Saint James’ Way #2
“We travel on pilgrimage to know and honour the miracles of the Creator. It is well known that God made man in His image, and then made woman to be the companion of man,” James reminded her.
Anne started to roll her eyes. She had been exposed to too much equality between the genders after becoming a temporal anthropologist to put up with such chauvinism. At least not in her personal life.
“And, as any artisan will tell you,” the curly-haired knight continued smoothly, “the first attempt in crafting something is always the worst, while the second is always the better. If I am a good man – and I think I am – why then you as a woman must surely be better. Every evidence of my eyes, ears and mind support this idea . . . so why should I not venerate and adore you? To do otherwise would be a sin of denial against the sheer craftsmanship of God.”
She blushed. The weeks spent in his company had proven him a reasonably pious man; she knew he believed what he was saying.
She also knew it was the courtship style of the day, the courtly manners and florid flirting which had tamed and tempered the brutal force of the warrior caste in medieval Europe.
“If you seek to place me upon a pedestal, you must know I am not a lady of noble birth.”
“You are a lady in all the ways that matter: courteous, kind and competent. You have an innate nobility that no measure of birth-rank can match.” Shifting so that he could look into her eyes, James touched her hand.
“I chose this life because I wanted to study all manner of ranks and births, of educations and crafts.
I have seen men and women of the highest birth behave with the poorest of concern for their fellow beings, and the lowliest of ranks sharing what little they have with the compassion of the saints they venerate.
“I have trod this road with women of all ages and persuasions, and no one I have found has felt so much like a . . . like a kindred spirit as you. You understand people. Like I do,” he finished, cupping her fingers beneath his.
His skin was calloused from his many daily practices with his blade at dawn and dusk whenever they camped, but his touch was gentle.
“I care not that you come with no lands and no name of note – I am a third-born son, myself; my portion is small at best – but I care about you.
“When you return to your home, Mistress Anne . . . or what is left of it . . . I would ask leave to court you. I doubt I am liable to find another woman quite like you.”
Involuntarily, the corner of her mouth quirked up. James smiled back.
“I amuse you? Good. A man should be amusing and genial,” he asserted smugly.
She laughed. “You are not likely to find another woman quite like me, no.” Beyond his green eyes and blond curls, she saw the merchant, Phinneas, grunting and groaning his way into the bushes.
Her smile faded. “Ugh. He’s making those noises again, the ones he makes whenever he’s about to spend far too much time in the bushes. ”
“What, the merchant? Yes, I can hear it, too. I fear between his crumbling sandal and his rumbling gut, he’ll keep us from reaching the raftsman before sunset.
” Lifting his gaze from her face, he looked off to the west. “Fill your stomach and your waterskin while you can. Hot weather makes for thirsty pilgrimages, but rain and mud are far more miserable to endure. At least the weather looks like it’ll hold. For now.”
Nodding, aware he had been escorting pilgrimages for at least five years, Anne let him haul up another bucketful while she drained the dregs of her waterskin into her wooden cup.
She didn’t say it, but she did think the thoughts uppermost in both her heart and her mind.
I’d love to accept, Sir James. You’re remarkably enlightened for your day and age, and I think I’d enjoy being courted by you, wherever it might or might not lead .
. . but I come from the distant future, one which does not involve you.
A pity, but for the sake of temporal continuity . . . I have to leave you.
Don’t look back . . . don’t look back . . .
“Anne?”
She almost jumped out of her skin. Whirling, she faced the shadowed silhouette of her confronter. The campfire the others had built was just visible through the trees behind him. “Oh! James . . . uh . . .”
He moved with remarkable quietness. It wasn’t until he was close enough to touch that she realized he wasn’t wearing his armour. He must have taken it off while she had been gathering wood for the fire.
“Where are you going?”
“To . . . to the river, of course. It’s not that far,” she managed as casually as she could, half turning towards it.
“Why?” James asked, moving to intercept her. “And why take your bedroll?”
“Well . . . it’s a warm night, so I thought I’d wash it. And myself. Away from prying eyes. I don’t like the way Phinneas looks at me sometimes,” she improvised. “Like I’m a widow with a fortune for him to marry.”
“Somehow, I don’t believe you. My instincts, which I have honed by watching people time and again .
. . say that you’re running away from us,” James stated.
He cupped her shoulders, his thumbs gently rubbing her through the linen of her summer-weight dress.
“Did I scare you off with my stated intentions? You shouldn’t be frightened by me.
I meant no harm. I just . . . thought we would well suit each other.
I care for you. And I really don’t think it is wise for a woman to try travelling on her own.
There are all manner of feral beasts out there.
Some of them run on two legs instead of four, you know. ”
Anne could have protested that she would be fine.
No anthropologist was allowed into the field without completing several courses in basic and advanced self-defence, including courses in the targeted time frame’s weapon styles.
But he wouldn’t believe me, and I don’t have the time to convince him. Not without raising awkward questions.
I’m supposed to leave the group by oh-one-hundred hours tonight, and it’s just half-past twenty-one. How do I distract him so I can get far enough away that I can be picked up and returned to the future without anyone noticing?
He solved her dilemma for her. Sort of. “All right, so it’s been a hot and dusty day.
A dip in the river does sound good. I’ll walk you down there.
The others should be safe enough, since they have their numbers, the fire and our good yeomen-farmers to keep watch through the first and second quarters of the night.
But I’ll not risk you to a wild beast, or a bandit, or even a slip and a fall which might injure your head, or a cramp which might cause you to drown. ”
“James, it really wouldn’t be appropriate –”
One of his hands lifted from her shoulder, his finger finding and sealing her lips. “Shh. I insist. Surely the night is far too dark for me to see anything . . . inappropriate.”
That wasn’t entirely true; the moon was waxing towards full. Though its light did shine down in faint silver patches here and there, the forest canopy hid most of its light. Down by the river, which at this part ran north–south, it would shine fully upon the water, and on anything nearby.
“Come.” Sliding his other hand down her arm, he laced his calloused fingers with hers and gently tugged her through the trees.
The ground sloped gradually down as they made their way eastwards, until the thickness of the underbrush forced them to detour to the south.
A small break in the bushes a modest distance upriver provided access to the water.
It was also far enough away that the light and the noise of the pilgrims’ campfire could no longer be discerned.
This is my last night with him, Anne thought, catching sight of his face in the pale silver moonlight. And my last and only chance to be alone with him. I’m not being picked up until oh-one-hundred hours. We have time . . . and maybe I can exhaust him into sleeping deeply.
It wasn’t exactly in the rulebook, but neither was it expressly forbidden on this trip.
Anne had heard other field anthropologists being given lectures against such things for specific missions, but she hadn’t been lectured.
Shrugging out of the rope holding her bedroll together, she untied it with the practice gained from weeks of travel and spread it out over the ground.
James moved closer. “Aren’t you going to wash that?”
“I’ve changed my mind. Besides,” she murmured back, strolling close enough to touch him, to brush her body against his own, “shouldn’t I get it dirty first, before I scrub?”
She could see his frown, thanks to a small shaft of moonlight. James stepped back. “I find I do not quite trust this reversal, Anne. Why were you so coy before, yet so forward now?”
All the instincts of a natural anthropologist, or maybe a psychologist or sociologist .
. . Sighing, she gave him as much of the truth as he could handle.
“I’m leaving the group. A friend will be meeting me shortly, and we’ll be on our way elsewhere.
I was told that once I reached the river after our visit to the Cathedral, I should diverge and head upriver – and I will be fine,” she added as his frown of distrust deepened into a worried look.
“This isn’t the first time I have travelled, nor the first time I have struck out on my own, even for such a short distance as this trip will be.
“You need to stay with the others,” she reminded him. “They’ll need your protection, since it’s still a long way back.”
“And you’re offering yourself to me? What has prompted it?” James asked her.
Anne shrugged. “I decided I’d rather not leave with any regrets. I like you, I enjoy your company, and I desire you. If we weren’t destined to part company tonight, I would honestly consider your offer of courtship far more seriously than circumstances allow.”