by Speer, Flora
* * *
The coffins of Savarec and Redmond were carried to the garrison chapel as soon as they reached Deutz, there to rest overnight under the eyes of an honor guard chosen by Hubert. It was late morning when the folk of Deutz gathered for the funeral service. Savarec was buried in the graveyard just outside the fortress walls. At Hubert’s order he was placed so that he was facing eastward toward Saxony, where he had fought so bravely during many campaigns. Throughout the service and the burial Danise stood tight-lipped and dry-eyed with Michel on one side of her and Clothilde on the other. The governor of Koln and his wife were there to pay their respects to Savarec and to accompany Redmond when he left Deutz for the last time.
In midafternoon Michel and the men who had come with him from Saxony carried Redmond’s coffin onto the ferry. During the crossing they remained standing at attention around it. Danise, at her own insistence, went aboard with the governor and his wife, to be with them while they were all poled across the Rhine to Koln. It was evening before Danise, Michel, and the men with them returned to Deutz. Hubert greeted them in the great hall.
“All is in readiness, Michel,” Hubert said. “I have assigned eighteen men to your command. You will be able to leave before dawn to return to the eastern forests. May you and Guntram be successful and quickly bring to justice the traitor responsible for the deaths of Savarec and Redmond.”
By the time she and Michel reached their room, Danise was in tears.
“I was wondering when you would finally break down,” Michel said, taking her into his arms. “My darling, I swear to you, when this fighting is over, I will never leave you again. You and I will go home to Elhein and live there for the rest of our lives. If ever I have to leave Elhein, even for a short time, you will go with me.”
“It’s the fighting that frightens me,” Danise whispered. “I cannot pretend to be brave anymore, or to believe that because you were sent to me, you will be safe. If so many good men can die in battle, if Father and Redmond are gone, then why not -?”
He did not let her finish. Seized by superstitious dread at the thought of what she might say, he covered her mouth with his fingers and then with his lips, effectively silencing her.
What started as a kiss meant to quiet her gained in depth and sweetness until Danise was murmuring and sighing in his arms and Michel, denied expression of his love for her for too many weeks, could barely restrain himself. He took her to their bed and there, with aching tenderness, with repeated vows of undying love, he tried to erase the memory of the last time he had taken her, when he had been relentlessly determined to prove his manhood and his claim on her.
With gentle fingers on throat and breast and thigh, with prolonged kisses and fierce restraint of his own passion so as not to rush her, he wooed Danise anew until she blossomed into a creature of warmth and welcoming desire. Sheathed in her sweetness he told her again of his love, just before they shimmered together into a fulfillment so delicate and perfect that when it was over he hesitated to move or speak until she took the initiative.
“I could not bear to lose you,” she whispered.
“You won’t. Danise, I swear to you, I will come back to you when this campaign against Autichar is over. No matter what rumors you hear, or who tells you I am dead, don’t believe it unless you actually see my body. But you won’t see my body,” he added hastily when she cried out and clutched at him in fear. “Before I reach Paderborn again, I fully expect to meet Guntram along the way, marching Autichar toward Aachen in chains.”
“All the same, I will pray for you constantly,” she said. “I’ll do it not just for my sake, for that would be selfishness. After all you have endured in your lifetime, you deserve to live for many long and fruitful years.”
“I will,” he said. “We will. Together. I’m certain of it.”
He was never so proud of her as on the next morning, when she stood with Clothilde, waving farewell to him as once more he rode away from Deutz into Saxony. She shed not a single tear, at any rate not in public. He suspected that she would spend most of the rest of the day weeping in her own room, but at least she did not cry in public. If she had, he might have broken down, too, because he was not as certain of his safe return as he pretended to her. He lived in terror of the battles ahead of him. One battle had been more than enough. He did not think he could face more bloodshed.
Leaving Danise was the hardest thing he had ever had to do. Looking back at her as he rode out of the gate, raising his hand for one last wave, he wondered if he would ever see her again. And then he swore to himself, as he had sworn to her during the night, that no matter what happened, he would find a way to return to her.
Chapter 18
“It didn’t take me long to find Autichar,” Guntram said to Michel. “He lost most of his allies near Paderborn in that battle with us. I knew he would have to take shelter with a friend until he can think of a way to stir up yet more trouble for Charles.”
“I expected him to flee into Saxony,” Michel said, “or else head for Bavaria.”
“Duke Tassilo would not be happy to see him again, not while he’s a fugitive,” Guntram replied. “Let Autichar win a battle or two against Charles, and Tassilo might be willing to renew their friendship, but for now Autichar knows better than to set foot in Bavaria.”
“What about those of his Saxon allies who are still alive?”
“The Saxons are used to failure in their constant uprisings against Charles. They might be inclined to receive Autichar as a friend, but only if he appears in Saxony at the head of his own warband. Autichar needs to recruit more men. That’s why I’m not surprised by what he has done. When he escaped us near Paderborn, he fled south. I believe he hopes to cross the Rhine somewhere north of Mainz and then head west into Francia proper.”
“Thus hiding out under Charles’s very nose? Yes, I think Autichar would relish that idea. But, wait a minute. Isn’t Clodion exiled to an estate west of Mainz?” Seeing Guntram’s grin, Michel knew he had guessed aright. “Autichar and Clodion, together again and stirring up more mischief for Charles to put down. What a pair. But will Clodion be glad to see his old partner in crime or not?”
“We aren’t going to give Autichar the chance to find out the answer to that question,” Guntram said. “We are going to stop him before he crosses the Rhine, so he never gets anywhere near Clodion’s estate.”
“How many men does Autichar have at the moment?”
“Six,” Guntram replied, “while I have a dozen and now the eighteen men you brought from Deutz. I must remember to thank Hubert for his generosity. We far outnumber Autichar’s resources.”
“Do they know we’re here? Can we plan another surprise attack?”
“I thought we might pay them a visit this very evening,” Guntram said. “Preferably an hour or two after they’ve settled down for the night. My men have been reconnoitering the land, and report that a nighttime attack shouldn’t be too difficult.”
Guntram was right. It was not difficult at all, and to Michel’s vast relief it was neither a long nor a bloody encounter.
“Two are wounded, all six are taken prisoner,” Guntram said less than an hour after the fighting started. “But in the confusion Autichar escaped once more.”
“He can’t have gone far,” Michel said. “We have all of their horses. I bet he’s skulking in the woods nearby.” Turning slowly about he eyed the forest surrounding Autichar’s camp, looking for some sign that the man was there.
“As soon as we have the camp secured, I’ll send out a search party,” Guntram decided, “though I doubt if they will find a trace of him before daylight.”
While Guntram was giving orders to his lieutenants, Michel thought he detected a furtive movement among the trees. He could not tell if it was Autichar or some nocturnal animal. A quick glance around the camp told Michel that Guntram had all of his men well occupied in cleaning up after their brief skirmish and in making certain the prisoners were well tied and guarded, a
nd the horses brought into a makeshift corral so Autichar could not steal one for himself. With a shout to let Guntram know in which direction he was heading, Michel plunged into the forest in pursuit of whatever creature he had just seen.
He had not gone far before he became aware of a deep and unnatural silence pervading the forest. The light of the campfire he had left did not extend more than a few yards into the trees and though there was a full moon high overhead much of its glow was shaded by dense leaves. On a warm early August night the forest should have been alive with the noises of insects and the rustlings made by animals. The stillness indicated to Michel the presence of someone who did not belong there. His own presence could have acounted for quiet in his immediate vicinity, but not for such a vast, echoing silence. Something about the dark emptiness made the hair stand up on Michel’s arms and along the back of his neck.
Then a twig crackled behind him and he heard an indrawn breath. Whirling, he looked through the trees, squinting until he discerned a broad-shouldered figure.
“You came on too fast,” said Autichar. “You rushed right past me. I’m here, Michel, waiting for you.”
In the dim light Michel could see the gleam of Autichar’s sword blade. He lifted his own sword, waiting for Autichar’s attack.
“I haven’t heard the latest gossip,” Autichar said in a conversational tone. “Have you wed the lovely Danise yet? And bedded her? If so, I vow you will not have her again. In fact, when my new plan has succeeded, I shall take Danise for my own, and get my future sons on her.”
“Over my dead body,” Michel snarled.
“As you wish.” Autichar chuckled, a man sure of his own prowess in battle and with women. “Draw nearer to me, Michel, so we can cross swords. Otherwise, how can I kill you and take your wife to my bed?”
Even though he knew his reaction was exactly what Autichar wanted, the image of Danise struggling in Autichar’s arms was enough to send. Michel forward in a direct attack on the man. Autichar was a brilliant swordsman, handling the long Frankish broadsword with practiced skill and ease. It took but a moment or two for Michel to realize he had no hope of winning this contest. Not only was Autichar an expert, he was apparently able to see in the dark and he took full advantage of Michel’s unequal experience.
Michel refused to give up or to call for help from Guntram and his men. He wanted to return to Deutz and tell Danise that he was the one who had brought down her father’s killer. Thinking of his love, Michel redoubled his efforts.
Yet while he fought Autichar, Michel was constantly aware of a sensation of being pulled backward, as though a magnet was drawing him away from Autichar and into the dark, silent forest. He tried to ignore the feeling. His life depended on noticing Autichar’s every movement, but in the darkness that was almost impossible to do. Autichar’s sword touched his side, and then an instant later nicked his forehead, barely missing his left eye and drawing blood from both strikes. Sticky wetness dripped into his eye and oozed down his left cheek. Reduced to flailing at the spot where he thought Autichar was, Michel fought on.
And then it began to grow light. It wasn’t daylight. It was much too early for dawn, but nonetheless the forest began to take on an orange-gold glow. Except for the clash and slide of their two swords and the heavy breathing of Michel and Autichar, the eerie silence around them deepened.
At first Michel was grateful for the light because it enabled him to see his opponent more clearly. In those initial moments he imagined that Guntram and his men had made torches and were moving into position behind him so that he could see Autichar while Autichar would have to look directly into the flames of the torches. But soon the light was brighter than any assembly of torch-bearing men could have produced, and now Autichar stopped slashing at Michel to stare openmouthed at something behind him. And then, unbelievably, Autichar dropped his sword and fell onto his knees. His eyes were fixed and staring.
“What the devil?” Michel turned to see what had so amazed Autichar.
There, pulsating among the trees, was a globe of orange-gold light so brilliant that it lit up the forest for acres around its center. The silence of the forest was broken, for Michel could hear shouts coming from the direction of Guntram’s warband. And there was another sound.
“Mike. Mike.” The disembodied voice came out of the globe of light. “Come on. Hurry up.”
“Who are you?” Michel felt the pulling sensation again. It was almost irresistible.
“Who the hell do you think I am? Do you want to get home again or not?” The center of the globe moved nearer.
“Home?” Michel could not stop staring into the light. Its pulsations had a hypnotic effect on him. He could not move, he could only stand where he was while the globe came nearer and nearer.
“Okay, now,” said the voice. “Just stay put for a minute. Don’t move.”
Michel could do nothing but obey. He was immobilized within the sphere of light now enveloping him. He heard a whimpering sound and knew it was Autichar. He recognized Guntram’s voice, calling to him. And then he was encased in silence once more, suspended in orange light.
“Bingo!” The voice in the light shouted in triumph, and the light went out.
Michel was lost in darkness and silence so absolute that he was not even aware of the beating of his heart. He tried to scream and could not. No sound came, though his mouth was open. He could not breathe, and he was falling … falling….
* * *
“What have you done with Michel?” Guntram hauled Autichar to his feet. In the torchlight Autichar’s eyes were glazed and his mouth hung open and slack.
“What’s wrong with him?” asked Uland, one of Guntram’s men. “Has he gone mad?”
“Where is Michel?” Guntram shook Autichar. It did not help. Autichar stared at Guntram unseeing until Guntram flung him away. Autichar fell to the ground and lay there, breathing but not moving.
“He might have seen something that terrified him,” Uland suggested. “A huge beast, perhaps.”
“No beast would frighten Autichar into such a state,” Guntram declared. “He’s a great hunter. He’s killed more boars than you or I ever will.”
“If it was a beast,” remarked one of the other men, “it might have dragged Michel away with it.”
“In that case, we should have heard screams or a call for help.” Guntram scratched his head. “And what about that light we saw? What made it and what doused it? Autichar, damn you, speak to me. What did you see?”
Autichar could not, or would not, speak.
“If there is a man-eating beast in here, we can’t hope to search the woodland until daylight, or someone else could be killed,” Uland said. “If the beast took Michel away, he’s dead already.”
“Aye.” Guntram heaved a long sigh. “That does seem to be the only possibility. Take Autichar back to camp. We’ll set double sentries for the rest of the night. At dawn well begin searching for Michel. Or for his body.”
“Poor Lady Danise,” said Uland. “First her father was killed, now her husband. And I’ve heard she was friends with Count Redmond, too. Three tragic losses for so sweet a lady.”
“And I’m the one who will have to tell her.’* Guntram shook his head sadly. “And I’ve lost another good friend, too. I liked Michel.”
Since they held Autichar captive and since he did not look to be in any condition to attempt an escape, Guntram felt free to spend as much time as he thought necessary in looking for Michel. He and his men searched for three days. Never did they find any trace of Michel, not a scrap of fabric from his clothes, nor so much as a single drop of blood, nor any evidence of a struggle.
“Autichar knows what happened,” Uland said on the third night. “He could tell us if he would only speak.”
“I am beginning to think Autichar will never speak again.” Guntram regarded his captive as if he were some unfamiliar and fascinating form of animal life from the fabled lands beyond the sunrise. “Look at him, Uland. He has to b
e told to eat and drink or, as far as we can tell, he would starve to death and never know he was hungry. He fouls himself unless he is instructed to tend to his own needs. He takes no notice of what is happening around him. All he does is stare unceasingly at something that isn’t there.”
“He has gone mad,” Uland insisted. “I’ve said it all along. What shall we do now, Guntram?”
“I see no reason to continue to search for a man who has vanished as if he never existed. We may never learn what has happened to Michel. But I have a duty to Charles to report what has occurred here and to send Autichar to him as soon as possible. We leave for home at dawn.”
“You’ll want a good rider to take the reports to Deutz and to Aachen,” Uland said.
“No.” Guntram was thoughtful. “No reports yet. I’ll dictate them when we reach Deutz.”
“But,” Uland began, then stopped at the look in Guntram’s eyes.
“No one is going to tell Danise about this except me,” Guntram said. “Nor are we going to Paderborn. It’s out of our way. We ride northward, directly to Deutz. And when we get there, I’ll make sure Clothilde is with Danise when I give her the news. I’m only a rough warrior, but Clothilde will know what to do and say.”
* * *
“It cannot be,” Danise said. “I will not believe it.”
“I’m sorry.” Guntram spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “Danise, you ought to cry. It would relieve your feelings.”
“I have nothing to cry about,” she said. “Michel is not dead, for I have not seen his body.”
