“Not necessary. You may go on your way, knowing you have saved two women from evil men.” Her tone was sarcastic.
“I deem it necessary.” He glared down at the woman. “I shall accompany you the rest of the way, whether you wish it or not.”
She sized him up with a long stare, then turned away. The young woman, in the meantime, had climbed onto the back of the cart. She no longer met his gaze.
He would not pay any more attention to either of them. He would make sure they made their journey safely, and he would never have to see either one of them again.
Chapter Three
Rapunzel’s cheeks burned at the way her mother was treating this knight after he had saved them from their attackers and so courteously helped them. He did sound a bit arrogant in his reply to Mother, but she had been equally rude and had not even told him their names.
Her mother never liked to tell strangers—or anyone else, for that matter—anything. She had often warned Rapunzel, “You should not talk to people. Don’t tell any more than is necessary.”
“Why, Mother?” But her mother would give her a vague answer, something about curious people being dangerous people or how their business was no one else’s business. She must have absorbed some of her grandmother’s—Rapunzel’s great-grandmother’s—strangeness. Mother had told her some odd stories about her.
But this knight, Sir Gerek, was not at all like the men she had known in the villages where she’d grown up. She couldn’t understand why Mother would treat him the same way she had treated all of those “unworthy” men.
In fact, Sir Gerek was different from head to toe. Dressed defensively, he wore a leather vest that was quilted with some sort of thick material—an article of clothing that knights wore to protect themselves from arrows and sword blades. She had never seen one until now. In fact, she had never seen a knight until now. A sword swung at his hip, and high leather shoes came almost to his knees. His hair fell to his shoulders but was clean, neat, and evenly cut. It was swept off his forehead, well above his black eyebrows.
His eyes were brown, his hair dark, and he was taller than perhaps any man she had ever seen before. His lips and chin were well-formed and masculine. When she was fighting off their attackers and heard his horse’s hooves coming toward them, her first thought was that he was the sword-wielding angel she had prayed for, sent by God to protect them.
He was also handsome. But her mother had taught her not to regard fairness of face, especially in men. It was a tool they used to manipulate weak-willed women into giving them what they wanted.
Would Duke Wilhelm and the rest of his knights look as magnificent as this man? But she would not allow herself to be awed by their appearance. Men could not be trusted, as Mother so often told her.
Thinking about that reminded her that she should find her knife as soon as they stopped again and make sure she carried it with her. Their knight protector had made her feel safe, but that was foolish. She should not assume she could trust him any more than she could trust the lord’s son who had tried to attack her when she was fifteen—an incident that seemed to prove right her mother’s warnings.
The shaky feeling in her limbs subsided as she rode on the back of the cart. Even the pain in her head subsided, unless she touched the lump where she’d fallen.
The knight was traveling just to her right with his prisoner walking behind him. Mother led the way, her posture stiff, her pace quick.
Rapunzel shifted to a more comfortable position on the bundles. They were lumpy but not terribly uncomfortable, and she wondered what was inside them.
While watching the leaves of the trees overhead, Rapunzel’s eyes began to feel heavy. When she opened them, the sun was sinking low. Soon it would be dark and they would be forced to stop for the night.
The knight slowed his pace until he was beside her on his horse. “Are you well?”
The expression on his face was pained. Did it bother him to have to speak to a peasant girl? Or was he sincerely concerned?
“Yes, I thank you.” She glanced over her shoulder. Her mother was watching them.
He must have noticed, too, because without so much as a nod, he turned to face forward.
She studied him out of the corner of her eye. Had he been to distant lands? Did he know how to read and write? Perhaps he had not learned. He probably did not know how to read at all. He may have studied only fighting and war skills. He may have killed men with the very sword that hung from his belt.
But even if he did not know how to read, he might know someone, a priest perhaps, who could teach her, someone she could work for in exchange for reading lessons. She should ask him before he left them or, as was more likely, Mother chased him away.
Darkness slowly began to close in on them, and when the last of the sun’s light was fading, Sir Gerek spoke. “We will sleep here for the night.”
He guided his horse off the road, his prisoner following behind him. Would Mother refuse to be led by him?
She seemed to hesitate, then followed slowly, leading the donkey and cart, as well as their ox with all their belongings, off the road behind Sir Gerek.
Rapunzel grabbed the sides of the cart as it rocked from side to side, bumping over the ruts and into the soft, grassy, uneven ground. The smell of loamy forest dirt and leaves surrounded her, a fresher scent than the animal dung that frequently assaulted her on the road.
When the cart halted, she scrambled down and helped Mother unhitch Moll so she could eat, as well as the donkey that had pulled the cart. They took their water flasks to a stream nearby and refilled them.
Rapunzel stayed close by her mother’s side but kept glancing at Sir Gerek. He filled a water flask for the prisoner and allowed him to drink. He did not untie his hands, but did untie him from the back of his horse’s saddle and led him into the cover of the trees, no doubt so they could relieve themselves.
Did she have the courage to ask the knight about teaching her to read? The memory of the lord’s son in Wagsburg who had tried to get her to go with him to his father’s barn, the look of evil intent on his face, came back to her. Her mother had told her stories about men and the unsuspecting, unprotected, gullible women they convinced to lie with them, or who they lured into the woods where no one could hear them scream.
Perhaps she wouldn’t speak to him after all.
Gerek kept an eye on his prisoner. The man wore that smile on his face, which was more an odd expression than an actual smile, his lips curling upward at the corners and his teeth showing. He didn’t speak, and Gerek was in no mood to talk to him either, so he ordered him to hurry so they could get back to the two women who would be sleeping nearby.
Just thinking of them put him in a grumpy mood. He had never escorted or protected anyone less grateful. The mother had done nothing but glare at him, and the daughter usually avoided making eye contact, even when talking to him. He didn’t need their gratitude. As a knight, he would do his duty in protecting Duke Wilhelm’s people, grateful or not.
When they returned, he tied the prisoner’s rope to a tree and quickly built a fire.
The two women kept to themselves, and after he had fed his prisoner, the man fell asleep, snoring as he lay on his side, facing the fire.
Gerek lay watching the dying flames lick up the last of the sticks he had gathered. He was nearly asleep when he heard a voice, a melody so unearthly and beautiful he glanced up at the sky, expecting to see heaven opened and an angel of music. But all he saw were a few stars winking above him through the leaves.
The sound was coming from beyond the fire, from the direction of the two women who had chosen to sleep a distance away. He thought he had heard every song that was sung in the Holy Roman Empire, as many troubadours, Meistersingers, and minstrels as he had encountered in his travels. But this was not any song that he recognized.
He closed his eyes. The melody wrapped around his chest, which ached with the beauty of it, even though he couldn’t quite make out the words.
His mother was only a hazy figure now in his memory, as he had last seen her when he was seven years old. He had a memory of her leaning over him. It was nighttime, and she was singing to him. Her voice was sweet and soft and gentle, just like this one. Her song had filled his chest with a beautiful aching love, and now, listening to the song, he was filled with a similar, sweet ache.
It must be the young maiden who was singing. The voice was too young and clear to belong to the older woman. Where had she learned such a song?
How strange it was that two women would be out walking alone on the roads for such a distance. Tomorrow he would ask them where they came from and what their names were. And if they didn’t tell him, he would threaten to take them to Duke Wilhelm under suspicion that they were indebted servants who had run away from their rightful lord.
He listened closely to the melody of the song, trying to memorize it. If only she would sing a little louder.
His prisoner made a noise in his sleep like a pig snorting.
The singing ceased. The man rolled over and started breathing heavily again. Gerek waited, holding his breath, but the singing did not resume.
He stared up the stars, letting the melody of the song and the sweetness of the voice play over and over in his memory. It was haunting, lingering, beautiful.
He slept lightly, waking every time his prisoner moved, which was often. By morning he was glad the night was over so he could get his prisoner to Hagenheim and turn him over to the gaoler to await justice.
While he kept a close eye on his prisoner and prepared to depart, the two women were already packed up and leaving. The young maiden was looking back at him as they started toward the road.
So they were leaving without him, were they? Well, why should he care? Let them get attacked by robbers again.
He and his prisoner set out, too, but instead of the sky becoming lighter, it seemed to be getting dark again. He could smell rain in the air as a chill stole over him. It had been unusually warm, as it was still late winter, but rain would bring colder weather.
He kept at a slow pace, with his prisoner walking behind, occasionally complaining about his feet or being thirsty. Gerek made sure he had what he needed, but he mostly ignored his complaints. If the prisoner thought Gerek was too kind, he would be more likely to do something sneaky.
Suddenly the wind began to pick up, and then, just as quickly, it became still. Thunder rumbled in the distance.
“Now I will get wet,” the robber grumbled.
Gerek kept on his same steady pace. Just as he noticed a strange feeling in the air, a crack of lightning split the stillness, so loud it seemed to numb his ears. Gerek’s horse leapt, all four hooves off the ground, then reared and pawed the air.
Gerek fought to control the horse and stay mounted. When his hooves were all back on the ground, the horse snorted and danced to the side.
The lightning seemed to have come from just ahead of them. Gerek urged his horse forward at a trot, forcing his prisoner to walk fast to keep up.
“Are you trying to kill me?” he protested.
But Gerek did not slow the pace. He pictured the beautiful young maiden with the unearthly voice lying on the ground, felled by the lightning strike.
After a few moments, he caught a glimpse of them up ahead. The young woman turned to glance behind her. Her eyes were wide, but she looked unhurt.
His prisoner began breathing heavily behind him and mumbling curses. Gerek slowed his horse.
The young maiden’s mother grumbled at the ox and donkey, flicking them lightly with a makeshift whip to make them walk faster. Another clap of thunder came from farther away.
A fat drop of rain landed on his nose. Another crack of lightning split the air, even closer than the first one. Donner danced and snorted, still unsettled, when a hare darted out across the road directly in front of him.
Gerek braced himself as Donner neighed and reared. Gerek leaned forward and pulled back on the reins. His horse reared so high, Gerek started falling backward.
A dull snap. The saddle girth must have broken. The saddle was sliding. Gerek couldn’t gain any leverage to push himself free. He hit the ground on his right side just before the big warhorse fell on top of him.
A sharp pain in his ankle broke his consciousness, but he ignored it. He had to see where his prisoner had gone.
Donner scrambled to get up. Every time the horse attempted to heave his big body, it allowed Gerek to wriggle a little way out. He twisted around to see the prisoner pull Gerek’s long knife out of his saddlebag.
Gerek’s sword was underneath him. He tried to get his hand on the hilt. Just as his horse made it to his feet and freed Gerek, the prisoner lunged at him with the knife.
Gerek blocked the man’s arm. He lay at an awkward angle and could not reach the knife in the man’s hand. Another moment and the prisoner would be able to jab the knife between Gerek’s ribs.
The girl yelled. The prisoner hovered over Gerek with that strange, angry smile. He raised the dagger, aiming for Gerek’s throat.
Something flew past, above Gerek’s head. The hilt of a knife was sticking out of the prisoner’s upper arm.
The prisoner cried out, dropping Gerek’s dagger and grabbing at the knife that protruded from his arm. Then he turned and ran, disappearing into the trees.
Gerek turned to see who had thrown the knife that had saved him. The young maiden stood staring at him, the rain dotting her dress and head covering and starting to drip down her face. That’s when he realized it was raining.
The prisoner had escaped. His heart sank.
Donner was stamping his hooves, as if testing his legs. With his left hand, Gerek pulled himself up to stand. When he came to his feet, his ankle collapsed beneath him. He fell back to the ground.
The ankle bone was broken.
Chapter Four
Rapunzel dropped to her knees beside Sir Gerek. “I think he’s gone. Where are you hurt?”
Mother called, “Rapunzel! Get back here.”
She hovered over him as the rain began to fall in large, hard, cold drops, soaking into her clothes and through her hair to her scalp. He was cringing and holding his arm close to his body. She tried to shield his face from the rain by leaning over him. He gasped and struggled to sit up.
“What may I do to help?”
“Bring my horse to me.”
She went and caught the horse’s reins. The animal was so much larger and more high-spirited than a mule or donkey that she was careful to stay as far away from it as the extent of the reins would allow.
“Help me up,” he said, reaching for her with his left hand, keeping his right arm against his stomach. He grabbed her arm, and she braced herself to accept his considerable weight. Then he grasped her shoulder and rasped out something unintelligible under his breath. He leaned heavily on her.
“I don’t think you can mount your horse,” she said, stating the obvious. “Come and lie on the back of the cart.”
His face contorted, and he looked deathly pale. “No, I can ride.”
The rain was coming down so hard, it was running down her cheeks and sending a chill down her spine. She pulled the horse a bit closer, pleased the animal kept its teeth to itself.
She supported Sir Gerek’s weight as he put his left foot in the stirrup. He cried out as he threw his right leg over the saddle and boosted himself up.
He leaned forward over the pommel, his eyes closed.
“Are you sure you are well enough to ride?” She had to speak loudly to be heard over the steady roar of the rain as well as the frequent thunder.
He did not move. Finally, he straightened a little. “Let us go.” He turned his horse around.
Rapunzel held up her skirts from the mud that was quickly forming and hurried to where her mother stood beside the donkey and cart.
Mother was scowling at her. “What are you doing? He does not need your help.”
“Mother, he does. He is injured. H
e could barely mount his horse.”
“That is not your concern.”
“Where is your Christian charity? He is a noble knight who saved us from those robbers.”
Mother wouldn’t truly leave the poor knight to lie on the ground, hurt. After all, her mother had taken Rapunzel in when she was alone and helpless.
Sir Gerek rode forward, so Rapunzel and her mother led their donkey and ox forward as well, doing their best to ignore the rain.
After a few minutes, he rode up beside her. “Would you do something for me?” He looked quite pale. Water dripped from the ends of his hair and ran down his face.
“What is it?”
“Would you put my foot into the stirrup?”
It was the injured foot, his right foot. She tried to use care as she took his booted foot in one hand and his heavy metal stirrup in the other and slipped it inside.
She thought she heard him groan, but with the rain coming down so hard, it was difficult to tell. His face was stiff and his eyes closed. He continued to hold his right arm against his stomach.
They kept up a steady, if slow, pace. When it finally stopped raining, a cool breeze set in. Rapunzel shivered. She was soaked straight through to every inch of her skin. Nothing had been safe from the heavy rain. And now she was plodding down the muddy road in cold, wet skirts. But Sir Gerek must have been the most miserable. He was slumped forward on his horse, his head hanging low.
The longer she walked in her wet clothing, the more uncomfortable she felt, and the more she realized the day was not getting warmer, but colder.
“Rapunzel,” her mother called. “Come here.”
Rapunzel left Sir Gerek’s side and went to join her mother where she was leading the caravan of ox, donkey, and cart.
“Rapunzel, we must get out of our wet clothes now that it’s stopped raining. Get your extra dress and go change in the shelter of those trees there.”
Rapunzel retrieved her clothing from the bag on the back of the ox, which had been kept dry by their oiled tarp. She changed quickly and emerged from the trees feeling more comfortable.
The Golden Braid Page 3