by Speer, Flora
“Indeed, Count Clodion.” Hildegarde now spoke from her chair. Looking over her shoulder toward where Danise and Michel were standing with Sister Gertrude, she went on, “I find no fault in Danise’s actions, nor in Sister Gertrude’s guarding of her. Be patient, Clodion, and press your own suit for Danise with the polite consideration that is the only way to win a lady’s heart.”
It was plain to see in Clodion’s face what his opinion of this sentiment was, but he did not respond to the queen’s gentle scolding.
“There, do you hear that?” said Charles, laughing away the dispute. “As usual, my wife shows more wisdom than most men. Treat Danise kindly, Clodion, and when the time is right, she will make her choice. Now, let us return to consideration of my palace. Clodion, will you look at these plans and tell me as a devoted hunter, what do you think of the size and placement of the stables?”
“Come, Danise.” Sister Gertrude shepherded her charge along the few steps back to the queen’s side.
Michel’s head had begun to ache again. He stood alone, rubbing at his temples until Redmond joined him.
“Is it true?” Redmond asked. “Do you also want to wed Danise?”
“That was Clodion’s spite talking, not truth,” Michel ground out, wishing the pain in his head would stop. “How could I ask for Danise, when, for all I know, I may already have a wife?” The very thought of it made his head ache still more.
“I thought you’d say something like that. No one ought to listen to anything Clodion says.” Redmond paused, looking at his friend with a worried expression. “Michel, are you ill again?”
“My head is throbbing. My eyes ache.” Michel gritted his teeth against a wave of nausea. “I need to find a quiet place, somewhere out of the sun.”
“I’ll help you back to Savarec’s tent. It will be the best place for you.” Redmond took his arm, guiding him in that direction.
“What’s wrong?” Danise had seen them. She came to Michel and took his hand. “Can I help? Is there something you need?”
You, he wanted to say, I need you. He tightened his fingers over hers. The desire to put his arms around her, to kiss her beautiful, trembling mouth was nearly overpowering. And the pain in his head grew worse, until it brought tears to his eyes. Swaying on his feet, he clung to Danise’s hand.
“He needs to lie down.” Sister Gertrude’s voice was sharp, bracing Michel, directing him through yet another wave of nearly unbearable pain. “Leave him to Redmond, Danise. Redmond will see him safe to his bed. Your place today is with the queen.”
“Michel?” She was worried about him. He could see it in her eyes when he forced his own eyes open to look at her. He knew she would not leave him unless he told her to. Much as he wanted her with him, he knew Sister Gertrude was right. Clodion would be watching this little scene and might cause trouble for her or for Savarec if he thought Danise was showing too much favor to a stranger. He owed Savarec – he owed -
“I’ll be fine with Redmond,” he managed to say. He glanced toward Sister Gertrude and saw her approving nod as she turned Danise away from him.
“Why is everything so damned complicated?” he groaned to Redmond as, with his friend supporting him, he made his stumbling way toward Savarec’s tent.
“I have lately begun to ask the same question,” Redmond replied. “Here we are. Guntram, he’s sick again and he needs to lie down. Watch over him, will you? I cannot stay, I am expected by Charles. We are to discuss our situation against the Saxons this afternoon, so I cannot be absent.”
Scarcely had Redmond left them than Michel became violently ill, losing everything he had eaten that day. Guntram found a bucket and stayed with him, supplying wine to rinse out his mouth afterward and a cool damp cloth so he could wipe his face.
“Your tunic is soiled. I’ll give it to Clothilde to wash,” Guntram said, adding in his rough way, “You stay in bed.”
“Feeling the way I do, I can’t do anything else.” Clad only in his long-sleeved linen undershirt, Michel lay back on his narrow bed. At first he felt as if the top of his head would burst open, but he soon discovered that if he lay very still with his eyes closed and the cloth Guntram had given him laid across his eyes to shut out all the light, then the pain would begin to ease. After a while, he slept.
* * *
He wakened to midnight darkness. In the other bed Savarec snored softlv. From outside the tent came the muffled sounds of a large camp at rest. He could hear the sentries talking softly together, could hear a woman’s husky laugh, while some distance away a man sang a plaintive song.
He knew exactly where he was. His head was perfectly clear, all trace of pain gone. And he was stricken with terror such as he had never known before – no, not even when he had fallen into the tomb of an early Merovingian queen and the walls had caved in around him and he had thought they would not dig him out in time and he would die there, curled up beside the queen’s bones with his head pillowed on her golden serving tray. This was a thousand times worse than being buried alive.
For Bradford Michael Bailey had recovered his memory.
Chapter 6
He did not sleep at all during the remainder of that night. Fearing to waken Savarec or Guntram, either of whom would be sure to ask questions he did not want to answer, Mike made himself stay quietly in his bed when he would rather have gone for a long walk while he thought through the implications of his situation. Because he was so horrified by what had happened to him, he deliberately tried to be methodical and as unemotional as he could. From past experience he knew this was the best way to stave off panic.
The first item for consideration was whether he had any hope of returning to his own time. The possibility of such a resolution seemed remote. Mike believed that Hank would be glad to be rid of someone who was bent on interfering with his work on the space-time continuum. Hank would probably make no attempt at all to get him back. With grim humor Mike thought that his removal to the eighth century could be classed as a perfect crime. As far as the twentieth century was concerned he was as good as dead, yet Hank had no inconvenient body to dispose of and if anyone should inquire of Hank or his friend Alice, they could honestly say they had no idea where Bradford Michael Bailey might be.
For one angry, crazed minute Mike wondered what the two of them would do with his much-loved car, which he had left parked in the driveway of Alice’s house, but he quickly dismissed the question as irrelevant under the present circumstances. The fact that he thought of the car at all indicated how close to cracking he was. He could not afford to give way to fear. He had to get hold of himself. He would do what he had done when he was accidentally buried in that ancient queen’s grave. He would stay calm and he would use his brain, for muscle alone would not help him here.
Having reached this point in his reasoning, Mike next tried to accept what he saw as reality. The chances were good that he would have to spend the rest of his life in the eighth century. He would have to get used to that fact as soon as possible.
Fortunately, he was not without knowledge of the time in which he found himself. In the twentieth century he had been a noted archaeologist specializing in the violent Merovingian era, a period of intrigues and murders within the Frankish royal family, and of ruinous local wars between nobles. At the end of that period the Carolingians, the dynasty of which Charles was the most famous member, seized power and then brought order to a land in sad need of strong rulers. Charles, known to the twentieth century as Charlemagne, was one of the few kings in history whom Mike admired. Having met the man, Mike liked him as a person and, while generally not in favor of kings, he thought he could live under Charles’s rule.
With the return of his memory Mike now had an explanation for many of the mysterious mistakes he had made since his arrival at Duren. He had been experiencing flashes of recall, but his knowledge of Frankish weapons, coins, and customs was a hundred years or so out of date. Using the information amassed through his studies and his work at archaeologica
l digs, he felt confident of his ability to catch up easily.
To begin with, he knew how to use Frankish weapons. In the twentieth century, he and a colleague had supervised the forging of replicas of both scramasax and fransisca, and then had practiced using them. This was why he had learned to wield a broadsword so quickly under Redmond’s tutoring. In addition, he could ride a horse well. For the rest, he could learn what he needed to know by watching other people and by listening. It was a great advantage that he was able to pick up new languages with little effort. With the skills he already possessed, he believed he could make his way in Frankish society without serious difficulty. He would not starve or go homeless.
However, looming beyond the questions of everyday life was one major problem. Danise. While his memory was gone he had forgotten all the reasons why he did not trust women, so he had left himself wide open to her and thus learned to care for her with a tenderness that shook the worldly, cynical twentieth century man to his roots.
Danise was different from other women he had known. She would not lie to him, or keep important information from him, or betray him with another man. Not honest Danise, whom he loved beyond hope of ever being cured of that sweet affliction. But in the time in which he now found himself, Mike had no property, no family connections, no chance of winning her.
Unless he could earn by his personal valor enough wealth to convince Savarec to consider him as one of Danise’s suitors.
It was what he had told Danise he would do. Other men in Frankish times won wealth and title and wellborn wives by the clever use of their swords. But Mike knew now that he was not a Frank, was not trained from childhood to the hardships and dangers of battle. If he was going to succeed it would take every ounce of focused determination and willpower he possessed, along with more bravery than he had ever displayed in his former life, and a fair amount of sheer luck.
He was going to try. More than try, he was going to do it, he was going to turn himself into a Frankish nobleman, because if he did not, he was going to have to adjust to a loveless existence twelve hundred years before he had been born.
When Savarec rose from his bed, Mike got up, too, and went outside the tent. On this morning, with his mind clear at last and the headache completely gone, he looked about as if for the first time. Through the trees to his right and down a gentle slope, the River Rur sparkled dark blue and silver. Before him and to his left lay the Frankish camp, with the two bright blue royal tents at its center, where Charles and Hildegarde and their children were staying. Most of the other tents were of beige or brown or gray undyed wool, though here and there a green or blue tent made a spot of clear color against the general drabness. The green tops of the trees bordering the camp were gilded by the rising sun. Overhead the dawn sky arched pure and cloudless, with a flush of gold and pink in the east. From what he had seen of it so far, Francia was a beautiful place.
“Okay, Mike, you aren’t Mike anymore,” he said to himself. “Michel. That’s your name from now on. To coin a cliche that’s not even a phrase yet, this is the first day of the rest of your life. Make the best of it.”
“A fine morning,” said Savarec. Having finished washing his face and hands, he tossed river water out of a basin and handed the basin to Michel. “Use this if you like. You are welcome to my towel, too. Here’s a bucket of clean, fresh water. Take what you need.” Savarec inspected Michel’s appearance with a kindly eye. “Guntram said you were sick last night.”
“I am much improved today.” For the last time Michel met Savarec’s eyes with openness and honesty. Now the lies must begin, and he would have to make them sound like the truth. Breaking eye contact with Savarec, he looked away toward the forest before speaking again. “You know, Savarec, I have begun to believe that my memory will never return. I feel wonderfully well today, healed by the good care I have received in your tent. But there is still a high wall in my mind separating me from my past life. No matter how hard I try, I cannot break through that wall, so I have decided to stop trying. If Charles has no objections, I will stay here in Francia and offer my services as a fighting man to you if you will have me, for I owe my life to you and your daughter. If you have no use for me, I will offer myself to Charles.”
“On the eastern bank of the Rhine where I command a fort,” Savarec said, “the Saxons remain a constant threat in spite of all the lands we Franks have conquered in Saxony. I can always use another man who is as handy with a sword as Redmond claims you to be. When Mayfíeld is over, go home with me to Deutz. You will be welcome there.”
“Thank you. Until this moment, I had no home in this world. Savarec, is there some ceremony required of me, perhaps an oath I ought to take?”
“A handclasp will be sufficient.” Savarec put out his right hand and Michel took it. “Unlike you, I do not entirely despair of your memory’s return. Let me say now that if at some time yet to come you discover that you have to leave my service to return to your home, I will understand. Until that moment arrives, if it ever does, I think you are wise to try to make a useful life for yourself.”
“I will gladly serve under your command,” Michel said, much relieved to find that in those words at least, he could be truthful.
* * *
Danise noticed the change in Michel as soon as she emerged from her tent that morning. He was talking with her father and Guntram, and there was something about the way he stood, a new confidence, a jauntiness she had not seen in him before. She went at once to greet her father, kissing his cheek and wishing him good day.
“And to you, too, Guntram,” she said. “Michel, you appear to be much improved after your long sleep.” Before speaking to him she braced herself to withstand the impact of his burning gaze. She was disappointed when he did not look directly at her. Instead, he smiled at her father.
“Michel is in such good health that he has just pledged himself as my man-at-arms,” Savarec told her.
“But why?” She could not understand his motives for such a decision. “Michel, you must have a home somewhere. Don’t you want to find it?”
“I cannot find it until I remember where it is,” he said, still looking at Savarec. “I doubt if I will ever remember.”
“Today he begins a new life.” Guntram slapped Michel on the back in hearty welcome. “We start with a hunting party. You will need a horse. Savarec, what think you of the dapple gray for Michel?”
“A good choice.” Savarec gave Danise a quick pat on her shoulder before turning his attention to masculine affairs. “Michel, we ought to find Charles. He hasn’t heard your news yet. He will be glad of your decision.” The men moved away, leaving Danise staring after them.
“Sister Gertrude,” she said to the nun who now joined her in front of Savarec’s tents, “he is going hunting.”
“I heard them talking,” Sister Gertrude replied. “It’s time Michel did something other than lie about all day and complain of an aching head.”
“But he has been injured!”
“And has been restored to health, in part thanks to you. Still, you cannot expect a man to be forever grateful, nor can you continue to treat a grown man as though he were a mere child.”
“I never thought he was a child.” At a searching look from Sister Gertrude, Danise closed her mouth on any further comment.
She did not see Michel or her father again until well after midday, when the men and the ladies who had chosen to go with them returned from hunting. Danise and Sister Gertrude had spent the morning inside the queen’s tent with Hildegarde, who was again feeling unwell. But Hildegarde insisted on greeting Charles on his return and on sitting with him during the midday meal. Hearing the laughter and the loud talk of the hunters, the women left the blue dimness of the tent for the bright afternoon sunshine. Charles received his wife with a warm embrace, then led her to the chair drawn up for her at the table. Hildegarde’s ladies followed her, Danise looking around for Michel. She saw Redmond first.
“We brought down a deer,” Re
dmond announced, “and enough birds to keep Charles eating happily for several days.”
“I do not see my father or Michel,” she noted.
“They are helping to bring in the game. They’ll be along soon.” Redmond looked closely at her. “If you have been worrying about Michel, I can tell you he easily kept up with the rest of us. He’s a fine rider, and from what I’ve seen of him today, I believe his health is completely restored.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” she replied absently, still watching the men returning to the open space in front of Charles’s tents.
“Danise.” Redmond touched her arm. She turned to him, meeting his pale eyes, seeing in them sincerity and a warmth that disturbed her, for she knew she could not return his feelings. “Since Michel has recovered, his place is with the men now.”
“His memory is not recovered.”
“He says he will disregard his lack of memory, and I think he is right to do so. Now that you are no longer so occupied in caring for him, may I hope you will find more time to spend with me?” When she did not answer, Redmond went on, “How can you decide if you want to marry me if we do not know each other? Will you spend an hour with me this afternoon? We could walk by the river, or in the forest if you prefer, and talk. If you want Sister Gertrude to go with us, I will understand, though I would like to have a little time alone with you. I promise not to importune you for favors you may not wish to grant just yet.”
“Oh, Redmond, I don’t know.” She wasn’t really paying attention to Redmond. She was looking for Michel and wondering why he had not returned to camp. Searching among the familiar faces for the one person she longed to see, Danise did not notice the man she wanted to avoid. Count Clodion joined Redmond and herself, and quickly captured her full interest.
“So, Redmond, you think you are the favored suitor, the one who will win Danise,” Clodion snarled at the young man. “I say you will have to deal with me before you wed her.”
