and an infection had set in. For days, she had sat by this stranger’s side, tending to the inflamed stump. It was perhaps a small mercy that he slept through much of the time, with only rare, brief glimpses into the horror that awaited him on waking.

  Sisbert’s wound was healing well, and she had taught him how to cleanse the gash without help. He had also spent the nights watching over Wamba, as had Ervig. The group lodged in an unused room in an eastern tower, at Ervig’s behest. He did not wish to be a burden and occupy the hall.

  Hilda was grateful for their support, and a little voice inside her head kept nagging her. Wamba’s arm had been severed so much, with sinew and muscles exposed, they had had no choice. It was impossible to reattach it. Ervig agreed, with a heavy heart, his eyes full of guilt, even though it had not been his fault.

  Drained by pain and the heat from the fire, Wamba had gulped down several cups of aqua vitae and had promptly fallen asleep. Roderic had taken a sharp blade, heated on a fire, to the arm whilst Ervig and three of his men held the poor man down.

  But his life still hung in the balance.

  Hilda picked up a cup of wine chilled with cold spring water and cradled it in her hands resting on her bump. Relishing the strong scent of grapes and berries, she closed her eyes and let the silence engulf her.

  Only in solitude did she allow for her thoughts to return to her husband. There had been no further arrivals since Ervig and his men had showed up, nor had there been any word of the Neustrian army. Her worries grew stronger each day, and only the occasional kicks from her unborn baby kept her spirits up.

  What had happened in the mountains?

  She had no wish to become a widow after such a short time, and before the birth of her first child, and she held onto a certain belief that Bellon was still alive.

  But she knew her father, responsible for the spoils of war, had often travelled with the rear guard. Surely, he would have come to her immediately, to let her know he was well. That no message reached her of both men sent shivers down her spine. Yet, all she could do was wait. It was a wife’s lot.

  With her pregnancy advancing, Amalberga had forbidden her to tend to any sick, something she had taken up after Bellon had left in early spring. Whilst she could, she had ridden out and discovered new plants and herbs, the effects of which she had tested. Sitting still had never been her strong point, and she had grown impatient of resting.

  Tomorrow, she would send a messenger westwards to Tolosa. Cursing, she berated herself for not having thought of this earlier. He could find King Charles.

  And Bellon and Father…

  She sighed.

  Lifting her cup to her mouth, she nearly spilt wine on her gown when the door flew open and a flustered Amalberga rushed in.

  “Hilda, come quickly! The king is approaching.” Gasping her breath, her companion held her hand on her chest to steady her breathing. “He is due to arrive within the hour.”

  Hilda put the cup aside and rose. How curious timing! She had just thought of him, and here he was.

  “So soon? Why did he not give us more notice?”

  “I do not know, but the kitchen are preparing the wild boar that Dagobert’s men caught this morn munching the vines. That’s all we can offer him.”

  “And his men? We can’t feed an army!”

  “We shall see how many will appear. It sounded like it was just a small group.” Having recovered her composure, Amalberga ran her hands through Hilda gowns hanging on a peg. “This one, yes.”

  She stood, untying her laces, and let Amalberga help her change into the fresh tunic. It felt tight around her belly. Looking down, she quipped, “This will have to do for tonight. I don’t feel like eating, anyway. Oh, Amalberga,” she took her companion’s clammy hands in hers, “he might bear tidings from Father, or from Bellon.”

  Her companion nodded. “I sincerely hope so. This cannot continue, this state of not knowing.”

  Hilda stretched her sore back. “How do I look?”

  “Fit to receive a king.”

  The hall was a flurry of activity. Roderic co-ordinated helpers who moved tables into a square around the central hearth, now clear of all debris as it had been too hot to light a fire. They draped large linen cloths over the table on the dais, on the northern side of the hearth, and a kitchen maid placed baskets with fresh loaves of bread, still steaming from the oven, on each table. Two young women brushed the stone floor and scattered cut sheaves of lavender on the ground, the scent already turni
ng the room cosy.

  Hilda beamed at the result. How quickly it all came together when everyone lent a hand!

  “I will not have to feel ashamed of our household, Roderic. Thank you.”

  The majordomus blushed, then picked an imaginary bit of fluff from a cloth. “It does not match the king’s palace at Aix-la-Chapelle, but it is the best we can do given such short notice.” He huffed, making Amalberga smirk.

  “I agree. And the food?”

  “I went first to the kitchen. They are roasting the boar, and the meat of two deer killed last night is now cooking in a stew, spiced with wine, rosemary and blackberries.”

  Despite her lack of appetite, Hilda stomach growled. “It sounds wonderful. Please ensure that the king will want for nothing. We must offer him my chamber for the night, too. I will move into the small tower, with you, Amalberga.”

  “That makes sense. I will see to the rooms,” Amalberga said. “But you sit down and rest until he arrives.”

  “Thank you, I shall. Roderic, please speak with Dagobert about space for their horses and whatever else they are bringing.”

  He nodded. “Dagobert has already prepared part of our stables and hay for the beasts. I was just on my way to check. Will you stay in the hall?”

  “Yes, I shall. Don’t fret about me.”

  “Lady.” The majordomus guided her to her chair, ensured she was comfortable with a large cushion in her back and her wine, her feet propped up on a footstool, then left.

  “They’re here! The king is here!” Lot held open the door to the bailey, shouting in.

  Hilda joined him, her eyes searching for Milo and Bellon in the darkness. Torchlight showed tired, drawn faces of strangers, and it took her a while to identify the king. He stood talking to Dagobert, handing over the reins of his stallion to a stable boy. Clovis stood close by him, barking at the lad. She shuddered, his words at Easter and the leer in his eyes still etched into her memory.

  Brushing aside the brief thought of regret that this obnoxious man had survived an ambush where many other good warriors had not, she let her gaze roam the group of around three score men. Recognising many faces from Carcassonne filled her with relief. So some of their people had survived. She watched as they reunited with their families.