Chris Karlsen - Knights in Time (5 page)

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 anymore.”

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 that 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.”