to him immediately after the
midday meal,” Danise promised.
Chapter 4
“We are agreed, then.” Redmond rose from his
seat beside Michel’s bed. “As soon as you are well enough, I will
introduce you to the other young men and teach you how to use
Frankish weapons.”
“The fransisca ,” Michel replied, the
image of the deadly short-handled throwing ax clear in his
mind.
“The fransisca is an older weapon,
used in the time of the Merovingian kings and seldom seen in these
days,” said Redmond, looking surprised. “Under King Pepin, and now
under Charles, we have new and better arms.
“But, I thought -” Michel stopped, shaking
his head. “Obviously, I am mistaken. What weapons will I learn to
use?”
“The scramasax , our dagger, though
sometimes it is as long as a sword,” Redmond replied. “Also the
spear and, most important, the sword. We Franks are famous for our
fine sword blades. They are so envied that Charles has made a law
forbidding them to be taken out of Francia, so our enemies cannot
buy them and thus use Frankish-made weapons against us in
battle.”
“I look forward to the lessons,” Michel told
him. “It is boring to be so confined, to be dizzy each time I try
to stand and move. I long for activity.”
“There speaks the true warrior.” Redmond
nodded his understanding. “From whatever country you come, we are
brothers in heart, I think. Nor, after talking with you, have I any
doubt that you are noble.”
But I have doubts , Michel thought when
he was alone again. Impatient as he was to be out of bed and moving
about without feeling weak or light-headed, he was even more
impatient to have his memory return. Too often Danise or Savarec,
or now Redmond, used words that brought distinct images into his
mind, but when he described those images he was told they were long
out of date.
“Mystery upon mystery,” he said to himself,
swinging his feet to the ground. He sat on the edge of his bed,
waiting for the dizziness to subside. When he felt steady enough to
stand he went to Savarec’s wooden chest and lifted the lid. He knew
by now that Danise was right when she said his own clothing would
make him conspicuous in the Frankish camp and thus raise questions
he was unable to answer.
When he finally was well enough to don
clothing and leave Savarecs tent it would be in the wooden tunic
and breeches Guntram had given him. But the clues to his identity
lay in the belongings with which he had come to this place. He
picked up the pouch of coins that Clothilde had saved for him and
took it back to the bed. There he opened it, letting the coins
spill out across the quilt. They were in various sizes, most
silver, a few of copper.
“How finely they are made,” Danise said from
just inside the tent entrance.
“I didn’t hear you come in.” As always when
she was with him, she captured his full attention. She sat at the
foot of his bed, the folds of her green wool gown graceful about
her. When she leaned forward to pick up a coin one of her thick
braids fell over her shoulder, swinging between them, a rope of
pale gold bound at its end with green ribbon.
“Well?” she asked, and he realized that while
he was absorbed in contemplating her hair and the delicate peach
glow in her cheeks, she had been examining the coins and asking
questions he had not heard. “Michel, have you discovered anything
in these coins to tell you who you are?”
“Not yet.” He was not looking at the coins.
He was still looking at her. Nature had given her light brown brows
and lashes several shades darker than her silvery hair, and her
eyes were gray-green. Soft, trusting eyes, meeting his with perfect
honesty, yet with a peculiar haunted quality. Michel put out a hand
to stroke her smooth cheek and run his finger across the curve of
her jaw to the tip of her chin. She sat still, not pulling away,
allowing his caress while not encouraging it. He longed to touch
her lips with his finger. He did not
midday meal,” Danise promised.
Chapter 4
“We are agreed, then.” Redmond rose from his
seat beside Michel’s bed. “As soon as you are well enough, I will
introduce you to the other young men and teach you how to use
Frankish weapons.”
“The fransisca ,” Michel replied, the
image of the deadly short-handled throwing ax clear in his
mind.
“The fransisca is an older weapon,
used in the time of the Merovingian kings and seldom seen in these
days,” said Redmond, looking surprised. “Under King Pepin, and now
under Charles, we have new and better arms.
“But, I thought -” Michel stopped, shaking
his head. “Obviously, I am mistaken. What weapons will I learn to
use?”
“The scramasax , our dagger, though
sometimes it is as long as a sword,” Redmond replied. “Also the
spear and, most important, the sword. We Franks are famous for our
fine sword blades. They are so envied that Charles has made a law
forbidding them to be taken out of Francia, so our enemies cannot
buy them and thus use Frankish-made weapons against us in
battle.”
“I look forward to the lessons,” Michel told
him. “It is boring to be so confined, to be dizzy each time I try
to stand and move. I long for activity.”
“There speaks the true warrior.” Redmond
nodded his understanding. “From whatever country you come, we are
brothers in heart, I think. Nor, after talking with you, have I any
doubt that you are noble.”
But I have doubts , Michel thought when
he was alone again. Impatient as he was to be out of bed and moving
about without feeling weak or light-headed, he was even more
impatient to have his memory return. Too often Danise or Savarec,
or now Redmond, used words that brought distinct images into his
mind, but when he described those images he was told they were long
out of date.
“Mystery upon mystery,” he said to himself,
swinging his feet to the ground. He sat on the edge of his bed,
waiting for the dizziness to subside. When he felt steady enough to
stand he went to Savarec’s wooden chest and lifted the lid. He knew
by now that Danise was right when she said his own clothing would
make him conspicuous in the Frankish camp and thus raise questions
he was unable to answer.
When he finally was well enough to don
clothing and leave Savarecs tent it would be in the wooden tunic
and breeches Guntram had given him. But the clues to his identity
lay in the belongings with which he had come to this place. He
picked up the pouch of coins that Clothilde had saved for him and
took it back to the bed. There he opened it, letting the coins
spill out across the quilt. They were in various sizes, most
silver, a few of copper.
“How finely they are made,” Danise said from
just inside the tent entrance.
“I didn’t hear you come in.” As always when
she was with him, she captured his full attention. She sat at the
foot of his bed, the folds of her green wool gown graceful about
her. When she leaned forward to pick up a coin one of her thick
braids fell over her shoulder, swinging between them, a rope of
pale gold bound at its end with green ribbon.
“Well?” she asked, and he realized that while
he was absorbed in contemplating her hair and the delicate peach
glow in her cheeks, she had been examining the coins and asking
questions he had not heard. “Michel, have you discovered anything
in these coins to tell you who you are?”
“Not yet.” He was not looking at the coins.
He was still looking at her. Nature had given her light brown brows
and lashes several shades darker than her silvery hair, and her
eyes were gray-green. Soft, trusting eyes, meeting his with perfect
honesty, yet with a peculiar haunted quality. Michel put out a hand
to stroke her smooth cheek and run his finger across the curve of
her jaw to the tip of her chin. She sat still, not pulling away,
allowing his caress while not encouraging it. He longed to touch
her lips with his finger. He did not
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