by Speer, Flora
“I’ve been dealing with a madman for a week,” Guntram told her. “Don’t you go glassy-eyed and silent, too, like Autichar.” He looked around Danise’s bedchamber as if he still searching for Michel.
“I am not mad,” she assured him. “Michel is out there, lost in the forest. We must find him.”
“Oh, no, Danise.” Clothilde caught her hands and held them tightly. “You cannot think to go to that place yourself?”
“The first thing I am going to do is talk to Autichar,” she said. “And then, Guntram, you are going to repeat the entire story to me, just in case you forgot something the first time. I want to know every detail.”
Danise felt as though an iron band had been wrapped around her chest, constricting her lungs so she could not breathe properly. But that same band kept her upright instead of allowing her to fall upon her bed and weep. The iron band kept her talking and thinking and trying to find a way to discover what had happened to Michel.
At first Autichar was no help to her. After consulting with Guntram, Hubert had confined Autichar in a ground level room and set two men-at-arms to watch him at all times until he could be sent on to Charles at Aachen. So far as anyone could tell, Autichar did not know he had been imprisoned. During the daylight hours he sat upon the side of his bed and stared into nothingness. When night fell, someone had to order him to lie down or he would continue to sit on the bed, not knowing he ought to sleep. He had degenerated into a pitiful creature, but Danise would not be deterred from trying to get information out of him.
“Please,” she begged him, “tell me what has happened to my husband. You were kind to me once, Autichar, when I was your captive. Be kind to me once more and tell me what you know. Please, Autichar. Do you remember how I spoke in your behalf to Charles? If you will but talk to me now, I swear I will go with you to Aachen and I’ll beg Charles to spare your life. Autichar – please!”
Whether she coaxed or threatened him, Autichar gave no indication that he was aware of her presence. After an hour with him, Danise gave up. Telling the guards to notify her at once if there was any change in Autichar’s condition, she left him. Seeing him withdrawn into his own private world had suggested a possibility to Danise, but it was a possibility she was not ready to consider. Not yet, not until she had investigated all other explanations for Michel’s disappearance.
“Find Guntram,” Danise said to Clothilde. “Ask him to join me in the garden.”
“I believe he is with Hubert,” Clothilde answered. “Now that Savarec is gone, Guntram will be leaving Deutz soon for his own estate, and he will have some final duties to complete before he goes.”
“Yes, I remember he was planning to leave Deutz soon after my marriage,” Danise remarked.
“Guntram has risen far above his original position as a simple man-at-arms. It says much for his courage and intelligence that Charles awarded him those lands.”
At any other time Danise would have noticed Clothilde’s carefully unemotional voice and seen how downcast she was, but at the moment Danise was trying to think of a way to convince Guntram to go along with what she wanted to do. By the time Clothilde brought Guntram to her in the garden, Danise had concluded that the best way to deal with him was by being direct. Guntram was a straightforward warrior, so more subtle methods of persuasion would be lost on him. He was also an honest and openhearted man who would do anything for his friends.
“Guntram,” she said to him, “in the name of the friendship you held for my father and for Michel, I ask for your aid.”
“You have it,” Guntram said at once. “Tell me what you want.”
“Your attendance,” she replied, “along with that of perhaps two or three men who also knew Michel.”
“Since there’s no coffin we can escort to a gravesite,” Guntram said, “do you want us to stand as an honor guard instead, during a mass for Michel’s soul? You will have no difficulty finding men for such a duty. Michel was well liked.”
“It’s not a religious duty I require of you,” Danise said. “I want you and the men you choose to act as my escort, and perhaps as my guards, if it proves necessary.”
“On your way to Elhein?” Guntram began to look a bit wary. “It’s a rough place, Danise, and you know no one there. I’d far rather see you safe at court under Hildegarde’s protection. Charles will find you another husband to hold Elhein.”
“I do not need another husband while my own husband is still alive,” Danise snapped with unaccustomed sharpness. “I have no intention of going to Elhein just yet, nor to court. Guntram, I want you to take me to the place where Michel vanished.”
“Why?” Guntram asked. “I’ve told you how we searched the area for three days and found no trace of him. It has been raining again. All footprints will be washed away. Danise, if there were a thread of Michel’s clothing, a strand of his hair, any sign at all of him, we would have found it and continued searching. But there was nothing. Nothing,” he concluded.
“I believe everything you say,” Danise told him. “I know you did all anyone could to find Michel. But, Guntram, I have been thinking that he might have lost his memory again and simply wandered off into the forest. Perhaps Autichar struck him hard on the head and thus rattled Michel’s wits.” Danise paused to let Guntram think over this idea.
“It could be so,” Guntram said, “though we should still have found some sign of Michel’s passage through the forest. If you are right and he is wandering lost and unaware of his own name, how can we hope to find him?”
“I have a small likeness of him, that was in his purse when first he came to Francia,” Danise said. “Did you ever see it, Guntram? Michel gave it to me as a keepsake.”
“Now that you mention it, I have seen it.” Guntram’s worried expression lightened. “Do you mean to show it to any folk we meet in the area where he was lost? Now, that is a good idea. Someone may recognize him. But I and my men could take the likeness with us and do as much as you might. There’s no need for you to go, Danise.”
“If Michel has lost his memory again, he will need me by his side as soon as you find him,” Danise said. “Furthermore, I will not give that likeness of him into anyone else’s hands. If we do not find him, it will be all I have left of him. But we will find him, Guntram. We must find him.”
Although he expressed continuing doubts about the probability of locating Michel, Guntram agreed to act as Danise’s escort.
“But only if you go, too, Clothilde,” Guntram said. “It’s not right for a young woman to spend days and nights in the company of warriors without a female companion.”
“I could not let you leave Deutz without me,” Clothilde responded.
“Then we will go tomorrow,” Guntram said. “I’ll speak to Hubert about this plan. I’m sure I can convince him to release Uland from duty temporarily along with two or three of the other men who were with Michel and me and who know that area well by now. But, Danise, you must understand that we may not find him alive. We may find his body, or find nothing at all, as happened before.”
“If we find his body, at least we will know what happened to him, and we can bring him home for a Christian burial,” she replied. “I have considered that possibility.” She did not add that it was a possibility she refused to accept.
“What would you do then?” Guntram asked.
“If we do not find Michel,” she said, “I will turn Elhein over to Charles and retire from the world. I will go to Chelles and die there, for I cannot live without Michel.”
At this, Guntram and Clothilde exchanged a look of understanding.
“We will do our best to find Michel,” Guntram promised.
* * *
Danise, Clothilde, Guntram, and four other men set out early the next day. In her scrip, the small purse she wore at her belt, Danise carried the stiff little card that bore Michel’s likeness. Whenever they met other travelers, or passed peasants farming the land or, as happened twice, encountered king’s messengers heading to
ward Aachen with reports for Charles, Danise pulled out the card and, saying it was painted by a foreign craftsman, she asked if the man depicted had been seen. The answer was always negative.
They traveled inland from the Rhine, avoiding the riverside cliffs and promontories that rose upstream south of Deutz. Their errand was too urgent to allow them time to view the scenery. Instead, they took a track Guntram knew through the deep forest. For the most part they slept under the stars and ate the food they brought with them. It was three and a half long days after leaving Deutz before they came to the clearing and the dead ashes of the site of Autichar’s camp.
This is where we last saw Michel,” Guntram said. “We’ll stop here again and begin our search from this spot.”
“I want you to show me where you found Autichar after he was struck dumb,” Danise told him as soon as she had dismounted.
“There’s little to see except trees,” Guntram said. “I’ve looked at that place a dozen times, but perhaps you will notice something I have missed.
“It’s here,” Guntram said a few minutes later, having led Danise through a grove of trees. “I marked this tree with my ax so we could find it again while we were searching the first time. This is exactly where we discovered Autichar kneeling on the ground, unable to speak.”
“We must examine every bit of this area,” Danise said, looking around at tree trunks and heavy underbrush.
“We already have, many times over, but we’ll do it again for you,” Guntram said.
The men worked until dark, nor did Danise spare herself or Clothilde from the effort. They discovered nothing that might tell them what had become of Michel. When evening came Danise sat by the campfire, only half listening to the men talking. She felt a little guilty because she had not told Guntram what she feared had really happened to Michel, what she hoped and prayed had not happened.
She was the only one in Francia who knew that Michel had come to her time from the future. Guntram’s insistence that all his searching, and his men’s, had produced no sign of Michel made Danise believe that her husband might have been returned to his own time. The thought that Michel might be living more than a thousand years in the future and unable to contact her, the fear that she would never see him again, was enough to drive her close to madness. She thought it was possible that Autichar had seen Michel leave the present time, and the sight had stricken him dumb with terror.
This was why Danise had been so set upon making another search for Michel. She had to know where he was. Even if they discovered his mangled body, it would be better – or would it? Did she want him dead rather than alive and well in a time and place so far removed from her? Was she that selfish?
“No. Not dead,” she whispered. “Not Michel.” At once Clothilde’s arm was across her shoulders.
“We should not have come,” Clothilde said. “This unhappy search is breaking your heart.”
“I could not stay at Deutz. We may still find him. He might be here yet, injured or without his memory. Whatever force made Autichar speechless may have sent Michel wandering through the wilderness. Oh, Clothilde, if we do not discover something to tell us where he is, I think I will die! I must know! I must!”
But the morrow brought no new evidence, and by nightfall Danise could sense that the men believed all their efforts were meaningless.
Still, she could not stop searching. Again and again she returned to the tree Guntram had marked, there to stand gazing about her as if by sheer longing she could bring Michel back to her side.
On the fourth morning of their stay at Autichar’s camp, with the men grumbling that there was no sense in remaining where they were, with Guntram declaring that this must be their last day in that place if nothing were found, Danise went once more to the marked tree. Looking around her, she admitted that there was little chance that she would ever see Michel again.
“Michel. Oh, my love, where are you?” She turned slowly around in a complete circle, the skirts of her worn and stained green woolen gown swirling about her ankles. She was so tired of holding back tears she did not want to shed, fearing that weeping would be an admission that Michel was lost to her forever. She knew that out of respect for her father and affection for her, Guntram and his men had done far more than any other men would have cared to do, continuing to look for Michel when all hope of finding him was gone. She had to let them stop searching. She had to put an end to her time with Michel.
She could not do it. Before he left Deutz to rejoin Guntram, Michel had told her not to believe in his death until she saw his body. She had not seen so much as a fingernail.
But she could not make the men keep looking. If she did not stop the search, they would stop it without her permission. They would tell her it was over. Clothilde would be sympathetic and weep with her. Guntram would pat her on the shoulder and say he was deeply sorry and he would mean the words he spoke. Uland and the other men would look solemn and sad. Not one of them would understand how uncertainty gnawed at her.
The tears came at last, pouring down her cheeks. Danise leaned back against the marked tree, unable to stand without its support. Slowly she slid down the trunk of the tree until she was crouching at its base, hands over her face, sobbing aloud.
“ ‘Ere now, what’s this I see?” came a rough, unfamiliar voice.
Danise looked up to see half a dozen men watching her. Their clothing was ragged and worn, but their weapons were in the best of repair and they all looked as if they would use those weapons at a moment’s provocation. Wiping her damp cheeks, Danise got to her feet.
“What are you doing here crying, wench?” asked the man who had spoken to her before. He took a step toward her. “Isn’t this Autichar’s camp?”
“The camp is that way.” Danise, still wiping tears away, spoke without thinking. “But Autichar isn’t -”
“Never mind,” said the man. “Well just have some food and drink while we wait for him. Are you one of his women?”
“Why do you ask?” A dreadful suspicion occurred to Danise, making her regret her ready response to this man’s previous question. “Are you friends of Autichar?”
“That we are,” said the man. “We’re part of the contingent he took into Saxony and left there while he made a foray back to Francia. Autichar sent word to us to join him here.”
“Aren’t there more of you?” Danise asked, as if she thought there should be many more.
“Those heathen Saxons killed some of us,” came the answer. “We’re all that’s left. Come along to the campfire, girl, and let me enjoy your company. I haven’t seen a pretty wench like you for weeks. Saxon women are too tough for my taste.”
He caught Danise’s hand, pulling her in the direction of the camp. Danise hung back, tugging on her hand, trying to get free. She was afraid of what these men might do when they discovered that Autichar’s camp was no longer Autichar’s. From the looks of them, they would protest the change with their weapons. Danise knew that even if all of Guntram’s men were at the camp and not out searching for traces of Michel, there would only be five of them to these six ruffians, each of whom looked as if he could take on any number of warriors and defeat them. There was Clothilde to consider, too.
Danise believed if she tried to give the alarm these men would kill her at once without compunction.
But if Michel were gone and would not return, what did her own life matter? And what chance would she and Clothilde have if Guntram and his men went down to defeat?
Danise stood still, refusing to move when Autichar’s henchman yanked on her hand again. She drew a deep breath, opened her mouth, and screamed as loud as she could.
“Guntram! Attack! To arms! It’s an attack!”
Chapter 19
“All right! I told you I could do it.”
“You’re going to regret this, Hank.” Alice scowled at Hank before she turned her attention to Mike. “Put down that stupid sword. And if you’re planning to be sick, get into the bathroom first. It’s ther
e, through that door.”
Mike heard her and saw her pointing arm, but he couldn’t believe what he was seeing and hearing. Nor could he speak for a couple of minutes. Alice was right, he was choking with nausea. At least the wound over his eye wasn’t bleeding anymore.
Slowly his stomach settled down and the back bedroom of Alice’s little house came into clearer focus. Alice herself was looking at him as if she expected him to be sick all over the floor and Hank – Hank was grinning almost literally from ear to ear.
“What did you do?” Mike said to Hank as soon as he could speak.
“I just proved my theory for a second time,” Hank crowed. Mike wouldn’t have thought it possible, but Hank’s grin became even broader. “I’ve been told over and over that it couldn’t be done, but I did it!”
“Did what?” Mike demanded.
“I have now sent two people into the past at different times and brought both of them back safely,” Hank said. “I want to debrief you right away. Where did I put that notebook?” He turned aside, riffling through some papers on a nearby table.
“Hank, look out!”
“You don’t have to yell, Alice,” Mike said with deadly calm. “Hank knows exactly what kind of danger he is in, up against the wall with a Frankish broadsword pointed at his jugular vein. Alice, get over here and stand next to Hank so I can keep an eye on you, too. If either of you make a wrong move, Hank is a dead man, and Alice, you’ll be next in line for execution. Don’t think I can’t do it. My reflexes are a lot faster than they were when I left here three months ago.”
“Three hours ago,” Hank corrected, then fell silent when the point of Mike’s sword pressed a little more deeply into his neck.
“You wouldn’t dare hurt us,” Alice began.
“Try me and Hank’s blood will be all over vour bedroom floor.” Mike threatened.
“Do what he says, Alice,” Hank begged. “Jeez, Mike, what are you so upset about? You just had a terrific adventure, and you are part of a world-changing experiment. Why, when word of this gets out, we’ll all be famous – and rich.”
