“
Boy
.” Theuderic’s voice was soft
again, and something in it made her shiver. “Here is Hugo with the
horses. Will you ride with me for the next four days, or will you
walk? The choice is yours.”
“Four days?” She dared not go so far away
from the spot where she had landed. How would Hank ever locate her?
“I ought to stay here.”
“I cannot allow that. Because of the
medallion you wear, I am obligated to see you to safety. By what
form of motion you get there is of small concern to me. I have
never seen boots like yours before, but I do not think they will
last for days of walking through forests and across rivers and
streams, until I can provide a horse for you. I advise you to ride.
Decide now,
boy
. This moment.”
“I – I’ll ride.” Her decision was as much the
result of the men now arriving as it was the effect of those cold
and strangely knowing eyes that would not allow her to drop her own
until he had broken the contact.
Theuderic’s band of about a dozen warriors
was dirty and bloodstained, but apparently only a few minor
injuries had been sustained in the brief battle they had fought, a
remarkable feat considering their gear. Theuderic was the only man
with chain mail. Marcion wore boiled-leather armor with metal
scales sewn across chest and back. Hugo had plain boiled leather
with no metal reinforcement, and the others made do with padded
wool or plain woolen tunics. About half of them had rounded metal
helmets. But every man was armed with sword, shield, knife, and
battle-axe, and a few carried spears in addition to their other
weapons.
At first, India was frightened by their
appearance, but it was not long before she became fascinated by the
warm way they greeted Theuderic, and then by the manner in which he
spoke to each man, thanking them individually for their efforts,
making certain that all were able to travel. Nor were the men
particularly interested in India. After a comment or two on the
mysterious appearance of a slender and attractive boy in their
midst, they quickly went about the business of fastening onto the
backs of their horses their weapons and what little plunder they
had gathered from the dead. Before long most of them were mounted
and ready to ride, and at that point the animals drew India’s
attention.
These were not the kind of horses she was
used to seeing. With their thick coats and heavy legs, they looked
more like sturdy farm horses than elegant riding steeds. She had
ridden only twice in her life, and she did not look forward to this
enforced journey. As she regarded Theuderic’s grey and white mount
with trepidation, the man himself stepped toward her, and without a
word placed his hands on her waist. An instant later she was
astride the horse’s back. A moment more and Theuderic sat behind
her. His brawny left arm came around her body to pull her back
against him. The man was pure muscle, from his deep chest to
unbelievably strong arms to thighs that were like tree trunks. She
could feel those thighs move against her buttocks when he guided
his horse forward. Disturbed by the motion, India sat rigid, her
shoulders squared.
“There is nothing to fear.” His warm breath
stirred the lock of hair that fell against her cheek. “Not from my
men, nor from me. I will keep you safe, and when we have reached
Aachen, and you have had time to rest, you will tell me your story
again. And this time, you will tell me the entire truth,
boy
.” She turned her head sharply at that last, almost
purred, syllable. The glint she saw in his eye generated a new
concern in her heart. Either this man had penetrated her disguise
or he had a yearning for young boys. She very much doubted it was
the latter.
As for Hank, could he find her if she moved
elsewhere? Would his peculiar theory about manipulating time allow
for a change in position on her part? Would she ever see him, or
Willi, again? For that matter, could she manage to stay alive until
Hank might be able to arrange something, compute a new formula, or
get advice from one of his friends who also experimented with
computers? And – what at that moment seemed to her to be the most
urgent question of all – could she protect herself against the
warrior who held her in such a firm grasp, who would surely soon
understand that she was no boy, if he had not already discovered
it?
As Theuderic had warned, their way wound
through forests and across rivers and streams. Winter had barely
begun to loosen its grip on that thickly wooded, sparsely settled
northern land. There was a thin layer of snow on the ground, and in
the few bare spots mud oozed, while from frozen puddles shards of
ice reared upward under the horses’ hooves. The trees were bare,
with spring’s blossoming still several months away. The chill day
was dampened by an occasional cold drizzle.
India’s hands and feet grew numb and her nose
began to run. Soon she was shivering in earnest. Then Theuderic
took his blue wool cloak and wrapped it around them both, pulling
her still closer to him in the process. She was too grateful for
the warmth of his tough body to make any protest.
They rode until it began to grow dark, when
they stopped at a spot where the stream they had been following
widened into a little pool. There a pile of charred wood showed
that men had camped in that place not long before, and by the
comments of Marcion and Hugo, India learned it had been this very
band, on its way into Saxony. She marveled how they could find
their path through what looked to her like a trackless wilderness
and then return to the same place.
Nor did the men seem over-tired after
fighting and riding all day, though she nearly fell from weariness
when Theuderic lifted her down from his horse. He stood for a
moment with his hands resting lightly on her hips as if to steady
her until she found her feet again. So it must have appeared to any
who looked in their direction, but India was intensely aware of the
forward pressure of those hands. Her own hands were still on his
shoulders. She caught her breath, knowing without looking that his
eyes were on her face, searching, searching…
Unable to lift her own gaze from his mouth,
she watched his firm lips tighten into a hard line. He had a nice
mouth, and when he wasn’t acting like the hardened leader of a
warband, it often quirked into a half smile at one corner. It would
be so easy to slide her arms around his neck, to pull his face down
to hers….
Appalled at her reaction to this rude,
unlettered warrior, so different from any other man she had known,
she jerked away from him. At once he removed his hands from her
hips, releasing her.
“A pretty painted boy,” he muttered under his
breath.
“I wish you would call me by my name,” she
said.
“
Boy
.”
She did look upward then. What she saw
unnerved her. In his grey glance, unanswered questions smoldered,
along with a light that told her that he, too, had been affected by
their momentary half-embrace. He turned from her with an oath,
leading his horse aside without a backward look. She imagined with
grim humor that he was disgusted with himself for feeling a
stirring of interest toward what he thought was another male.
She moved around the clearing, trying to work
out the stiffness in her legs. After a while she knelt by the pool
to drink, wondering wryly if she would contract from the water some
awful disease that could have been easily cured, or even prevented,
in her own century. Which thought brought her to the vital question
of exactly where she was – and
when
.
“If you want to relieve yourself,” said
Theuderic, kneeling beside her to scoop up a handful of the cold
water, “as you must, after so long a ride, go behind those bushes.
You will have privacy there. I’ll see to it.”
“Thank you.” It was a need that she suddenly
realized was imperative. She rose and started toward the bushes he
had indicated. Halfway across the clearing she understood what his
offer must mean.
He knew
!
Theuderic was fully aware that
she was no boy
. She could think of no other explanation for
what he had said. She spun around, wanting to catch his eye when he
did not expect it, but he was not looking at her. He was helping
Marcion to stack branches and twigs into a mound for their
campfire, while Hugo used flint and a few dry leaves to start a
flame.
The spot behind the bushes was damp, with a
moldy smell from last autumn’s rotted leaves. It was cold, it was
uncomfortable, and it was decidedly unsanitary, but she had no
choice. When she had finished, she went to the stream to wash her
hands.
“A very particular boy,” said Theuderic
behind her.
“What do you want of me?” She spoke sharply,
hoping to elicit from him some admission of his knowledge about
her, but his expression revealed nothing.
“The truth would be helpful,” he said.
“I have told you no lies.”
“If not, then you have surely left out a
goodly portion of your story. I suspect that what you have not said
is more important than what you have admitted.”
“What does that mean?”
“I have met a Byzantine Greek or two, and
none of them spoke our tongue with your accent. In fact, the Greeks
I have known have considered themselves so superior to Franks that
they disliked having to learn our language.”
“Then you may assume that I am not a
Byzantine Greek.”
“I have already done so,” he told her. “The
question remains – who and what are you? I will know the answers,
boy
. It would be better for you if you tell me now.”
“Are you threatening one who wears the royal
medallion?” She was surprised at her own nerve, but the man
terrified her. The feeling had nothing to do with fear of physical
violence from him, for she did not believe he would harm her – at
least not until he had the answers he wanted. It was rather the
sheer physicality of his hard body and the straightforward,
practical thinking he had shown in the way he led his men that awed
her. Having spent most of her life among scholars, she did not know
how to deal with this kind of man, or how to stop her unwanted
response to everything he did or said. At least she would not be in
the same close proximity to him during the night as she had been
forced to endure all day.
Unfortunately for her self-possession, she
was soon disabused of this belief. The evening meal of dried meat
and somewhat stale bread was scarcely washed down with bad ale
before the men began to roll themselves into their cloaks for the
night. Hugo added more logs to the fire, then went to stand guard
with Marcion. It was then that Theuderic approached India with a
length of hide rope in one hand.
“You will stay beside me tonight,” he said,
catching her right hand. “This will make certain you follow my
orders.”
“What are you doing?” she cried, trying to
pull her hand out of his grasp. He was too strong for her to offer
more than a puny resistance. Her wrist was ensnared by the rope and
securely tied in a way that left two long ends of rope dangling.
These Theuderic wrapped around his waist, pulling his armor and his
shirt up high to fasten the knot next to his skin on his right
side.
“Now,” he said, “you cannot free yourself
without waking me. Stop struggling unless you want the others to
laugh at you and make unseemly remarks about your hairless cheeks.
There are one or two in this band who would not hesitate to make
nasty sport of a pretty boy. I doubt if you would welcome their
embraces or the uses they would invent for your soft and delicate
flesh.”
She stood perfectly still, too shocked to
speak or move. Theuderic nodded, apparently satisfied that she was
properly cowed.
“Lie down here, where I have spread my
cloak,” he ordered, “and I will lie next to you. We’ll keep each
other warm, lad, and if you have any idea of trying to escape in
spite of the precautions I’ve taken, I tell you now that my men
have been ordered to kill you it you leave this spot without my
express permission.”
“Why would any guest ever want to leave your
gracious hospitality?” she retorted, furious at the way she was
being treated.
“Lie down.” He did not shout. He did not have
to.
The rope he had left between them was long
enough for her to kneel on the cloak without forcing him to join
her. She did as he had commanded, sitting on the blue wool. He
stood over her, his muscular legs spread wide, fists planted on his
hips, watching her. He was only an inch or so taller than India,
but from her present subservient position he looked huge. He had
removed his helmet, revealing straight dark brown hair cut just
below his ears. It was matted and sweaty from the helmet, and there
was a faint red line across his forehead where the metal edge had
rested. He looked as though he had not shaved for four or five
days. Beneath the square neck and elbow-length sleeves of his chain
mail
brunia
, she saw his heavy linen shirt, its sleeves
extending to his wrists. His grey trousers were strapped with
leather thongs to hold them close to his legs, and his leather
shoes were laced to the ankle. He took off his wide belt and sword,
laying the weapon to one side of the cloak. She looked at the
sword, then back at him. The spark in his eyes dared her to snatch
up the blade and try to use it on him.
“Why do you distrust me so?” she asked.
“Because you appeared suddenly in a place
where you ought not to be, and because I have not survived for
twenty-seven years without knowing when a person speaks the truth
and when that person is evading or lying,” he said.
She flushed at that, then stiffened under a
look that examined her from the crown of her head to her folded
knees to her mud-stained boots, a look that seemed to remove every
garment she wore and search out each curve of her body. Looking
back at him, she felt heat flowing through all her veins and
arteries, weakening her muscles, turning her bones to molten jelly.
So burning was his glance that when he dropped to one knee beside
her, she half expected him to throw her to the ground and fling
himself on top of her. And she, who had once responded with tender
warmth to her husband’s gentle caresses, was deeply shaken to find
herself longing now for the fever of this barbarian’s embrace.