Danise could not stop to brush the hair out
of her eyes, for the enemy was closer now. She could hear
hoofbeats. They came not from directly in front of her, where the
hunting horn still sounded, nor from behind, where Autichar and his
men were, but from the side. A horse suddenly appeared off to her
right. She saw it out of the corner of her eye. Before she could so
much as turn her head to see what was happening, the horse’s rider
bent out of his saddle to reach toward her. An arm came down and
scooped Danise off her feet. She was thrown across the saddle,
where she hung face downward, too weak and out of breath to protest
this rough treatment.
She did not know if it was Autichar or one of
his men who had taken her up onto his horse, or if it was someone
else entirely. The horn was still blaring. Men were shouting. She
heard the unmistakable clash of steel upon steel.
Strong hands lifted her, twisting her around
until she could see the face of the man who had caught her. Blue
eyes more intense than the deepest summer sky burned into hers.
Still out of breath, Danise could not speak, she could only clutch
at him before she fell against his chest and felt his arms enclose
her.
“It’s all right,” Michel told her. “You’re
safe now, Danise. Well keep you safe.”
Next Danise recognized Redmond’s voice,
giving firm orders to the man who held her.
“Get her out of here, Michel. We’ll stop
Autichar. Take Danise and escape back to Duren.”
The hunting horn sounded again. Lifting her
head from Michel’s chest, Danise watched Guntram blow a mighty
blast, summoning more men. One by one Frankish warriors rode out of
the forest shadows to join the fray under Redmond’s command.
“Go on,” Redmond urged Michel. “A battlefield
is no place for Danise. Do you want a guard?”
“You’ll need every man you have,” Michel
replied, hesitating. “I ought to stay.”
“If you do, who will keep Danise safe from
Autichar?” Redmond demanded. “Get her away from here
now
!
That’s an order, Michel. If you value our friendship, obey it.”
“Redmond.” Danise had recovered enough to
speak. “Take care. And thank you for coming after me.”
“Keep Autichar alive if you can,” Michel
said. “Charles will want to talk to him.”
“I know. It won’t take long to disperse these
few weak Bavarians, not when they’re fighting against Franks. We
won’t be far behind you. Now, ride!”
Michel pulled his horse around and headed
away. Looking over his shoulder Danise could see more Franks
arriving with swords and spears at the ready. She caught a glimpse
of Autichar’s metal helmet and red cloak.
“Don’t look,” Michel said, pulling her closer
to him. “Just rest. It’s going to take us a while to get back to
Duren. It’s a long way home.”
“I tried to delay them, hoping someone would
be tracking us.” Suddenly she began to shake. Afraid she would
start to cry if she tried to say anything more, she turned her face
into his shoulder.
“You’ve done very well.” His arms tightened.
“Well talk about it later. For now, don’t think about anything at
all.”
“I must, I have to tell someone. It’s a
treason plot, Michel. Clodion – you must find Clodion and take him
to Charles. I will accuse him.”
“Hush, my sweet. It’s done. We’ve found
Clodion. I think Charles suspects there is more behind your
disappearance than Clodion’s lust.”
“I must tell you.” Danise took a long,
shuddering breath. “If I die, someone else should know what they
plan.”
“You aren’t going to die.” His arms held her
securely against his solid strength. “I plan to keep you alive for
a long, long time. For now, just relax. I’ll have to stop in a
little while to rest the horse, and we can talk then.”
Danise stifled a sob and tried to still the
trembling of her limbs. Though the heat of the day was nearly
unbearable, she was chilled at the memory of what she had so
narrowly escaped. But she was safe at last and no longer alone.
Michel would protect her. Slowly the tremors eased. The steady gait
of Michel’s horse, the comfort of his arms, and the certainty that
Autichar and his men could not harm her while they were busy
fighting Redmond and the other Franks, all combined to lull her
into a state between sleep and waking, in which she was completely
at peace while at the same time intensely aware of her companion’s
nearness. She did not know how long she traveled in that blissful
condition before Michel pulled on the reins.
“We have to stop,” he said. “This seems to be
as good a place as any.”
Lifting her head from his shoulder, Danise
looked around. Her senses were not at their sharpest, so it took
her a few moments to identify where they were.
“It’s a charcoal makers’ settlement,” she
murmured.
“There’s no one here now,” Michel replied,
“and hasn’t been for years. Look at all this new growth. If people
were working here, they’d keep this area clean.”
It had once been a wide clearing in the
forest, the older trees almost certainly cut down and used to build
the rude huts in which the charcoal makers would have lived while
they plied their craft. To one side of the clearing and apart from
the huts stood three beehive-shaped brick kilns, located where they
were for safety’s sake, so their heat would not burn the huts.
Danise could see where the kilns had been patched with clay which
was now cracked and showing holes in places. They were overgrown
with weeds and vines. There was, as Michel had noted, a fair amount
of new growth, bushes mostly, and the absence of any tall trees in
the immediate vicinity of this tiny settlement gave them a clear
view of the sky. Angry gray clouds blocked the sun, cutting off
most of the late afternoon light. As Danise looked upward, a gust
of wind caught the treetops, shaking them. In the distance thunder
rumbled.
“It will rain soon,” Danise said. “An early
season thunderstorm to end this unnatural heat.”
“All the more reason for us to stop here.”
Michel dismounted, then lifted Danise off the horse and lowered her
to stand beside him. “I don’t know much about charcoal making, but
wherever people live and work there has to be a source of water. We
won’t surfer from thirst.”
“They would have cut down the hardwood trees
in the nearby forest to turn the wood into charcoal in those
kilns,” Danise said. “I wonder why they left? The kilns look to me
as though they could be repaired and used again, and there is no
shortage of wood.”
“They could have been driven out by warfare
or disease,” Michel noted. “Stay here with the horse, Danise. I’m
going to look around.”
She watched him move from hut to hut until a
crash of thunder made him glance skyward. The treetops were tossing
about and down at ground level a sudden wind lifted a strand of
Danise’s hair, whipping it across her face. Michel’s horse shifted
uneasily. Danise caught its reins, holding it steady.
“It looks to me as if they packed up and left
in an orderly fashion.” Michel returned to Danise’s side. “The
largest of the huts is fairly clean. We can shelter there. The hut
next to it will be fine for the horse. I found the water; there’s a
stream off to the side of the clearing.”
He led the horse to the water while Danise
went to see the hut he had chosen. It was made of crudely dressed
logs, with a firepit in the center of the tramped earth floor and
openings at the gable ends of the roof to let out the smoke. The
roof looked to be intact and would keep them dry until the coming
storm had passed. A worn-down broom stood propped in one corner of
the hut next to a wooden bucket, gifts left by the last housewife
to live there. Danise took up the broom and began to sweep out the
dusty floor.
“If you can find some branches or small logs,
we could start a fire,” she said to Michel when he appeared at the
door with his saddlebag and a wineskin slung over one arm. “We
don’t need the heat, but the light will be cheerful and it will
help to rid the hut of dampness. Do you have a flint in your
saddlebag?”
“I do. There’s plenty of wood near the kilns.
There is even a little charcoal.” While he brought the supplies for
the fire, Danise took the bucket to the stream to wash it out and
fill it. The leather handle broke as soon as she picked it up, so
she carried the bucket in her arms.
“How I would like a bath,” she said, looking
down at her soiled dress. The brown wool was torn around the hem
and at one arm, where a tree branch had snagged the cloth while she
fled from Autichar.
“So would I.” Michel held out grubby hands,
his fingers blackened from charcoal. “We left Duren this morning
prepared to sleep in the forest tonight. I have food for the horse,
a blanket for him and one for us, my cloak, food and wine, even an
extra linen shirt and wool tunic. But no soap, I’m afraid.”
“There is sand in the stream bed. You could
scrub your hands with that.”
“It will be better than nothing,” he decided.
“We ought to hurry, though. The thunderstorm is ready to break at
any minute.”
They washed as best they could with only the
sand and the cool stream water. Danise dried her hands on her skirt
and began to rebraid her tangled hair.
“Leave that until later,” Michel advised,
slanting a glance toward the sky as lightning flashed. He caught
her hand. “Come on, let’s get inside.” His words were punctuated by
an ominous rumble of thunder.
They did not make it to the hut before the
skies opened and rain poured down as though buckets of water had
been thrown over them. They were immediately drenched. Michel
pulled Danise into the hut and slammed the door on the pounding,
wind-driven rain. Above, the thunder rolled, peal after peal of it,
and flashes of lightning showed around the edges of the ill-fitting
door. Michel went to the fìrepit and began to work with his flint
and a bit of woolen lint.
“We were fortunate to find this place,”
Danise said. Picking up a few dried leaves from the pile of fire
supplies, she held them out to the sparks Michel was striking into
the wool. She tried to speak naturally, as though being alone like
this were an ordinary occurrence, but she was painfully sensitive
to Michel’s presence and to the fact that the raging storm enclosed
them in a private haven of warmth and security. Michel blew on the
fire, encouraging it to burn. Danise fed it a few small twigs.
Together they nursed the flames until the logs he had brought in
were crackling merrily. Danise held out her hands to the blaze.
“You’re shaking again.” Michel ran his hands
along her arms to her shoulders, apparently unaware of the effect
his touch had upon her. “After what you’ve been through during the
last couple of days, you have to be exhausted. If you get chilled
now, you’ll probably develop pneumonia and you won’t have the
strength to fight it. I don’t want to lose you, Danise.” His hands
grew still on her upper arms. His eyes burned into hers.
“Take off those wet clothes,” he ordered.
“Ill give you the choice of my extra undershirt, or the tunic. They
are dry.”
Danise’s teeth were chattering and water was
streaming off her wet hair. She knew Michel was right. This was not
the time for excessive modesty.
“Ill take your undershirt,” she said, “and if
you will allow me, I will wrap up in your cloak until I am
warmer.”
“Sensible girl.” Kneeling, he began to unpack
his saddlebag. “I’m glad I carried in extra firewood. That storm
sounds as though it’s going to last all night. Here you are.”
The linen shirt he handed to her was thick
enough not to be transparent, made with short sleeves and a round
neck. Turning her back to him, Danise pulled off her sodden dress
and shift and quickly donned the shirt. She used her shift to towel
her hair until it was no longer dripping water, and then hung shift
and dress on a pair of pegs she found driven into the narrow spaces
between the logs of the wall. Her shoes were so muddy that she took
them off, too, and her stockings as well. Lastly, she braided her
hair into a semblance of neatness. When she finally turned around
again she almost bumped into Michel.
“Whoever lived here must have been a decent
housewife,” he remarked, brushing past her to hang his tunic and
breeches from two more pegs. “I can imagine her telling her menfolk
to hang up their clothes.”
He now wore a light brown tunic, and like
Danise, his legs and feet were bare.
“Help me with the blanket, will you?”
Danise thought he was trying as hard as she
was to pretend that these were normal circumstances in which they
found themselves. He did not look directly at her, which made her
feel a little less exposed. She grasped one end of his brown
blanket and together they unrolled it and spread it out upon the
dirt floor near the fire.
“Here.” He pulled his cloak out of the
saddle-bag and gave it to her. She recognized it as her father’s
old one. It was blue, though not as blue as Michel’s eyes, and it
was worn until it was smooth and soft to the touch. She wrapped it
around her shoulders and sat on the blanket while he produced the
food he had packed in the saddlebag.
“Here’s bread, the ever-present cheese, my
knife to cut it with. And here’s the skin of wine,” he said. “We
won’t starve overnight.”
“Must we stay until morning?” she asked. “I
am certain my father will worry until he sees me again.”
“Do you really want to go out in that?” He
cocked his head, listening to the latest clap of thunder. “Would
Savarec want you to travel in this kind of weather?”
“No, I suppose not. Michel, do you think
Redmond and the others will find us soon?”
“I would expect them to look for shelter
where they are,” he said. He cut a wedge of cheese and offered it
to her. Danise stared at it. “Eat, Danise. I’d be willing to bet
you haven’t got much in your stomach. Your blood sugar is probably
way down.”