remember me saying it rarely works out well when a woman asks me that?” He ran his hand over
the damage a few more times, groaning with each pass.
“Have you considered you might look better with much shorter hair?”
“It matters not what I consider now. The choice has been made for me.”
“I really am sorry.”
He waved away her apology. “Cut the rest.”
“Are you sure? I don’t know if I’ll be any good at shaping it. My plan was simply trim the
ends.”
“As was my plan when I sat down.”
She started cutting small sections but feared the outcome.
“Back to my question,” Esme said. “How are you here?” Perhaps if he saw how
impossible it was for him to be the knight Stephen Palmer, a flicker of his true memory might
return. No doubt the Lancasters along with Miranda and Ian asked him the same question, brought up the same logic of impossibility. If he heard from enough people, the psychotic break would
heal. Not that she knew anything about psychology, but didn’t think it would hurt for her to try.
“Before the campaign, Guy warned me about a French knight I’d face. He told me of the
man’s heraldic symbol. On the battlefield, I encountered this knight. I hesitated, recognizing him for who he was. The hesitation cost me my sight. A blow from his sword penetrated my helm, the
damage blinded me.”
Stephen reached up and found her hand, stopping her from continuing to trim his hair. He
held her wrist and brought her around so she stood in front of him.
“I have told you the truth about me from the first. I am telling you the truth now when I
say, I don’t know how, but I have come through time.”
She gave a silent thank you that he didn’t see her mouth fall open with the bizarre
revelation.
“You’ve gone quiet,” he said.
“Stephen you are not a time traveler. I don’t know the medical or psychological reasons
behind your belief that you’re Stephen Palmer, medieval knight. I’m sure it stems from the trauma of your injury. But I’m telling you the truth when I say you didn’t come forward in time.”
“Do you think I wish this on myself? Wish to be a man out of time and away from all I
know of life? My friends died hundreds of years past. I’ve lost my beloved Arthur, who I trained from the time he was a yearling.”
“You have Alex and Shakira.”
“Yes, but their lives are centered on each other, as it should be, as it was in my time. I’m
talking about my friends in the barracks. Men I drank with and laughed with and suffered with in battle.”
The insistence in his words, the unrelenting belief in his delusion tore at her heart. In a
way, she wished she could share in the delusion just so he wouldn’t feel so alone and adrift. He spoke like a career soldier with no love interest. Odd for a nice looking man.
“You didn’t name a special woman. Was there one?”
“I was rather fond of a milkmaid. She was the cook’s daughter.”
No way did he read about a lowly milkmaid in any book Esme could think of. Curious how
he’d answer she said, “Tell me about her.”
A stolen glance as he looked away revealed a wistful smile that touched his lips and
disappeared.
“Her name was Rosamond,” he said, turning back to Esme. “Both her hands fit into my
palm. She hummed music she heard in her head to the animals as she milked.”
“Was she pretty?”
“She had a pretty smile and a kind heart.”
“Did you court her?”
“I...we...” He shook his head. “We...flirted. I was talking to her on the stairs, when
Al...Guy warned me about the enemy knight whose symbol was a panther on a sea of orange.”
“Why’d you only flirt?” she asked, relieved for some reason.
“How could I court her? I had nothing to offer. Even if I’d been given a parcel of land by
Guy, I know nothing of farming. I have no trade. I can’t mill grain, cobble on shoes, or thatch a roof. My training was as a warrior. My trade was killing the enemies of the king.”
“What did you mean when you spoke of Alex and Shakira’s lives are centered on each
other, ‘as it should be, as it was in my time’?”
“Their business is their own. You should put your question before them.”
Stephen phrased his answer so it sounded like they’d gone back in time at some point,
which was impossible, of course. But no way was she going to question the Lancasters or even
mention what he said. As his friends, they might take offense to any comment from her. A bad
word from them or Miranda and her chances of any future job at the History Channel would
vaporize.
“If you have come forward, then why hasn’t Alex or Shakira said something? They’d
know the truth.”
“Perhaps they choose not to speak rather than hear the disbelief in other voices like that I
hear in yours.”
Esme tried a different approach instead of a blanket denial. “Stephen, what’s the last thing
you remember after receiving the blow to your helm?”
“I was unhorsed, crawled on the ground thinking to escape my attacker. When I thought I
knocked at death’s door, I called to Arthur.”
“When do you believe the time change happened?”
“Right after that. The next thing I knew, a Frenchman who denied we were at war tried to
reassure me. Wails from hell blared, strange men came and took me to the hospital, where I
awoke to learn I was in a different time.”
“I want you to think about what you just said. If you time-traveled, then why did no one
else come forward too? Guy died. Simon lived to die in England years later. Wouldn’t your horse have come? Wasn’t he next to you while you were on the ground?”
Stephen nodded.
“Then why didn’t he come forward? What happened to the French knight? Stephen, you
have to see how...how...” Esme searched for a non-offense word. “How improbable your story
is.”
He straightened. Chest out, spine rigid, his blind eyes, clear and pale blue didn’t quite fix on her. “I have been instructed to let people think I am mad as the truth is unacceptable to them. I am not mad. I told you the truth. I grow weary of living this lie, especially where you are
concerned.”
“Thank you, I think.” The declaration flummoxed her. As usual, any hidden meaning was
lost on her. She removed the towel from his shoulders. “Come on, I’ll take you to a barber in the town. He can finish cutting your hair. I don’t want to make a worse mess of it.”
“Ah, now you admit to being a mess maker. Handy information I could’ve used earlier.”
“It’s hair. It will grow back so stop grumbling. While you’re at the barber’s, I’m running to
the library.”
“Why?”
“Gloucester has the best library in the shire. I need a book on French heraldic symbols.
I’m going to look for your French knight.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
After Esme left the next day, Alex offered to take Stephen to town. On the drive to
Cheltenham, Stephen asked, “Is it possible to have a wooden practice post set up in the yard near the trailer? Now that I have my sword back, I want to keep my skills fresh although I know
there’s no call for fine swordmanship in this modern age.”
Blind person training, Esme’s tutoring, and riding filled much of the day, but he still
suffered bouts of boredom. “I don’t like to sit idle. The weather i
s good and I enjoy being outside.”
“No problem, I’ll get something installed this week,” Alex said. The car slowed and came
to a halt. “We’re here.”
“Thank you for bringing me.”
“This interests me. I’m curious how they demonstrate and teach the judo moves to you.”
Stephen climbed out of the car and snapped open his cane.
“The door to the school is straight ahead,” Alex told him. “The handle is waist high and
opens to the right.”
A man greeted them as soon as both were inside. “Hello, may I be of assistance?”
“I’m Stephen Palmer. I’ve a scheduled lesson.”
“Yes, you’re right on time. I’m John Swallow,” he said and found Stephen’s hand with
little trouble and shook it. “And you’re here with?”
“Alex Lancaster.”
John pivoted a fraction, his extended hand brushing Stephen’s. “Mr. Lancaster.”
“Please call me Alex. Are you the instructor?”
“No, I’m a student like Stephen. Masao Ota is the sensei, our teacher.”
“You’re a black belt and blind. Impressive accomplishment,” Alex said.
“It’s important for Stephen to know what he can achieve. Blindness, to me, is a
disadvantage not a disability. Many of the people who come here have disadvantages of one kind
or another. We all have some baggage. Judo is a healthy way to get over both.”
“I agree,” Stephen said. “How do we start?”
“Come with me to the locker room.” He placed Stephen’s hand on his shoulder and they
walked along the wall. “We workout barefoot and in a special uniform called a gi. I’ll get you fixed up. The sensei will meet us in the main studio after you’re dressed.”
When they returned John informed Stephen about protocol. “We bow from the waist
before and after practice as a sign of respect and appreciation toward your partner.”
“Good evening, Mr. Swallow,” a new voice said. “You must be Mr. Palmer. I am sensai
Ota.” A small hand clasped and shook Stephen’s.
Ota released his hand and said, “Ready gentlemen?”
“Yes sensai,” John responded.
“Yes sensai,” Stephen repeated.
“To understand judo, you must start with the basic beliefs, Mr. Palmer.” Ota told him,
“The first tenet of judo is: maximum efficiency with minimum effort. The second tenet is: mutual welfare and benefit. The last tenet: better society through the perfection of ourselves.”
The first sounded much like a day practicing in the lists preparing for either battle or
contests in times of peace. The second sounded like the goal of men fighting together for a cause.
Stephen nodded his agreement. Better to let Ota think he saw all three with the same vision. In truth, the third tenet had little application in a knight’s world, maybe in relation to the ladies, in time of war, no.
“I don’t wish special consideration because I’m blind. I want to learn the way you’d teach
anyone else,” he told Ota.
Next to him, John laughed. “Not to worry. You’ll be thrown to the tatami, that’s the
Japanese name for the mats, as often and with all the gusto used toward any other student. First you must learn how to fall.”
“Learn to fall?”
“Yes, there’s an art to it. This is for your protection, knowing how to roll limits your
physical risk when an opponent has bettered you in some way.”
He’d fallen hundreds of times and managed to avoid serious injury. The lesson sounded a
waste of time. “I’m more interested in learning how to throw a man.”
“If you’re wearing a watch or other jewelry other than a wedding band, you should take
them off,” John said.
Stephen removed his talking watch.
“I’ll hold it for you.” Alex came and took it from him.
They started with what the sensei called calisthenics and stretching exercises. Through exact verbal description and hands-on demonstration, Ota showed him techniques of self-defense, which included several different maneuvers. Many painful minutes followed where he and John
slammed each other to the mat. Most of the throws required good leverage, which Stephen
managed well for a beginner. The next step in the sequence was learning to control your opponent once he was on the ground. Although that portion gave him trouble and he failed a majority of the time, he didn’t let the loss discourage him. He’d groan and scrambled to his feet. To Stephen’s wicked amusement, every once in a while John groaned too.
When every inch of his body ached and was slick with sweat, Ota finally said they’d done
enough for a first lesson. John offered to show him how to get to the school’s shower but Stephen declined. He preferred to go home and stand under the hot spray of his own shower.
“How did you like the lessons?” Alex asked as they walked to his car.
“I loved them. I feel like yesterday’s rubbish, but totally alive at the same time. Does that
make sense?”
“Yes. I had my doubts about this whole judo idea but after seeing the session...I have to
say it’s great for you. I haven’t seen you this excited since the day Ian and I brought you home.”
“I’m excited when Esme comes.”
“Good, I’m just saying these lessons are another positive for you.”
In the car, Stephen stuck his nose inside his damp tee shirt and sniffed. “Phew.” He grinned big; a silly grin and he knew it. “Reminds me of the hot summer days when we worked out in the lists.
I miss the hitting and the swordplay and the wrestling.”
“It was fun at times, especially the rare times I bested Simon, who was like wrestling a
bear, really tough to get him pinned down.”
They drove in silence for a while with only a demo CD sent to Alex by a new group
playing in the background. Then, Alex asked, “Why are you doing this?”
“I told you. I’m tired of sitting around doing nothing.”
“It isn’t simply because you’re tired of sitting around. You go riding. Esme said you got a
talking GPS and compass combination. With those you can walk my land for hours. You can swim
in the river anytime in spite of the late season. The cold never bothered you in the old days. So what’s the real reason?”
“I will not be thought a cripple or as I understand the slang of this time, a crip.”
“Did someone call you that? If it was someone at the stable, I’ll ban them.”
“No, and if someone did, it would be my battle not yours.”
“It’s not a case of me fighting your battles. I don’t care for the mindset of someone who’d
demean a person with a disability. I won’t tolerate it.”
“John said I have a disadvantage not a disability.” Stephen rolled the window down and
breathed in the crisp night air. Cooled and energized by it he let his breath out slowly and then added, “Disadvantage or disability, the point is if someone challenged me, I wish to feel confident in my ability to accept and push his nose into the ground.”
“Fighting words. I can picture Simon lifting a tankard of ale to you and cheering you on,”
Alex said, then after a beat added, “I miss Simon.”
“As do I. Thank you for giving him a nice headstone.”
“I was pleased to call him friend. He deserved a remembrance.”
Stephen drew in another deep breath before delivering the tidbit of information sure to ruin
the rest of Alex’s night. Exhaling, he said, “By the way, I told Esme I traveled forward to this time.”
The car swerved to the left onto gravel by the crunching sound and came to a jarring stop.
“What the bloody hell is wrong with you?”
“I want her to know the truth.”
“I can’t believe you did that. Bad enough at dinner the other night you rattled on about
Crecy. Now you tell her you time-traveled.”
“She asked a question I had no answer for unless I told the truth or allowed her to
continue to think me mad. I tire of this charade.”
“I guarantee your confession convinced her of the opposite and that you’re hopelessly
mad.” He pulled the car back onto the road.
“You worry for naught. She didn’t believe me.” But he’d work on convincing her.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Two weeks later
“You’re not staying?” Esme asked as Tony rose from the bed.
“No. I’ve got that job in Chipping Camden. It starts early,” he said and grabbed his
underwear.
She got up and put on her robe. “Your flat’s no closer than mine. I don’t see why you
can’t spend the night.”
“You aren’t going to start whinging are you? Cuz, I hate that.”
“Speaking my mind is not whinging. What about this weekend? There’s that Depp movie
I’d like to see.”
Tony took her wrist and drew her to him. “I’m sorry babe,” he said and kissed her on the
neck, squeezing a breast as he did. “Me and the lads are off to the football matches. West Ham is playing Manchester United and we’re driving up there to cheer on the team.”
She made a point of not looking in when she passed the bathroom. Tony never bothered to
shut the door when he peed—a practice she disliked and told him so on more than one occasion.
“What about during the week? The new Johnny Depp movie came out. I’d like to see it.”
“Can’t this week luv, I’m meeting with my mates every night. I promised I’d practice with
them for the upcoming darts competition.”
She went into the kitchen and poured herself two fingers of scotch. While Tony finished
dressing and nattered away about the upcoming trip to Manchester, she replayed the last two
hours in her head. Tonight’s activity led into a replay of the last few weeks and the ugly truth about herself. She’d become nothing more than a booty call for him. Not his fault, she’d allowed it.
“When was the last time you took me to dinner?” she asked, interrupting his football
Chris Karlsen - Knights in Time Page 20