“This
gentleman
,” Willi told him,
“needs the history office key.”
“What makes you think I have it?”
“Haven’t you? Along with all the other keys?”
Her voice was tart. Hank set down the box, looking at her as if he
would like to throttle her for revealing anything about his
activities, but she stared back at him until he relented.
“Okay, Okay. Come on, mister, I’ll open the
door for you. Willi, don’t let anyone else in here.”
“Are you sure you’ll be all right?” The
stranger looked concerned until Willi nodded.
“I’ll be fine.” She tried to give him back
his handkerchief, but he pressed it into her hand, folding her
fingers around it.
“Keep it. I have others. I hope you find your
friend.”
After he and Hank had gone out, Willi looked
more closely at the handkerchief she was holding. It was real linen
with the initial
B
embroidered at one corner.
“Elegant,” she said. “Most people use
Kleenex. He must be rich.” When Hank reappeared, she stuffed the
handkerchief into her pocket and promptly dismissed it from her
mind because Hank was fuming.
“What did you say to him?” Hank demanded.
“About what?” Willi tried to recall
everything she and the stranger had talked about, but she had been
so upset that she couldn’t remember all of it. “Why are you
asking?”
“He told me not to be so rude to you. Said
you are a lady and I ought to treat you better.”
“Did he?” In spite of her fears for India’s
sake, Willi almost smiled. “Gosh, that’s nice.”
“Who is he, anyway?” Hank began to pull his
supplies out of the box he had brought.
“I don’t know. I never saw him before and
will probably never see him again.” She experienced a pang of
regret at the thought. Men didn’t call her a lady very often. She
came on too strong for that. But she found she liked the idea. She
had a momentary vision of herself with her hair grown longer,
wearing a soft, floating dress in pale green, with matching shoes
and pretty earrings, dancing with the unknown man. She sighed,
thinking it would never happen to her. Then she forgot all about
the mysterious stranger when Hank started to work on the computer
and the screen began to glow once more, renewing her hope that they
just might be able to find India after all.
“I did not come so long a distance to Agen,”
snapped Sister Gertrude, “to be housed in a tent among crude
warriors.”
“It was kind of Count Theuderic to let us use
his tent,” Danise said in her most soothing tones, “and to say he
would not mind bathing and dressing in Lord Marcion’s tent. After
all, dear Sister Gertrude, it’s only until we are presented. You
said yourself we could not appear before the queen unbathed and
travel-stained.”
“Danise, this gown is lovely,” India put in,
hoping to stop the annoyed retort she could see coming from Sister
Gertrude, who had recovered all of her old acerbity now that their
journey was over. “Thank you so much for lending it to me.”
“It is the very finest Frisian wool.” Sister
Gertrude tugged at the skirt to settle it more gracefully over
India’s hips. She stepped back, casting a critical eye at India.
“If only your hair weren’t so short, you could braid it, or pin it
up. The last time I was at court, most of the ladies were wearing
topknots with jeweled ornaments. It was such a pretty style and
would become you better than just letting your hair hang
loose.”
“It will grow, in time.” India wished she had
a mirror so that she could see herself. The borrowed gown was a
lovely shade of deep blue, with a round neck and loose sleeves that
ended halfway between elbow and wrist. She wore beneath it a fine
white linen shift, the edges of which showed at the neckline and
sleeves, and a loose gold belt rested upon her hips. Her only
jewelry was the medallion on its gold chain, the multicolored
enamels glowing against the dark color of her gown. For all that
she was not used to wearing dresses that fell to her ankles, India
found this clothing remarkably comfortable and not the least bit
constricting.
“Now, both of you turn around for me just
once more,” Sister Gertrude ordered. “Yes, you look very nice.
Danise, that green silk is most becoming. Are you ready? Good. It’s
time to go”
When they reached the building that was
serving as a temporary palace while the court was at Agen, Danise
and Sister Gertrude were called into the reception room first.
While India was wondering whether to join them without being
announced, Theu and Marcion appeared.
“Wait,” Marcion called, running to catch and
stop her before she could follow her companions through the
door.
“I hardly recognized you,” she said,
surveying his wine-red silk tunic trimmed in gold and his jeweled
belt, the luxurious clothing a startling reminder to her that her
humorous friend on the long journey from Saxony was in fact a
wealthy Lombard nobleman.
“We always dress well at court, just to
impress the ladies,” Marcion told her, joking as usual. Flinging
out a hand in Theu’s direction he added, “Behold now our mighty
leader, freshly bathed and clean shaven. Does his magnificence take
your breath away? I hope so, for that is what he planned, and it
took him so long to dress that we are almost late.”
“Theu always takes my breath away,” India
murmured, regarding the man who now arrived at the entrance to the
reception room at a more dignified pace than Marcion had used.
Theu’s tunic was made of silver-grey silk the
exact color of his eyes, and his bright blue cloak was made of wool
even finer than India’s gown, fastened at his shoulder by a gold
brooch set with pearls and rubies. He wore several rings on each
hand, and the gilded belt holding his sword was one India had not
seen before. But all the finery could not disguise the tough,
battle-ready man beneath it, who yet had a softer side for his
friends and for the woman he loved. He laughed at Marcion’s
teasing, and the smile he gave India erased any nervousness on her
part about meeting the king and queen. If she went into the royal
reception room with him, there was no need to be concerned that she
might slip up and say or do something improper.
“How beautiful you are,” he said, clasping
her hand. “We are to see Charles in private before you are
presented to the queen. Come this way.”
He and Marcion took her to a door that led to
a chamber directly behind the reception room. The single guard
outside threw open the door at their approach, and she walked
between Theu and Marcion into the presence of the king of the
Franks.
Except for Hrulund, all of the men India had
met since coming to Francia had been her own height or at most an
inch or two taller than she was. Towering almost six and a half
feet, Charles looked like a giant, an impression enhanced by his
heavy bone structure and remarkably well-developed muscles for a
man of thirty-five, which in his time was well into middle age. A
narrow gold circlet sat atop his pale gold hair, and he sported a
sweeping Frankish mustache. He had the bluest, most piercing eyes
India had ever encountered. Even in the plain woolen tunic that was
his habitual costume, there was no mistaking him for anything but a
king.
By contrast, the two black-robed clerics
standing near him made at first almost no impression on India. She
could not stop looking at Charles, who was welcoming Theu and
Marcion back to his court as if he considered them among his
dearest friends. Then his eye fell on India, measuring her worth,
watching her reaction to him with interest and curiosity. Overcome
at meeting the great man against whom all future European kings
would be measured, India sank into a deep curtsy, a gesture she had
learned in dancing class as a girl. Charles took both her hands in
his, raising her.
“Seldom have I been so gracefully
acknowledged by one who pretends to be a boy,” he said, his blue
eyes dancing with laughter, making her laugh back at him. “You are
welcome at my court, India.
“Now,” Charles instructed, “be seated, all of
you, and tell me of your adventures. Alcuin, come sit beside me.
Adelbert, take your place at the table there and write down all
that is said. It promises to be an entertaining tale.”
As the two clerics came forward, India looked
at the famous scholar. Alcuin said nothing, merely favoring her
with a polite nod before he bent his tall, stoop-shouldered form to
sit on a bench beside his king. His shorter companion headed toward
the table Charles had indicated, and now India looked closely at
this man for the first time.
“Hank!” she cried, reaching toward him to
clutch at his arm. “Hank, what are you doing here?”
They were all staring at her. Theu’s hand
strayed toward his sword, though he did not draw it. Charles
watched her with some amusement, still laughing a little. Marcion
looked puzzled. Alcuin sat with raised eyebrows and an interested
expression, looking from India to the cleric.
“Lady, I do not know you,” said the cleric.
“My name is Adelbert, not what you called me.”
“Do you think he is
Ahnk
?” Theu asked
India, his right hand still hovering near his sword hilt. “If there
is a chance he might harm Charles, or you, I had best kill him at
once.”
At this the cleric gave a terrified squawk
and hurried to put the table between himself and Theu.
“Adelbert has been my assistant for three
years now,” said Alcuin calmly. “I know him well. What, or who, is
Ahnk
?”
“He is the man who is responsible for my
being here in Francia,” India said, having recovered somewhat from
her first shock. “He looks much like this man, but I see now that I
was mistaken. This cannot possibly be Hank.” Still, the resemblance
was remarkable. Adelbert had the same untidy dark blond hair and
pale eyes as Hank, and the same sharp, curious way of looking about
him, as if he did not quite trust his surroundings.
“I apologize. I didn’t mean to startle you,”
India said, feeling uneasy when Adelbert met her eyes. She sat down
across the room from him, next to Marcion. After sending a
threatening look toward the cleric, Theu sat on her other side.
“Alcuin and I have read your thorough report
on events in Saxony,” Charles said to Theu. “Tell us now anything
you did not write in the report and then describe what happened
after you left Aachen.”
Theu took care not to mention India’s origin
in the future, or Hank’s attempts to return her to her own time.
Otherwise, he left out nothing. As for the episode at Tours, he
told the story without comment, giving only the facts as they had
occurred. When he had finished, Charles turned his attention from
his friend to India.
“The only thing I do not understand from
Theu’s account,” he said, “is where you have come from and what
your message to me is.”
“My home is far away, many long years’
journey from here,” she replied, conscious of Theu’s eyes on her
and knowing he had not changed his opinion since the night when
they had talked in the abbey outside Paris. He still believed it
would be wrong for her to tell Charles the entire truth. Having
thought often and seriously about the possible results if she were
to reveal that she had come to Francia from a future time, she knew
Theu was right. Even so, she had to try to warn Charles, for Theu
and his friends, who had become her friends, too, might well be
among the men killed in Spain or while returning to Francia. Taking
up the enameled medallion, she lifted the chain over her head and
gave the necklace to Charles. He examined it carefully, then handed
it to Alcuin.
“It appears to be real,” Charles said,
“though there is something not quite right about it. Theu said your
husband told you to give the medallion to me, and that he also sent
a message.”
There was no way to avoid saying something
that would serve as the promised message. With Charles and Alcuin
looking at her expectantly, and Adelbert’s pen poised to write down
whatever she said, India knew this was likely to be the only chance
she would ever have to voice her fears to Charles. She had seen the
bustling activity when they rode into Agen earlier that day. She
had listened while Theu heard from one of the officers of his
principal levy that three days previously Charles had sent half of
his army under the command of his uncle, Duke Bernard, southward
into Spain by the pass at Puigerda, then on to Barcelona to receive
the prearranged surrender of that city. The other half of the army,
including Theu and his men, would follow Charles along the old
Roman imperial road through the pass of Somport and then down onto
the Spanish plains near Saragossa, where the army would reunite
before the walls of the second city the Saracens had promised to
turn over to the Franks.
“What is this message from your husband?”
Charles prompted her with a friendly look. “Was it that he
recommended you to my care? If so, I will gladly take you into my
household and find a new husband for you if you want.”
“My lord.” She paused, searching for the
right words. She saw Theu looking at her intently and imagined that
he was willing her not to reveal what she knew. But she had to try.
She could not live with herself if she did not, for her words might
save not only Theu’s life but the lives of countless others as
well. “My husband was a great scholar in our land, who studied the
many ways of waging war. He knew of your plans for the Spanish
campaign and begged me to tell you it would be dangerous and
costly.”
“All wars are dangerous, and scholars like
them not at all,” Charles said. “Just ask my friend Alcuin here. He
is most unhappy about my latest plans.”
“It’s the traveling I detest,” said Alcuin.
“I dislike rattling my aged bones over bad roads in every kind of
weather. I would rather be studying.”