Time to Love Again

by Speer, Flora

  “Get into the pool,” he said. “Unhand me now or this lovemaking will end too soon.”

  “I’m not sure I want to unhand you,” she replied, stroking the inside of his thighs.

  “Take your hands away or I’ll throw you into the water.”

  “You always threaten violence,” she murmured, still touching him.

  “I may threaten, but I could never hurt you.” Since she would not do as he ordered, he pulled her hands from his lower body and held them against his chest. She took full advantage of the opportunity thus offered to her, moving close to his soapy, glistening strength. Stretching upward, she kissed him full on the mouth. He pulled back, turned her around, and pushed her toward the water.

  “While I may never hurt you,” he said sweetly, “I will teach you to obey me.”

  It seemed the gentlest of touches between her shoulder blades, but she was by then standing at the very edge of the pool. She fell into the water, sinking to the bottom before she was able to overcome her shock at this treatment. With a hard kick against the mosaic tiles she turned herself right side up and rose to the top again, sputtering and coughing when she finally reached the air. Theu stood watching her in the pose so typical of him, with his legs apart, fists on hips. Something in the bold self-assurance of his stance brought out an unexpected wildness in her.

  “Don’t you dare laugh at me!” she cried, grabbing at his ankle and pulling hard. It was entirely satisfying to see him do a slow cartwheel out over the water before he landed with an awful whack that must have knocked the air right out of his lungs.

  “Why, Theu,” she said, displaying not the least bit of sympathy when he finally surfaced, “you forgot to rinse first.”

  “I’ll have my revenge for your foul deed,” he told her, flashing a wicked grin before he vanished into the steam.

  For the next few minutes it was like being in the pool with a playful sea creature. Theu dove again and again to touch her beneath the water, stroking and patting her legs and breasts and buttocks, tickling her feet and the backs of her knees, once even pulling her under to kiss her until her ears began to ring from loss of air. After that she hung by one hand from the stones at the side of the pool, wiping her streaming hair out of her eyes and wondering where he would strike next. Suddenly he was in front of her, pinning her against the stone with a hand beside each of her shoulders and his full length pressing on her.

  “Do you know now who is your master?” he asked, kissing her throat.

  “I’ll never surrender,” she gasped.

  “Oh, but you will, in just a moment or two.” With no apparent effort at all he lifted her out of the water, sitting her on the stone edging. She tried to get to her feet, intending to run away from him, but he was too fast for her. He knelt beside her, the moonlight shining on him, and she knew she did not want to run away after all. With laughter and a deep, sweet yearning, she opened her arms to him.

  He was wet and cold and warm, all at the same time. He was a shaft of ice inside her that melted and boiled and nearly destroyed her with his furious heat. He was a gentle spring rain that nourished and renewed her when the first madness of his passion was spent.

  They did not sleep at all that night. They loved again by the pool, then bathed once more before they retired to his house to latch the door against the world. In the intervals between the loving, they talked. He told her of his boyhood spent learning to be a warrior, of the father he adored and wished to emulate, who had been killed while fighting in Aquitaine for Charles’s father. King Pepin. He spoke of Charles and his deep affection for that finest of kings, and talked with gentle love about his wife who had died too young, and of the infant son she had left him, his great hope for the continuation of his family line. In return, she told him about her parents’ death by accident, of her husband’s long illness, and then described her years of friendship with Willi. As morning came, they loved one last time, a sweet, slow, and ultimately tearful passion on her part, permeated by the belief that this could be their final coming together.

  When the sun rose, they left Aachen, India riding beside him in her twentieth-century tunic and trousers, with her eighth-century brown cloak thrown over her shoulders, love and worry filling her heart and the weight of future events pressing upon her. It was evident to her that if she wanted to protect Theu from almost certain harm, she would have to tell him what she knew about the Spanish campaign. After what he had said during the night, from the kind of man she knew him to be, she had an awful feeling that when he was aware of the terrible dangers to him and all of the Frankish army, the knowledge would not change his determination to follow his king into Spain, or even to die for Charles if it were necessary.

  Chapter 11

  Sister Gertrude surprised them all. Once they were on their way, she seemed to accept the change in plans that had been imposed upon her and her charge. She did not lessen her fierce protectiveness of Danise, keeping the girl separate from Theu’s men as much as she could, but she stopped scolding Theu, and she proved to be a resilient traveler. While India and the still-recovering Eudon walked about slowly each morning, bending and stretching and rubbing at aching muscles, trying to ease the previous day’s saddle stiffness before they had to mount once more, Sister Gertrude was always ready on time, prepared to ride and showing no sign of physical distress, though she was the oldest member of their party. She also began to moderate her disapproval of India. On the day after they left Aachen, she took advantage of a time when Theu was riding with Hugo and Marcion and was so well occupied in talking to them that he would be unlikely to overhear her comments.

  “You are a foolish young woman,” the nun said, urging her horse closer to India’s. “Do you imagine that wearing men’s clothing and riding like a man will endear you to Count Theuderic?”

  “In my country,” India replied, “women often wear this kind of clothing. And they decide for themselves how they will ride.” She half expected a sour retort to her attempt at self-defense, but Sister Gertrude fell silent, apparently thinking about what India had said.

  “I met a Byzantine woman once,” Sister Gertrude remarked a little later, “who told me that in a place far to the east of Byzantium, the women wear such garments as yours, made of silk. If that is the case, and if that distant land is your home, then I will not criticize you for following your own customs. But you must realize that in Francia we do things differently. You cannot attend court in such attire.”

  “I will remember your sensible advice,” India responded, surprised yet again by the adaptability of a woman who had supposedly spent her life sheltered from the world. She began to look at the nun with a new respect.

  From then on, Sister Gertrude became more friendly toward India, often asking penetrating questions about her life that India found difficult to answer as truthfully as she would have liked. However, sister Gertrude never missed an opportunity to comment unfavorably upon the actions of the men, until India came to the conclusion that the nun heartily disliked all those who belonged to the male gender.

  India found this new journey much different from the earlier trek through Saxony. Their route once more wound through dense woodlands, but Theu’s band no longer camped in the forest, rolling themselves into their cloaks at night. Instead, they slept in abbey guesthouses or in the houses of nobles, their often crowded accommodations allowing little opportunity for either lovemaking or serious conversations.

  At first, believing they would pause for a day or so in Noyon to allow people and horses to rest, India planned to speak to Theu there about the horrors awaiting the Frankish army in Spain. But at Noyon, where they stayed in the royal residence, Theu spent the better part of the night in talk with the noble who headed the household in Charles’s absence, and they rode forth again at first light. Two days after that, they crossed the River Seine in a drenching downpour. Sister Gertrude sent a long look and a sigh in the general direction of Chelles, but she said nothing, and they continued on without pausi
ng.

  A day later, they were housed again in an abbey, this one south and west of Paris, and still India had not revealed to Theu what she knew. She decided she would not go to bed that night until she had spoken to him. She had discarded her earlier concerns about what effect her revelations of the future might have upon the history of centuries to come. She had been given more than enough time in which to recognize and deal with her feelings for Theu. Loving him with a deep and reckless passion unlike anything she had ever known before, she wanted only to save his life.

  It was Hugo who gave her the opportunity for which she was hoping. After the light evening meal of bread and cheese, she excused herself to Sister Gertrude and Danise, then hurried to catch up with Theu as he left the refectory. Encountering Hugo and Theu speaking together at the doorway, she paused, waiting until they had finished.

  “Would you like me to speak to Charles on your behalf?” She heard Theu ask Hugo. “Or to Hildegarde? If either of them were to mention you favorably to Savarec, he might be more willing to give his daughter to you.”

  “You know my problem,” Hugo responded. “I have nothing to offer a noble lady. I have only the small estate where my mother and sister live, and if my sister is ever to marry I will have to give up part of those lands in order to provide a dowry for her. Danise deserves much more than I possess, and Savarec will surely tell me so.”

  “Look to Spain,” said Theu. “Knowing the kind of fighting man you are, I think it likely that you could make your fortune there.”

  “Where the sun shines every day,” Hugo said, a dreamy look on his plain, honest face. “Where every castle has a beautiful garden with a fountain and a flowering almond tree. And oranges, ready to drop into a man’s hands – or a lady’s. I think Danise would like that. She should live in a fine castle on a hilltop in Spain, with servants to obey her every wish. I swear to you, Theu, I’ll win it all for her with my sword.”

  “Before we leave for Spain, I will speak to Charles about arranging a marriage between you,” Theu promised, sending Hugo away to bed with a smile and a friendly clap on his shoulder.

  “If Hugo depends upon Spanish treasure to win himself a bride, he’ll never marry Danise,” India remarked, making Theu look sharply at her in the shadows of the refectory entrance.

  “It’s time we talked about this,” he said. “Come with me.”

  He did not take her to the tiny guest’s cell he had been given for his own use that night, nor to the smaller cell where India would sleep. He led her to the scriptorium where, even at this late hour between Vespers and the final devotional service of the day at Compline, a pair of monks still labored, copying manuscripts by the light of candle stubs burned too short to be used in the chapel any longer.

  “They won’t overhear us,” Theu said, choosing a carrel and a bench at some distance from the monks, who did not raise their heads at this intrusion. “They are too intent upon their work.”

  He straddled the bench, leaned one elbow on the writing shelf of the carrel, and motioned to India to join him.

  “Now tell me why every mention of the Spanish campaign fills you with dread,” he ordered as soon as she had seated herself.

  “You said once that you do not entirely trust the Saracens who have invited the Frankish king into their country, offering to turn over cities and treasure to him,” she began. “Your concern is well placed, though it’s not so much that the Saracens are untrustworthy, but rather that their affairs are so confused. The Saracen lords of Spain are fighting each other, and they are involved in complicated intrigues among themselves. Loyalties shift from day to day. The situation is really a civil war. I’m not sure you understand that term as I do, but anyone who involves himself in Spanish politics will soon regret his decision.”

  “Charles is aware of all of this,” Theu told her. “While most of his nobles enthusiastically favor the campaign, there are a few, myself included, who feel it is unwise to entangle ourselves in quarrels best left for the Saracens to settle among themselves. So what you have just told me is nothing that I and others have not already discussed with Charles.”

  “But he is going anyway.” There was despair in her voice, and a black, desperate fear for Theu clutching at her heart. “And you will go with him.”

  “The decision was made last autumn,” he said. “Nothing will change it now. I pledged my loyalty to Charles years ago. I will follow where he leads.”

  “What will you do when the Spanish Christians turn from Charles to join their Saracen countrymen and fight the Franks together?” She had to make him understand the terrible risk in going to Spain. If she could not prevent his going, at least she would try to convince him to be on his guard at all times. “How will you deal with the Gascons and the Basques who live in the mountains and the rough country between Francia and Spain, who will harry you along the way, who will lie in ambush for your return?” She stopped, choking with terror, knowing yet not caring that she had said too much, for she was gripped by a dreadful premonition. His response was exactly what she had feared it would be. She had not known him for long, but she knew him very well.

  “What would you have me do?” he asked. “Shall I play the coward and beg to remain on this side of the Pyrenees? Desert my king when he needs me and my men? If I and every man of my levy are destined to die for Charles in Spain, which is what you are suggesting, then so be it. I will not defect from my duty. If I did, I would be less than a man and unworthy of your affections. Unworthy, too, of my son’s honor and a disappointment of all my parents’ hopes for their descendants.”

  “Charles will eventually give up the campaign, having gained little at the cost of many lives,” she said, casting aside all remaining caution, determined to tell him everything she knew. “On your return through the Pyrenees, the rearguard will be ambushed in a mountain pass – not by Saracens, but by Christians.”

  “Stop.” In the shadowy light he looked frozen, hard, a man of steel and stone. “There is something evil in this foreknowledge of the future. I will listen to no more.”

  “I am trying to save your life!” she hissed. Mindful of the monks on the other side of the room, she lowered her voice when she tried again. Her throat was dry with fear, and she felt close to tears. “For me it isn’t the future, it’s the past – it’s history. I know I shouldn’t be telling you any of this, but Theu, I’m so worried about you, so afraid you’ll be badly wounded or even killed.”

  “All men die,” he said, “and warriors sooner than most. As I do before every campaign, I have made my peace with the possibility that I will not survive the coming battles. If you are my true friend, you will do the same. You will take pride in my courage and let that pride sustain you through whatever happens to me in these next months.”

  “I’m not like you,” she whispered. “I’m not used to constant warfare.”

  “Yet you have more courage than most women.” After a quick glance toward the monks, he leaned forward to touch her cheek and rest his hand upon her shoulder. “Were our positions reversed, were I by some magic sent to your century, l think l would go mad with the horror of what had happened to me. But you, finding yourself in my time, have displayed a bravery worthy of any warrior. India, I want you to forget what I said at Aachen about speaking to Alcuin. Give me the answer to only one question more, and then I want you to seal up your knowledge of the future in your heart and never speak of it again, not to me or to anyone else, for it seems to me that such knowledge is dangerous beyond our reckoning. It could change our actions in this time and thus affect the lives heaven has intended for all those who come after us.”

  “Hank has some strange theories and complicated mathematical formulas to explain that sort of thing,” she told him, “but you have said it more simply and more truly than he ever could. Theu, I meant no harm and certainly no insult to your honor by telling you all of this. I only wanted to warn you, because I – because I worry about you.”

  She had almost said she l
oved him, but the words had been stopped in her throat by the way he had called her friend. If she was to him no more than a friend, then the last fragments of her shattered pride would prevent her from admitting that she loved a man who could not love her. But was she wrong about that? His fingers gripped her shoulder more tightly for a moment, as if he would convey to her a message he could not allow himself to speak aloud.

  “I understand and I thank you for caring about my welfare,” he said. “Now answer my only question. Will Charles survive and continue to rule the Franks?”

  “He will become one of the most famous of kings,” she responded. “His memory is still honored and respected in my own day. Men will call him Charlemagne – Charles the Great.”

  “I am content.” He stood, holding out his hand to her. “Let the future happen as it must. We will speak no more of what you know.”

  But now you know, too, she thought. Surely that knowledge will change your actions, just as you said it would. Remembering what I have told you, you may live to return from Spain.

  They went out of the scriptorium hand in hand, nor did he release her when they entered the hall where visitors were received. There they found a dark-haired stranger.

  “Count Theuderic.” There was no respectful bow from the newcomer and no smile of greeting, only an abrupt dip of his head before he resumed his previous rigid stance. By his appearance, he was a person of some importance, for beneath his dust-streaked brown cloak he wore expensive chain mail and he carried a rounded metal helmet in the crook of his left arm. A long puckered scar slashed across his left cheek and chin, and his ice-blue eyes were cold when they rested on Theu. “I have been searching for you.”

  “Autar of Chalons.” Theu spoke pleasantly enough, but India was aware of the sudden tensing of his strong frame beside her, and his hand tightened on hers. She saw Autar glance toward their hands, then back to Theu’s face. “I assume you have some message for me,” Theu said.