by Speer, Flora
It was mid-afternoon when India first saw these rustic beginnings of what would one day be the capital city of the Frankish empire. The late-season snow had stopped during the previous night and had melted as the day progressed, so their journey had not been delayed. After leaving the guesthouse in the early morning they had forded a river and then had made their way southwestward through miles of thick forest.
Theuderic reined in his horse on a slight rise, waiting there for the rest of his company to catch up with him, and India saw before them a wide swath of meadow. Here and there a patch of snow still showed, but during the midday hours the air had become so warm that a mist was rising from the ground, making the settlement look as if it lay within some fairy enchantment. The sky was milky blue, nearby trees were bursting with early buds, and Charles’s hunting lodge rose out of the mist like a magical construction.
“It’s lovely,” she breathed.
“Look there,” Theuderic whispered, touching her arm. A few feet away a doe stood gazing at them with soft brown eyes. They sat in silent delight upon Theuderic’s horse watching the deer until it moved off through the trees.
“Aachen seems deserted,” India said, looking again at the misty scene just below them.
“It’s not. There are always clerics and servants and plenty of men-at-arms, in case Charles arrives with little notice,” Theuderic told her.
“He’s not here now,” India said. “If he were, his nobles would be living in tents all over that field, and we would have been challenged to explain our presence long before this.”
“You are right.” He nodded his approval of her observation. “Charles has taken the court southward. He left shortly after Christmas and plans to spend Easter along the way. The levies are to gather at Agen, and Charles will meet them there soon after Easter.”
India felt a cold chill in spite of the springlike air. She knew what his words meant.
“Levies for the Spanish campaign,” she said.
“So you’ve been listening to the men talk. Yes, as you heard Savarec say, last summer our yearly gathering was held at Paderborn, not far from where you and I met. A delegation of Saracens appeared there to invite Charles to take his army into Spain. They want him to resolve the dispute between two would-be rulers of their country. In return, they have promised to turn over several of their great cities to him. Charles is not blind to the glory and the wealth he will garner in Spain, but most of all, he hopes to convert the Saracens who live in that land to the True Faith.”
“What do you think of the expedition?” she asked. “You told Savarec you weren’t too pleased with the idea.”
“I’m not,” he said. “I wonder if the infidels can be trusted, and I question whether any man who rules a city will willingly turn it over to another man without a fight. We are unfamiliar with Spain, and once we have entered it, there will be a tall mountain range blocking the way between us and Francia, with only a few passes we can use to bring our army home again. Count Hrulund and a few others are less cautious than I, and eager to do battle with the Saracens.”
“But you won’t have to go there, will you?” she said. “You are stationed here, in the north.”
“I have sent my levy on ahead,” he told her. “My orders from Charles were to ride into Saxony, put down the small revolt that had begun there, and return to Aachen to make a report, which will be sent to him by rapid messenger. After a few days’ rest, the men with me and I are to ride south to join Charles and the rest of my levy at Agen.”
“Do you mean that you will march with him on the Spanish campaign?” Fear for him made her choke out the words.
“We’re all here,” interrupted Hugo’s cheerful voice from just behind them.
After a curious look at India’s frightened face, Theuderic raised his right arm to signal that all should follow him. He led them down the hill and into Aachen. Osric once again rode beside his leader, holding Theuderic’s banner aloft and shouting out his name and title, clearly savoring every moment of his own performance.
Upon their arrival, they were at once surrounded by an efficient bustle of servants and grooms. After gracious thanks to Theuderic and a sweet, slightly tearful farewell to Hugo, Danise and her serving woman were borne away on the wings of Sister Gertrude’s chronic irritation. Eudon was taken to the infirmary to be examined by a physician, with Osric in attendance; Hugo was put in charge of the horses; and Marcion went to see the men billetted. Theuderic ordered the loot that had been taken after the battle with the Saxons turned over to the clerics, who would make an inventory of the goods, set aside the king’s share, and then disperse the remainder among the men and Theuderic. Within half an hour of their arrival, Theuderic and India stood alone before the entrance to Charles’s hunting lodge.
“I’ll take you to my quarters,” he said. “You can rest there while I dictate my report to the clerics. Afterward, we will talk.”
“I am absolutely filthy after our long ride,” she said, irrationally irritated by his matter-of-fact attitude. Ever since he had rescued her from the groom on the previous night and sent her away so sternly, he had shown no emotion toward her at all. She had never known a man who could so completely hide his feelings. She could not conceal her own emotions nearly as well, so when she spoke she sounded waspish. “I want a hot bath.”
“That will be simple enough. Follow me.”
To her surprise, his quarters were not in the lodge as she had expected. He had a small wooden house set beneath an oak tree that grew near one of the hot springs. Old Roman masonry, cracked and damaged after eight centuries of use, formed an oblong pool. Through the steam rising from the surface of the water India glimpsed a mosaic fish design at the bottom of the pool.
“Soap and rinse yourself first,” Theuderic instructed her. “Then bathe. That way, the water stays clean.”
He showed her his house, a single room with a firepit, furnished with a table and bench, two wooden chairs with cushions on the seats, a couple of chests for clothing, and a typical Frankish bed with rails around three sides, its long side pushed against the wall. Pillows and a bright blue coverlet made the bed into seating space during the day. In one corner of the room sat a square wooden box with a large wooden tray on top of it.
After lighting a fire and stacking a few extra logs nearby in case she needed more, Theuderic found a covered wooden bowl of soap and a small linen towel for her to use.
“I will need a bucket,” she said.
“It’s in the shed at the back of the house, along with a stool you may want to use.”
“And something to wear while I wash my clothes. Then something clean to put on after I bathe.”
He gave her a long, searching look. From the twitch at the corner of his mouth, she was sure he was secretly laughing at her demands. At least he did not accuse her of being unreasonable.
“No one will disturb you. Don’t wear anything while you do your laundry. I don’t when I am at the bath, nor do any or the other men.” He searched through one of the wooden chests, pulling out a shirt. “You may use this while your clothing dries.”
“How long will you be gone?” she asked, watching him head toward the door.
“I don’t know. It depends on how many questions the clerics ask me. Some of them will be about you.” His amused look faded to seriousness. “I leave you untied. The rope that once bound us together is gone.”
“Yes,” she whispered, shaken by the sudden burning intensity in his eyes. She was not certain whether his next words were a plea or an order.
“Don’t desert me now, India. Be here when I return.”
She washed her tunic and trousers first, using some of her precious supply of soap and wringing the garments out as best she could. She spread them over a nearby bush, dumped out the dirty rinse water and filled the bucket again so she could remove and wash her underwear. Never having been naked in the open air before, she found the experience a bit frightening, but exciting too.
N
ext it was time to work on herself, and she went at the job with enthusiasm. Counting the time since she had arrived in the eighth century, she discovered with a mixture of laughter and horror that it had been seven days since she had bathed or washed her hair. It was wonderful to be clean once more. She cast the contents of the last bucket of soapy water in the general direction of the forest, vowing never again to feel superior to the supposedly dirty folk who had lived in earlier times than her own. Without readily available hot running water, getting clean and staying that way was strenuous work.
After using the bucket once more to rinse away the soap left on her body, she went to the pool and sat down on the ancient stones, dangling her feet in the water for a while before she jumped in and began to swim. The water was almost too hot to be comfortable, but the combination of the heat with the moist cool air was so relaxing that after a few minutes she turned onto her back and just floated, letting aching muscles unknot, allowing her thoughts to drift like the swirling mist above her.
She nearly fell asleep there in the pool, until she heard unfamiliar masculine voices a short distance away. Not wanting to have to explain her presence at Theuderic’s pool to strangers, she left the water, gathered up her scattered clothing, and retreated indoors. There, finding no place to hang anything, she took the cushions off the chairs, used the backs and arms as drying racks for her garments, and pushed the chairs close to the fire. She put on the shirt Theuderic had given her, a heavy linen garment, knee length, with a round neck and long sleeves that she had to push up to free her hands. She discovered that he had left a comb with the shirt, and this she used to remove a week’s worth of tangles and snarls from her hair. Then, unable to fight off sleep any longer, she pulled aside the coverlet and crawled into Theuderic’s bed.
She wakened with a start, aware that someone was in the room with her. Quiet voices murmured words she could not distinguish. More than one person then, Theuderic and someone else. She heard the soft chink of rings upon rings of metal moving against each other.
“Thank you. Put the food there,” she heard Theuderic say.
The door opened and closed, and she was alone again. Sitting up, she looked around. A lighted oil lamp sat on the table, where bread, cheese, a wine jar with two cups, and a covered dish now rested. A pile of folded fabric lay on the bench. In the corner. In the wooden tray atop the square box lay Theuderic’s chain mail brunia. Propped against the wall at the head of the bed was his sword.
She heard sounds coming from the direction of the spring and pool. Rising, she opened the door to peer outside. No one was in sight, but she heard the sounds again and she knew what they were. She rounded the corner of the house just as Theuderic lifted a bucket of water into the air and poured its contents over his head. In the rose-gold light of early evening, the water sparkled as it ran down his body.
India stopped, her eyes wide. He had not seen her yet, so she had time to feast her sight upon him. She had never seen a man so strongly muscled. His shoulders and upper arms were massive, no doubt the result of years of hefting sword and battle-axe and spear. He reached toward the bubbling spring to refill the bucket and she noted the ripple of muscles along his magnificent haunches and calves. When he raised his hands above his head to dump the water over himself again, she could see that he had his share of warrior’s scars, a particularly nasty one running along his left side, but nothing could detract from the image he projected of robust health and steely strength.
Setting down the bucket, he stepped to the edge of the pool, paused for an instant, and then dove into the water with a smooth, easy perfection that raised barely a splash. She saw his dark head surface, and he began to swim, not in the modern Australian crawl she had used, but in a kind of breaststroke.
India walked to the spot where he had stood, and waited there. He saw her almost at once, pausing with his head and shoulders out of the water.
“Is that you? For a moment I thought you were a ghost, in that white shirt and with the mist and steam around you.” He swam to the side and pulled himself out, using his powerful shoulder and arm muscles. He stood before her glittering with moisture and narrowing his eyes against the setting sun behind her. He was so close to her that, as the water streamed from him, droplets splashed onto the shirt she wore.
He had been to the barber. Seeing him clean shaven for the first time, with his wet hair plastered against his finely molded head, his eyelashes stuck together by water, and the sun full on his face, he looked younger to her, boyish almost, and defenseless. She wanted to put her arms around him and draw his head down onto her shoulder—or to her bosom. She reached toward him. He caught her wrists in cool, moist hands, holding her away from him.
“Not yet,” he said. “Not until you tell me who and what you are, and how you came to me, there in Saxony.” He dropped her hands and stepped away from her. That he desired her must have been as painfully undeniable to him as it was obvious to her, or to anyone who might have looked at him just then. He turned to pull his towel off the bush where earlier she had draped her underwear, and stood with his back to her rubbing at his hair and then his face and arms. Finally, holding the inadequately sized towel across his loins, he headed toward his house.
India followed him, frightened by the thought of what his reaction might be to what she would have to tell him.
Inside the house he drew on a blue woolen tunic, fashioned much like her own linen shirt, and gave his hair one last swipe with the towel.
“There’s food,” he said, glancing at the table, “but I think we should talk first.”
“I don’t know how to explain,” she began.
“But explain you must. I cannot trust you otherwise. I will know everything, and I will know it now. What have you been hiding from me?” He was so stern, so determined, that she knew it would be useless to try to resist giving him the information he wanted.
While she sought for the right words, he walked to one of the chairs and picked up her bra.
“One question I had about you was answered when I first took you up before me on my horse,” he said, stretching out the filmy, gold-colored lace. “This garment only confirms what I already knew. No boy would ever wear such a thing. And this other piece of clothing, with a texture like finest silk when I draw it through my fingers. What possible purpose could there be for apparel such as this, if not seduction? Are you a demon, sent to steal my soul from me?”
“I am human,” she cried, frightened by his suggestion. “I told you that before. I’m not supposed to be here. It was an accident.”
“Explain to me how this accident occurred.”
“How can I, when I don’t understand it myself?”
“Then begin with this.” Tossing her underwear back onto the chair, he picked up her necklace from the table where she had put it before bathing. He held it out toward her, the pendant dangling, the chain wrapped in his fingers so she could not take it from him. “Who gave you this?”
“Robert Baldwin gave it to me.”
“And who is this Robair Baudouin? How did he acquire the sign of a royal messenger?” Trying to decide how to answer him without telling an actual lie, she did not speak at once. When she was silent too long, he asked another question. “He was not your master, was he?”
Another pause. Theuderic frowned, watching her closely. She knew she could put off speaking the truth no longer.
“Robert Baldwin was my husband,” she said.
“Husband.” He took a deep breath. “Where is he now?”
“He is dead, as I told you that first day, of a long and painful illness.”
“What illness? Did you poison him?”
“Why would I do that? I loved him!” She was deeply shocked by the idea, and she hoped it showed. He looked at her long and hard before nodding.
“I believe this answer. You have always spoken of him with respect and affection.”
“It was more than that. He was a decent, honest man, and a fine scholar. I was his
assistant. We worked together every day. He became vitally important to me. He was a large part of my heart. When he died, I thought the world had ended.”
“I understand,” he said. “It was that way for me, too, when my wife died. Now tell me why he gave you the medallion.”
“It was a gift. It isn’t real, Theuderic. It’s what we call a museum reproduction, a copy, made because the object is beautiful to us.”
“I believe Charles would consider it a criminal offense to make such a copy.” He held up the necklace again.
“Here, in your time, that may be so,” she cried, desperate to make him understand that she was not lying to him, “but in my time it is intended as a compliment, an honor.”
“Your time? My time?” He had seized upon the important element in her declaration. ’’What do you mean?”
‘Theuderic.” She had to tell him. He would not stop questioning her until he knew the whole truth, and she could not bear to lie to him. She wanted him to understand what had happened to her, and then to tell her that he still desired her. His eyes were sharp on her face, searching for any sign of falsehood. She restarted her explanation. “I was born in a land far from here, more than twelve hundred years from now, in the future. A friend of mine has a machine, which malfunctioned and sent me back in time.”
“What are you saying? Are you mad?” His face looked frozen; his voice was a harsh whisper.
“It should not have happened. It was an accident,” she said again.
“The battle,” he decided. “That began the madness. You told me you had never seen bloodshed before. Then Eudon’s accident, the long trek through the forest fearing a Saxon attack at every step, the way I treated you when I tied you to me at night – this is my doing. It’s my fault you’ve lost your wits.”
“I am not mad,” she stated as firmly as she could. “I am occasionally confused because I am in the wrong time, but I am not mad, nor am I bewitched. Nor are you. Please don’t blame yourself for anything. It’s not your fault in any way.”
