Heroes Live Forever (Knights in Time) (17 page)

Elinor desperately fought the sweeping panic at the sight of her pasture fence coming closer and closer. Guardian was never trained as a jumper. She worried he’d either run into it, injuring both of them, or try to jump the rail. If he leaped the fence, she'd never stay astride. Her riding skills weren't that good.

"Pull steady but firmly on the right rein, bring it all the way back to your hip." Basil rode next to her on Saladin, keeping pace with Guardian. Elinor acknowledged Basil's instruction with a stiff nod, afraid to turn her head. She screamed as her foot bounced out of one stirrup. The girth slipped and the saddle canted at an unnatural angle with the shift in weight. Only the strength of her legs kept her from being thrown, while the loose stirrup banged hard against her boot.

"Straighten and pull harder on the right rein. Force him to turn. Do it now!"

Basil's command shook her from her panic. Elinor struggled and righted herself, and drew back as instructed. With a steady and strong hold, she kept her hand on her hip. Guardian's head came around, and he slowed. She maintained the steady pressure until his front feet finally stilled, and his rear flank circled around.

She sucked in new air with great gasps as Guardian snorted, his sides heaving. When they both caught their breath, Elinor headed for the house. Her grip relaxed and his head dropped and bobbed as he walked.

Basil guided Saladin closer. The great warhorse held his head high, flicked his ears and pranced like the jaunt had been enormous fun. "Always remember, if you use a steady pull on one rein, he has to turn. He'll do it to relieve the pressure of the bit. He has to slow down to accomplish the maneuver."

Elinor nodded and stared straight ahead.

"Elinor, look at me. Are you okay?"

She shook her head. "I'm so ashamed. I screamed like an idiot. My old riding instructor would disavow any knowledge of me."

"So, you screamed. We've all been scared at one time or another. You just have to learn not to let fear get the better of you." Basil leaned over. "Once in France, Guy woke up, saw his bedmate in the morning light and yelped like a pup."

Elinor laughed. "Thank you." She smiled at Basil. "I don’t know what would've happened if you hadn't come along."

"But I did. I always will."

“Will you?”

They rode along at a relaxed pace now. In spite of the impending storm, Basil suggested they ride a little longer.

“Guardian should not associate bad behavior with the reward of going home.” He told her. Elinor remained shaken but agreed because Basil was near.

A question had nagged at her since the first night, a sixth sense that Basil hid some deep, troubling issue about Poitiers.

“Will you tell me about Poitiers?”

He continued to face straight ahead without answering.

“It’s not my intention to pry. If the topic upsets you, we can talk about something else.” She wished now she’d kept her mouth shut.

“Don’t regret your curiosity. It’s natural.”

Basil was silent for a long moment as if remembering the painful details.

“We formed up and watched as the French numbers grew, aware of how desperately out-manned we were. The situation left little choice but to wait for them to attack. A tremendous stillness settled upon us as we made ready, an eerie quiet, no one really wanted to talk.

“First there is always the time of fear and anticipation. Then, there’s the reconciliation as each man makes his peace with God. That is when the quiet sets in and the waiting begins, which is the worst part. It’s the tension only a man in war knows.”

He spoke in a curiously even tone like a radio story teller reading Shakespeare.

“The prince rode to the front of our lines to speak encouragement to the men. He addressed them not as a prince but as an Englishman who’d share the field with them. He told them to let their voices ring out for England. No man felt left out. Even the chests of the Welsh bowmen puffed up with pride.”

His regard and loyalty to the prince spoke volumes to Elinor. She made mental note to pay more attention to Edward in her class lectures.

Basil’s chin notched up with a defiant air. “Aye, the French couldn’t miss our voices that day. You’ve heard of a warrior’s battle cry? Some say it’s to scare the enemy, which is true. But I think it’s also the release a man’s soul needs in order to fight.

“Most of the French knights could be seen dismounting and moving their horses to the rear. The best of their cavalry remained mounted and intended to charge our line of longbowmen. A great cry rang from their side and the attack came swiftly.

Our archers showered them with a constant hail of arrows. Their horses reared in terror, stampeding back through their lines in confusion. The noise was beyond imagination.”

His voice was no longer so restrained. Elinor listened and watched him with intense interest. His gaze grew distant. It wasn’t the Norfolk horizon he fixed on, but France, as the tableau played out again for him as raw and vivid as the day it occurred.

“How many hundreds of years must pass for the spectacle to dim an iota? Will I ever not remember the air smelling thick with blood and fear, the putrid stench of eviscerated horses and men? The stink of death.”

The question wasn’t meant for her. It wasn’t even meant to be answered. She sensed he’d forgotten her presence. “Basil?”

Without acknowledging, he went on, “We charged. The struggle had turned into a blood bath. With their sheer numbers they managed to overrun our lines. The French knights on foot slashed at our horses as we came over the hedge. Saladin went down. I couldn’t dismount in time and was caught underneath him. My thigh bone snapped.” Basil paused. “My cause was lost,” he said, the flat narrator voice again. “I knew it. I could see Guy fighting to reach me. I tried to wave him off, to leave me, to go. He couldn’t see in the bloody chaos.”

Basil stopped with his back to her and for a second, his shoulders sagged. The pain of what he felt had shown through the image he manifested. An accidental reveal she doubted he intended.

He quickly straightened. “Guy was surrounded, overwhelmed. They dragged him off Thor while a half dozen blades rained down on him. It was almost the last thing I saw.”

Elinor remembered seeing how extensive the vicious scars on Guy’s arms were when he wore the tee shirt. Her heart broke for him, broke for both of them.

Basil halted Saladin, the corner of his mouth tipped up in a sardonic mock smile as he turned to her. “So, I guess you’re wondering how we ended up like this, yes?”

A flood of emotions ran through her, regret, sympathy, and shame she asked him to tell her about that day. Still, she was curious.

“Don’t fret so. I’m fine. It seems it wasn’t Guy’s destiny to die that day. In his effort to save me, he died before his time. As a result, his fate became entwined with mine.”

“You can’t blame yourself. If the situation had been reversed, you’d have tried to save Guy.”

A small twitch in his cheek was the only evidence of the guilt he held close. “But it wasn’t the reverse, was it?
No words of consolation would ease his tormented soul and Elinor agonized for him. “What about you? Why...?” She struggled for a suitable description. “Why aren’t you at peace?”

“I don’t know.”

He gestured with his hands either in supplication or resignation. Perhaps both. In the unguarded moment, the veil fell away from his rugged face, revealing a half-millennium of blame and sorrow. The weary face of a man who battles a war he cannot win.

“How can you not know? What about Guy? You know about his fate. Who told you that, God, or St. Peter or some archangel?”

“No one so lofty or grand.” He laughed a little at the notion. “I have no idea what his title was or is, guide, messenger, squire to an angel. It seemed the mission was to inform me about Guy only.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” she insisted and stared in disbelief at the incredible statement. “Surely a day doesn’t go by that you don’t wonder or ask why?”

“I stopped asking why four hundred years ago,” he said wryly. “Oh, I demanded answers for awhile. Was I not brave enough, honorable enough, generous enough? What failure of mine caused my banishment?” He pressed his lips together at the bitter recollection and repeated the answer. “It’s something I must learn for myself, I was told.”

Words tuck in her throat. She was helpless as to what to do or say.

“I’m all right, Elinor, truly I am.” His straight face made the lie appear convincing.

After they rode in silence for a few minutes, Basil nudged Saladin closer. “So, what other questions do you have for me?”

The casual remark ended the tension. Relieved, she racked her brain for a light-hearted question. “I was thinking, you’ve seen enormous changes in the world. Is there anything you dislike about the twentieth century?”

He pursed his lips as he considered an answer. “Yes, the noise. Your world is terribly noisy.”

Who’d have dreamed he’d find something as mundane as noise objectionable. She’d expected a more global response.

“Basil, we live in the country. It’s very quiet here.”

His brows lifted a fraction in challenge to her statement. “On the contrary, it’s still noisy, even out here. In my time, if a man sought solitude, he merely rode a small distance from the castle. The only noise was the occasional sound from the wood. Now, no matter where you go, there’s noise. Noise from the sky, noise from the road, radios, televisions, it’s constant. You’re so used to it, you don’t notice.”

Elinor nodded. “Perhaps. On the flip side, what do you like the most about these times?”

He answered without hesitation, grinning wickedly. “Short skirts.”

It had been an emotional day for Basil, between Elinor’s frightening ride, his retelling of Poitiers and the ghostly circumstance he and Guy found themselves. Now everything was calm and quiet. This was Basil’s favorite time of night. He liked to walk Saladin around Ashenwyck in the moonlight and pretend his home looked as it did in his lifetime.

Tonight a bracing wind blew through the ruins, but it paled compared to the tempest that swirled within him and the moral dilemma Elinor presented. Never in his mortal life had he faced such a difficult problem. How easy it had all been then. Certain of what course to take, his decisions were swift. Emotions hadn't colored his actions. But, he'd never been in love when he was alive. He debated if everyone found love so disconcerting or just him.

How different might his life have turned out if Elinor had been around then and they'd married? Would he have had a son, an heir, a hearty little boy with his dark hair and her green eyes?

A car on the road honked, bringing his attention back to the issue. Was his coming to her at night unethical? Perhaps. Was it immoral? No, he told himself, because he loved her. Was it dishonorable? Basil acknowledged it wasn't sterling behavior for a knight, but not comparable to the butcher who was truly dishonorable. The memory of Elinor trapped against the wall flared again. “I’ve not forgotten about you and what you did to my Elinor.”

In the distance, the upstairs light came on, and her shadow passed by the window. Basil rode toward the house.

Every night since the dream, Elinor listened to the tape. Tonight was no different.

Basil lay next to her and removed the headset. She didn't wake, only rolled over onto her side toward him. He contemplated what to do. The idea she returned his love, even if it was limited to her dreams enchanted him. All the emotions he shunned in life and thought impossible in death converged to shred his self control. He bent his lips to her ear, his whispered seduction brought life to secret wishes.

Elinor dreamed.