his palms. “What delicious fruit I hold. Firm as a sweet apples, yet like ripe peaches, soft enough to give under the press of my lips.”
“No more talk,” Esme whispered.
When they came up for air, they’d fogged the mirror and both dripped sweat. “We’ll need
to shower again,” Stephen said and wiggled his brows.
Esme climbed off him. “Sadly, that’s all we get to do again. Alex and Shakira will be here
at noon and I have to pack.”
“Pity.”
#
“Done,” Esme said and closed the suitcase.
Stephen edged her aside and ran his hands over the binding of the case. “I feel like a royal
traveling with such a large piece of baggage. I’ve always been able to put everything I own,
excluding my armor and what was on my back, in my saddle bags.”
“We are sharing the case. Half, well more than half, is filled with my clothes. But it’s not
an unusual size by today’s standards. The majority of people who travel have a case this big.”
“Amazing.” He gave a little shake of his head. “That ordinary folks own enough to fill this.
Such luxury.”
The assessment reminded her of the world he came from. In the course of the day, doing
common things, she sometimes forgot how different his frame of reference was compared to
everyone else’s. For most folks in his time, every day was a struggle to see enough food on the table to feed their families with some extra to store for the harsh winter. Feed had to be gathered and stockpiled to see the animals not going to market through to spring, when they could graze
again. Prayers were mumbled on Sunday services that illness didn’t take those in the house able to work the fields. Extra clothing was way down on the list of needs.
“Alex said they live in the borough of Kensington and that it is part of London. I don’t
know this place. Where is it?” Stephen asked, dragging her thoughts back to the present.
“It’s not far from what is now Parliament, which you knew as Westminster Palace. The
area is busy-busy and super crowded but one of the most fashionable.”
Stephen sat at the foot of the bed. “Londoners lived on top of each other in my day too. I
liked visiting the palace on the few occasions I accompanied Guy to London. But I wouldn’t like living there all the time and in the close quarters that surrounded the palace.”
“Thankfully, crowded as the city is now, from what I’ve read it’s far from as bad as
centuries ago. What did you think when you were there for your television appearances?”
“I knew from walking around development of the city went far beyond what my
imagination could conceive. I felt the energy, the activity and hurry of those around me, but I wasn’t disturbed by it. In my time, the activity was not so easy or pleasant to find your way
through.” He smiled and said, “for one thing, London smells much better now. There isn’t the
potent scent of urine everywhere.”
“Trust me, there are parts of the city that still reek.”
“The stinky parts of the city today cannot compare. Animals are not butchered in the
street, foulings of all manner are not heaved from windows, the dead and dying are not left
unattended in alleys and doorways.”
“You win the icky era contest. I can guarantee you’ll like Kensington. We’re not far from
Hyde Park and shops and restaurants.”
“I will mourn the loss of our privacy.”
“Not to worry. I believe Alex is of the same mind. He owns the building and we are on the
floor above his flat. We have the whole upstairs living area to ourselves.”
Esme set the suitcase on the floor and sat next to Stephen. She brushed the damp hair that
fell onto his forehead back. “Are you nervous about going on tour? You haven’t said much.”
“No. I sang on Guy’s birthday when the great hall was filled. I don’t see how singing for a
crowd in a cathedral is much different. Paul seems a jolly fellow and I’m assured he’ll have me well-rehearsed.”
Funny how he shifted from century to century when he talked. He spoke of the man from
this world he knew as Alex with the same ease as he spoke of Guy, the man he served so long
ago. She admired how he’d adjusted. For her part, she hadn’t quite come to terms with him as a
time traveler. It was simpler not to think about it too much.
“You haven’t said anything, but how are Alex’s inquiries regarding Arthur going?” she
asked.
His shoulders lifted a fraction then fell and he turned to her. “As I expected, there’s
nothing to indicate he came through with me.”
Alex had contacted the Frenchman who found Stephen and he confirmed he saw no horse
or evidence of a horse having been there. Alex also contacted the neighborhood church. If a
strange horse was discovered in the immediate area, the local priest would surely have heard. He spoke with a Sister Catherine who said no such animal was seen. A stranger who stayed at the
church a couple of months ago asked about a stable. But she stressed how poor he was and no
way could he afford a horse. She assumed he sought a job at the stable.
“I’m sorry.” Esme glanced over at the clock. “I know what will take your mind off the
disappointing results.”
“What?”
Esme started to tell him but changed her mind. “It’s a surprise.”
#
Stephen’s strong attachment to Arthur got Esme thinking about a Seeing Eye dog for him.
Whenever Owen brought his big sheepdog to the stable, Stephen enjoyed playing tug with Sydney
or throwing her ball for fetch. With Stephen’s fondness for animals, a Seeing Eye dog would be
perfect for him.
She’d talked with a woman from the foundation that handled the fostering and training of
the puppies. The woman told Esme a young black lab was with his foster family not far from
where they were. The woman told her, “You’re welcome to visit them and the dog.”
Esme called ahead. When she pulled up, the family was waiting for them in the front yard
while their son played with the dog. The boy stopped his play and brought the dog over to where his parents stood. They had the dog stand still while the wife put a vest onto the lab indicating he was a service animal.
“Where are we?” Stephen asked after he got out of the car.
“You’re here to maybe meet a friend who’ll be your best buddy, if you get along.”
After introductions, the woman explained what the training consisted of for both dog and
owner. There were rules for both in proper handling.
When she finished, she introduced the Labrador to Stephen. “This is Sammy. He’s almost
eighteen months old and will be ready for specialized training soon.”
“Sammy will be a Seeing Eye Dog,” Esme explained before Stephen asked. “He’s your
eyes in public to help keep you safe. He sees what your cane and senses miss.”
“May I pet him?” Stephen asked.
“Certainly.”
Sammy was still on the excitable side but so was Stephen. He knelt on one knee and for a
few mad moments the two exchanged rubs, and ear scratches, and licks until the wife instructed
Sammy to calm down. The command worked on Stephen too.
“What do you think, Mr. Palmer? Do you feel Sammy might be a good match for you?”
the husband asked as Stephen stood. “You’ll also receive special training.”
Stephen looked to Esme. “I think we’ll be great partners, but are you fine with this?
He’s
going to be a large part of your life too.”
She put her hand out for Sammy to sniff. “I love dogs. I think Sammy will be perfect for
both of us.”
Stephen smiled and wrapped an arm around her waist. “Esme will give the foundation our
information. We’ll be away for a few weeks but will return by the second week of January.”
“Great,” the wife said and then asked, “weren’t you on Graham Norton last month?”
His face brightened, the surprise at being recognized brought the flash of a smile. “Yes.”
“I thought so. I loved your version of Something, the old Beatles song. The Shirley
Bassey version was my favorite until I heard yours.”
“Thank you. You’re very kind.”
They said their goodbyes and left. Once in the car, Stephen turned to Esme. “Is that what
it means to be a star? People knowing who you are without having met before?”
“That’s exactly what it means along with many other perks, like the best seat in
restaurants, early boarding on planes, invitations to all kinds of parties and whatnot,” she told him, and started the car.
He’d listened with a bland expression seemingly unimpressed with the list of perks. Made
sense. The few times they’d been in a restaurant, Stephen’s interest revolved around the food.
That it always came tasty and fresh never ceased to impress him. His only plane ride was in a
private jet Alex hired. He knew nothing of how the different cabins compared on commercial
flights or the aggravation of finding available bin space. She’d no idea if he liked parties. He’d never spoken about one other than entertaining at the birthday party.
“Why are these perks necessary?” he asked.
“They’re not. They just make things more comfortable.”
“If you like them, then I like them.”
He pulled his wallet from his jacket pocket and took a card out. Esme glanced over and
saw him fingering the Braille schedule for his tour.
“Does it bother you to return to France?” she asked, her eyes back on the road.
“As we are no longer at war, no.”
Out of the corner of her eye she noticed he still fingered the card.
“My first appearance is at the cathedral in Rouen.”
“So? You look like you hate the place. If I remember my history correctly, you didn’t
campaign there. The siege of Rouen was long after your time.” Since he was McCartney’s
opening act, he’d soldier on, bad feelings aside, but surely if he disliked the place, he’d have shared his feelings with her. “What’s the deal with you and Rouen?”
“It is in the Province of Normandy. The French noble who blinded me was a Norman
Count. This is what you told me.”
“He is or rather was. I don’t understand why this troubles you. He’s long gone.”
“If we have time, I’d like to find where he’s buried.”
“Why? Where are you going with this?”
“I’d enjoy pissing on his grave.” She turned in time to see the wicked smile on his face.
“It’s the least I can do,” he said.
Chapter Thirty-Four
France
Marchand watched the cathedral entrance from inside a café across the road. How
convenient the Englishman’s first appearance was in Normandy. Marchand knew the city of
Rouen well. He’d traveled there on business many times. In his day, the city was known for its
large wool market. After the season’s shearing, he brought a half dozen wagons filled with bales from his large herd of sheep.
He’d arrived too late to see if Palmer traveled with anyone other than the red-haired
woman. The threat to harm her would convince Palmer to comply with Marchand’s demand to
accompany him alone. If one or both of the other couples had come, his alternate plan was to
follow the Englishman to whatever inn he stayed at and steal him away from there.
“Are you using this?” The nun indicated the chair next to him. “We are three and you are
one,” she said and gestured to a table with two other nuns. None looked young and one looked old enough to have served wine to John the Baptist.
Marchand was surprised they brought the elderly one out in the chill night air. “The chair is
yours, of course. Allow me to take it to the table for you.”
He moved the chair and returned to waiting. With no idea how long the performance
lasted, he sipped his wine, not wanting to drink too much.
Over an hour passed before the main archway doors to the cathedral opened. Marchand
left several euros on the table and then hurried down the sidewalk toward the cathedral. As he
neared, two black-cassocked priests opened the side doors. The crowd, bundled in fine woolen
coats and furs, poured out the doors. Their laughter and chatter carried to where he was making his way to the church.
Lights affixed to the ground bathed the ornately carved front of the cathedral. Marchand
gave the immediate area around the entrance a quick scan, searching for a spot outside the bright range of the street lamps and the lights illuminating the church. Across the forecourt of the
building, on the narrow street that paralleled the one where he walked, horse-drawn carriages
lined up at the curb. A few couples availed themselves of the offer for a romantic ride through the nearby park. He considered using the carriages as cover but disregarded the idea. More than
likely, they’d limit his view of the entrance. Straight ahead he saw a large, gnarled oak that would provide him the cover he needed with a clear view until Palmer stepped into sight.
Long minutes went by with no sign of Palmer. He wished he could move around to get his
blood flowing and ward off some of the raw cold. His feet felt like bricks of ice stuck to the
frozen ground.
“I can only wonder My Lord God if you are not a man but a bitter bitch.” Marchand
removed his gloves and warmed his hands with his breath—then held his palms to the tips of his
ears.
The effort helped little and was short-lived. A dozen times he thought to abandon his post
and return to the comforting warmth of the room where he stayed. A dozen times he questioned
the Lord’s determination to make a miserable failure of his quest. Not once had the Lord given
him the benefit of advantage. To succeed in doing God’s bidding, he’d had to search for the
Englishman, first in France, then England. When he found Palmer in London, did God grant him a
true opportunity to capture the Englishman? No. The man had surrounded himself with two able
bodied men and three women. Now the Lord forced him to freeze.
One of the tall men he’d seen with Palmer outside the London television studio appeared
with the same black-haired woman. They stopped at the side of the portico. At last, Palmer and
the redhead came out. A cluster of adoring men and women encircled them while others trailed
behind. All strived to speak with the Englishman. The redhead looped her arm in the crook of his elbow and guided him down the stairs of the church. Palmer smiled and replied to questions and
comments out of Marchand’s hearing. The man and woman who accompanied Palmer said their
goodbyes and left. Finally, Palmer’s woman eased the Englishman away and walked toward the
line of carriages.
“No. No. Turn and come this way,” Marchand whispered.
The couple continued to a carriage drawn by a large, grey horse with a wreath of bells
about his neck. While the woman chatted with the driver, Palmer tapped with his cane and
came
around to the front where the horse stood.
Marchand crept forward where he remained hidden within the shadowed archway of a
cathedral door but near enough to hear part of what was said.
He heard bits and pieces of the woman and the driver’s conversation but Palmer didn’t
join in the conversation. He stroked the muzzle of the horse and then moved up along the jaw,
scratching as he did. He cupped the animal’s ear and rubbed. Then he rolled his knuckles over the indent where the horse’s shoulder met his neck. Marchand caught the occasional word Palmer
spoke to the horse, telling him how handsome, and what a strong fellow he was. At one point,
Palmer held the horse by the bridle and bent, kissing the beast on top of the nose.
Marchand loved his horse, Conquerant, as much and understood Palmer’s strong
connection. A knight and his mount move as one. In battle, they are a shared soul. As Palmer lay wounded and bleeding on the ground that day at Poitiers, his destrier stayed close, nudging him to rally. Palmer had called him Arthur, perhaps after the fabled English king. Although, Marchand
didn’t believe such a king lived and dismissed the stories as English drivel.
He focused his hearing back onto Palmer’s woman and the driver. She told him they
wouldn’t be returning to this spot but wanted to be let off on the far side of the park, close to their hotel.
“Damnation,” Marchand exclaimed in a low voice. All was not lost. He turned and rushed
back toward the café where a taxi stand stood not far.
The skies opened and freezing rain found its way under the collar of his shirt and ran down
his neck. He pulled his coat tighter and jogged faster. At the end of the block, a taxi with its light on came his direction. Marchand stepped off the sidewalk into the street and raised his hand to hail the driver. As he did, a well-dressed couple, probably part of the cathedral audience, also stepped off the curb. The taxi stopped and the couple climbed inside.
Another taxi with its light on pulled up to the curb in front of the café. Marchand hopped
into the street again. He had his fingers around the passenger door handle, when another hand
covered his to claim the taxi. It was the nun who asked about the chair. He opened his mouth to tell her he, too, did God’s work and needed the taxi to do so. Before he could say anything, the two other nuns joined the first. The ancient one looked up at him with milky blue eyes and smiled revealing small teeth the color of parchment.
Chris Karlsen - Knights in Time Page 30