Sean Dalton - Time trap

“It’s a long story.”

Noel bent over to place more stones upon the mound, but Theodore gripped his shoulder. When Noel glanced up he saw Theodore smiling down at him. The sun glinted off his chestnut hair and made his blue eyes sparkle with life.

“Thank you, friend Noel,” he said. “If nothing else, you have given me Sophia’s safety. We shall wait until nightfall and make our way southeast. There are fortresses whose lords are still faithful to the emperor. We shall find refuge and assistance in abundance.”

“And what about Magnin?” said Noel.

Theodore set his jaw. “This is a rich, powerful province. Mistra and Athens are the two most important cities in all of Greece. I do not intend to let a minor half-caste baron unseat me from my rightful place.”

“Good enough,” said Noel. He glanced at the tree, where Sophia sat. “She cannot travel fast.”

“No,” said Theodore worriedly. “And there is another, who will slow us more.”

Elena, thought Noel. He straightened with his hand on the small of his aching back. “Who?”

“I will show you,” said Theodore. “Come.”

He led them up beyond the canyon to a narrow incline and pointed at a series of cave mouths. “They are shallow, most of them. Animals have used them for dens. I have him hidden there.”

“Who?”

Theodore shook his head. “He has not said his name.”

It was George, lying in a bloodstained blanket like a child, his craggy face gray and cold with death.

“Oh, the poor child,” said Sophia, but Theodore held her back while Noel knelt at the dwarf’s side.

“He’s not a child,” said Noel. He unwrapped the blanket slowly. “His name is-was-George. He belonged to Elena.”

“That girl,” said Theodore in a tone that made Sophia glance at him sharply. “A vixen, a mountain nymph as wild as the wind itself.”

Noel had to stop a moment and draw a deep breath. His hands were shaking with relief. “I thought she might be here,” he said finally. “I didn’t see her in the camp.”

“No,” said Theodore. “She never returned. She is blessed to have escaped this.”

Noel shook his head and carried George outside to be placed with the others.

Theodore followed. “He was alive when you came. I meant to cauterize his wound. It might have saved him.”

Noel squinted into the distance, feeling grim. “No surviving witnesses of this massacre. No one to testify.”

“Except me,” said Theodore harshly. “I hid in the rocks like a base-born coward.”

“But you’re alive,” said Noel.

Theodore crossed himself. “Yes.”

In silence, they finished their burial work, then rested by the stream and ate what food they could scavenge. When the heat of the afternoon lessened, they set out, keeping off the trails and as much to cover as possible.

By nightfall, Sophia was weeping quietly with fatigue. The courage she had shown earlier seemed to have faded now that she had Theodore to take care of her. They found shelter of sorts in the ruins of old Sparta, a city Theodore said had been abandoned after the Franks first came and built Mistra a hundred years or so before. Gradually the Greeks had left Sparta to live in the hill town where the air was better.

The evening temperature was slightly warmer here in the valley, but not much. They dared not build a fire, and although Theodore and Sophia could wrap up together beneath their cloaks, keeping each other warm, Noel found the ground hard and increasingly cold. The remnants of a marble wall at his back offered no comfort.

By the time dawn shone golden over the horizon, Noel was stiff and cramped. His admiration for the ancient Spartans had dropped considerably. If these were the kind of camping conditions they thrived on, he’d take modern life any day.

Everyone’s face looked old and grainy in the dim gray light. In silence they set out again.

That day was spent mostly hiding, for dispatch riders galloped the road almost every hour. Two search parties nearly caught them. A peasant and his half-grown sons watched them go by as though they were ghosts, then turned again to their weeding.

Beyond the valley, the hills rose again, not as steep as the Taygetus range, but difficult enough. They scavenged olives and figs, although none of the figs were ripe and usually gave them the bellyache. Sian the hawk brought in a rabbit, but by the time they got the mangled carcass away from her and saw her fed, what remained was scarcely enough to go around. They fished streams and had good luck, but that took time. Noel found honey dripping from a hive in a cave and got desperate enough to rob some of it. They encountered a band of Jewish merchants in peaked, broad-brimmed hats traveling together for protection and were given provisions of cheese and bread.

By the time they crested a green hill overlooking a beautiful narrow valley with well-tended fields and a small round fortress with tall stone walls, Noel’s hose were nearly falling off his hips, and his shoes were worn through. Four days of steady walking had brought them to the castle of Sir Olin d’Angelier.

“But,” said Theodore, lying flat on his belly to survey the castle below, “has he maintained his fealty to Emperor Andronicus or has he joined Sir Magnin’s revolt?”

“Sir Olin is very set in his ways,” said Sophia shrewdly. With her finery in tatters, her hair hanging in matted clumps, and her face streaked and gaunt, she resembled a mummer in rags trying to portray a great lady. “He dislikes change. I doubt Sir Magnin will find him very supportive.”

“But his garrison is small,” said Theodore, “and he is not a rich man. He may find it easier to give in than to resist being crushed by Sir Magnin’s forces.”

“Someone,” said Noel, “has to go down there and ask.”

“You can hardly expect Lord Theodore to take the risk,” said Sophia. “He would be immediately recognized, and if Sir Olin is hostile, he would find himself a prisoner again.”

Theodore started to climb to his feet. “It is my cause and my appointment. I shall go.”

Noel gripped his forearm to hold him in place. “She’s right. You would be recognized.”

Theodore fingered his ruddy beard and laughed. “Like this? Hardly.”

“You’re not expendable,” said Noel. “You must regain the governorship. You have to rule this province; otherwise-”

“Otherwise the Turks will take over,” said Theodore indulgently. He shook his head. “So you keep saying, but I do not see where you get your conviction.”

Noel stared intently into his eyes, willing this man to believe him. “You must trust me,” he said. “Please. I swear to you that I know this.”

“ Credo semper,” said Theodore flippantly. He cocked his head to one side. “Go then. But take care.” He rested his hand briefly upon Noel’s shoulder. “You have shown yourself a good friend. As soon as you are certain of a welcome reception from Sir Olin, signal to us.”

Noel grinned. “Count on it.”

Sir Olin’s castle bordered a narrow mountain stream that looked swift and deep. A short arched bridge of stone wide enough for two horsemen to ride abreast spanned the water. The wooden drawbridge connecting the stone bridge to the castle’s single entrance was down, but alert guards in brown surcoats and old-fashioned conical helmets with steel noseguards instead of visors stood with tall pikes crossed.

“Halt!” said one the moment Noel set foot on the bridge. “Name yourself and your business.”

The hostility in that command made Noel wary. He rested his hand on his sword hilt and said in calm, even tones: “I am Sir Noel of Kedran. I have an important message for Sir Olin, if he will receive me.”

“And to what reference is this message?”