by Speer, Flora
“We shall see,” he said. “Only time will prove the truth of your claim, and today we have no more time. That’s the boy knocking at the door. Put on your dress so I can let him in.”
Their final leave-taking, in the courtyard where Savarec’s men were gathering, was cool. Michel stood before her, looking deep into her eyes as if he wanted to read her soul, as if he had not had the chance to do so during the night. He did not touch or kiss her.
“See you later,” was all he said before he turned from her to mount his horse.
Danise’s farewell to her father was much warmer. She put her arms around him and kissed him several times, and her affection was fully returned.
“Come now,” Savarec said at last. “You’ll make an old man weep. We won’t be gone long, Danise. A few weeks at most and then those Saxons will be begging us to show mercy.” Another kiss, a pat on her shoulder, and Savarec was off to see to his men.
From Redmond Danise had a quick embrace and a kiss on the cheek, to which she gladly responded.
“Take care of yourself,” she begged.
“Ah, no,” he told her, laughing. “The warrior who tries to be cautious on the battlefield leaves himself vulnerable to great dangers. I intend to fight like a madman.”
“Aye,” said Guntram, coming up to them in time to hear Redmond’s words. “That’s the best way to come out of a battle whole. Fare you well, Danise, until we meet again.” Guntram clasped both of her hands.
“Fare you well, Guntram.”
Then they were all mounted and gone, riding through the gate, leaving Danise alone.
Chapter 17
Michel knew his skill with Frankish weapons was less than proficient in spite of his constant effort and practice, but he had more than a few things to prove to himself and to others. Never did he want Danise to have cause to say or to think that he was a lesser man in battle than Hugo had been.
Damn Hugo! And damn his own stupidity, for flying off the handle when Danise had revealed her reincarnation theory. She had sounded like some New Age guru and Michel, whose interests ran to more practical and scientific concerns, had reacted like the besotted lunatic he was, jealous of his wife’s first love.
He would not have much longer to think about his monumental idiocy. He might not have time to think about anything at all, ever. He, Savarec, Redmond, and Guntram stood together with a few others of Savarec’s men on a little rise overlooking a Saxon village. Guntram had just returned from reconnaissance.
“They are all there,” Guntram reported. “All the leaders of the uprising. I saw Autichar, too.”
“He’s here? Good.” Savarec grinned. “Let’s try to take him prisoner. We’ll put him in heavy chains, shackle his wrists and ankles, and send him to Charles for a present.”
“Better to kill him and be done with the trouble he causes wherever he goes,” advised Guntram.
The men paused in their discussion while Redmond listened to a report from one of his scouts.
“Our men are in place,” Redmond said. “The village is surrounded and we’ve taken care of the sentries. My man says the Saxons are completely unaware of our presence. I trust they will be surprised to see us.”
“Michel,” said Savarec, “you are to go with Redmond and fight with his men.”
Throughout this conversation Michel had been wondering if his companions were really as calm as they appeared to be, or if they were just good actors. Personally, he was terrified by what lay ahead, but he wasn’t going to show it.
“I still think we should charge on horseback,” he said. “That would really surprise the hell out of them.”
“The object is to creep up on them in silence,” Redmond admonished. “Horses make noise.”
“I’ve heard the Saracens in Spain and the Holy Land charge into battle on horseback,” Savarec said. “It must be a splendid sight to see. Perhaps one day Charles will take a lesson from the Saracens and have his own armies trained to fight that way instead of dismounting first.”
“He’ll do it in just a few years,” Michel said, adding with dark humor, “I hope we all live long enough to see it happen.”
“We must believe that we will.” Redmond clapped Michel on the back. “Come along, my friend, it’s time to move into position. Guntram, good luck to you. God willing, we’ll meet again at this same place when the battle is over.”
The men all shook hands before they moved into battle positions, leaving Savarec on the higher ground where he could see what was happening and if necessary send one of the men who remained with him onto the field with new orders.
The Saxons were indeed surprised by the swift and unexpected attack, but they were not in disarray for long. Within moments they had their swords and battle-axes in hand and were cheerfully hacking away at their Frankish opponents.
Michel had never been in battle before, and in any case the wars of his time were far different in dimension and weaponry from eighth century warfare. As for the men involved in ground fighting, he thought the screams, the stench, the blood and the fear must be the same in any battle. Nor did the need to kill an enemy before being killed oneself change from century to century. But how terrible it was to cut down one man and, before the light had gone out of his eyes, to be pressed to move on to serve another man in the same cruel way. Through a growing sickness of spirit Michel did the best he could, blotting out such unnerving thoughts so he could concentrate on physical action.
Because he was neither as strong nor as well-trained as his Frankish companions, it was inevitable that soon his sword arm would begin to tire. Ignoring the ache in his arm and shoulder, Michel slogged on, doggedly doing what must be done. His weakness was quickly perceived by a tall Saxon with golden hair and beard, who bore down on him with battle-ax raised for a death stroke. Clearly this man did not suffer from the same qualms about taking life that afflicted Michel. Michel’s arm felt like lead, but he lifted it slowly in response to the Saxon’s approach. If he was going to die here in the bloody mud of a Saxon village, then he would go down fighting. No one would be able to call him a coward.
The grinning Saxon roared out a long string of unintelligible words then stopped short, an amazed look on his face as Redmond leapt between Michel and the Saxon. An instant later Redmond’s sword found its mark. But the Saxon still had a bit of life left in him.
He brought his battle-ax down onto Redmond’s shoulder, slicing through chain mail and muscle and bone. Then the Saxon toppled forward on his face to lie in the mud.
Michel caught Redmond as he fell. Sinking to his knees Michel eased Redmond downward, cradling him with his head upon Michel’s chest. At some level of his mind Michel perceived that the sounds of battle were moving away from where they were, leaving the two friends in an area of relative quiet dominated by the awful noise of Redmond’s struggling breaths. Michel wasn’t thinking about the battle anymore.
“Damn it, Redmond! What do you mean, saving my life like that? Now look what you’ve done!” Michel yelled in mingled grief and horror as he realized the full extent of the damage inflicted by the Saxon’s final stroke.
“My friend.” Redmond’s eyes were open and he was fully conscious, but there could be no question that he would die in a matter of moments. Blood gushed from his wound, soaking Michel’s arm and chest. “Danise – Danise loves you.”
“I know. I love her, too. I will take care of her. Oh, God, Redmond, this shouldn’t have happened! Not to you. Hang on, I’ll try to find the surgeon.” But before the words were out of Michel’s mouth Redmond had gone to a place where wounds and pain and bloodshed did not exist. Gently Michel laid his friend down on the ground and closed his eyes. “Stay there, Redmond. Wait for me. I’ll come back for you. I won’t leave you in this hellhole. I’ll take you out of here. I promise.”
Michel rose, sword in aching hand once more. The fighting had moved off to one side of the village, but he could see that the combatants were edging slowly toward the spot where Savarec still
stood directing the battle with a few of his men around him. The Saxons were trying to push the Franks backward so they could get to Savarec. It looked as if they might succeed.
“Tell him about Redmond.” Michel was finding his thought processes oddly slow and disjointed, but he instinctively knew what he had to do next. Stumbling and wavering on his feet, he started toward Savarec. “Needs to know – needs reinforcements there. Where’s Guntram? Help Savarec. Must help.” The slight rise in the land seemed like a mountain to him, but he trudged onward until he stood within a few paces of his father-in-law.
“Savarec,” he said, noting with some astonishment that his voice was hoarse, as if he had been shouting all day long. “I have – have a report to make.”
Savarec turned toward him, recognizing him and just beginning to smile in greeting. Savarec’s lips opened to say something, but no sound came out. Instead, there was a whistling noise unlike anything Michel had ever heard. Before his disbelieving eyes the source of the noise, a long spear, flew through the air and imbedded itself so deep in Savarec’s back that he was dead on the instant. Immediately a shout went up from the men surrounding Savarec, a rising howl of grief and outrage.
“A cowardly stroke!”
“Who? Who did this?”
“Autichar! There – see – it’s Autichar!” That last cry came from Michel, who raised his sword to point toward the unmistakable figure wearing a fancifully decorated helmet and a dark red cloak.
“Damn you – traitor, kidnapper, villain! Damn you!” New strength flowed into Michel’s aching, weary body. With the rush of adrenaline his confused mind cleared. Now he had one purpose and one purpose only, and he knew the men would follow him. Every last one of them was as furious as he was at the manner of Savarec’s death.
“For Savarec!” Michel shouted at the top of his lungs. “For Redmond! Stop Autichar!” At the head of Savarec’s men he charged down the little hill and into the fray, leading them into the midst of the Saxon defenders. He fought like one gone berserk, not caring what happened to him, intent only on avenging his fallen friends and capturing Autichar, whose fault it all was. Enraged by the cowardly killing of their commander, the Franks followed Michel’s lead as he had known they would. They fell upon the Saxons in a frenzy, forcing them back toward the edge of the surrounding forest… backward … and still back … and back again….
“It’s over,” Guntram said, taking the sword out of Michel’s numb hand. “You can rest now. You are a hero, Michel. Men will tell of your deeds on this day for years to come.”
“No.” There was moisture on Michel’s face. He thought at first it was blood, until he realized he was crying, and had been crying for a long time. “Redmond was the hero, not me. Redmond saved my life.”
“Every man here knows you saved the day when we were beginning to falter,” Guntram told him.
“Any other man would have… all furious…Savarec’s death.” Once again he could not seem to put his thoughts together into a coherent sentence.
“You’d best let the barber-surgeon wash that wound out with wine and bind it up. You don’t want to lose so good a sword arm to infection.” Guntram touched his arm and Michel looked down to see blood welling out of a cut just below his elbow.
“Didn’t notice before.” His tongue was thick, his mouth dry. He felt as if he was going to vomit. “Thought it was someone else’s blood.
“Redmond. Savarec.” Michel made himself look around at what remained of the burned-out Saxon houses. “Have to…to take them back.” Remembering their deaths, remembering all the deaths that had occurred on that day, friend and foe alike,he bent over, emptying his stomach onto the ground.
“It’s all right.” Guntram’s hand rested on his shoulder for a moment. “It happens when a man is overtired. Get to the surgeon, Michel. Ask him to give you some of his wine to rinse your mouth.”
“The dead.” Michel refused to move from where he stood.
“The Saxons we’ll bury here. Our own we’ll put into the baggage carts and take them to Paderborn,” Guntram said. “It’s not far, only half a day’s journey. We can get coffins there, and bury them properly, with a priest in attendance.”
“Not Savarec.” Michel’s head was reeling, but he had to be certain that Guntram understood what was to be done. “Not Redmond, either. Not at Paderborn. They have to go to Deutz.”
“Yes, you’re right. Ill see to it. Now, will you get to the surgeon before I have to carry you?”
“I’m going.” He barely made it to the medical cart before he collapsed. The surgeon examined his wound, proclaimed it but a minor one, and gave Michel herb-infused wine to drink. Michel spent the night wrapped in his stained cloak, lying on the ground with the other wounded men, slipping into and out of terrifying dreams. In the morning he was weak but his head was clear. His arm ached badly, but the surgeon assured him it would soon heal. It was then, while he ate a bit of bread and drank some wine the surgeon gave him, that Guntram came to tell him Autichar’s body could not be found.
“He must have escaped again, but not for long,” Guntram said. “We will hunt him down and either kill him or take him to Charles for justice. One way or another, Autichar will pay for his evil deeds. Not only is he a traitor to Charles, but he is responsible for Savarec’s death, and for Redmond’s.”
They rode to Paderborn that day, taking with them in the baggage carts the dead and those too badly wounded to mount their horses. They traveled so slowly that it took them until late afternoon to reach their destination. The royal residence at Paderborn was a large wooden building. There Lord Serle, the nobleman who was in charge in Charles’s absence, made them welcome and saw to it that they were given baths and fresh clothing. Later, he listened to their reports while secretaries wrote down all that was said.
“The messengers will leave before dark and ride hard,” Serle promised. “Charles should have the reports in less than three days. The present commander at Deutz will have his by tomorrow evening.”
“I have to be the one to tell Danise about her father, not Hubert,” Michel protested. “I will go with them.”
“You could not keep up with the royal messengers,” Serle responded. “The reports are in sealed packets, which are passed from rider to rider along the way. Thus, while men and horses must stop to rest, the packets never do. And the riders travel as fast as their horses are able. But, surely you know this without my telling you.”
“Michel has only recently come to Francia,” Guntram said.
“We’re glad to have you here,” said Serle. “From what I’ve heard of you this day, you are a great hero.”
“I am not a hero!” Michel exclaimed.
“And modest, too.” Serle nodded his approval.
“Come and rest,” Guntram urged when Michel would have lost his temper. Later, in the room they were sharing, Guntram said, “You may as well enjoy your new fame, Michel, because everyone who was there on that day knows how valiantly you fought. Danise will be proud of you when she hears of it.”
“Danise will be too heartbroken by Savarec’s death to care whether I fought well or not,” Michel said. “Anyway, I can’t remember what I did after the fighting started. It’s all a blurry horror.”
“So is any battle, once it’s over,” Guntram agreed. “Michel, Savarec’s death leaves me as commander of the men he led into Saxony. I am going to give you an order and as your commander, I warn you, I don’t want any argument about it. Our surgeon tells me your arm will require a week or so of rest before you can fight again. Therefore, I am sending you with an armed escort to take Savarec and Redmond back to Deutz. I will give you a message for the commander there. I am going to need more men to finish the task Redmond and Savarec set out to do. Spend a day or two with Danise. Comfort her as best you can. Then, when the fresh troops are ready, lead them back here to Paderborn. I will send regular messages to Serle, telling him where I can be found.”
“And where will you be, Guntram?”<
br />
“Tracking Autichar.” Guntram’s expression was fierce at the best of times. Michel had never seen him look the way he looked at that moment. If there had been any compassion left in Michel’s heart for Autichar, he might have felt a twinge of pity for the man. But Autichar did not deserve pity. He deserved whatever Guntram might do to him.
They buried their dead in the morning and then ate a simple funeral feast. At dawn on the next day Michel and the men assigned to him left Paderborn for Deutz.
Since the beginning of the battle with the Saxons Michel had tried to think only about what was actually happening at any given moment. Now, riding through the forest with men who for the most part were preoccupied with their own thoughts, he discovered that though he wanted to wipe the memory of the past week out of his mind, he could not do it. Over and over during the first days of that sad journey he relived the scenes of battle and the deaths of his friends, which seemed to him to be meaningless, since Autichar was still alive and free and the Saxons would continue to defy Frankish rule. In military terms the battle would change little in Saxony or Francia, but in Michel an enormous change had occurred. Having seen the horror of war firsthand and having faced his own death, he was no longer the same man.
Time, even the passage of a few days, can work wonders upon a shocked and sorrowful mind. So can distance change a man’s perspective upon terrible events. Gradually, as he and his companions left Paderborn farther and farther behind while they moved ever closer to Deutz, Michel began to think less often of the battle and more about what lay ahead.
His quarrel with Danise now appeared to him as mere foolishness, the result of his own intractable ego. If Danise wanted to believe that there was something of Hugo living on in Bradford Michael Bailey, what harm could that belief do? All his former jealousy of Hugo had been washed away by the same kind of blood and pain and fear and grief that Hugo must once have experienced, until now Michel felt an odd kinship with that fellow warrior.
