Chris Karlsen - Knights in Time (25 page)

reassure me. Wails from hell blared, strange men came and took me to the hospital, where I

awoke to learn I was in a different time.”

“I want you to think about what you just said. If you time-traveled, then why did no one

else come forward too? Guy died. Simon lived to die in England years later. Wouldn’t your horse have come? Wasn’t he next to you while you were on the ground?”

Stephen nodded.

“Then why didn’t he come forward? What happened to the French knight? Stephen, you

have to see how...how...” Esme searched for a non-offense word. “How improbable your story

is.”

He straightened. Chest out, spine rigid, his blind eyes, clear and pale blue didn’t quite fix on her. “I have been instructed to let people think I am mad as the truth is unacceptable to them. I am not mad. I told you the truth. I grow weary of living this lie, especially where you are

concerned.”

“Thank you, I think.” The declaration flummoxed her. As usual, any hidden meaning was

lost on her. She removed the towel from his shoulders. “Come on, I’ll take you to a barber in the town. He can finish cutting your hair. I don’t want to make a worse mess of it.”

“Ah, now you admit to being a mess maker. Handy information I could’ve used earlier.”

“It’s hair. It will grow back so stop grumbling. While you’re at the barber’s, I’m running to

the library.”

“Why?”

“Gloucester has the best library in the shire. I need a book on French heraldic symbols.

I’m going to look for your French knight.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

After Esme left the next day, Alex offered to take Stephen to town. On the drive to

Cheltenham, Stephen asked, “Is it possible to have a wooden practice post set up in the yard near the trailer? Now that I have my sword back, I want to keep my skills fresh although I know

there’s no call for fine swordmanship in this modern age.”

Blind person training, Esme’s tutoring, and riding filled much of the day, but he still

suffered bouts of boredom. “I don’t like to sit idle. The weather is good and I enjoy being outside.”

“No problem, I’ll get something installed this week,” Alex said. The car slowed and came

to a halt. “We’re here.”

“Thank you for bringing me.”

“This interests me. I’m curious how they demonstrate and teach the judo moves to you.”

Stephen climbed out of the car and snapped open his cane.

“The door to the school is straight ahead,” Alex told him. “The handle is waist high and

opens to the right.”

A man greeted them as soon as both were inside. “Hello, may I be of assistance?”

“I’m Stephen Palmer. I’ve a scheduled lesson.”

“Yes, you’re right on time. I’m John Swallow,” he said and found Stephen’s hand with

little trouble and shook it. “And you’re here with?”

“Alex Lancaster.”

John pivoted a fraction, his extended hand brushing Stephen’s. “Mr. Lancaster.”

“Please call me Alex. Are you the instructor?”

“No, I’m a student like Stephen. Masao Ota is the
sensei
, our teacher.”

“You’re a black belt and blind. Impressive accomplishment,” Alex said.

“It’s important for Stephen to know what he can achieve. Blindness, to me, is a

disadvantage not a disability. Many of the people who come here have disadvantages of one kind

or another. We all have some baggage. Judo is a healthy way to get over both.”

“I agree,” Stephen said. “How do we start?”

“Come with me to the locker room.” He placed Stephen’s hand on his shoulder and they

walked along the wall. “We workout barefoot and in a special uniform called a
gi
. I’ll get you fixed up. The sensei will meet us in the main studio after you’re dressed.”

When they returned John informed Stephen about protocol. “We bow from the waist

before and after practice as a sign of respect and appreciation toward your partner.”

“Good evening, Mr. Swallow,” a new voice said. “You must be Mr. Palmer. I am sensai

Ota.” A small hand clasped and shook Stephen’s.

Ota released his hand and said, “Ready gentlemen?”

“Yes sensai,” John responded.

“Yes sensai,” Stephen repeated.

“To understand judo, you must start with the basic beliefs, Mr. Palmer.” Ota told him,

“The first tenet of judo is: maximum efficiency with minimum effort. The second tenet is: mutual welfare and benefit. The last tenet: better society through the perfection of ourselves.”

The first sounded much like a day practicing in the lists preparing for either battle or

contests in times of peace. The second sounded like the goal of men fighting together for a cause.

Stephen nodded his agreement. Better to let Ota think he saw all three with the same vision. In truth, the third tenet had little application in a knight’s world, maybe in relation to the ladies, in time of war, no.

“I don’t wish special consideration because I’m blind. I want to learn the way you’d teach

anyone else,” he told Ota.

Next to him, John laughed. “Not to worry. You’ll be thrown to the
tatami
, that’s the

Japanese name for the mats, as often and with all the gusto used toward any other student. First you must learn how to fall.”

“Learn to fall?”

“Yes, there’s an art to it. This is for your protection, knowing how to roll limits your

physical risk when an opponent has bettered you in some way.”

He’d fallen hundreds of times and managed to avoid serious injury. The lesson sounded a

waste of time. “I’m more interested in learning how to throw a man.”

“If you’re wearing a watch or other jewelry other than a wedding band, you should take

them off,” John said.

Stephen removed his talking watch.

“I’ll hold it for you.” Alex came and took it from him.

They started with what the sensei called calisthenics and stretching
exercises. Through exact verbal description and hands-on demonstration, Ota showed him techniques of self-defense, which included several different maneuvers. Many painful minutes followed where he and John

slammed each other to the mat. Most of the throws required good leverage, which Stephen

managed well for a beginner. The next step in the sequence was learning to control your opponent once he was on the ground. Although that portion gave him trouble and he failed a majority of the time, he didn’t let the loss discourage him. He’d groan and scrambled to his feet. To Stephen’s wicked amusement, every once in a while John groaned too.

When every inch of his body ached and was slick with sweat, Ota finally said they’d done

enough for a first lesson. John offered to show him how to get to the school’s shower but Stephen declined. He preferred to go home and stand under the hot spray of his own shower.

“How did you like the lessons?” Alex asked as they walked to his car.

“I loved them. I feel like yesterday’s rubbish, but totally alive at the same time. Does that

make sense?”

“Yes. I had my doubts about this whole judo idea but after seeing the session...I have to

say it’s great for you. I haven’t seen you this excited since the day Ian and I brought you home.”

“I’m excited when Esme comes.”

“Good, I’m just saying these lessons are another positive for you.”

In the car, Stephen stuck his nose inside his damp tee shirt and sniffed. “Phew.” He grinned big; a silly grin and he knew it. “Reminds me of the hot summer days when we worked out in the lists.

I miss the hitting and the swordplay and the wrestling.”

“It was fun at times, especially the rare times I bested Simon, who was like wrestling a

bear, really tough to get him pinned down.”

They drove in silence for a while with only a demo CD sent to Alex by a new group

playing in the background. Then, Alex asked, “Why are you doing this?”

“I told you. I’m tired of sitting around doing nothing.”

“It isn’t simply because you’re tired of sitting around. You go riding. Esme said you got a

talking GPS and compass combination. With those you can walk my land for hours. You can swim

in the river anytime in spite of the late season. The cold never bothered you in the old days. So what’s the real reason?”

“I will not be thought a cripple or as I understand the slang of this time, a crip.”

“Did someone call you that? If it was someone at the stable, I’ll ban them.”

“No, and if someone did, it would be my battle not yours.”

“It’s not a case of me fighting your battles. I don’t care for the mindset of someone who’d

demean a person with a disability. I won’t tolerate it.”

“John said I have a disadvantage not a disability.” Stephen rolled the window down and

breathed in the crisp night air. Cooled and energized by it he let his breath out slowly and then added, “Disadvantage or disability, the point is if someone challenged me, I wish to feel confident in my ability to accept and push his nose into the ground.”

“Fighting words. I can picture Simon lifting a tankard of ale to you and cheering you on,”

Alex said, then after a beat added, “I miss Simon.”

“As do I. Thank you for giving him a nice headstone.”

“I was pleased to call him friend. He deserved a remembrance.”

Stephen drew in another deep breath before delivering the tidbit of information sure to ruin

the rest of Alex’s night. Exhaling, he said, “By the way, I told Esme I traveled forward to this time.”

The car swerved to the left onto gravel by the crunching sound and came to a jarring stop.

“What the bloody hell is wrong with you?”

“I want her to know the truth.”

“I can’t believe you did that. Bad enough at dinner the other night you rattled on about

Crecy. Now you tell her you time-traveled.”

“She asked a question I had no answer for unless I told the truth or allowed her to

continue to think me mad. I tire of this charade.”

“I guarantee your confession convinced her of the opposite and that you’re hopelessly

mad.” He pulled the car back onto the road.

“You worry for naught. She didn’t believe me.” But he’d work on convincing her.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Two weeks later

“You’re not staying?” Esme asked as Tony rose from the bed.

“No. I’ve got that job in Chipping Camden. It starts early,” he said and grabbed his

underwear.

She got up and put on her robe. “Your flat’s no closer than mine. I don’t see why you

can’t spend the night.”

“You aren’t going to start whinging are you? Cuz, I hate that.”

“Speaking my mind is not whinging. What about this weekend? There’s that Depp movie

I’d like to see.”

Tony took her wrist and drew her to him. “I’m sorry babe,” he said and kissed her on the

neck, squeezing a breast as he did. “Me and the lads are off to the football matches. West Ham is playing Manchester United and we’re driving up there to cheer on the team.”

She made a point of not looking in when she passed the bathroom. Tony never bothered to

shut the door when he peed—a practice she disliked and told him so on more than one occasion.

“What about during the week? The new Johnny Depp movie came out. I’d like to see it.”

“Can’t this week luv, I’m meeting with my mates every night. I promised I’d practice with

them for the upcoming darts competition.”

She went into the kitchen and poured herself two fingers of scotch. While Tony finished

dressing and nattered away about the upcoming trip to Manchester, she replayed the last two

hours in her head. Tonight’s activity led into a replay of the last few weeks and the ugly truth about herself. She’d become nothing more than a booty call for him. Not his fault, she’d allowed it.

“When was the last time you took me to dinner?” she asked, interrupting his football

jibber-jabber.

“Wha...last week, we went to the Taj Mahal.”

“Oh no, picking up two curries from the Indian takeaway is not going out to dinner.”

“It’s sort of like going out. You didn’t have to cook.”

“Yea for me.”

Tony stepped onto her landing. “Why are you getting your knickers in a bunch over

something silly? I promise I’ll bring pizza next time.”

She started to respond then stopped. What was the point? Stephen was right. She

deserved to be treated with respect and Tony should’ve made more of an effort to please her. His dropping in when the mood struck him to knock off a piece was not the act of someone who cared

for her.

Tony dug his cars keys out and said, “I meant to ask you how things are going working

with that nutter crip.”

“Don’t call him that. And don’t bother to call on me again either. We’re done.” She shut

the door on his surprised face.

She leaned against the door, fuming over Tony’s description of Stephen. She hated the

way Tony tossed the word crip around and hated that he called Stephen a nutter. He wasn’t a

nutter. He was...he was...Esme reached for a kinder description...eccentric. She nodded, pleased with her choice.

Stephen.
Esme checked the time. It was only 8:00. If she hurried and showered, she could get to his place within the hour. He’d talk about something other than football teams and beer.

How refreshing.

#

The trailer was dark inside when she pulled up. Esme sat in the car for a few minutes

unsure whether she should knock on Alex and Shakira’s door. Stephen might be visiting them. She didn’t think he’d be out and about alone at night yet.

A faint light from the kitchen area showed through the sheer window curtain illuminating

the outline of a man in front of the refrigerator. Good. Stephen was home.

She hopped out of the car. At the top of the ramp, the motion light came on and she

knocked on his door. Without asking who was there, Stephen opened it, a goblet of red wine in his hand. His hair was slicked back and wet like he’d showered a short time ago. Bare-chested and