“If I do not return, I ask you not to forget
me. Let my memorial be in your heart. But if I should return and
you are not here, if
Ahnk
finds you and, despite your best
efforts, you have not been able to wait for me, then in that
far-distant place where I cannot follow you, remember that you are
in my heart also. I will never forget you. Never. If it is possible
to continue loving even after death, then I will love you through
all eternity.”
“Oh, Theu.” She could say no more. Tears
poured down her cheeks.
“I beg you not to cry,” he said. “If you do,
I will not be able to leave you, and my weakness will dishonor me
before my king and my men. You don’t want Hrulund to mock me, do
you?”
“Beware of Hrulund,” she said, wiping away
the tears and trying to keep her voice steady while she warned him
one last time. “His jealousy, his blind arrogance and thirst for
glory—”
“I care nothing for Hrulund.” He enfolded her
in his arms. “Let him become a great hero, let poets sing of his
deeds down all the ages. I hold in my arms now more joy and greater
glory than he will ever know. I have your love.”
His lips were firm and sure upon hers, and
his embrace gave her the strength she needed. When his men came to
fold up and remove the furniture for packing and to strike the
tent, she stood calmly at his side, watching them work.
Then it was time to bid farewell to Marcion,
Hugo, Eudon, Osric, and all the others she had come to know as
friends. In the confusion of leave-taking, Bertille suddenly
appeared to throw herself into Marcion’s arms and beg him to return
safely to her. An instant later Danise, having gotten free of
Sister Gertrude’s surveillance, arrived to wish Hugo good fortune.
Casting aside all maidenly modesty, she put her arms around his
neck and kissed him hard, to the cheers of Hugo’s friends.
“Here,” Danise said, blushing prettily, “I
brought this for you, so you won’t forget me.” She handed him her
scarf of green silk woven with a pattern of gold threads.
“I’ll take it gladly,” Hugo said, “though
nothing will make me forget you.” With Danise’s help, he wrapped
and tied the scarf around his right arm above the elbow.
“To strengthen my sword arm,” he said, making
bold to kiss her again.
The trumpets sounded once more, warning that
it was time to mount. Most of the tents had been taken down by now
and the campfires extinguished. Hrulund’s levy was already mounted.
They clattered by on their way to meet Charles.
“You had best make haste, Firebrand,” Hrulund
called to Theu. “If you and your men dally much longer with your
women, by the time you reach Spain, there won’t be any Saracens
left for you to kill.”
“Good luck to you,” Theu called back,
refusing to take offense.
Beside Hrulund rode Bishop Turpin in chain
mail and metal helmet, a metal-studded mace fastened to his belt in
place of a sword.
“A priest in armor?” exclaimed India. “Will
he fight too?”
“He’s a mighty warrior,” Theu told her, “but
he won’t use a sword because clergymen shouldn’t shed blood. He
does enough damage for two men with that mace.”
All around Theu, his men were mounting. Osric
brought Theu’s horse to him. Theu looked hard at India, as if he
were memorizing her features, and she knew there was no time left
to them.
“Take Bertille and Danise back to the
palace,” he said. “Keep them from weeping if you can. And do not
weep yourself. I have no regrets. Have you?”
“None at all.” That was not entirely true.
She regretted that she could not stop his going, but he wanted her
to be brave and she would not disgrace herself, or him, by crying
in public, not even when he gave her a quick last kiss.
“Fare you well, India.”
“And you. I love you.”
“I love you. For all eternity.” His hand
touched her cheek lightly, and then he sprang onto his horse. He
raised his right arm in a signal, and his men began to fall into
position around him.
“Bertille, Danise,” India called, “we are to
go now. We can watch them leave from the palace, with the other
ladies.”
The field was muddy, the grass churned up by
the feet of men and by horses’ hooves. All around them were
companies mounting up. Men hurried to their horses, orders were
shouted, and lines of foot soldiers formed. The baggage carts
creaked and groaned and began to roll out to the road. As she and
the girls approached the palace, India saw Charles emerge from the
main entrance with Alcuin. An instant later, Charles vaulted to the
back of his horse with the energy of a much younger man. Noticing
India and her two companions, he waved to them before wheeling his
horse to ride toward the campground.
“The ladies are all gathered on the upper
floor,” Alcuin said when they reached him. “You ought to join them,
for there will be much noise and disturbance in the street when the
army comes through.”
They hurried into the palace and up the
narrow staircase to the upper room where Hildegarde stood at the
window, waiting to wave farewell to her husband. There, to India’s
surprise, neither Bertille nor Danise was scolded for leaving the
palace, nor did anyone say a word to India about her night-long
absence.
“Come here, child,” said Lady Remilda, and
put her arm around Bertille’s shoulder, holding her daughter by her
side in a comforting way.
“If you stand here,” Sister Gertrude told
Danise, moving her into position, “you will be able to see
better.”
“Thank you for not being harsh with her,”
India said softly to the nun. “She’s close to tears.”
“As are you,” Sister Gertrude replied
crisply. “I am not completely heartless where either of you is
concerned. I only wish Danise did not love that young man. Her life
would be much less painful if she were content to remain at Chelles
with me and the rest of our good sisters.”
Having heard this, Lady Remilda murmured to
India, “We all understand how important it is to hearten the men
going off to war. Sister Gertrude may seem hard at times, but she
knows it, too.”
“Here they come,” cried Bertille, breaking
away from her mother’s embrace to lean out of the window. All of
the ladies pushed closer, some rising on tiptoe to see better.
“India,” Danise called, “come and stand
beside me at the other window, where there are not so many trying
to look out.”
With arms about each other, they watched the
spectacular scene below. Charles came first, wearing his gold
circlet on his pale hair instead of his helmet, his shoulders
covered by a blue cloak. When he drew level with the window, he
paused to wave and blow a kiss to Hildegarde, who blew one back to
him. On Charles’s right hand rode Theu with Marcion, on his left
Hrulund and Bishop Turpin. Immediately behind them came the other
important men of the court, some of whom India had met during her
time there. She saw the seneschal Eggihard, Anselm the Count of the
Palace, and others.
Theu looked up and waved, but she did not
think he could see her among so many other women. She kept her eyes
on him until he was so far down the road that she could distinguish
nothing but the glimmer of sunlight on his polished helmet.
“But where is Hugo?” cried Danise.
“Theu’s levy hasn’t passed yet,” India said.
“Hugo will be leading it.”
“There! There he is. Hugo! Hugo!” Danise
leaned so far over the windowsill that India grabbed her by the
waist to prevent her from falling to the street below.
Hugo heard her. He looked up, his broad face
creased into a grin beneath his helmet, and lifted his right arm in
salute to Danise, so that the ends of her green-and-gold scarf
floated out like a happy banner in the spring breeze.
Most of Theu’s troop were looking at the
window now. Bending forward, India waved along with Danise, bidding
a final farewell to the men with whom she had ridden and lived for
weeks. When they were gone, other ladies pressed toward the window,
wanting to bid their own men good-bye, and India drew Danise away
to make room for them.
“He looked so handsome,” Danise said, tears
in her eyes. “So brave and handsome. I am so proud of him.”
It took several hours for the army to pass
below. The women came and went, depending on which company was
departing at any particular moment, but through it all, Hildegarde
remained in her place, waving to leaders and common soldiers alike,
cheering them on their way, her only concession to her condition
being her acceptance of a chair so that she could sit for a while.
Food was brought and served, but India took only a little wine, as
did the queen.
When the last of the foot soldiers and the
final groups of late stragglers had gone by, Hildegarde rose from
her chair, took a few steps, and sank into a near faint.
“My lady, you are exhausted,” cried Lady
Remilda, catching her before she hit the floor. “Sister Gertrude,
help me. Let us take her to her bed.” She called upon one or two of
the older ladies to go with them, and together they bore the queen
off to her own chamber, where she remained in bed for several
days.
Then began the long time of waiting, of days
which stretched into weeks, then became a month, two months, three
months, four. Once the novelty of living at a royal court had worn
off, India became bored. To help pass the time, she attempted the
delicate needlework with which many of the ladies employed
themselves, but she was not good at it and soon gave up trying. She
could not concentrate on anything for very long, not when she was
constantly haunted by thoughts of Theu in danger.
In the increasing summer heat, the queen was
often unwell, which meant that picnics or other outdoor activities
were curtailed. India was occasionally able to get permission to
take Danise and Bertille riding, but on those excursions she never
approached the hill where she and Theu had spent their last day
together. It would have been too painful, and she had an irrational
fear that if she went to the spot where they had made love, Hank
might be able to reach her. She did not want to chance having to
return to her own time, at least, not yet. She had to stay at Agen
until the army returned, whether Theu came with them or not. She
had promised him she would wait, and she would keep her
promise.
The court now consisted largely of women, the
only men being those Charles had left behind to guard the safety of
the queen and her ladies – and of course, the clerics who followed
the court everywhere.
India saw Alcuin every day. Her original awe
and respect of the great scholar remained, but were soon softened
by a growing affection. The man had a gift for friendship. Even the
queen, who had no intellectual interests and could neither read nor
write, loved him, as did her children and everyone in Agen who was
or ever had been his student. Each evening Alcuin sat in the
reception room with the other clerics, his current students both
male and female, and whichever ladies cared to join them, and there
he raised subjects to be discussed or asked questions until a
lively dispute arose. Then he would sit back, wine goblet in hand,
a half smile on his face, and let others talk.
“That is your secret,” India said to him one
night. “You listen well.”
“It’s the best way to learn,” he said. “I
live in order to learn and to teach.”
He invited India to join his group, which she
did, hoping thus to distract herself from her constant worry for
Theu’s sake. She listened in fascination to the discussions, but
she contributed little, partly because she feared she might reveal
too much about her origins, and partly because she felt inferior to
Alcuin’s friends. They were all remarkably learned, including the
women, and they talked about astronomy, philosophy, logic,
religion, and a myriad of other subjects.
Among the clerics, Adelbert was always
present, usually with quill pen, parchment, and pottery ink jar set
before him so he could write down anything interesting that was
said. India caught him watching Bertille so often that at last she
decided to speak to him about his badly concealed interest in the
girl.
“She’s pretty, isn’t she?” India said to
Adelbert one night when his look followed Bertille to the door
leading to the women’s quarters and then lingered on the spot where
she had disappeared. Adelbert jerked his head to one side in a
clumsy attempt to hide what he had been doing.
“Any man would find her charming,” India
persisted, sitting down on the bench across the table from him. She
kept her gaze on him until he was forced to look directly at her.
In his poorly disguised irritation with her, she saw a nearer
resemblance to Hank and wondered again at the similarity between
them.
“There is nothing I could give the lady
Bertille that Lord Marcion could not double,” Adelbert said, not
pretending to misunderstand her. “For all her sweet nature, she is
as frivolous as most women are. She will want rank, jewels, a fine
home with servants, a high title.”
“Then you do care for her.” India began to
feel a bit sorry for him, until Adelbert quashed that
sentiment.
No woman exists who has ever been able to
keep me from this.” Using the feather end of his quill pen, he
tapped the parchment spread before him. “Given a choice, I prefer
my work to a woman’s fickle heart. I mean no disrespect to you,
Lady India, but I would like to return to what I was doing.”
“Forgive me for interrupting you,” she said,
rising from the bench. He did not appear to hear her, nor did he
speak to her again. He bent his head, dipped his pen into the ink,
and began to write. In so doing, he reminded her even more sharply
of the work-obsessed Hank.
When she mentioned Adelbert to Bertille
later, the girl at once became annoyed with her.