THIRTY-NINE

 

Romein wasn't sure how long he lay there, stunned by the bastard's blow. It might have been a second, or it might have been an hour. But his first waking thought was for Julia – he must protect Julia. He clambered to his feet, casting about for his wife, and for Mercutio's killer. Only to see them on the river bank – the knave on his knees, with her in the water, submerged to the waist, her heels drumming on the shore as he drowned her.

"I am your foe, not her! Fight me instead, coward!" Romein shouted, but the knave did not hear, so intent was he on holding Julia down.

Romein picked up a stone and threw it. It clanged off Thibault's back. He threw more, each ringing louder as he came closer, but still Thibault did not release Julia.

And then...Julia's feet stopped moving, and Romein's heart stopped with them.

Only then did Thibault release her, pushing her out into the water where she sank like a stone.

Romein lost all reason in that moment, for his mind knew only rage.

Not Julia. Not sweet, saintly Julia, who did not deserve to die by violence, least of all at the hands of her own kin.

He pounded on the knight's helmet, beating at his chest. Somehow, he lost the knight's sword, and fought with only his fists. Until an armoured fist landed deep in Romein's gut, punching the breath out of his lungs.

He was dimly aware of hitting the ground, snow cushioning his fall, a mercy it had not given to Mercutio, before the knight seized his feet and began to drag him. First along the frozen ground, then along cold cobblestones, until he realised they were on the bridge.

The knight hoisted him up over his head. Romein was no longer the skinny boy he'd been seven years ago – it took all the knight's considerable strength, and he could hear the man breathing hard inside his helm.

For seven years, Romein had racked his brain, wondering what he could have done differently so that he did not end up in the river with a broken leg and smashed ribs that day. He'd learned to walk, then fight unarmed, and with a sword, and yet here he was, about to fall from the bridge one final time.

Romein surveyed the river. Julia's body should have floated to the surface now, but there was no sign of her. The river that nearly took his life seven years ago would be her grave.

"Either you or I or both shall go with her," Romein muttered.

Mercutio deserved a companion with which to walk the afterlife, but angelic Julia deserved an honour guard to march her into heaven. Romein would share her grave, God willing, for it would be their marriage bed.

If only fate were not so fickle, he would find a way to avoid going into the river. And yet...if that was where Julia was, why should he fight?

All his work with waterwheels and windmills, with Julia, had been to save this river and the lands around it. After Julia's death and his own, who would save it now? Not Thibault, whose very presence polluted the land Julia had loved. For Julia's sake, he could not be allowed to befoul it any longer.

"Your or I or both must go with her...and I choose both!"

Romein could not stop Thibault from tossing him in the river – he never could – but this time, with his knowledge of weight and power, force and how to apply it, he would see Thibault fall, too.

Romein fastened his legs about the knight's neck, then dived for the water, dragging the knave in after him.