Time to Love Again

by Speer, Flora

  “Theu always takes my breath away,” India murmured, regarding the man who now arrived at the entrance to the reception room at a more dignified pace than Marcion had used.

  Theu’s tunic was made of silver-grey silk the exact color of his eyes, and his bright blue cloak was made of wool even finer than India’s gown, fastened at his shoulder by a gold brooch set with pearls and rubies. He wore several rings on each hand, and the gilded belt holding his sword was one India had not seen before. But all the finery could not disguise the tough, battle-ready man beneath it, who yet had a softer side for his friends and for the woman he loved. He laughed at Marcion’s teasing, and the smile he gave India erased any nervousness on her part about meeting the king and queen. If she went into the royal reception room with him, there was no need to be concerned that she might slip up and say or do something improper.

  “How beautiful you are,” he said, clasping her hand. “We are to see Charles in private before you are presented to the queen. Come this way.”

  He and Marcion took her to a door that led to a chamber directly behind the reception room. The single guard outside threw open the door at their approach, and she walked between Theu and Marcion into the presence of the king of the Franks.

  Except for Hrulund, all of the men India had met since coming to Francia had been her own height or at most an inch or two taller than she was. Towering almost six and a half feet, Charles looked like a giant, an impression enhanced by his heavy bone structure and remarkably well-developed muscles for a man of thirty-five, which in his time was well into middle age. A narrow gold circlet sat atop his pale gold hair, and he sported a sweeping Frankish mustache. He had the bluest, most piercing eyes India had ever encountered. Even in the plain woolen tunic that was his habitual costume, there was no mistaking him for anything but a king.

  By contrast, the two black-robed clerics standing near him made at first almost no impression on India. She could not stop looking at Charles, who was welcoming Theu and Marcion back to his court as if he considered them among his dearest friends. Then his eye fell on India, measuring her worth, watching her reaction to him with interest and curiosity. Overcome at meeting the great man against whom all future European kings would be measured, India sank into a deep curtsy, a gesture she had learned in dancing class as a girl. Charles took both her hands in his, raising her.

  “Seldom have I been so gracefully acknowledged by one who pretends to be a boy,” he said, his blue eyes dancing with laughter, making her laugh back at him. “You are welcome at my court, India.

  “Now,” Charles instructed, “be seated, all of you, and tell me of your adventures. Alcuin, come sit beside me. Adelbert, take your place at the table there and write down all that is said. It promises to be an entertaining tale.”

  As the two clerics came forward, India looked at the famous scholar. Alcuin said nothing, merely favoring her with a polite nod before he bent his tall, stoop-shouldered form to sit on a bench beside his king. His shorter companion headed toward the table Charles had indicated, and now India looked closely at this man for the first time.

  “Hank!” she cried, reaching toward him to clutch at his arm. “Hank, what are you doing here?”

  They were all staring at her. Theu’s hand strayed toward his sword, though he did not draw it. Charles watched her with some amusement, still laughing a little. Marcion looked puzzled. Alcuin sat with raised eyebrows and an interested expression, looking from India to the cleric.

  “Lady, I do not know you,” said the cleric. “My name is Adelbert, not what you called me.”

  “Do you think he is Ahnk?” Theu asked India, his right hand still hovering near his sword hilt. “If there is a chance he might harm Charles, or you, I had best kill him at once.”

  At this the cleric gave a terrified squawk and hurried to put the table between himself and Theu.

  “Adelbert has been my assistant for three years now,” said Alcuin calmly. “I know him well. What, or who, is Ahnk?”

  “He is the man who is responsible for my being here in Francia,” India said, having recovered somewhat from her first shock. “He looks much like this man, but I see now that I was mistaken. This cannot possibly be Hank.” Still, the resemblance was remarkable. Adelbert had the same untidy dark blond hair and pale eyes as Hank, and the same sharp, curious way of looking about him, as if he did not quite trust his surroundings.

  “I apologize. I didn’t mean to startle you,” India said, feeling uneasy when Adelbert met her eyes. She sat down across the room from him, next to Marcion. After sending a threatening look toward the cleric, Theu sat on her other side.

  “Alcuin and I have read your thorough report on events in Saxony,” Charles said to Theu. “Tell us now anything you did not write in the report and then describe what happened after you left Aachen.”

  Theu took care not to mention India’s origin in the future, or Hank’s attempts to return her to her own time. Otherwise, he left out nothing. As for the episode at Tours, he told the story without comment, giving only the facts as they had occurred. When he had finished, Charles turned his attention from his friend to India.

  “The only thing I do not understand from Theu’s account,” he said, “is where you have come from and what your message to me is.”

  “My home is far away, many long years’ journey from here,” she replied, conscious of Theu’s eyes on her and knowing he had not changed his opinion since the night when they had talked in the abbey outside Paris. He still believed it would be wrong for her to tell Charles the entire truth. Having thought often and seriously about the possible results if she were to reveal that she had come to Francia from a future time, she knew Theu was right. Even so, she had to try to warn Charles, for Theu and his friends, who had become her friends, too, might well be among the men killed in Spain or while returning to Francia. Taking up the enameled medallion, she lifted the chain over her head and gave the necklace to Charles. He examined it carefully, then handed it to Alcuin.

  “It appears to be real,” Charles said, “though there is something not quite right about it. Theu said your husband told you to give the medallion to me, and that he also sent a message.”

  There was no way to avoid saying something that would serve as the promised message. With Charles and Alcuin looking at her expectantly, and Adelbert’s pen poised to write down whatever she said, India knew this was likely to be the only chance she would ever have to voice her fears to Charles. She had seen the bustling activity when they rode into Agen earlier that day. She had listened while Theu heard from one of the officers of his principal levy that three days previously Charles had sent half of his army under the command of his uncle, Duke Bernard, southward into Spain by the pass at Puigerda, then on to Barcelona to receive the prearranged surrender of that city. The other half of the army, including Theu and his men, would follow Charles along the old Roman imperial road through the pass of Somport and then down onto the Spanish plains near Saragossa, where the army would reunite before the walls of the second city the Saracens had promised to turn over to the Franks.

  “What is this message from your husband?” Charles prompted her with a friendly look. “Was it that he recommended you to my care? If so, I will gladly take you into my household and find a new husband for you if you want.”

  “My lord.” She paused, searching for the right words. She saw Theu looking at her intently and imagined that he was willing her not to reveal what she knew. But she had to try. She could not live with herself if she did not, for her words might save not only Theu’s life but the lives of countless others as well. “My husband was a great scholar in our land, who studied the many ways of waging war. He knew of your plans for the Spanish campaign and begged me to tell you it would be dangerous and costly.”

  “All wars are dangerous, and scholars like them not at all,” Charles said. “Just ask my friend Alcuin here. He is most unhappy about my latest plans.”

  “It’s the traveling I detest,�
�� said Alcuin. “I dislike rattling my aged bones over bad roads in every kind of weather. I would rather be studying.”

  “There, you see? That’s why I’m leaving him here at Agen.” Charles appeared to be much amused by Alcuin’s response. “I’ll wager your scholar husband was no different in his complaints.”

  “I know it is too late to stop you from going to Spain,” she said, beginning to feel desperate. “I have been told that half your army has left already. But I beg you, take the greatest care, especially on your return journey, and please – oh, please, beware of Hrulund’s mad desire for glory. If you do not control him, he will cause much grief.”

  “Did Hrulund not desire glory, he would not be half so fine a warrior,” said Charles, adding in a stern voice, “Have you warned me about him because of the way you were treated at Tours?”

  “Because of what I saw in him there,” she answered.

  “Or is it that you would rather I prefer Theu over Hrulund?” Charles asked. “You must be aware of the feud between them.”

  “That’s not it at all,” she cried, frustrated by her inability to make him understand.

  “Women as well as scholars dislike war,” Charles said. “Who can blame them? Their gentle hearts break at the damage warfare inflicts. Let me warn you now, India. Do not interfere in the work of warriors. Nothing you can say or do will stop this campaign or make me conduct it differently than I would have if you had not spoken.”

  His tone and his commanding presence defeated her. There was no way to convince him of what she knew, except to tell him a truth he would never believe. He would think she was a madwoman. She did not know what they did with insane people in Francia. She might be locked away for the rest of her life. Away from Theu. She bowed her head, accepting her failure.

  “As you wish, my lord,” she said.

  “Good.” His blue eyes looked kindly on her again. He smiled, pleased by her apparent meekness, and put out one giant hand. “Come, I’ll present you to Hildegarde myself.”

  She placed her hand in his and let him escort her into the reception room next door, where his queen sat among her ladies upon a well-cushioned chair placed next to a much larger chair that could only have been intended for this unusually tall man.

  Hildegarde was twenty-one years old and had been married to Charles for seven years. A sweet-faced woman with soft grey eyes and light brown hair, her body was swollen with her fifth pregnancy. She rose a bit clumsily when Charles appeared, leaning hard on the arms of her chair for leverage.

  “No, my love, don’t disturb yourself,” Charles said, leaving India to hurry across the room and place a supporting arm around his wife. “Hildegarde, sit down, please. The midwives have advised you to rest.”

  “I would rather walk. It eases the pain in my back,” she said.

  With one arm still around Hildegarde, Charles waved his free hand toward India. She came forward at once to curtsy again, though not so deeply as she had for Charles.

  “This is the lady India,” Charles told Hildegarde, “come from a great distance to visit us for a while.”

  “You are welcome to join my ladies.” Hildegarde smiled at India, then smiled more broadly when Theu and Marcion greeted her, each man kissing her upon both cheeks. “Here are my brave warriors, returned to me at last. But where is Hugo?”

  “He’s busy with preparations for our leaving,” Marcion answered her. “He will join us tonight. Lady, may I speak to my betrothed?”

  “I knew that would be your first request of me.” Laughing now, Hildegarde called out, “Come here, Bertille, and greet Lord Marcion with a friendly kiss.”

  Marcion’s love obeyed the queen, detaching herself from the other women to walk quickly to where he was. She placed her hands on Marcion’s shoulders, reaching upward to kiss him lightly on one cheek. Marcion’s hands moved to encircle her waist, his attitude giving India the distinct impression that he would have liked nothing better than to pull her close and kiss her full on the mouth.

  “Welcome, my lord,” said Bertille, the sound of her voice catching India’s complete attention.

  At first she could see nothing of Bertille but smooth dark hair worked into two long braids and her dainty back encased in light blue silk. But when Marcion released her and she turned to greet Theu, India gave a shocked, hastily smothered gasp. She knew that short, well-rounded figure, recognized the sparkling eyes and the impish face with its pert, upturned nose. It was Willi – and yet it was not Willi. The features were not identical and there was a further shade of difference, a lightheartedness where sadness always lingered on Willi’s face even when she laughed. Bertille had no sadness in her at all.

  Bertille greeted Theu with great charm and a bright smile, then looked toward India. And India, wanting no second fuss like the one she had created earlier over Adelbert’s resemblance to Hank, said nothing, waiting until Marcion had formally presented the girl to her.

  “I think my mother will agree,” said Bertille, “that you as well as Danise may stay with us in our chamber.”

  “An excellent idea,” said the queen, now reseating herself with some awkwardness. While Charles leaned over her, murmuring softly, Theu stepped to India’s side.

  “About Adelbert,” he began, glancing toward where the cleric stood with Alcuin.

  “It’s worse than you think,” she said. “It isn’t just Adelbert. Bertille is enough like Willi to be her sister.”

  “I have known Bertille since she was a small child,” he informed her. “She has not come here from another time.”

  “If you remember, Alcuin said something similar about having known Adelbert for years.” She shook her head, as confused and upset as she had been on her first day in Francia. “I don’t understand this.”

  “Children often resemble their parents,” Theu said. “Is it possible that the people you know are descendants of Bertille and of Adelbert?”

  “Could they look so much alike with so many generations separating them?” she asked. “I don’t know. All I do know is that I can’t say anything to them about the way they look. Theu, I don’t want to stay in the women’s quarters. I’d be uncomfortable there, seeing Bertille all the time, and I want to be with you every minute. We have so little time before you must leave.”

  “I promise I will see you often,” he said, shaking his head at her, “but for now, stay with the ladies, I beg you, and set me free to make the necessary preparations for Spain.”

  “Very well, Charles.” Hildegarde’s patient voice cut across India’s further protest. “Since you insist, I will retire to my chamber and rest. But, please my dear, go somewhere else and busy yourself with manly concerns. I cannot sleep if you constantly ask me whether I feel well or not. I have done this before, I know how to bear a child. Let me attend to the welfare of this dear baby, and you take care of your army. Sister Gertrude, my dear old friend, I would have you with me, and Lady Remilda also. The rest of you, girls and women, need not attend me until this evening.” Hildegarde left the reception room with Sister Gertrude and a stately lady.

  “Lady Remilda is Bertille’s mother,” Theu said to India, “and here comes Bertille with Danise. Go with them. I’ll see you this evening.”

  He and Marcion joined Charles, who upon his wife’s departure had gathered a group of men about himself. The women began drifting out of the room in small groups. Bertille and Danise stopped to speak with Alcuin and the cleric Adelbert. When Charles called to the two men, Adelbert delayed, wistfully watching Bertille cross the room toward India, until a word from Alcuin recalled him to his duties.

  India soon discovered that Bertille and Danise had met the summer before, when the court was at Paderborn and Danise’s father had taken her there. By the time they reached the chamber allotted to Bertille and her mother, the two girls were chattering to each other like old friends, discussing fashions in gowns and hairstyles, the most recent marriages and betrothals among the nobility and – their principal topic of interest
– the handsome warriors gathered at Agen, especially the manly attributes of Marcion and Hugo. India felt a bit left out until she realized that she had been expecting Bertille to treat her with the same intimacy she had always enjoyed with Willi. She told herself again that Bertille was not Willi, that she, India, was at least ten years older and infinitely more experienced than these innocent girls in their mid-teens. However, out of all the mysteries bedeviling her, there was one question to which she could have an answer.

  “Bertille,” India asked when the girls had fallen silent for a moment, “I saw you speaking to Adelbert. Is he a special friend of yours?”

  “Adelbert? No, he’s only a cleric,” Bertille answered.

  “From the way he looked at you, I thought he might be fond of you.”

  “It would not matter if he were,” Bertille replied, openly shocked by this suggestion. “I have given him no cause to think I find him interesting. Even if I were not already betrothed, a cleric is an unsuitable object for a noblewoman’s affections. Adelbert is soon to take his final holy orders. I will be no priest’s wife, and certainly not a concubine to one. Do not think I care for Adelbert, or that he would dare to love me. We have talked occasionally, that is all. I want to marry Lord Marcion. He is the right man for me. My parents think so, and so do I.”

  “I see,” India said weakly, more confused than ever.

  Despite the distraction provided by the girls’ chatter and her own disturbing thoughts, India could not forget Theu for a moment. Having grown used to his presence for the greater part of every day, she sorely missed being with him constantly. Nor could she let go of her fear for him, which grew stronger with each hour that passed. She tried to think of something, anything, she might do that would set a different course for the events soon to begin unfolding. Having revealed to Charles as much as she dared, and having been told in effect to be a good girl, stop worrying, and let the men get on with their primary business of warfare, she decided that the only thing left for her to do was speak to an influential man who had no interest in war. She would do what Theu had originally suggested to her at Aachen, and had later urged her not to do. She would talk to Alcuin.