Stephen checked his growing anger with their denials of the battle and war. He jerked his
hand from under Berger’s.
“What is the point of these lies of yours? I am neither a fool nor mad. Why do you
persist?”
“I am not a psychiatrist, but it is clear you’ve suffered some type of psychotic break.”
“Psychotic break...what is this?”
“Your reality is a delusion. Let me take the bandage from your eyes. Hopefully, the
surgery was a success. If so, perhaps seeing the truth of the world around you will help your
mental state.”
Berger stood and stepped next to Stephen’s shoulder. “Nurse, assist me please. Sit up
Monsieur Palmer.”
Stephen pushed the blanket that covered him down to the top of his thighs and then
scooted up straight.
Cloutier’s body heat warmed his other shoulder. Scissors clicked near his ear. It seemed
to take forever for her to cut through the material. Stephen willed her to work faster. He’d see who imprisoned him and hear their explanation for all the lies. The year of our Lord 2013—bah.
Cloutier moved away and Berger began to remove the bandage section by section. The
skin around his eyes tingled, followed by a sudden coolness as the last of the bandage was lifted.
All was black. Black as a starless sky on a moonless night. No! He was not blind. He.
Was. Not. Blind. He touched his fingers to the corners of his eyes. Maybe they’d put something
on his eyes while he slept. A device to make him believe he was blind. He couldn’t feel his
fingertips on the flesh around his eyes but felt his lashes on the pads.
“Careful monsieur.”
Stephen sensed the doctor’s hand come close. He twisted away and the doctor’s fingers
brushed his cheek.
Then, damp warmth from his eyeball touched his fingertips. A shiver chased down his
spine at the thought he’d put a finger in his eye and not known it.
“Monsieur—” Berger grabbed his hand and pulled it from his face. “You may touch your
face but not your eyeball.”
“What have you done to me? I cannot feel my fingers on my face or eyes.”
Monette answered. “The numbness is to be expected, as is the swelling. Your skin may
have a prickly sensation. This is from the surgery. Titanium micro-plates were inserted to stabilize your nose and sinuses. We were confident in our ability to repair the fractured area.
Unfortunately, we could not be sure with the eye surgery due to the puncture wounds.”
Micro-plates. More jabber of no interest to him.
“What do you see, monsieur?” It was Berger again.
“Nothing. I see only darkness. Is this permanent?” The chirping metal chest peeped
faster.
“I am afraid it might be, but let’s try one last test. I’m going to help you out of bed to a
chair.” Berger took one of Stephen’s arms and Monette the other. They led him a few steps then
turned him so the back of his knees touched the chair’s seat. “Sit.”
A faint warmth touched his face but the absolute darkness remained. He reached out in
the direction the heat came from until his knuckles struck glass. This must be a fine prison for his captors to afford glass windows. Guy’s holding, Elysian Fields, had leaded windows. Guy had said the cost was enormous but worth it to keep out the cold. Stephen slid his hand up, down, and side to side. Strange, no leading held the panes in place. The window was warm though.
“The sun is out,” he said.
“Can you see the light from the sun at all?” Monette asked.
Stephen shook his head. “No. I felt the sun’s warmth on the glass.”
“No light perception,” Berger said.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m sorry, but it means the damage was irreparable. Your blindness is permanent.”
Stephen swiveled to the left and patted the air, trying to get a fix on Berger’s exact
position. His palm found the doctor’s arm. Stephen wrapped his strong hand around Berger’s thin bicep. “Do another surgery.”
“I am sorry, Monsieur Palmer, but there is nothing more I can do.”
“What new hell is this place? For what purpose have you stolen my sight?” Stephen shot
up from the chair. He lunged forward in hopes to get his hands on Berger.
Cloutier shouted for security as Berger clamped onto Stephen’s wrists. Stephen struggled
to pull his hands free and wrap them around the doctor’s neck.
He didn’t care if the captors killed him in the process, but he would kill the man who
blinded him.
“Bastard.”
A thick forearm came around his neck like a vise. With the crook of the man’s arm
against Stephen’s throat, the man squeezed tight. Stephen fought for breath. He pulled at the
man’s arm with one hand and brought his elbow back hard into the man’s ribs. The man grunted
and squeezed tighter. Stephen’s legs buckled. The man stayed with him as he dropped, his chest
hard to Stephen’s back as he slipped to the floor.
Chapter Six
“Oh,” Stephen groaned and took several deep breaths. He was sitting in the chair again.
He couldn’t move his arms. Once more, they’d tied him with padded cuffs.
“You test our patience with these outbursts Mr. Palmer,” Monette said. “Have another
and you’ll force us to relocate you to the Psych Ward, where you’ll be kept restrained at all
times.”
He didn’t know what a psych ward was, but constant restraints meant chains.
“If you swear to remain calm, we will release you.” It was Berger.
“I’ll be calm.”
He heard the soft slide of leather through buckles as Berger freed him.
Stephen dabbed the puffed skin around his eyes with his fingertips.
“Do not touch your eyes again, Mr. Palmer,” Berger warned. “They must heal.”
“I won’t.” He stroked his cheeks. Strange, why was there only a tingle but no pain? For
them to insert the micro-plates they spoke of, they had to cut his face.
“I don’t hurt. Why?”
“We gave you a pain killer following the surgery and a sedative. Once that pain medication
wears off, we’ll give you Vicodin.”
“What herbal potion is Vicodin? It’s not a plant I’ve heard of.”
“It’s not a potion but a pill. You don’t have to take it if you don’t wish.”
He had no fondness for pain and appreciated the lack of it he currently enjoyed, but he
needed his wits about him in this place. And, he’d like to know what a pill was but much was
different here and a pill was one more oddity.
“You may not believe me, but I empathize with your distress and panic at losing your sight.
I’m sending for a woman to keep company with you for a few days. Her name is Juliette. I think
you will find a friend in her,” Berger said.
“Is she pretty?”
“Does it matter?”
Stephen gave a little laugh. His first laugh since the battle. “No...just curious.”
#
Stephen sat in the chair by the window and inhaled deeply. Cloutier had opened it and a
gentle breeze that smelled of fresh grass blew inside.
Cloutier had also spoken of a station of some sort. He told her the bawd put something called a classical station on when she visited.
“Bawd,” she repeated. “I don’t know this English word.”
“I don’t know half of what you and the doctors say,” he said with a shrug. “Can’t say I
care a
nymore.”
Cloutier repeated whatever the bawd did and music came from across the room. Then,
she left.
He explored the part of the room the music was the strongest and discovered it was
conjured up from the wall. He rubbed his hands over the area. The sound flowed out from behind
a mesh screen in the wall. His finger found a knob beneath the mesh. He jumped back as a slight tinkering produced a loud blast. What had he done?
A nurse rushed into the room before he had a chance to tinker with the knob to lessen the
sound. “Such noise, Mr. Palmer, this is not acceptable. Do not toy with this again,” she scolded.
The disturbing clamor wasn’t his fault. How could the touch of a button affect the noise
from the wall? “’Tis not my doing,” he said.
She made no reply and left.
He sat in the chair by the window, listening to the music. Hard to imagine but the music
today was lovelier than the station the bawd had chosen. Mystified by the...how would he
describe it? Grand sound...yes, grand sound, he listened intently. Many of the instruments were unique to him, but the way they came together was remarkable. He recognized the flutes and
drums, of course, and a variation of the trumpets he was familiar with. Coming to the front with power and then easing back were an indeterminate number of stringed instruments. They sounded
like a group of psalteries, only stronger, much stronger and with, perhaps the addition of citterns.
What a wonder to the ear the music was . How he’d love to create words to put to it and sing. He hummed the melody very softly to himself.
Her scent preceded her as she stepped into the room. He stopped humming.
“Hello, monsieur.”
“You would be Juliette, I assume.”
“I am,” she said. He heard a light tapping on the floor and then the dull thud of another
chair being placed next to his followed by two crisp snaps.
“What broke?”
“Nothing. I was folding my cane.”
They’d sent a cripple to help the poor blind man. To what end? She was as damaged as
he.
“I am Stephen Palmer. But you know that already.”
“Yes.”
“Why do they wish me to know you?” A blunt question but he wanted an explanation.
“I suppose so I could share some of my experience and hard learned lessons with you.”
“To be clear, I did not request this.” He flapped his hand back and forth in hopes the
dismissive gesture would get her to leave. “I don’t seek your shoulder upon which to weep. I am blind. It seems permanently. Although, I appreciate the offer, your feminine pity does not appeal to me.”
“I’m glad you said that. It’s a proudful statement and pride leads to acceptance.
Acceptance leads to healing and enjoying a productive, fruitful life.”
Productive? Now? Hardly.
“What would you know of such things when it comes to being struck blind?” he asked.
“You are crippled but still see the world as you always have.”
“I’m not crippled. They sent me because I too am blind.”
Could he believe her? Probably. They think he can learn from her. Misplaced confidence
in his opinion.
“ When I came in you were enjoying the music.”
“I was.”
“I heard you quietly humming. Nice job with Handel’s Allegro Deciso.”
“Handel? Is he the creator of the music?”
“Yes. Since you can carry a tune well, do you sing well too?”
“I do. I know all the words to two songs Guy’s wife, Shakira, taught me. Guy is the baron
I serve.” During the nightmare of what had happened to him the last three days, he’d forgotten
about Guy. Surrounded like he was when Stephen last saw him, he had to have been dragged
from his mount. “Served,” he said, feeling the weight of the loss of a friend. “I think he’s dead.”
“I’m sorry. You say ‘served’ but I take it he was your friend too, if his wife taught you
songs.”
“Yes. He was a good fellow and a close mate.” He took a deep breath and let it out. “Do
you wish to hear the songs?”
“Absolutely.”
“The first is called Tusk.” The poor woman wouldn’t know what a tusk is having no
experience seeing an elephant, he thought. He’d seen one in the Royal Menagerie the previous
year. Hopefully, she’d have a basic understanding after he explained.
“Being blind, you’ve never seen an elephant, but they have two curved horn-like features
growing out of their heads, their faces really. They grow in an upwards fashion.” He found her
forearm and bent it to demonstrate.
“I’ve seen an elephant,” she said, as he lowered her arm. “Like you, I wasn’t always
blind. That’s one of the reasons the doctor asked for me. I know the things you know. I know
how the colors look. I know what various animals look like, how they’re shaped. I’ve seen the
sky, and the sea, and forests. I know how it feels to lose all that.”
With every entity she listed, he envisioned it again in his mind: the green fields of England,
Arthur with his feathered feet and thick mane and tail, a blue summer sky, the rough waters
between England and France. Maybe he’d be lucky and time wouldn’t erase those wonders from
his memory.
“What is the second song?” she asked.
“The Way You Look Tonight.”
“Ooh, a romantic song. Did you sing it to a special lady?”
“I sang it for all the ladies I left behind. They were very fond of the words and the way I
sang to them, of course.” He smiled for the second time since battle.
“Sing them for me,” she said, leaning close enough for her hair to brush his cheek. It
smelled honey sweet. He raised his hand to stroke it as she sat back.
“I was going to touch your hair. It has a pleasing smell.”
She leaned in again, he could tell from the tiny amount of heat coming off her body. “My
shampoo is almond and honey scented.” She found his hand with hers and placed his on her head.
“Shampoo, I don’t know what that is, but your hair feels so silky and clean.”
The women on the farms they passed while on campaign kept their hair braided and wore
linen caps. Up close their hair was often oily with strands stuck together and worse, riddled with lice. He stopped stroking her hair at the thought of lice. He suffered from the problem on occasion but was free of the itchy creatures when he’d gone into battle. If Juliette had lice, he’d get them again.
“Is something wrong? You stopped rather abruptly.”
“Do you have lice?” He vigorously scratched his scalp thinking about the possibility.
“No. I’ve never had them. Thank you for saying my hair feels silky. As you can tell, it’s
long and straight and baby fine. I can’t do much with it. Why did you ask about lice?”
“As we traveled through different provinces, I noticed many of the ladies here had them.
To be fair, many of our men-at-arms and most of the Welsh bowmen did too.”
“I’d venture to say many of your women back home also had them. The problem’s not
uniquely French.”
“ Touché,” he conceded in a light tone. “Does this ‘shampoo’ you speak of prevent
them?”
“Not this particular shampoo, but there are medicated ones that get rid of lice.”
He wrapped several locks of hair around the first two fingers of his hand and brought the
locks to his nose, finding the nutty scene now tha
t she mentioned the almond. “Are you married?”
“Yes.”
“Is he blind too?”
“No. Why do you ask?”
“Curiosity.” Stephen released the locks of her hair and dropped his hand to his lap. “Were
you blind when he met you?”
“Yes. Stephen, are you afraid a sighted person, perhaps a lady you might like in the future,
will be put off by your blindness?”
How could he not fear? How could he not fear his face scaring, not just ladies but
everyone who looked upon it? He’d felt the scars the sword wound left behind. He’d seen such
damage on the faces of old soldiers.
“I’m not afraid of much. I’ve faced death more than once in battle.”
“You didn’t answer the question.”
“Shall I sing now?”
She let out a long sigh. “Please do.”
He opened with The Way You Look Tonight, which was his favorite of the two songs
Shakira taught him. He swayed as he sang, remembering how he moved from table to table, going
from lady to lady, reserving a few words for each lovely.
“I enjoyed that very much. Impressive, since you sang a cappella,” she said after he
finished.
“’A cappella?’”
“Without music.”
“I think you’ll find Tusk sounds better with music.”
Afterward, he asked what she thought and she said she liked it.
“But you’re right, it needs instruments to pump up the lyrics.”
“’Pump up the lyrics.’ What an amusing expression.”
“Would you like to go for a walk in the garden?” she asked.
The idea of going outside troubled him. While alone in his room, he’d walked around and
mastered where each piece of furniture was placed. He had the bruises to show for it after a run-in with an open door and then banging his shin against the bed frame. The doctor ordered the
chest that chirped removed. No more bruised ribs from it, thank the saints. The pole with the bag was also gone.
The open door led to a peculiar cold room with a basin and the oddest of pisspots made of
the same ceramic as the basin. The man who brought his food tray called it a bathroom. Together they went into the room. He ran Stephen’s hand over the most miraculous of spigots secured to
the basin, then put his fingers on a small, metal pedal and told him how to adjust water which
actually came out hot. And, he’d shown him where to stand in order to use the pisspot.
Chris Karlsen - Knights in Time Page 4