With gentle fingers on throat and breast and
thigh, with prolonged kisses and fierce restraint of his own
passion so as not to rush her, he wooed Danise anew until she
blossomed into a creature of warmth and welcoming desire. Sheathed
in her sweetness he told her again of his love, just before they
shimmered together into a fulfillment so delicate and perfect that
when it was over he hesitated to move or speak until she took the
initiative.
“I could not bear to lose you,” she
whispered.
“You won’t. Danise, I swear to you, I will
come back to you when this campaign against Autichar is over. No
matter what rumors you hear, or who tells you I am dead, don’t
believe it unless you actually see my body. But you won’t see my
body,” he added hastily when she cried out and clutched at him in
fear. “Before I reach Paderborn again, I fully expect to meet
Guntram along the way, marching Autichar toward Aachen in
chains.”
“All the same, I will pray for you
constantly,” she said. “I’ll do it not just for my sake, for that
would be selfishness. After all you have endured in your lifetime,
you deserve to live for many long and fruitful years.”
“I will,” he said. “
We
will. Together.
I’m certain of it.”
He was never so proud of her as on the next
morning, when she stood with Clothilde, waving farewell to him as
once more he rode away from Deutz into Saxony. She shed not a
single tear, at any rate not in public. He suspected that she would
spend most of the rest of the day weeping in her own room, but at
least she did not cry in public. If she had, he might have broken
down, too, because he was not as certain of his safe return as he
pretended to her. He lived in terror of the battles ahead of him.
One battle had been more than enough. He did not think he could
face more bloodshed.
Leaving Danise was the hardest thing he had
ever had to do. Looking back at her as he rode out of the gate,
raising his hand for one last wave, he wondered if he would ever
see her again. And then he swore to himself, as he had sworn to her
during the night, that no matter what happened, he would find a way
to return to her.
“It didn’t take me long to find Autichar,”
Guntram said to Michel. “He lost most of his allies near Paderborn
in that battle with us. I knew he would have to take shelter with a
friend until he can think of a way to stir up yet more trouble for
Charles.”
“I expected him to flee into Saxony,” Michel
said, “or else head for Bavaria.”
“Duke Tassilo would not be happy to see him
again, not while he’s a fugitive,” Guntram replied. “Let Autichar
win a battle or two against Charles, and Tassilo might be willing
to renew their friendship, but for now Autichar knows better than
to set foot in Bavaria.”
“What about those of his Saxon allies who are
still alive?”
“The Saxons are used to failure in their
constant uprisings against Charles. They might be inclined to
receive Autichar as a friend, but only if he appears in Saxony at
the head of his own warband. Autichar needs to recruit more men.
That’s why I’m not surprised by what he has done. When he escaped
us near Paderborn, he fled south. I believe he hopes to cross the
Rhine somewhere north of Mainz and then head west into Francia
proper.”
“Thus hiding out under Charles’s very nose?
Yes, I think Autichar would relish that idea. But, wait a minute.
Isn’t Clodion exiled to an estate west of Mainz?” Seeing Guntram’s
grin, Michel knew he had guessed aright. “Autichar and Clodion,
together again and stirring up more mischief for Charles to put
down. What a pair. But will Clodion be glad to see his old partner
in crime or not?”
“We aren’t going to give Autichar the chance
to find out the answer to that question,” Guntram said. “We are
going to stop him before he crosses the Rhine, so he never gets
anywhere near Clodion’s estate.”
“How many men does Autichar have at the
moment?”
“Six,” Guntram replied, “while I have a dozen
and now the eighteen men you brought from Deutz. I must remember to
thank Hubert for his generosity. We far outnumber Autichar’s
resources.”
“Do they know we’re here? Can we plan another
surprise attack?”
“I thought we might pay them a visit this
very evening,” Guntram said. “Preferably an hour or two after
they’ve settled down for the night. My men have been reconnoitering
the land, and report that a nighttime attack shouldn’t be too
difficult.”
Guntram was right. It was not difficult at
all, and to Michel’s vast relief it was neither a long nor a bloody
encounter.
“Two are wounded, all six are taken
prisoner,” Guntram said less than an hour after the fighting
started. “But in the confusion Autichar escaped once more.”
“He can’t have gone far,” Michel said. “We
have all of their horses. I bet he’s skulking in the woods nearby.”
Turning slowly about he eyed the forest surrounding Autichar’s
camp, looking for some sign that the man was there.
“As soon as we have the camp secured, I’ll
send out a search party,” Guntram decided, “though I doubt if they
will find a trace of him before daylight.”
While Guntram was giving orders to his
lieutenants, Michel thought he detected a furtive movement among
the trees. He could not tell if it was Autichar or some nocturnal
animal. A quick glance around the camp told Michel that Guntram had
all of his men well occupied in cleaning up after their brief
skirmish and in making certain the prisoners were well tied and
guarded, and the horses brought into a makeshift corral so Autichar
could not steal one for himself. With a shout to let Guntram know
in which direction he was heading, Michel plunged into the forest
in pursuit of whatever creature he had just seen.
He had not gone far before he became aware of
a deep and unnatural silence pervading the forest. The light of the
campfire he had left did not extend more than a few yards into the
trees and though there was a full moon high overhead much of its
glow was shaded by dense leaves. On a warm early August night the
forest should have been alive with the noises of insects and the
rustlings made by animals. The stillness indicated to Michel the
presence of someone who did not belong there. His own presence
could have acounted for quiet in his immediate vicinity, but not
for such a vast, echoing silence. Something about the dark
emptiness made the hair stand up on Michel’s arms and along the
back of his neck.
Then a twig crackled behind him and he heard
an indrawn breath. Whirling, he looked through the trees, squinting
until he discerned a broad-shouldered figure.
“You came on too fast,” said Autichar. “You
rushed right past me. I’m here, Michel, waiting for you.”
In the dim light Michel could see the gleam
of Autichar’s sword blade. He lifted his own sword, waiting for
Autichar’s attack.
“I haven’t heard the latest gossip,” Autichar
said in a conversational tone. “Have you wed the lovely Danise yet?
And bedded her? If so, I vow you will not have her again. In fact,
when my new plan has succeeded, I shall take Danise for my own, and
get my future sons on her.”
“Over my dead body,” Michel snarled.
“As you wish.” Autichar chuckled, a man sure
of his own prowess in battle and with women. “Draw nearer to me,
Michel, so we can cross swords. Otherwise, how can I kill you and
take your wife to my bed?”
Even though he knew his reaction was exactly
what Autichar wanted, the image of Danise struggling in Autichar’s
arms was enough to send. Michel forward in a direct attack on the
man. Autichar was a brilliant swordsman, handling the long Frankish
broadsword with practiced skill and ease. It took but a moment or
two for Michel to realize he had no hope of winning this contest.
Not only was Autichar an expert, he was apparently able to see in
the dark and he took full advantage of Michel’s unequal
experience.
Michel refused to give up or to call for help
from Guntram and his men. He wanted to return to Deutz and tell
Danise that he was the one who had brought down her father’s
killer. Thinking of his love, Michel redoubled his efforts.
Yet while he fought Autichar, Michel was
constantly aware of a sensation of being pulled backward, as though
a magnet was drawing him away from Autichar and into the dark,
silent forest. He tried to ignore the feeling. His life depended on
noticing Autichar’s every movement, but in the darkness that was
almost impossible to do. Autichar’s sword touched his side, and
then an instant later nicked his forehead, barely missing his left
eye and drawing blood from both strikes. Sticky wetness dripped
into his eye and oozed down his left cheek. Reduced to flailing at
the spot where he thought Autichar was, Michel fought on.
And then it began to grow light. It wasn’t
daylight. It was much too early for dawn, but nonetheless the
forest began to take on an orange-gold glow. Except for the clash
and slide of their two swords and the heavy breathing of Michel and
Autichar, the eerie silence around them deepened.
At first Michel was grateful for the light
because it enabled him to see his opponent more clearly. In those
initial moments he imagined that Guntram and his men had made
torches and were moving into position behind him so that he could
see Autichar while Autichar would have to look directly into the
flames of the torches. But soon the light was brighter than any
assembly of torch-bearing men could have produced, and now Autichar
stopped slashing at Michel to stare openmouthed at something behind
him. And then, unbelievably, Autichar dropped his sword and fell
onto his knees. His eyes were fixed and staring.
“What the devil?” Michel turned to see what
had so amazed Autichar.
There, pulsating among the trees, was a globe
of orange-gold light so brilliant that it lit up the forest for
acres around its center. The silence of the forest was broken, for
Michel could hear shouts coming from the direction of Guntram’s
warband. And there was another sound.
“Mike. Mike.” The disembodied voice came out
of the globe of light. “Come on. Hurry up.”
“Who are you?” Michel felt the pulling
sensation again. It was almost irresistible.
“Who the hell do you think I am? Do you want
to get home again or not?” The center of the globe moved
nearer.
“Home?” Michel could not stop staring into
the light. Its pulsations had a hypnotic effect on him. He could
not move, he could only stand where he was while the globe came
nearer and nearer.
“Okay, now,” said the voice. “Just stay put
for a minute. Don’t move.”
Michel could do nothing but obey. He was
immobilized within the sphere of light now enveloping him. He heard
a whimpering sound and knew it was Autichar. He recognized
Guntram’s voice, calling to him. And then he was encased in silence
once more, suspended in orange light.
“Bingo!” The voice in the light shouted in
triumph, and the light went out.
Michel was lost in darkness and silence so
absolute that he was not even aware of the beating of his heart. He
tried to scream and could not. No sound came, though his mouth was
open. He could not breathe, and he was falling … falling….
* * *
“What have you done with Michel?” Guntram
hauled Autichar to his feet. In the torchlight Autichar’s eyes were
glazed and his mouth hung open and slack.
“What’s wrong with him?” asked Uland, one of
Guntram’s men. “Has he gone mad?”
“Where is Michel?” Guntram shook Autichar. It
did not help. Autichar stared at Guntram unseeing until Guntram
flung him away. Autichar fell to the ground and lay there,
breathing but not moving.
“He might have seen something that terrified
him,” Uland suggested. “A huge beast, perhaps.”
“No beast would frighten Autichar into such a
state,” Guntram declared. “He’s a great hunter. He’s killed more
boars than you or I ever will.”
“If it was a beast,” remarked one of the
other men, “it might have dragged Michel away with it.”
“In that case, we should have heard screams
or a call for help.” Guntram scratched his head. “And what about
that light we saw? What made it and what doused it? Autichar, damn
you, speak to me. What did you see?”
Autichar could not, or would not, speak.
“If there is a man-eating beast in here, we
can’t hope to search the woodland until daylight, or someone else
could be killed,” Uland said. “If the beast took Michel away, he’s
dead already.”
“Aye.” Guntram heaved a long sigh. “That does
seem to be the only possibility. Take Autichar back to camp. We’ll
set double sentries for the rest of the night. At dawn well begin
searching for Michel. Or for his body.”
“Poor Lady Danise,” said Uland. “First her
father was killed, now her husband. And I’ve heard she was friends
with Count Redmond, too. Three tragic losses for so sweet a
lady.”
“And I’m the one who will have to tell her.’*
Guntram shook his head sadly. “And I’ve lost another good friend,
too. I liked Michel.”
Since they held Autichar captive and since he
did not look to be in any condition to attempt an escape, Guntram
felt free to spend as much time as he thought necessary in looking
for Michel. He and his men searched for three days. Never did they
find any trace of Michel, not a scrap of fabric from his clothes,
nor so much as a single drop of blood, nor any evidence of a
struggle.
“Autichar knows what happened,” Uland said on
the third night. “He could tell us if he would only speak.”
“I am beginning to think Autichar will never
speak again.” Guntram regarded his captive as if he were some
unfamiliar and fascinating form of animal life from the fabled
lands beyond the sunrise. “Look at him, Uland. He has to be told to
eat and drink or, as far as we can tell, he would starve to death
and never know he was hungry. He fouls himself unless he is
instructed to tend to his own needs. He takes no notice of what is
happening around him. All he does is stare unceasingly at something
that isn’t there.”