“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.
Next 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.”