Chapter Four

In the King’s woods September 1095

Colin awoke groggily and out of sorts. A moonless darkness surrounded him. He felt the knot on the back of his head and winced. He panicked and quickly searched for the letter hidden between his braies and codpiece. It was safe.  His head pounded, ached, and rang like Sabbath day church bells summoning all to worship.

Alone in the King’s forest, at night, he stumbled forward and wildly swung his arms around like a blind man. Once he stubbed his toe against a gnarly root and cried out in pain. The cry echoed through the trees. After a few, more steps he found a tree trunk to rest. His stomach growled angrily with hunger as he waited for sunrise.

On foot, he could make it by late afternoon, or at least by the nightfall. The unfamiliar forest sounds unsettled him. Mustering up some courage, he ignored them all, and closed his eyes and let the sounds of the woods put him to sleep. His night could only get better.

A drop of rain fell from the clouds, first on the oak tree leaves before cascading down and onto Colin’s nose. In his sleep, he swatted at the imagined insect. As he sat the rain increased in intensity, resembling an attack of mosquitoes in a swampy bog. And then the final assault came in the form of the crack of thunder and lightning that illuminated the forest and blinded Colin, followed by thunder, which shook the floor like the steps of a giant. The downpour continued for several hours, a fitting finale to the day.

Colin, drenched to the bone, shifted the pouch to protect it from the torrential storm. What happened to his day? Which started out so pleasantly with Margery lying by his side, turn into such a nightmare?  One thing for sure, there was all night to come up with the answer. There would be no sleep tonight.

The rain stopped shortly before the sky turned a lighter gray with the coming of the morning light. Colin watched a herd of deer grazing no more than twenty feet away but they belonged to the King, and certain death would come to anyone foolish enough to harm them. Besides, his body ached too much to chase the royal deer. He would have to find other means for his breakfast. Colin never thought he would ever desire a chunk of moldy, dark bread, but he did today.

His clothes were still damp from the storm, and his head throbbed. An empty belly argued with him. He slowly started his journey toward Dover, thankful that the sun came out from behind the wispy yet persistent clouds long enough for him to get his bearings and guess the time of day.

By mid-day, every bone in his body hurt, especially his shoeless feet ached. Blood oozed from broken blisters and cuts from the brambles and undergrowth. Lost in the forest, Colin tried to follow the sun when possible, but the sun popped in and out of the gray clouds and made the day miserable.

By late afternoon, the sun was now hot and the cool, damp September morning became uncomfortably humid. Colin spotted a beehive in the trunk of a tree and his mouth watered. With great pain he limped to the hive, hoping the bees would let him steal some honey. Alas, it turned to wax. It was too early in the season for the hive to turn to wax. Colin knew the signs of early winter. The empty beehive and the white wooly worm signified an early and harsh season. He needed to get a boat to Calais soon, or he would never leave England before winter.

Colin walked for another mile, and he came to a stream. Bone tired and starving, the water afforded the opportunity for some well-deserved rest. Colin judged he was about half way to his destination and could still make the city by midnight at the latest. He dangled his sore and bloody feet in the soothing cold of the water and wondered what to do next. A small group of fish swam to his feet. They investigated them and nibbled at the toes before swimming away. Colin closed his eyes and imagined a tasty meal of fried fish. Would they taste any better because they were the King’s game? Were they worth losing his head? The punishment would be formidable. He argued with his belly that the prize was not worth capture by the king’s men. However, in the end, his cramping stomach won the match. He removed his undergarments and stepped into the stream using his underclothes as a net. Whether it was dumb luck or the foolishness of the poor fish, he caught a small one. He almost dropped it as he lumbered out of the water throwing the trout onto a patch of grass where it thrashed wildly, seeking the water, freedom, and life.

Colin slumped to his knees, and drew his hands up to his eyes in anguish, as salty tears fell. There was no way to cook a fish, and the thought of eating a slimy raw fish made him ill. He dangled his lunch in front of his mouth, opened wide, and brought the wiggly fish up to his lips. The oozy feel of the scales and the body squirming back and forth nauseated him. Pitiful eyes stared at him, pleading for mercy. Gagging, he threw his lunch back into the water. It slithered away, happily free. Colin doubted he would ever be hungry enough to eat uncooked fish.

Tired and with little strength to go on, Colin came across a berry bush overflowing with bright red plump berries. He ate his fill.

With his belly full, Colin resumed his walk to Dover in brighter spirits. He would leave England before winter and then drop the accursed letter to its destination long before the first day of April.  He underestimated his rotten luck. Colin didn’t travel more than a hundred yards when the discomfort hit him. His stomach convulsed with unimaginable pain, and he collapsed face first onto the hard ground.

General Grant smiled and laughed a good-natured laugh. “I declare. You have no luck.”

“I specialized in bad luck. That letter was accursed like I said. Having spent no time in the forest, I didn’t know the difference between edible berries and poisonous ones. I probably should have died.”

“Tell me,” the general said as he glanced at his pocket watch, “Have you eaten today?”

“No, but I’m not hungry.”

“Nonsense, my friend, I insist you be my guest. This hotel serves a hearty lunch,” Grant said pulling at Colin’s sleeve. “It will be my treat. We can continue our discussion about your journey over a good bowl of soup, bread, and beer, and they have the best pie in town, except for my dear wife’s, of course.”

After some strong coaxing, Colin gave in. “I would be honored, General, as long as the bread is moldy, and the pie is a red berry.”

The general and Colin laughed, and as they entered the dining room, all eyes watched them and wondered how anyone could laugh today of all days.

After the maître de sat them, and they ordered, General Grant produced two cigars from his vest pocket. Handing one to Colin, he lit both and blew a circle of smoke. “I can’t get enough good cigars,” the general said. “My wife tells me they will be the death of me. Can you believe that? She is the pillar of the community. Please, continue your story. It is much more interesting than mine.”

The waiter brought bread and soup to the table.

An elderly woman seated next to them watched the general curiously.

“I don’t know if I can eat the bread,” Colin said, smiling.

“Come now. Don’t be shy. We can order more if we finish the loaf.”

Colin’s smile widened, “But that’s not the problem, sir. The bread is void of any mold!”

The elderly woman dropped her spoon, and it fell to the floor with a clang. “Young man, if you could please use proper etiquette while dining inside public restaurants.” She picked up her napkin and regally placed it on her ample lap. “Talk of unfit bread has no place in public, and by all means should not be spoken of when the fairer sex is within earshot.”

General Grant reached over and handed her his spoon as the other diners watched. “My dear lady, please accept my apologies. I’ll be happy to purchase your lunch today. It was only some well-needed levity between my friend and me.”

“Why you’re, you’re General…”

“Yes, I’m General Robert E. Lee at your service,” the general said with a wink. The elderly woman sat at her table with a blank look on her face. Her husband held his napkin in front of his mouth, his eyes laughing.

Grant smiled at Colin. “What? It is a harmless prank. I will rectify my mistake after lunch.” He raised his glass and nodded at the dumbfounded woman. He glanced at Colin and then the woman and said, “I could have told her to respect her elders.”

The woman stood up with a “humph” and stormed out of the restaurant. She dragged her beleaguered husband with her, but not before he whispered into the general’s ear, “I tell her to keep her nose out of other people’s business.”

“I believe that was the Senator from Indiana and his wife.” The general puffed on his cigar, as he pushed his finished soup bowl away. “Please continue, dear friend.”

Several groups of people at neighboring tables observed the shenanigan’s and leaned a little closer to Colin’s table.

“Are you sure? What happened next is a bit unpleasant and downright disgusting.”

“Young man, I have just spent four years fighting a war. I am very aware and accustomed to disgusting, distasteful, vulgar, and uncivilized actions. The distraction is a welcome relief. I spent two hours with Secretary of War Stanton, and he was in a foul mood indeed. He stayed by the president’s side all night. Vice President Johnson was not in good spirits either. I suppose that happens when somebody tries to assassinate you. There is hope that Secretary of State Seward will recover. His injuries are not life threatening. As I have been in the pit of anger today, and I am ready for anything. Especially anything that will keep my mind from the horrors I have witnessed.”