The dust storm and fading sun had turned the sky a strange purple when Olivia dragged her adrenaline-charged body through the cavity, but its beauty was lost on her. She craned her neck towards Raimund. His head was turned away. He lay deathly still.
Like a corpse.
A sob choked her throat. She swallowed it down but another developed, then another, until they were multiplying, irrepressible. As she scrambled down the boulders and ran to his side, the sobs erupted in panted, throbbing wheezes that tore at her chest like lion’s claws.
His eyes were closed. His lips parted slightly. He looked strangely peaceful. She stroked his pale cheek with her knuckles, the way he used to do to her. His skin felt cold.
Cold.
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘No.’
This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be. Not Raimund. Not her knight.
‘Please, Raimund. Please.’
Tears dripped from her chin and fell at the edge of his mouth. She pressed her lips against his, kissing them away, angry with herself for defiling that handsome face. Hysteria bubbled in her chest. She wanted to scream. She wanted to kill Gaston all over again. She wanted to rant and rave and screech at the world for taking Raimund away. But most of all, she wanted him back.
She touched his cheek, crying uncontrollably. ‘Don’t you dare die on me. Don’t you dare. You’re my Roland, my knight. I love you. You can’t die. You can’t.’
Then she felt it, the soft blow of a weak breath on her lips. She jerked up.
‘Raimund?’ She waited but there was nothing. ‘Raimund, please. Wake up. I’m here. I did it. Gaston’s gone.’
His eyelids twitched.
She gripped his shoulders. ‘You wake up. You hear me? You wake up right now. You’re not dying on me. You’re not.’ It took all her might to make the shake she gave him gentle. ‘Wake up!’
His lips moved. She pressed her ear against them.
‘Birao.’
That single word had her scrabbling for her backpack. She yanked the phone from the side pocket and scrolled to the number he had given her. In less than two rings, she heard a man’s voice.
‘Oui?’
‘Birao,’ she said, fingers like claws around the phone’s shell. ‘Birao!’
The man answered in Germanic-accented French. ‘Where is Captain Blancard?’
‘We’re on a property near Gailhan,’ she replied in the same language. ‘He’s been shot. In the stomach.’ She suppressed a sob, then lowered her voice so Raimund wouldn’t overhear. ‘It’s bad.’
‘Give me directions.’
She recited the location as best she could.
‘Hold on.’
As she waited for his return, she crawled to Raimund’s side and watched the shallow rise and fall of his chest. As long as he was breathing, he had a chance.
‘The shooter?’
The word came out high and tremulous. ‘Dead.’
‘Any others?’
‘No.’
‘Good. Help is coming. You will stay on the phone in case I require further directions. Understood?’
She took a full breath, trying to calm herself. ‘Yes.’
‘Describe his wound.’
Keeping her voice down, she did as she was told, detailing the rudimentary first aid she had given and Raimund’s current condition. Her makeshift compresses were soaked, but she could see little fresh blood. Instead, everything had a dark, sticky look. The man ordered her to take his pulse. She timed it using Raimund’s father’s watch. It felt interminably slow. She recited the count.
‘Hold.’
Olivia waited with the phone pressed hard against her ear, the plastic casing digging into lobe, afraid she would miss some vital instruction.
‘I’ve told the men to hurry. You will re-count every ten minutes unless you see any change. Then you’ll do it immediately. Understood?’
‘Understood. When will they be here?’
‘Soon.’
‘How soon?’
‘Soon.’ And from that, her contact refused to be moved.
She waited, ears constantly tuned for the sound of a car or helicopter or footsteps. Anything that told her the promised help had arrived. While she waited, she talked to Raimund, telling him how much she loved him, how brave he was, how they would survive this mess and forge a new life for themselves. A life with no army or Legion to dictate his life, only love.
If the man heard her words, he didn’t comment, but every ten minutes came a barked command for her to take his pulse and give a visual appraisal of his condition. She complied, each time fearing a change, a slow in the pump of his blood, a shudder in that shallow breath. Both remained the same. Weak, excruciatingly slow, but there.
A different order had her sitting straighter. ‘Describe the turn.’
She closed her eyes, recalling the entrance. ‘It’s on the right. There’s a marker for the village about two hundred metres or so before.’ She thought hard. ‘There’s a broken tree on the corner. A branch has fallen part of the way across the lane.’
‘Hold.’ In less than ten seconds, he was back. ‘They’re at the turn. How far up?’
‘Five hundred metres. You should be able to see his Mercedes parked on a track on your right.’
‘Hold.’ This time, the wait was much longer. ‘There are two vehicles. A Mercedes and a Volkswagen Touareg. The shooter’s car?’
‘I think so.’
‘Tell me how to reach your location.’
She had to drag the information from the depths of her memory. They had walked the trail to the boulders at the most only a few hours before, but it seemed like a decade ago.
‘They’ll arrive soon.’
Even as he spoke she could hear men running through the trees. Pure relief cascaded over her, soaking her numb skin with hope. She dropped the phone and pressed her cheek against Raimund’s.
‘They’re here. Everything will be all right now. Just like I promised. I love you.’
There were five men. One carried an enormous kit with a red cross on the side. Another held what looked to Olivia like an assault rifle. Another carried an aluminium-framed stretcher. All wore civilian clothes but there was no mistaking their vocation. They were soldiers.
Within seconds of their arrival, she was pushed out of the way and left to stand on the sidelines, her arms crossed and covering her breasts, watching as they attended to Raimund with professional assurance.
A stocky, very blonde, hook-nosed man stood to one side, observing, like her. Every now and then, he would flick a look in her direction, his eyes assessing. After the fifth or so glance, he dropped his weapon and stripped off the white t-shirt he wore, then reshouldered his gun and carried the shirt over to her.
She took it gratefully, smiling her thanks.
‘You are Captain Blancard’s woman?’ he asked when she had slipped it on. He spoke in English, but his accent told her it was not his first language.
‘How did you know I spoke English?’
‘You look English.’
Olivia didn’t bother correcting him. Right now she doubted she looked anything like an Englishwoman, not a stiff-upper-lipped one anyway. Hers wouldn’t stop wobbling.
‘Where will you take him?’
‘We have doctors.’
Her eyes narrowed. She knew the army had doctors, but his reply seemed unnecessarily ambiguous. ‘A military hospital?’
He looked at the mound and then into the forest before returning his gaze to her. ‘Where is the man who shot him?’
She shrugged. ‘He’s dead. What does it matter?’
A smile lifted the corner of the hook-nosed man’s mouth but didn’t reach his pale-blue eyes. ‘Yes. What does it matter.’
The medic was holding up the exit-wound area as two men slid the aluminium stretcher halves under Raimund. As soon as they were locked in place, the medic lowered him gently. The third stood upright, a drip in his hand. The medic nodded. The four men each grabbed a side of the stretcher, then with another nod, Raimund was raised and carried away.
Forgetting the hook-nosed man, Olivia ran to catch up.
‘Will he be okay? Where are you taking him?’
No one answered her. It was as though she didn’t exist. She asked again in French, then in English, and then in awkward Catalan. Still no response. The men marched purposefully on.
No way was she going to give up so easily, not after all she’d been through, not while they had the man she loved. She turned back to Hook-nose, her hands on her hips.
‘Where are you taking him?’
‘To where he will be looked after.’
‘And where, exactly, is that?’
The man gave her that enigmatic smile but didn’t answer. Olivia dropped her hands and ran at him, pushing him hard in the chest.
‘You tell me!’
There was no smile this time. Hook-nose turned glacial eyes on her. ‘Stay away. This is Legion business now.’
She shoved him again. ‘Yeah, and Raimund’s my business, you bastard.’
Olivia didn’t see the tackle that floored her coming. One moment she was standing in front of the hook-nosed man fighting for information and the next she was facedown in the dirt with a gun held to the back of her skull.
‘You will not follow.’
She tried to scramble up. The barrel butted against her head.
‘Do not force me to hurt you.’
The ice in his voice sent a prickle of goosebumps over her skin. Ignoring the gun barrel, she turned her gaze towards Raimund. The men had moved swiftly. Soon he would be lost in the trees.
Perhaps forever.
‘But I love him,’ she whispered.
The barrel fell away. Hook-nose took two steps back, that horrible smile quirking his lips again. ‘That is your problem.’
Olivia wanted to punch his smile into the lining of his skull, but then Hook-nose turned his back on her and began to jog through the forest towards the other men.
Furious, she scurried to her feet and sprinted after him.
In one movement he stopped, twisted and fired into the dirt half a metre from her feet. Olivia let out a shriek.
‘Stay where you are, woman! That is an order.’
‘I’m not in your godforsaken army,’ she yelled, but already he was gone.
She stood in the darkening forest with her hands on her thighs, chest heaving, breath coming in sobs and her head filled with fear for Raimund. She had done what he’d asked. She had obeyed. She had called the number, said the code word and now she had lost him. She didn’t even know if he would live.
But one thing she knew: she would never find out if she stood there feeling sorry for herself.
Straightening, she marched on with shoulders back and head up, and a mouth fixed in a determined line. Hook-nose was gone, as were the others and Raimund. They had probably reached their vehicle and were readying to leave. She would follow. Find out where they went. Bang on doors and yell at people until she learned Raimund’s fate.
Lengthening shadows made it easier for her to hide, although she didn’t kid herself that this would keep her out of their sight. These men were trained. She was a boring historian who spent most of her time in lecture rooms or libraries, her nose in books and journals or hunched over her desk marking student papers. They could have her surrounded without her realising.
The danger didn’t stop her. Nothing would.
A large blue van was reversing down the track when she reached the forest edge. An older model Renault Laguna waited in the lane, Hook-nose at its wheel. His head was turned in her direction. Apprehension snaked up her spine. Despite the shadows and the thick trunk she stood behind, she was sure he could see her.
The van veered into the lane, then straightened and drove on, its brake lights flickering in the dusk as the driver took care over the rough ground. The Laguna moved off and then stopped at the track entrance.
Hook-nose smiled her way. Then he slowly raised his forefinger and waggled it from side to side. The meaning was clear. She was not to follow.
But that didn’t stop her sprinting for the Mercedes the moment the Laguna left the gate.
She tore at the handle, only to howl in frustration when she found it locked. The keys were in Raimund’s rucksack. She couldn’t recall anyone retrieving it which meant it was still back at the mound. And no help to her.
She ran for Gaston’s Touareg. It was unlocked but no keys dangled in the ignition. Swearing loudly, she raised the centre console lid but the hollow was empty. So, she discovered after several frustrating minutes searching, was the glove box and any other conceivable place keys could be hidden.
Then she remembered her phone.
She ripped it from her pocket and dialled.
‘Oui.’
‘Where have you taken him?’
The anonymous German-accented man didn’t answer.
‘Where? You have to tell me. Where have you taken Captain Blancard? I need to know.’
Still he said nothing.
‘Birao!’ She almost screamed the word at him. ‘Birao!’
‘The Birao debt has been repaid.’
‘What? ’
‘I can no longer help you.’
‘You have to. You’re my only hope!’ But it was too late. The man was gone.
She rang the number again, but there was no answer. Four times more she tried, keening softly and rocking backwards and forwards. Each time, the number rang out. Her lifeline had abandoned her.
Despair settled in her heart like a brick. She pressed her head against the Touareg’s steering wheel, searching for inspiration. She found none.
Finally, when she had nothing left to grope for, when the wind blew leaves into Gaston’s pristine car and the sweat dried cold on her skin, she let the tears slip and gave into the terrible grief and guilt and fear that she had held so carefully at bay.
Christiane and Edouard welcomed her with hugs and kisses, steering her to a seat at the kitchen table and pushing her onto a chair.
Their faces had told her they had no news as soon as the door opened. She had thought her tears were under control, but their expressions broke her down and she collapsed into Christiane’s arms, bawling like a little girl. They were her hope. If the army would give out any information it would be to the Rosecs, but as Edouard explained, their attempts had proved fruitless. The army had no idea of Captain Blancard’s whereabouts, or none they would divulge. He was on leave, they said. His life was his own.
She stared at the overfilled glass of wine Edouard had pushed in front of her, exhausted and afraid and filled with a helplessness that corroded her confidence and left her doubting everything she had done.
There were so many ways she had failed Raimund. If she hadn’t refused to show Gaston where Durendal lay, he might not have been shot. If she’d called an ambulance instead of the mystery number. If she’d stopped thinking of herself for five minutes and left Raimund free to concentrate he might have been aware of Gaston’s presence before they climbed from the mound.
If. If. If.
The regret and guilt would rot her soul till she died. There would be no giving up until she found Raimund and spilled her remorse at his feet. And told her knight one more time that she loved him.
Assuming he was still alive.
The thought sent a choking sob rising in her sore throat.
Edouard patted her shoulder and urged her to drink. She took a sip, but even Edouard’s wonderful red wine tasted sour. She returned the glass to the table and swiped at her face.
‘Where’s Dame Elizabeth?’ she asked suddenly.
‘Bed,’ said Christiane.
Olivia glanced at her precious Breitling, the watch Raimund had given her. It was almost midnight. She hadn’t felt time pass, and thought that despite the darkness it was still early evening.
After the failed phone calls to the Birao contact, she had returned to the mound to retrieve her and Raimund’s things. More minutes were lost staring at the enormous spill of his blood, while on the drive to Rognes, several times tears had threatened her vision and she’d had to pull over until they were cried out.
She had called Edouard before leaving Gailhan, and although he’d sounded as worried as her, he had confidence they would easily discover what had happened to Raimund. But that had been hours ago, and still no one knew where he was, what had happened to him. And, it appeared, no one was willing to clarify the situation.
All she wanted to know was that he lived. But even that seemed out of her reach.
She sat with Edouard and Christiane for another hour before they finally convinced her that she needed rest. That the morning would offer more possibilities and perhaps news.
Her legs wobbled as she climbed the stairs and she had to hold her hand against the wall as she walked down the hall. At Raimund’s room, she stopped and stared at the bed.
Yesterday morning she had woken to find his arms circling her, his broad chest against her back, his lips caressing her neck as he whispered her awake. And she had rolled in his arms and smiled at his handsome face and kissed him good morning. She had hoped then that would be the first of many morning kisses. That she would wake for the remainder of her life in those strong arms. That every night she would share her bed with the most heroic knight imaginable. A brave, noble man whose integrity was unquestionable.
Tears filled her eyes. She let them fall, too tired and demoralised to sweep them away. With Dame Elizabeth in her room, she would have to spend the night with these memories. Sleep would be impossible.
Her feet dragged along the terracotta tiles to the bed. She slumped onto the mattress, staring unseeing at the wall, and then eased herself down and around until she lay with her head against the pillow Raimund had used. She turned her head to bury her nose in the smell of him, digging her hands under the pillow so she could press it harder to her face.
Her fingers brushed against the sharp corner of an envelope.
She sat up and threw the pillow aside. Lying on the sheet was a plain white envelope with her name printed in careful letters on the outside. Raimund had left her a note. He had known she would return to his bed, to his pillow.
She tore it open, desperate to hear from him.
Dear Olivia,
By this time I will have succeeded in my task. All trace of my legacy will be gone. Durendal and La Tasse will at last be lost to me, but they will also be lost to you. You have told me it does not matter. That you do not care about Durendal. Yet I know you do. The legend has driven you in your life as much as it has driven me. And now I have destroyed it. There is nothing that will overcome your loss, not even love.
I have only one more task to complete now before I return to my men. This, if nothing else, will leave me beyond redemption to you.
At Patrice’s grave I made two promises. One you know, the other you do not, but the second is one from which I cannot withdraw. With La Tasse and Durendal destroyed it is now my task to kill Gaston. I will hunt him down like the animal he is, and in doing so I will become like him. A man driven by his need for revenge. A man who does not know the meaning of honour. A murderer.
Right now, I stand on the precipice of freedom. A place you have brought me. A place I would never have reached on my own. I cannot thank you enough. For all you have done.
I wish you the happiest of futures, filled with the love you deserve, and will remember you, and the gift you have given me, always.
Raimund
And with the last line, Olivia’s soul shattered.
The morning brought no change. Christiane and Edouard called everyone they knew and many they didn’t. The French Army, the Legion headquarters at Aubagne, every hospital within Provence and Languedoc, every friend they knew and several whose names and numbers they had wheedled from others.
Sensing her distress, Dame Elizabeth had, after a pursed-lip hug, offered to call in some favours. Olivia passed her the phone, but even those formidable contacts were unable to help.
Angry, hurting and almost paralysed by worry, Olivia tried her hand again, only to be reminded that in Raimund’s life, she was no one.
‘Are you a dependent? Family?’
‘No.’
‘Then we cannot help you.’
The result was the same no matter who she called. She resorted to lying. She called herself Raimund’s sister, his wife. Once, she even named herself his daughter.
‘You aren’t listed as next of kin.’
‘But I’m his daughter!’
‘I’m sorry. We have rules.’
The last call did her in. She threw the phone across the table and put her head in her hands, tearing at her hair. She wouldn’t let this go. She couldn’t. She had to know what had happened to him.
For God’s sake, she loved him.
Even if he didn’t love her back, there was no letting go.
She fingered the mobile phone Raimund had bought for her. The man probably wouldn’t answer, but anything was worth a try. She pressed the button.
‘Oui?’
‘Don’t hang up, please don’t hang up.’
The German-accented man said nothing.
Closing her eyes and praying, she said the code word. ‘Birao.’
Edouard looked up, his wrinkled brow furrowed.
Her contact remained silent but she could hear him breathing. The line was still open. She had to tread carefully.
‘You don’t have to tell me where he is. All I need to know is that he’s okay.’ Her throat closed over. ‘I just need to know if he’s still alive.’
‘The Birao debt has been repaid.’
‘I know, but Captain Blancard must have done something to earn your loyalty. Surely you could honour that by letting the people who love him know whether he’s alive or dead.’
Once again, she was left with no reply, but he was still there.
After an interminable period, he spoke. ‘Hold.’
That one word sent hope surging through her veins. She looked at Edouard and Christiane. Edouard glanced at his wife then rose from his chair, shuffled behind Olivia and placed a warm hand on her shoulder. Dame Elizabeth watched with glittery blue eyes and a look that said this is what you get for loving a Frenchman.
The wait was unbearable. With every minute, Olivia’s thoughts turned more wretched. She wanted to believe he had survived, that the medics had arrived in time, but fear consumed her hope and she was left with only dammed-up grief. Any second it would burst.
‘He lives.’
She dissolved into tears.
Edouard snatched the phone from her hand. ‘You’re Corporal Kunze?’ He glanced at Olivia. ‘Then I remind you that your body would be rotting in the Central African Republic were it not for Captain Blancard. You will tell me his condition. Now.’ After several beats, he nodded. ‘Yes. I understand. Thank you.’
‘What did he say?’ asked Olivia when Edouard had hung up.
The old man’s shoulders sagged. He reached out for the back of a chair and then slumped into it, his eyes watering.
‘His condition is critical, but the consensus is that he’ll pull through. That’s all Corporal Kunze knows.’
She leaned across the table and grasped his hand in both of hers. ‘And where is he? When can I see him?’
Edouard looked away and Olivia understood that was all the information he’d been granted.
All that mattered was he was alive.
And she would see him again.