Chapter 35 Rhys
Rhys
It was too incredible to be real, yet they were here.
His historian’s mind quickly cataloged the century: A brutal time of open battle, crusades, and bloodthirsty knights.
A group of such men were standing right over there.
He grasped Magellan’s hand tighter and clutched the satchel.
To think she would have arrived here with nothing—basically humming her way through the countryside alone—made him lose all reason.
She really had tried to leave without him!
If everything was real, and what Gwynedd had written was real, then who was Magellan?
Gwynedd had alluded she was writing to herself in the future, to a future lifetime, to remember exactly what must be done when the time came.
Then the diary had taken a further dive into the fantastical, and Rhys had stopped paying close attention to what he was translating, especially that last chapter.
Now he’d have to read it all again, as well as translate the rest. He needed to know, more than ever, what the diary said.
With his free hand, he reached into the satchel to reassure himself the book was still there.
Trying not to panic, he looked around to get his bearings.
If he had to take a wild guess, this had to be Frankfurt.
“The City of the Franks” was the only city in medieval times to have been this thriving.
It had been a meeting place for Charlemagne three hundred years before, and the kings of Germany were elected here.
Its famous market drew tradesmen from all over, making it an international meeting ground.
As he and Magellan passed through the market stalls, he heard a myriad of languages.
He was still cursing himself he’d led her into that square where the man was being whipped.
Never had he seen a more gruesome sight.
Right now, they needed a safe place to sleep for the night, and Magellan needed to eat.
They’d been traipsing across the countryside for hours.
People jostled brusquely past them. He kept his hands tight on the satchel and Magellan, only wanting to get them behind the safety of a locked door. Then he spotted a sign down the road, possibly for an inn, and hurried toward it.
They entered the tavern and he asked the barkeep in German, speaking slowly, “Do you have a room?”
The woman looked them over, and he placed three shillings on the counter.
She frowned at the silver and he gave her two more.
Then she nodded and led them up the stairs to a door at the end of the hallway.
She prepared the room and brought them a pitcher of water for the basin and a lit lantern.
Rhys nodded his thanks, hurried Magellan inside, and bolted the door, leaning against it in profound relief.
At last. They were secure. Finally, he could breathe again.
“Sit down,” he told her gently. She was not recovered from her abduction, yet she hadn’t complained once today. In fact, she’d been deadly silent, casting him solemn looks.
He huffed out a sigh and took stock of the room.
It was tinier than his closet and had a small bed.
The mattress was straw and topped with a sheet questionable in its cleanliness.
A linen sack stuffed with leaves was the blanket.
A wooden table and two chairs sat next to a window that opened, allowing a breeze into the room.
The washing basin along with a pitcher of water sat on top of a tall cabinet.
He peered behind a large wooden screen in the corner to find the chamber pot.
At least it had a lid, and at least they wouldn’t have to step outside to take care of their needs.
All in all the room wasn’t bad for the 1100s.
The accommodations could have been worse.
He put the satchel on the bed and set out their provisions on the table. Magellan sat down at the table with a glazed look in her eyes.
“You need to eat,” he encouraged, sitting in the other chair and stretching his legs with relief.
“So do you.”
He took a long swig from the wine and let out a weary sigh.
“You don’t have to keep sighing,” she said softly. “I know you don’t want to be here.”
“I don’t want us to be here,” he corrected her. “Specifically, you to be here. In case you didn’t notice, 1165 is dangerous.”
She scowled at him. “Are you mad that you came or are you mad that I had to come? Because I don’t know anymore.”
It took him a moment. Why in blazes was she upset with him? He said each word slowly, so it was clear. “I’m mad you would have left me. What is it about that fact you don’t understand?” Then he crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair to glare at her, fuming all over again.
She leaned forward, her eyes bright with emotion. “I didn’t want to leave without you. But it was wrong of me to force you to choose—”
“And I’m telling you when it comes to you there is no choice. Do you understand? This debate is over. What’s done is done.”
They ate in stony silence. He cut her cheese and apple and kept handing her pieces along with bread until she claimed she was full. “We’ll buy more food tomorrow at the market,” he stated, then couldn’t help adding, “With the coin I fortunately thought to bring.”
Her lips tightened with irritation, but she didn’t offer a rebuke. He got up and went to the window, unable to stop another sigh. It was nighttime now. At least they were safe for the time being. Magellan could believe all she wanted that he didn’t belong here with her, but, by thunder, he did.
Humorless laughter rose up inside him. His father had always told him he would travel far in life. Though 1165 was perhaps beyond even Godwin’s imagination.
If the diary was to be believed—which now he had no choice but to accept it as true—right now they had to find a composer in 1165 in order to get out of the Middle Ages. He tried to focus. “I believe we’re in Frankfurt, Germany. You need to think who it is you could possibly be looking for.”
“I already know. I knew right away when I saw the year.”
“You do?” he asked in surprise. Well, that was something at least. “Why didn’t you say so?”
“You were too busy being upset.”
They stared at each other a long moment. He bit back a retort and instead sat down. He gave her a polite smile, unable to stop the sarcasm. “I’ll do my best to refrain from future upset.”
“Thank you, my lord, for being so accommodating.” She glared back at him.
Rhys pinched the bridge of his nose, praying for patience. “Who are we here for?” He stressed the we because they were a we, dammit.
Now it was her turn to sigh. “Hildegard of Bingen.”
The name meant nothing to him. “Who is that?”
“Only the greatest composer of this time. Male or female.”
Another woman he’d never heard of. He frowned, deciding to tackle the cheese and bread, suddenly starving. “You’re sure?”
“Very.” Magellan got up to pace. “Hildegard of Bingen was more than a composer. She was a visionary, a prophet, a poet, a scholar.” Rhys ate while he watched Magellan’s arms become animated with excitement as she explained.
“She wrote books on biology, botany, medicine, theology, and the arts. She exchanged letters with popes, emperors, and kings who sought her advice. She even founded two abbeys and ran both of them. The woman was incredible.”
“She was a nun?” Rhys asked, further surprised.
“Yes. A brilliant, unorthodox nun.”
“And what of her music?” The reason why they were here.
“That’s the most fascinating part. She only started playing music when she turned forty. She never had before, but she took to it quickly, composing on a ten-string psaltery.”
“What is a ps-altery?” He tripped on the word.
“It’s like an ornately decorated harpsicord.”
“And how do you know so much about her?”
Magellan turned to him. “From college. I took a history class on women composers.” She laughed softly to herself. “I actually wrote a research paper on her.”
He could not have been more flummoxed. She had gone to college?
“Hildegard of Bingen was a great medieval composer, and her literary work is as vast as her musical compositions. There’ve been countless books and movies about her—”
“What is a movie?” His question seemed to catch her off guard.
She hesitated. “A moving picture, like a painting that has come to life.”
He was still confused. A painting could come to life?
Magellan had gone to college, and in her time there were living paintings.
How did the paintings come to life? He didn’t want to ask.
The notion sounded like a fantastical fiction novel and made him self-conscious and embarrassed to know her world in the future was so vastly different than his.
A part of him was afraid to find out how different.
He returned his focus to the medieval nun they were supposed to find. “So where does this Hildegard live? In Frankfurt, hopefully?”
Magellan shook her head. “Her two abbeys were in Rupertsburg and Eibingen in the countryside.”
He had no idea where those places were. “Which one do you suspect she might be at?”
Magellan was back to pacing. She took off her cloak and laid it on the bed.
Momentarily distracted, he tried not to stare at the lovely figure she cut with her hair down—or look at the bed where she would be sleeping tonight.
He would sleep in the chair. She was saying, “If I had to guess I would say Rupertsburg.”
“Then tomorrow we’ll find out where the town is.
Hopefully it’s not far. We may have to buy horses.
” He saw her frown and they locked eyes again, both remembering her riding accident, and he amended.
“Perhaps we’ll buy a donkey and a cart for you to ride in.
” That caused her to laugh, and he caught himself gazing at her again.
He cleared his throat and stood up stiffly.
“I’ll step out to give you some privacy to prepare for bed. ”