He opens his eyes as the cleansing waters flow off his head and into the wooden tub he is sitting in. Relaxing his muscles and melting into the bath, he feels her familiar hands work the rough sponge along his neck and shoulders. The noonday sun is shining above and the summer heat is lending a languid quality to the air on the balcony.
She moves to the side of the tub to continue the work at hand, the sponge working along his left arm, shoulder and chest. Turning his head to face her, he is surprised to see her dressed in common roughspun.
”Servants clothes, my love?” he asks his wife in a humorous tone.
She looks up from her work and into his eyes, the usual smile absent. “I thought this would better suit your current tastes.” Noting his silence, she returns her focus to the task at hand.
”Oh Danielle, I’m -”
”Sorry?” Her features soften slightly, but she avoids returning his gaze. “I know.” She continues to wash him, moving down his chest to his legs and intimate areas.
Unused to such servitude from his wife, he asks, “What are you doing, my love?”
A pained expression darts across her face before she replies, “I’m preparing you for the coming battle, my lord. You need to be cleansed.” After a short pause, she says in a lower voice, “I can smell her on you.”
Not knowing what to say, he wraps himself in his shame and remains silent, letting her work progress down to his feet and around the tub. In the meantime, they both lose themselves to the sounds of the water’s gentle splashing.
When she returns on the other side of the tub to wash the remainder of his body, he reaches out and gently grabs her arm. “Danielle, I love you. You must know that.”
She does not resist him; her arm rests in his grip. Facing him, her eyes moistening, she says, “I know. I love you, too. It wasn’t enough though, was it?”
Resignedly he releases her arm. As she returns to her work, he asks her, “Is there nothing that I can say to relieve your pain?”
”No,” she says, “as there is nothing that I can say to relieve yours.”
”Can you forgive me?” he asks hopefully.
”My lord, I have already forgiven you. If I had not, I would not be here now.”
The cleansing finished, she grabs a nearby towel and helps him get out of the tub. She dries him then and steps back to consider her work. Satisfied, she leads her towel-clad husband down the stairs to the bailey below.
In the courtyard’s center are his clothes and armor. When they reach the pile, she removes his towel and begins to dress him. The smallclothes are bright white and without blemish, as is the gambeson. The hauberk, aventail, cote of plates and helm are all enameled in bright white as well.
He is confused. As she cinches the laces of the gambeson, he asks, “What is this, my love? Where is my usual armor? Where are my colors?”
”Your usual armor will not help you in this battle. This battle requires a special attention.”
The preparations continue in silence as he ponders the meaning of her words. Fully suited now, he sees a gray warhorse leave the stables and canter toward them.
”What is this? Where is Triomphe?”
”This is Devoir. He will serve you now.”
”And my sword?”
She turns and picks up a hand and a half sword which had lain unseen at their feet. The sword’s hilt is simply made but its blade shines brightly and is also without blemish. With the sword resting on both hands, she kneels before him and presents it to him.
He gently takes the sword and admires its simple beauty. “A hand and a half. You remembered.”
”A bastard. I remembered,” she says as she rises. As her eyes reveal the old pain within her spirit, a new pain soon replaces it. “It is time for you to go, my love.”
”Now? So soon?”
”Yes, now. The battle will soon be joined. You must be there.”
Taking the reins of his new horse, they walk to the open courtyard gates. As he prepares to mount his horse, a memory rises from the depths of his mind.
”Wait!” he cries and turns to face her. “Where are the children?”
”Asleep,” she quietly responds.
”Wake them up. I must see them,” he pleads.
”No, my love. It is time for you to go. Life beckons us ever onward and onward.”
Upon hearing her words, he stops and stares into her eyes. “Faster and faster forward?”
”So we are moved, yes.” She smiles then and says, “Remember me,” as the sun-bright universe fades before his eyes.
As his eyes regained their focus in the pre-dawn light of Corinne’s room, Pierre calmly realized that he was awake; the transition from his slumber had passed unnoticed. Though it was still early, he could already feel the oppressive heat of the coming day.
Gently, he rose from the bed and dressed himself, taking care not to wake Corinne. Upon finishing, he carefully leaned over the bed and kissed her cheek. He had taken three steps on the stairway down when he heard her choked sobs from the room behind him. Hesitating for a moment, he continued his way back home.
When he arrived, the castle grounds were beginning to stir with activity. Soldiers, French and Genoese both, were being roused and preparing for the expedition. In the courtyard and along various lanes within the town, horses and wagons were being loaded and prepared for the coming journey. There was an eager excitement in the air and Pierre’s pace quickened in response to it.
He found Étienne descending the stairs leading up to his bedchamber. Upon seeing Pierre in the hall, Étienne blurted out, “My lord? Where have you been?” Then, remembering himself, he quickly added, “Please forgive me, my lord. I didn’t mean to … I’ve brought fresh clothes for you, my lord. They are on your bed. If you wish, I can bring some food up for you as well.”
Placing a hand on Étienne’s shoulder, Pierre said, “That’s quite all right, Étienne. I appreciate your concerns. I made … other arrangements last night. As far as food is concerned, prepare a tray and bring it to balcony. I wish to survey the preparations as I eat.”
“Yes, my lord. I will do it at once.”
“Oh! And water, plenty of it. I’m feeling quite parched today,” Pierre added.
Étienne paused a bit before answering. “Yes, my lord. I’ll see to it at once.”
It was midmorning by the time the expedition was ready to get underway. Pierre, mounted upon Triomphe and wearing his hauberk over his riding clothes, took his place at the head of the column of mounted soldiers in the courtyard. Behind him, side by side, were Guillaume and Anselmo, then the Neufchâteau garrison, then the Genoese mercenaries.
The column departed the courtyard at Pierre’s signal and the teamsters followed with their supply wagons. As the expedition made its way through the town, the townspeople gathered along the streets, waving and cheering for their brave men.
The expedition, as tradition demanded, approached the church. Standing there by the courtyard gate was Father Dominic, clad in the simple, yet unmistaken, garb of his office. As the gathered throngs by the wayside calmed themselves, Pierre dismounted from Triomphe and, after handing his reins to Guillaume, walked stiffly to Father Dominic to receive the blessing.
Pierre stopped before the priest and, instead of meekly kneeling before him, stood there and defiantly met his eyes. Father Dominic received the challenging gaze in silence, a single cocked eyebrow serving as his only response.
Finally, after a few awkward moments, Pierre knelt and lowered his head to receive the blessing. Once it was finished, Pierre rose again and quietly said to the priest, “I’ll see you when I return, Father.”
“I look forward to it, my son,” was the priest’s reply.
Pierre returned to his horse and the expedition resumed it’s departure amidst more cheering and waving from the crowd. In spite of his feelings for the priest, Pierre soaked in the emotions of the crowd and was a deeply moved by the whole experience.
The only real drawback of the day was the heat. Throughout the morning, Pierre could feel it getting worse. And the thirst! Even after drinking several cups of water before their departure, the sweat continued to track down his face in sting the corners of his eyes. Still, a little heat was not going to come between him and his responsibility. He had a duty to fulfill and, by God, he was going to fulfill it.
They were halfway across a treeless tract of road under a noonday sun, when Pierre called for yet more water. Étienne rode up to his liege lord with a water bucket, a ladle and a look of deep concern on his face.
“My lord,” he said as he handed Pierre a ladleful of water.
Pierre simply nodded and drank lustily. After a second ladleful, he wondered at how no one else seemed to be suffering from the heat as much as he had.
“My lord, are you feeling well?” Étienne quietly asked.
Pierre turned to his servant and smiled reassuringly. After a quick nod of assent, Étienne returned the bucket and ladle to the supply wagons.
He was returning to his place in the line when he saw Pierre slide out of his saddle and fall to the ground.
Not again, he thought to himself, as he rushed to his fallen lord.