Time to Love Again

by Speer, Flora

  “Who’ll hold his head?” asked Hugo.

  “I will,” India offered, sitting down and pulling Eudon’s head onto her lap. Gently she smoothed back his tangled hair, brushing it off his face.

  “Boy, are you strong enough?” Hugo demanded.

  “I held Robert Baldwin when he was racked with pain,” India replied, meeting Hugo’s eyes squarely, but aware of Theuderic watching her every action. “I will do no less for this man.”

  “Let him stay where he is,” urged Eudon. “His hands are gentle as any woman’s on my brow.”

  “Do him no harm,” Hugo warned India. “He’s my friend. You will answer to me if you hurt him.”

  “I only want to help,” India assured him. To try to distract Eudon from the preparations for his coming ordeal, she asked him, “Have you a wife?”

  “No,” Eudon replied, “but there’s a whore in Paderborn who likes me well. I pray I will be able to serve her in the future as I have in the past.”

  “If you satisfied her before,” Hugo said, “she’ll cry out in pleasure again when next you come together. This wounding won’t affect your manhood, and you’ll have a fine scar to show her as proof of your courage. Now, here’s the cloth.” He had been folding a piece of fabric as he spoke. This he placed between Eudon’s teeth.

  India saw Theuderic squatting by the fire holding a knife blade into the flames. Now Osric took one of Eudon’s arms, Marcion took the other, a third and fourth man held his feet. Hugo knelt beside India, his hands on Eudon’s shoulders.

  “If you’ve never done this before,” Hugo said to India in a low voice, “he’ll buck and heave at first, and it will be hard to hold him. The cloth is to keep him from biting his tongue. Don’t worry, Theu knows what he is doing, and he’ll make it as quick and painless as possible.”

  “I understand.” And she did, despite her initial protests and her horror at what must be done. This, after all, was not the familiar twentieth century, with hospitals and antibiotics readily available. Without cauterization of the wound, infection would soon set in and Eudon might well die. With it, he had a chance to heal and recover. In the faces of the men around Eudon, India saw the reflection of her own understanding of his condition – saw, too, their open and honest concern for him. Hardened warriors they might be, but the comradeship among them was a fine and heartwarming thing, and for those few minutes India was proud to be a part of it and determined to be worthy of their acceptance.

  Theuderic rose from his place beside the fire, holding the heated knife. He came forward and knelt at Eudon’s right side. India stared at the knife, then raised her eyes to Theuderic’s face.

  “Are you ready, Eudon?” Theuderic asked, but India felt as if he were asking her the question. When Eudon said something muffled by the cloth in his mouth and nodded his head, India gritted her teeth and nodded her own head.

  “Hold him,” Theuderic said in a quiet, calm voice, and a moment later laid the knife flat upon the open wound.

  Eudon squealed in pain, his jaws clamped hard on the cloth. His body fought the searing heat, and it took the six of them to hold him on the ground. Theuderic kept the knife where it was. Eudon went limp.

  “Well done,” said Hugo, releasing Eudon’s shoulders. The other men relaxed their grip and sat back. “You can move now, lad. We’ll roll up his breeches and use them for his pillow.”

  India rose on unsteady legs, telling herself she dared not faint, because if she did they would all know she was a woman. Worse than that, she would be embarrassed before men she was beginning to respect. She took a few deep breaths to clear her head.

  “He’ll need bandaging,” she said to Hugo. “I’ll do it if you like.”

  “That’s my job,” Hugo said.

  “Someone should sit with him.”

  “Osric and I will do it.” Hugo was a big-boned bear of a man, but his massive hand was remarkably gentle when he patted India’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I doubted you, lad. You did what you said you would, and I thank you for it. Eudon will be all right. Get yourself some food. There’s fresh meat tonight.”

  She saw then what the rest of the men had been doing while seven of their number had been occupied with Eudon. Underbrush had been cleared away from the area around the fire, and the horses had been tethered nearby and their trappings removed. The boar had been skinned and cleaned, and the carcass was cooking on a heavy spit set over the fire. With branches stripped from the trees, the men had built several rough shelters for themselves, little more than flimsy lean-tos against wind and rain, and no protection at all against the cold. In one of these shelters a bed of pine needles had been prepared and onto it the men who had held Eudon were laying him under Hugo’s supervision.

  “I misjudged you,” Theuderic said, very low. He had come silently to stand before her. “You are no coward. But I should have known that. No craven soul would be permitted to wear this.” His right hand lightly touched the pendant that still hung from the chain around her neck. With his eyes holding hers, he moved his fingertips until they rested at the spot where one small, firm breast began to swell. Very gently, he pressed against the softness. The corner of his mouth began to turn upward. And then, amazingly, while India stood frozen, unable to react in any way, he removed his hand and turned from her to the fire.

  “Come and eat,” he said in his normal voice. “You’ve earned your slice of meat this day.”

  Chapter 5

  They carved the boar by hacking off the outermost pieces, which were burned on the outside and dripping red an inch or so inside, and they left the remains to continue cooking until the meat was more thoroughly done.

  India sat on the bare ground between Theuderic and Marcion. The others were eating heartily, and she was hungry, too. She had a chunk of greasy meat in one hand, a crust of stale bread in the other, and a wooden cup of sour ale on the ground beside her. It was a wonderful, restorative feast. When she thought of the way she used to pick at her plain, non-fat yogurt and sip her decaffeinated coffee, she felt like laughing out loud. She had just survived two incredible days, she felt more alive than she had ever felt before, and she cared not at all if her present diet would be considered unhealthy by twentieth-century standards. Enormously grateful for the food, she swallowed the last bite of her meat and licked her fingers as Marcion was doing to his.

  “Why did you build the shelters?” she asked Marcion. “We had none in the last place we stopped.”

  “Because we’ll be here for two or three nights,” he replied.

  When she looked at Theuderic for confirmation of this, he nodded.

  “I won’t divide my band,” Theuderic said. “Not while we’re still east of the Rhine. We stay together, and we stay where we are until Eudon can travel again.”

  “How far is it to the Rhine?” she asked.

  “Half a day’s ride at the speed we were traveling. Had Eudon not been hurt, we would have reached it by tomorrow evening, and we would cross the next morning. As it is, we will wait.” He said this with no sign of impatience or irritation, as if a definite schedule were unimportant. She thought that in a land where time was told by the rising or the setting of the sun and wrist-watches had not yet been invented, perhaps the delay of a day or two did not matter. She found that a restful notion.

  “Who’s on first watch?” Marcion asked, smothering a yawn.

  “Osric and Rollin,” Theuderic decided. “Then you and Hugo. I’ll take the dawn watch with one of the others. I’ll ask for a volunteer.”

  “I’ll do it,” India said, feeling at one with the group around the fire and wanting to contribute to its collective welfare.

  “Not you, India.” Theuderic’s look was warm. “Thank you for the offer, but we need a full-grown man, able to use sword and battle-axe if need be.”

  “Is it so unsafe here?”

  “Probably not. This part of Saxony is well subdued, not like the area where you found us. Still, it’s always wise to post a guard.” He rose in
a smooth, easy motion that showed her once again just how flexible and strong he was. “I’ll see Eudon now, then we can bed down for the night,” he said to her.

  She went with him. They found Eudon slightly feverish, but conscious and alert.

  “You’ll feel better in the morning,” Theuderic promised after checking the wound. “I’m sorry we have no wine or herbs to ease you into sleep. I see Hugo has been wiping your face with cool water. That will help.”

  “I’ll be all right.” Eudon actually managed to smile. “I’ll be eating by next midday. Keep some of the boar for me.”

  “We’re saving the best part,” said Theuderic, laying one hand on Eudon’s shoulder for a moment.

  “You care so much for your men,” India remarked as they walked away from the lean-to.

  “How could I lead them if I did not?” Theuderic asked.

  “You are so tough, so completely a warrior, and yet you are kind, too. You are very different from the man I first thought you to be.” When she realized that she was speaking even as the thoughts came into her mind, without censoring what she said, she fell silent, looking shyly at him. His returning glance was mild but penetrating.

  “So are you different.” From his neutral tone she could not tell exactly how he meant that remark, but after his earlier praises, she thought it might be a compliment.

  They had reached one of the lean-tos, and she saw the pine that had been heaped into a bed. Next to it lay the hide rope. Theuderic threw his cloak over the pine and motioned to her to lie down.

  “Please,” she said, “don’t tie me again. It’s humiliating to be leashed like a dog.”

  “Have you never observed that unleashed dogs often wander from home?” His voice remained as quiet and his manner as non-confrontational as before, which gave her the courage to insist, hoping to sway him.

  “When I am bound, you are bound, too,” she said. “If the Saxons should attack, you would waste precious time releasing me so you could fight them.”

  “Should the Saxons attack us tonight, I will do what I would have done last night,” he replied, showing her the knife he had used on Eudon’s wound. “After you slept, I kept this in my hand all night, so I could kill you quickly before you could be captured. The Saxons reserve special tortures for prisoners such as yourself. I will do my best to protect you from that horror.”

  “Dear God,” she whispered, sinking down upon the fragrant pine. All her earlier sense of peace and safety had dissipated, his words having recalled her to her true situation. She was alone and frightened in a barbaric world. The trees surrounding their camp, which until then had seemed to her like the walls of a large room securely enclosing Theuderic and all his company, instead became in her imagination hiding places, behind which fierce and cruel Saxons or ravenous beasts might be skulking. Compared to either of those threats, Theuderic and his men, rough and unlettered warriors though they might be, represented all that existed of civilization, offering her the only protection she might hope to find. Meekly, she put out her right hand and let him knot the rope around her wrist.

  “Surely there are dangers in your own country,” he said, fastening the loose ends of rope around his waist.

  “Terrible and violent ones, especially in certain parts of our cities,” she admitted. “But they are known to me, and I can try to avoid them. Here, where I am a stranger, perils seem to lurk behind every tree.”

  “I understand. Doubtless I would feel as you do, were I to travel to your land.”

  They lay down together, and he pulled the cloak over them. Perhaps sensing the tenseness of her mood, he made no attempt to touch her. She did not sleep until it was almost dawn.

  In the morning, six of the men organized a hunting party. Hugo and Osric remained in camp, hovering like anxious parents over Eudon, whose sunken eyes and flushed cheeks revealed the effects of fever and persistent pain. India sat with Eudon while his nurses went off to tend to their personal needs and break their fast, but they were soon back at Eudon’s side, insisting there was no more she could do. Theuderic was nowhere to be seen, Marcion was cutting firewood, and she could see one or two other men standing guard over the camp.

  Her fears of the previous night having eased somewhat with the rising of the sun, India decided to find a place where she could wash in private. She had been living with more than a dozen men for almost three days, and she wanted a few minutes alone. She would be careful, keeping her eyes open in case of danger, and she would not go so far from the camp that she could not return quickly.

  She followed the trickling water that ran beside the campsite until it flowed into a small stream, then into a larger one. Springs and streams and little pools abounded in the forest, many of them fed by melting snow. India found a rock that had been dried by the sun and knelt on it, leaning over the stream to dip her hands into the water. She was not foolish enough to remove her tunic, though she wanted to. She longed for a hot bath and plenty of soap, for thick towels to dry with, and a comb for her hair and clean clothing when she had finished, but she would have to be content with using cold water and her hands. She splashed water onto her face, afterward raising an arm and bending into her sleeve to dry herself. Then she tried to scrub away the dirt that was ground into the knuckles of her hands and caked beneath her fingernails. Eagerly she searched for sand to use as a cleanser, but there was none. She saw only pebbles and brown leaves in the water and, a few feet downstream, a cluster of bright green leaves growing at the verge where muddy bank and stream met.

  “Watercress!” Forgetting her distaste at her filthy condition, she went to investigate. Pulling a plant out by the roots, she tasted some of its leaves, closing her eyes in order to enjoy the experience more intensely. Crunchy, tangy green sensations delighted her tongue. “Oh, it’s delicious.” She reached for more.

  “Why have you left camp?” She had not heard him come across the carpet of moss and moist dead leaves. He wore his iron helmet and carried a spear in his hand.

  “Don’t you ever take off your armor?” she asked rather defensively, for she had at once understood that he might just as easily have been a Saxon.

  “I will remove it when we reach Aachen. You know it is unsafe for you to wander about alone. Shall I tie you to my side during the day as well as at night?”

  “I was only washing my face. What I’ve found makes up for leaving without your permission,” she said, pointing to the watercress. “We can have salad tonight. It will be good for Eudon, too. Watercress is full of vitamin C, which is supposed to speed the healing of wounds.”

  “So your people use it as a healing herb.” Theuderic smiled a little, as if he had caught her in an unintended confession. “To me, cress means that spring will come soon. Sometimes, during this cold winter, I wondered if it ever would.”

  “Does that mean you like greens?” She offered a branch of the plant she had been holding while they talked, the same plant she had tasted. It was a kind of peace offering, an apology for leaving camp. She thought he understood, for he took the cress and chewed on it, smiling more broadly at the fresh taste of it.

  “Always the first greens of spring are welcome after a winter of dried or salted meat, of pickles and turnips and cabbage. The cress is strong, yet delicate, too. Like you. Here.” He pulled off his helmet, offering it to her. “Fill this.”

  Laying down his spear, he squatted beside her, reaching into the clump of greenery to snip off stems with deft movements. India quickly added her contribution, heaping watercress into the helmet.

  “Be careful,” he told her. “Don’t pull it out of the mud that way. You must leave enough of root and leaf to allow it to grow again. Others coming this way may need the nourishment of these plants more than we do, and we, returning another year, may need it again.”

  “Just what I always wanted to meet,” she muttered, trying to pick the watercress the way Theuderic did, “an eighth-century conservationist.” It did not strike her as odd that he would care about l
eaving watercress roots to grow again. His concern for a simple plant fit into a pattern of behavior that was gradually revealing to her a complex and interesting man.

  With the helmet full, Theuderic stood, reaching down a hand to help India to her feet. They faced each other, the brimming helmet between them.

  “Even with the paint worn off your face by time and water,” he said, “still your skin is smoother than that of any unbearded boy I have ever seen.” The back of his hand brushed across her cheek in a gentle caress. He was looking at her mouth in a way that sent heat swirling through her.

  “Theuderic?” She wanted to take his hand in hers and press it against her throbbing bosom. She wanted him to put his arms around her. She wanted…

  “Ah, well,” he said, “it’s only a few more days till we reach Aachen. I can wait until then.”

  “What will happen in Aachen?” she asked.

  “Why, then we can safely remove our armor,” he said, in a way that made her wonder if he was teasing her. The hand that had touched her cheek dropped to her shoulder and then to her sleeve, where he rubbed the fabric of her tunic between his fingers. “Then, India, we will all remove our armor. Every bit of it, I promise you.”

  Eudon joined them for the evening meal and ate with a healthy appetite, devouring leftover cold boar meat, a fair-sized chunk of spit-roasted rabbit, and several handfuls of watercress. But when he tried to convince Theuderic that he would be able to travel the next morning, Theuderic decided to wait another day in order to be sure Eudon’s wound was well on its way to healing.