Time to Love Again (7 page)

“Is it so unsafe here?”

“Probably not. This part of Saxony is well
subdued, not like the area where you found us. Still, it’s always
wise to post a guard.” He rose in a smooth, easy motion that showed
her once again just how flexible and strong he was. “I’ll see Eudon
now, then we can bed down for the night,” he said to her.

She went with him. They found Eudon slightly
feverish, but conscious and alert.

“You’ll feel better in the morning,”
Theuderic promised after checking the wound. “I’m sorry we have no
wine or herbs to ease you into sleep. I see Hugo has been wiping
your face with cool water. That will help.”

“I’ll be all right.” Eudon actually managed
to smile. “I’ll be eating by next midday. Keep some of the boar for
me.”

“We’re saving the best part,” said Theuderic,
laying one hand on Eudon’s shoulder for a moment.

“You care so much for your men,” India
remarked as they walked away from the lean-to.

“How could I lead them if I did not?”
Theuderic asked.

“You are so tough, so completely a warrior,
and yet you are kind, too. You are very different from the man I
first thought you to be.” When she realized that she was speaking
even as the thoughts came into her mind, without censoring what she
said, she fell silent, looking shyly at him. His returning glance
was mild but penetrating.

“So are you different.” From his neutral tone
she could not tell exactly how he meant that remark, but after his
earlier praises, she thought it might be a compliment.

They had reached one of the lean-tos, and she
saw the pine that had been heaped into a bed. Next to it lay the
hide rope. Theuderic threw his cloak over the pine and motioned to
her to lie down.

“Please,” she said, “don’t tie me again. It’s
humiliating to be leashed like a dog.”

“Have you never observed that unleashed dogs
often wander from home?” His voice remained as quiet and his manner
as non-confrontational as before, which gave her the courage to
insist, hoping to sway him.

“When I am bound, you are bound, too,” she
said. “If the Saxons should attack, you would waste precious time
releasing me so you could fight them.”

“Should the Saxons attack us tonight, I will
do what I would have done last night,” he replied, showing her the
knife he had used on Eudon’s wound. “After you slept, I kept this
in my hand all night, so I could kill you quickly before you could
be captured. The Saxons reserve special tortures for prisoners such
as yourself. I will do my best to protect you from that
horror.”

“Dear God,” she whispered, sinking down upon
the fragrant pine. All her earlier sense of peace and safety had
dissipated, his words having recalled her to her true situation.
She was alone and frightened in a barbaric world. The trees
surrounding their camp, which until then had seemed to her like the
walls of a large room securely enclosing Theuderic and all his
company, instead became in her imagination hiding places, behind
which fierce and cruel Saxons or ravenous beasts might be skulking.
Compared to either of those threats, Theuderic and his men, rough
and unlettered warriors though they might be, represented all that
existed of civilization, offering her the only protection she might
hope to find. Meekly, she put out her right hand and let him knot
the rope around her wrist.

“Surely there are dangers in your own
country,” he said, fastening the loose ends of rope around his
waist.

“Terrible and violent ones, especially in
certain parts of our cities,” she admitted. “But they are known to
me, and I can try to avoid them. Here, where I am a stranger,
perils seem to lurk behind every tree.”

“I understand. Doubtless I would feel as you
do, were I to travel to your land.”

They lay down together, and he pulled the
cloak over them. Perhaps sensing the tenseness of her mood, he made
no attempt to touch her. She did not sleep until it was almost
dawn.

In the morning, six of the men organized a
hunting party. Hugo and Osric remained in camp, hovering like
anxious parents over Eudon, whose sunken eyes and flushed cheeks
revealed the effects of fever and persistent pain. India sat with
Eudon while his nurses went off to tend to their personal needs and
break their fast, but they were soon back at Eudon’s side,
insisting there was no more she could do. Theuderic was nowhere to
be seen, Marcion was cutting firewood, and she could see one or two
other men standing guard over the camp.

Her fears of the previous night having eased
somewhat with the rising of the sun, India decided to find a place
where she could wash in private. She had been living with more than
a dozen men for almost three days, and she wanted a few minutes
alone. She would be careful, keeping her eyes open in case of
danger, and she would not go so far from the camp that she could
not return quickly.

She followed the trickling water that ran
beside the campsite until it flowed into a small stream, then into
a larger one. Springs and streams and little pools abounded in the
forest, many of them fed by melting snow. India found a rock that
had been dried by the sun and knelt on it, leaning over the stream
to dip her hands into the water. She was not foolish enough to
remove her tunic, though she wanted to. She longed for a hot bath
and plenty of soap, for thick towels to dry with, and a comb for
her hair and clean clothing when she had finished, but she would
have to be content with using cold water and her hands. She
splashed water onto her face, afterward raising an arm and bending
into her sleeve to dry herself. Then she tried to scrub away the
dirt that was ground into the knuckles of her hands and caked
beneath her fingernails. Eagerly she searched for sand to use as a
cleanser, but there was none. She saw only pebbles and brown leaves
in the water and, a few feet downstream, a cluster of bright green
leaves growing at the verge where muddy bank and stream met.

“Watercress!” Forgetting her distaste at her
filthy condition, she went to investigate. Pulling a plant out by
the roots, she tasted some of its leaves, closing her eyes in order
to enjoy the experience more intensely. Crunchy, tangy green
sensations delighted her tongue. “Oh, it’s delicious.” She reached
for more.

“Why have you left camp?” She had not heard
him come across the carpet of moss and moist dead leaves. He wore
his iron helmet and carried a spear in his hand.

“Don’t you ever take off your armor?” she
asked rather defensively, for she had at once understood that he
might just as easily have been a Saxon.

“I will remove it when we reach Aachen. You
know it is unsafe for you to wander about alone. Shall I tie you to
my side during the day as well as at night?”

“I was only washing my face. What I’ve found
makes up for leaving without your permission,” she said, pointing
to the watercress. “We can have salad tonight. It will be good for
Eudon, too. Watercress is full of vitamin C, which is supposed to
speed the healing of wounds.”

“So your people use it as a healing herb.”
Theuderic smiled a little, as if he had caught her in an unintended
confession. “To me, cress means that spring will come soon.
Sometimes, during this cold winter, I wondered if it ever
would.”

“Does that mean you like greens?” She offered
a branch of the plant she had been holding while they talked, the
same plant she had tasted. It was a kind of peace offering, an
apology for leaving camp. She thought he understood, for he took
the cress and chewed on it, smiling more broadly at the fresh taste
of it.

“Always the first greens of spring are
welcome after a winter of dried or salted meat, of pickles and
turnips and cabbage. The cress is strong, yet delicate, too. Like
you. Here.” He pulled off his helmet, offering it to her. “Fill
this.”

Laying down his spear, he squatted beside
her, reaching into the clump of greenery to snip off stems with
deft movements. India quickly added her contribution, heaping
watercress into the helmet.

“Be careful,” he told her. “Don’t pull it out
of the mud that way. You must leave enough of root and leaf to
allow it to grow again. Others coming this way may need the
nourishment of these plants more than we do, and we, returning
another year, may need it again.”

“Just what I always wanted to meet,” she
muttered, trying to pick the watercress the way Theuderic did, “an
eighth-century conservationist.” It did not strike her as odd that
he would care about leaving watercress roots to grow again. His
concern for a simple plant fit into a pattern of behavior that was
gradually revealing to her a complex and interesting man.

With the helmet full, Theuderic stood,
reaching down a hand to help India to her feet. They faced each
other, the brimming helmet between them.

“Even with the paint worn off your face by
time and water,” he said, “still your skin is smoother than that of
any unbearded boy I have ever seen.” The back of his hand brushed
across her cheek in a gentle caress. He was looking at her mouth in
a way that sent heat swirling through her.

“Theuderic?” She wanted to take his hand in
hers and press it against her throbbing bosom. She wanted him to
put his arms around her. She wanted…

“Ah, well,” he said, “it’s only a few more
days till we reach Aachen. I can wait until then.”

“What will happen in Aachen?” she asked.

“Why, then we can safely remove our armor,”
he said, in a way that made her wonder if he was teasing her. The
hand that had touched her cheek dropped to her shoulder and then to
her sleeve, where he rubbed the fabric of her tunic between his
fingers. “Then, India, we will all remove our armor. Every bit of
it, I promise you.”

Eudon joined them for the evening meal and
ate with a healthy appetite, devouring leftover cold boar meat, a
fair-sized chunk of spit-roasted rabbit, and several handfuls of
watercress. But when he tried to convince Theuderic that he would
be able to travel the next morning, Theuderic decided to wait
another day in order to be sure Eudon’s wound was well on its way
to healing.

There was some good-natured grumbling about
the delay, several of the men complaining to Eudon that his injury
was keeping them from the arms of their sweethearts. Marcion, who
was as usual sitting beside India, gave vent to a long sigh.

“How I miss my little Bertille,” he said. “It
will be weeks yet before I see her again, and then her strict
mother and the queen will take care that we do nothing more than
kiss or hold hands. I will have to wait until summer ends before I
can claim the prize I have desired since the moment I met her.”

“It’s a fortunate man who loves the wife
chosen for him by his king,” said Hugo, on Marcion’s other
side.

“Have you a wife, Hugo?” asked India, leaning
forward to see him better.

“I have so little land that no woman would
want me, and no parents would agree to give their daughter to me,”
Hugo replied. “You see, it is our Frankish custom to divide a
parent’s lands among all the children, including the daughters, so
they will have dowries. Generations ago, my family held vast lands,
but by the time I was born, my father had only a small estate to
bequeath to me, and I owe part of it to my sister when she’s old
enough to marry. But I hope to earn a grant of land by my sword.
Charles is generous to the men who fight for him. For now, being
poor, I have only a widowed mother and a ten-year-old sister for
female companionship.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Osric called to India.
“Hugo has plenty of women.” This claim was greeted with laughter
and a few raunchy comments about Hugo’s successes with the
ladies.

“If I had a good wife,” Hugo said, his big,
honest face sad, “I’d be faithful to her forever, and I’d do my
best to make her happy.”

“He would, too,” Theuderic said, seating
himself beside India. “Most of us know what a great treasure a good
and gentle woman can be. Like Hugo, I’d protect such a lady with my
very life and gladly give all I have into her keeping. But that is
not to be my fate. Not now. It’s too late for that.”

“Then you have no wife, either?” Her heart
lightened at the realization. It would be appalling to learn that
the man who filled her thoughts through every waking hour was
another woman’s husband. If Theuderic was unwed, if he loved no
other woman, then – then what? She had known him for a little more
than three days. How could she feel anything more for him than an
overheated interest in his physical attractions? She watched him
stare into the fire for a while before he spoke again.

“I was married for a year,” he said. “She
died giving birth to my son.”

“I’m sorry. Did you love her?” She had not
intended to say that, but the question was in her mind and it
slipped out without conscious thought on her part. He did not take
offense at her prying.

“Not at first,” he said. “We met but once
before the wedding, and she was ten years younger than I, only
fourteen when we married. But she was sweet and kind-hearted, and
she tried so hard to please me that soon I did love her. When she
died, I thought my heart would break from the pain of my loss. I
swore then that I would never again allow myself to love a woman,
for to love again would mean risking a second and similar loss, and
that would drive me mad or kill me.”

“You do not appear to me to be the kind of
man who will live an entirely chaste life,” she said, angry with
him and with herself because she was so hurt by his words.

“Few soldiers are entirely chaste,” he said.
“Knowing that, for
her
gentle sake, I do not allow my men to
rape following a battle, nor to harm our female captives.”

“But you told me they would harm me!” India
exclaimed. Only when Theuderic turned his head to regard her with a
quizzical look did she realize what she had revealed.