Timeless (13 page)

“Of course not!” I replied indignantly.

“Then why don’t you want to marry me?” he
asked. His voice rang hollow in the tunnel.

"I do want to marry you,” I assured him. “I
just want us to be safe, that’s all. Now, come on. Let’s go!”

I took his hand, now leading him. I was
anxious to be away. We were almost running now and nearly rammed
into the door. We’d finally made it to the other side!

I turned and gave Damien a long, hard
kiss.

He smiled radiantly, the torch light
illuminating his features even in the shadowy tunnel. All shall be
well, I thought, as long I have him. I took a deep breath and
opened the door.

Chapter Six

"Reckoning"

Also pray for those who were in ships,
and

Ended their voyage on the sand, in the sea's
lips

Or in the dark throat which will not reject
them

Or wherever cannot reach them the sound of
the sea bell's Perpetual angelus.

T. S. Eliot, “The Dry Salvages”

We were both glad to draw breath in the
clean, fresh air. The tunnel had oppressed us with his damp, rank
odor. We didn’t tarry, however, but ran through the woods, not
bothering to look behind us. The tree branches hit our faces, and
though it morning dawned through the mist, the woods enclosed us in
darkness, becoming thicker the farther in we ran.

I eventually had to stop and catch my breath,
my longs skirts an encumbrance that slowed my progress.

Damien looked around, searching for someone
or something. I heard the horses then, and my heart sank.

“Peter?” I asked hopefully, knowing inside
that it wasn’t him. I fervently prayed that he or Father Philip had
been able to get away. Before Damien could answer, however, his
face told me something was terribly wrong. We continued to run
through the woods, my long skirts catching in the branches, which
hit my face and arms, scratching me and drawing rivulets of blood
down the side of my face. We ducked left into the church ruins
where we’d pledged our love the night before, hoping, perhaps, that
we’d eluded whoever was following us. But both of us knew better.
Damien drew his sword and let his lips tell me again how much he
loved me. There was no chance to respond. We’d run out of time.

They came, chanting, “Burn the witch!” It was
the armed guards who’d taken Damien from the hall. They surrounded
us, and four of them approached all at once. Damien began to engage
them in combat, easily overcoming two, then four. I watched in
amazement at the speed and agility with which he worked, quickly
parrying, thrusting, and finding a fatal home for his sword in his
opponents, much slower to react, though they outnumbered him.

All of a sudden, however, they had multiplied
despite their losses, fanning out in all directions, perhaps as
many as twenty or more. Where had they come from? I knew they
weren’t part of the castle. I didn’t recognize any of their
faces.

The mist cleared, and Lamia appeared before
us, a strangely luminescent figure that looked like some pagan
goddess of war.

“Emmeline,” she began in that low, husky
voice I’d grown to hate.

I expected anger from her, but she evinced
total assurance, a calm superiority born of supreme victory. She
had won, and she knew it. I looked around for my father, but I
didn’t see him anywhere.

Without taking her black eyes off of me, she
ordered the guards: “Take him.”

“NO!” I screamed as they rushed for Damien,
who valiantly fought off the first wave, defeating five of them
before the rest came at him at once. They quickly bound him,
shoving him forward. He struggled against them in vain.

“Where are you taking him?” I screamed,
trying to pull the closest ones off of him. “Why, where else would
we take a knight who’d kidnapped the beloved daughter of the lord
of the castle? To the dungeon, of course!” Lamia said, laughing.
She came forward and caught up my wrists in one hand, recalling to
me the iron grip I’d felt last night. Her skin glowed, and her
touch burned my arm, as though I’d put my skin to the flame. I
desperately sought to escape her, but her hands felt like
impenetrable chains, binding me.

With her other hand, she hit me harder, even,
than she had the night before. It felt like a metal club, but the
sheer force of my will kept me from falling. I knew not where I
found the reservoir of strength to preserve me, but I resolved not
to falter for Damien’s sake.

I spit in her face.

“You witch!” I flung at her, losing nothing
now by my charge.

Her eyes grew large and luminous.

“What did you say?” she hissed in a low
voice.

I had nothing now to bind my tongue. I knew
she’d never let me see Damien again.

“You heard me. You’ve cast a spell over my
father, and everyone knows you’re a witch!” I spat at her.

“How interesting, Emmeline, that you mention
witches. We’ve just been in your chamber and have turned up several
interesting items,” she replied coldly.

I could feel the blood drain from my face.
She wouldn’t. She could not be so evil.

“It seems, stepdaughter, that you have a
curious fascination for the dark arts,” she said in a deep voice,
almost an octave lower than her normal one. It didn’t sound
masculine or feminine, only earthy and dangerous.

Of course. Who knew better than Lamia what
suspicion could do, what the mere rumor of witchcraft could incite
in the castle? By sundown, they’d want blood—my blood.

I shuddered, for I knew what they did to
suspected witches. First there would be the ordeal. If I survived
that, it would only prove my “guilt.” Then there would be the
stake, where they’d burn me alive. Either way, I was dead, for
almost no one survived the ordeal.

“And were you the one who conducted this
search?” I questioned, frantically searching for Damien from the
corner of my eye. They were taking him from the ruins and heading
towards the woods. They’d bound, blindfolded, and gagged him. Even
so, he fought them, nearly succeeding a few heart-wrenching times.
I kept one eye on him as I spoke with Lamia, hoping I could think
of a plan quickly before they took him completely out of sight.

“No, Emmeline, why, I had nothing to do with
it,” she said, the picture of a Madonna with the dawn streaming
around her long hair to make a halo of false innocence. Only her
blood-red lips belied the false holiness of her unearthly
pallor.

“Then who did?” I asked her belligerently. I
refused to succumb without a fight.

A shadowy figure stepped out from behind one
of the chapel’s ruined walls.

“I did,” the figure said quietly.

It was my father.

“I never would have believed it of you,
Emmeline. And your mother was so sweet, so kind. Why? Why,
Emmeline?” he questioned, tears in his eyes.

“Why do you believe her, Father, over me? She
has tricked you, bewitched you! She is the real witch, not me,” I
pleaded, trying to reach my father, to call him back from whatever
spell she’d cast over him.

But he shook his head in disgust.

“How can I protect you when you lie to me?”
he asked plaintively, a mournful, hollow tone causing his voice to
shake slightly.

The disappointment in his eyes shook me
almost as much as seeing Damien bound and taken from me to await an
unknown fate.

If I could awaken my father from this evil
spell, I could save Damien. I begin to think frantically.

“Father, listen to me. This woman wants to
destroy me. She’ll destroy you too! She’s already wiped away the
memory of my mother,” I cried, desperate to convince him.

Silence greeted my outburst. I’d have to try
a different track.

“At least let Damien go. You know he didn’t
kidnap me,” I finished, beginning to lose hope.

“Damien will receive all the justice he
deserves,” my father replied grimly. His tone sounded ominous.

“What did you mean, Father, when you said you
could not protect me?” I asked, biding my time.

I needed to know if there was anything of my
real father left. Lamia answered for him.

“Emmeline, we’ve found wax figures, pins,
strange herbs, and a graven image of a horned figure your room. We
can only assume…” She left her sentence unfinished.

“This is preposterous. Father, you cannot
believe her lies,” I said, addressing him. I refused to look Lamia
in the face or answer her accusations directly.

But my efforts were in vain. I had made no
impression on him, and he turned away from me, refusing to meet my
eyes.

“For goodness sake, I attend mass every
morning! Ask Father Philip!” I cried, desperate to convince him of
my innocence.

I suddenly realized that Father Philip,
Millicent, and Peter were implicated in this as well.

“What have you done to them?” I
whispered.

“Never you mind,” Lamia said as if reading my
thoughts. She’d begun to sound bored now that her triumph seemed
assured. “They are the least of your worries,” she continued.

The armed guards had by this time taken
Damien out of my sight completely, and I despaired. My father spoke
to me for the last time, keeping his eyes carefully averted from
mine.

“God help you, Emmeline, for I cannot,” he
said sadly, turning away from me.

In his voice, I could hear the remnant of the
father I knew, the man who had played with me as a child and loved
me everyday until my mother had died. Lamia had him now, and there
was nothing I could do. He was lost to me forever.

The last remaining guard stepped forward, as
if to bind me in the same way that they had taken Damien.

“What is the meaning of this?” I began.

No one answered my question. Between Lamia
and the guard, they had begun dragging me in the direction of the
woods.

I knew she meant to kill me then; she
wouldn’t wait to turn the castle against me. It all began to make
sense, all the accusations she’d hurled at me the last ten minutes.
She wasn’t after him. She was after me.

I remembered what they did to poor, crazy
Agnes, who lived well beyond the protection of the castle walls in
a small cottage on the fringe of Sarum. Everyone went to her for
herbs, healing, and advice. That is, until Lamia, who’d accused her
of witchcraft. She’d had Agnes thrown into the small but deep pond
not too far from the clearing where we’d stood near the chapel.
Agnes hadn’t floated, but she hadn’t surfaced, either. Her
“innocence” was proven, much good it did her.

I panicked, nearly becoming hysterical. Like
most people in the castle, I could not swim, and though drowning
would prove my innocence to them, I would still be dead. Several of
the knights, including Damien, had learned to swim as an unusual
part of their training for the Crusades, where no one really knew
what dangers a knight could face. Many went and never came back to
tell the tale.

But none of them could help me now. They had
taken Damien, and no one else knew where we were; they were likely
having breakfast before going to the tournament fields to ready the
horses. There was only my father, and he seemed determined to
follow whatever dire plan Lamia had in store for me.

I made one last attempt to elicit his
help.

“Father!” I cried. But he gave a signal to
the guard.

We drew closer to the pond, and I realized
that I would soon die.

“Father!” I screamed one last time.

He suddenly turned to me, hearing something,
I supposed, in my voice that compelled him.

“I love you,” I finished, watching the shock
fill his eyes as they threw me in.

The cloth-of-gold sunk like a dead weight. A
great whirling rush consumed me, burying courage and with it
hope.

Set me as a seal upon your heart….

Only the brilliant light of Lamia’s strangely
shining presence penetrated the deep.

Jealousy is cruel as the grave.

But

Love is Strong as Death…

Emily

Time past and time future

What might have been and what has been

Point to one end, which is always
present.

T. S. Eliot, “Burnt Norton”

Chapter Seven

"Discovery"

For most of us, there is only the
unattended

Moment, the moment in and out of time

The distraction fit, lost in a shaft of
sunlight,

The wild thyme unseen, or the winter
lightning

Or the waterfall, or music heard so
deeply

That it is not heard at all, but you are the
music

While the music lasts.

T. S. Eliot, “The Dry Salvages”

My first impression grew from an intense
light, a flashing sensation across my line of vision.

“Emily…Emily…” I could hear my name being
called. My eyes slowly focused, and I saw Ramona standing over me,
concerned.

“What happened?” I asked, feeling a little
groggy.

“You reached the end, Emily,” she said
quietly.

“You mean…I died?”

It was too much to take in.

“I think so,” she said, with sympathetic
eyes.

“What about Damien? Where did she take him?”
I asked frantically. Part of me still felt like I was there.

I was shaky and a little breathless. I also
had a terrible headache. I still had the same feeling, though, as I
did right before I remembered being thrown into the cold water. The
fear, dread, and pain had not dissipated.

“I don’t know. You died before we could
discover his fate,” Ramona answered.

“She killed him! She must have!” I said,
sobbing and putting my head in my hands, wet with tears.

I couldn’t think. My head clouded with images
from the past, and my vision blurred.