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I was strolling up the road towards Franz. Calm and casual. Hands in pockets to show my contempt for convention.
He saw me, forced himself to straighten up, and drew his sword. And it was a beauty. Sharp and gleaming. Well-honed and touched with the blood of many Frenchmen, I was sure. He took a wary stance next to his horse, almost holding his breath.
I smiled at him and said, in a perfect Hamburg dialect, "Hello, what a lovely day it has been."
He gave me a vague shrug of confusion. "If you say. Are you German?"
I laughed. "What else could I be?"
"We are in France."
I shrugged. "What are boundaries, today? You've been badly hurt. Were you part of the fighting, a couple leagues over?"
"Are we that far from it?"
"Don't you know where you are?"
He grew weak, again, and leaned against his horse. "I...no, I do not."
"Your horse is also injured. There is a creek just the other side of this copse. Why don't we go there. Clean off the blood. See if I can find some yarrow."
"I...I must get back...to my regiment..."
"Night is falling. You will not get far. Come. Let's get you cleaned up, first. I am Leonides."
He almost smiled. "From the Greek. That is surprising."
"You know of the legend?"
"My teachers. Much...of Greek history. Roman. Russian."
"It was the same for me." Then I switched to Latin. "Do you know the classical tongues?"
He responded in Latin that was better than mine. "Of course I do. It is part of my education. I am Franz."
I switched back to German. "A pleasure to meet you. Now wouldn't fresh water make you feel better?"
"I...I suppose...but to leave the road...and the brush is very thick, so I didn't know if Greunnald would be able to make it."
"Is that the name of your horse?" He nodded. "You're a cuirassier, aren't you?"
He nodded. "The...the rest of my company is...is..." He pointed up the road.
I chuckled to myself. The battlefield was at least four leagues away. And his regiment...I did not want him to be part of them, any longer, because some had comported themselves in ways cruel, though not at all unusual. Women and girls raped. Villagers killed for daring to try and protect them. Stores of food looted. It was so typical of war, as I had seen, over and over. And this thought finally helped me realize my only hesitancy in dealing with him was wondering if he had joined in their festivities.
Then I heard a group of French chevaliers approaching, from behind us. If they saw him they would put him to the sword.
So I grinned and said, "Come. I know of a path to the brook, and yarrow will help both you and Greunnald to heal."
"You think so?" Concern for his horse overrode concern for himself.
Okay, without question I could not allow him to rejoin his compatriots. He was of too fine a character, and they would corrupt him into their evil. Probably. Because part of me thought he would never commit rape or murder, not because they were wrong to do, but only because it was ill-mannered.
"Come," I said. "Keep your sword out, if it makes you feel better. I'll lead."
Then I walked into the woods.
I caught a glimpse of Geoff across the way, watching, smirking at me. And rubbing his groin. I cast him a quick sneer.
Franz followed me, carefully. Not fast, for Greunnald was limping, badly. I quickly found the trail, and also had to admit the wood was thicker than I had expected. But that worked out well, for not two minutes later, he heard the soft clatter of horses galloping past on the road.
He hesitated, listening. We couldn't see them, but he could tell... "Five...no, six horse-men."
"Probably French."
"Did the battle go poorly, for us?"
"Considering you were outnumbered six to one, I would not say that."
"But you know the outcome?"
"The fighting has only ended. It's not over, yet."
He looked around, close to frantic. "I should be with the rest of my men!"
"Your men? That's not a commander's insignia on your jacket."
He nodded. "I brought friends...from home...men who worked our lands...I...I'm responsible for them..."
It took me a moment to speak, his face was so angelic in the soft light of dusk filtering between the thick trees. He was caught with worry and heartache.
"I'm sure they're all right," I said.
In response, he gave me a weak shrug that all but screamed, Maybe. Maybe not.
So I had to ask, "Are your friends also of the aristocracy?"
He cast me a sharp glare. "What makes you think I'm high-born?"
"The way you speak, your education, and how you comport yourself. Tell me, haven't you read Cicero's De Re Publica? OR Ovid's Poetics? In Latin, of course. "
"Are...are you well-born?"
"Would I have been given access to such an education were I not?"
He huffed and held his sword tighter. "Who are you? What is going on here? Are you leading me into a trap? To hold me hostage, for ransom? My family will not pay."
"No, no, no," I said. "I do not know who you are. I am only offering help. Don't you hear the brook, now? Cold clear water beckons you. It will refresh you."
The splashing water was just audible, in the near distance and the shadows were growing deeper. Stars were hinting at an appearance, to the east.
He nodded and forced himself to stay alert, keeping his sword at the ready as I led him on.
The trees were even thicker, here, but then we came upon a clearing and there was the brook. It was a large one rushing down the side of a hill over a tumble of stones from a small pool to dance the rest of the way as if playing with the trees.
Franz smiled at seeing it. He managed to remove his boots...how, I have no idea...then he waded into the pool and led Greunnald behind him. The water came up to his hips, soaking his trousers. He slowly, painfully pulled off his shirt and I could see the entry of the bullet but no exit. It was still in him. That would need to be taken care of or it would fester.
He dipped into the water to let it ease the wound to his head, as well, then ignored his own injuries to wet the shirt and daub at the animal's wound.
Seeing water trail down his taut body through the waves of soft down over his chest kicked away the last of my hesitation. Geoff was right; I wanted him to join us. Wanted him to agree to join us. Gabrielle's mention of this being a necessity for a certain level of love to happen took a near obsessive hold of me. I wanted that certain level.
I found some yarrow at the edge of the clearing and worked the flowers into a bit of mud, to make a poultice, then he applied it to the horse's injury. Greunnald remained quiet and easy, throughout.
Finally, he led it out of the pool and tethered him to a tree. He noticed the beast was now grazing, and that made him smile.
"Thank you," he said to me. "I think he will be well, now."
The way his trousers clung to his thighs and calves. And around his ass. And outlined the shape of his dick and balls. I found it difficult to concentrate on words, but I managed to say, "Your turn."
He collapsed to where he was cross-legged and slightly hunched over. "Are you a...you a surgeon?"
"I know enough medicine to help you."
"I'm so tired," he murmured, rocking back and forth in near delirium.
I didn't think. I quickly shifted him to an area of grass, next to the rushing brook, and lay him flat, his arms to his sides. His trousers clinging to his hips and thighs and calves, enhancing their well-shaped beauty. His skin still hinting at warmth and golden shades, despite the growing darkness. His chest so full and rich, with nipples in perfect harmony. His crotch looking even more inviting. I was almost frozen by the sudden pounding need within me.
I soaked his shirt in the clear clean water and caressed the wound in his shoulder, with it. Saw that the bullet had not gone too far in. I could almost see it. His breastplate must have slowed it.
"So weak," he whispered. "Is...a...a surgeon nearby?"
"I'll have to do," I said. "Lie still. This is going to hurt, but it needs to come out."
"What do you mean?"
I just smiled. Kept my right hand out of his eye-line and allowed my fingernails to expand, sharp and ready. I kept his shirt dripping wet, in my left hand, then using the excuse of cleaning his face I pressed against his chin to face him away from me, saying, "I think the injury to your head is not so bad."
Then I dug my fingernails into his shoulder and plucked the bullet out.
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