The Execution (11 page)

In the courtyard, Henri gave the young
master a leg up onto the animal, bade him safe journey and, as he
suspected, watched as D’ata yanked the horse’s head severely about
and galloped from the yard.

* * *

D’ata’s heels pummeled the sides of
the gelding, forcing the creature into a thunderous gallop. The
quiet country road along the river was earthen and solid, and the
hooves of the beast assaulted the clay, sending up furious divots
as they galloped blindly on.

The wind whipped tears from D’ata’s
eyes and his hair flew behind as he buried his face in the flying
mane of the magnificent creature. It was as though he hoped to
outrun the torturous and consuming thoughts that plagued his every
thought, the vile uncertainty that was now his life.

The animal seemed to sense the
disturbed frenzy of its rider and ran as though mad, carrying D’ata
recklessly across the countryside. It would have been a striking
image to behold, should anyone have seen them, a dangerous and
beautiful sight.

Finally, horse and rider turned the
bend that would bring them to the hidden meadow. The overlook
granted a most spectacular view of the countryside, the river
winding quicksilver through it. It was one of D’ata’s favorite
places and the horse was also familiar with the stop. He pulled the
animal to a skidding halt and leapt from its back.

The gelding was lathered from the long
gallop and stood, head against his master, heaving immense lungfuls
of air. It snorted froth from its nostrils, the pinks appearing and
disappearing with each breath like a crimson butterfly flexing its
wings. The animal was winded, and its flank quivered as it
blew.

D’ata bent over, his hands on his
knees, head hanging, and let the blood rush to his head, allowing
rational thought to return.

He noticed the distressed and
exhausted breathing of the horse and a pang of heavy guilt stabbed
at him for having driven it so hard. He was familiar with the
gelding for it was one of his favorites. Henri had taught D’ata
from very young about the disposition of a horse, which was a very
cautiously and deliberately nurtured relationship of trust. It was
difficult to attain, but done properly with precise reinforcement
and commitment, a horse would develop with its master a partnership
of unfailing trust.

“
Your horse, if you
succeed in ultimately commanding his respect and trust,” D’ata
could hear Henri’s words, “he will run for you until his heart
bursts. None other of God’s creatures will do such a thing for
you—not even a man.”

D’ata shook his head hard, ‘what had
gotten into him? This was ridiculous! Enough of this madness!’ He
was glad he’d taken the afternoon to escape and ride. It had
brought sense and rationalization to him. Now things could become
normal again.

He knew he must walk the animal down.
Passing a gloved hand up and down the forehead of the beast, he ran
his hands along the flanks of the animal, saw the welts from his
careless spurs.

“
I’m sorry my friend,” he
murmured. He turned and started towards the grove of trees that
lined the river, frustrated that he'd allowed his passion to
overcome him and that he’d mistreated the horse to such an extent.
Patting the animal on the neck, he said out loud, “A slow trip back
and a good rubdown. I promise.”

He thought of her again, cautiously,
and wondered if his anxiety was directed more at the possibility of
not knowing her. It was ridiculous! He didn’t even know her name.
Perhaps his fear was more at the thought of being trapped eternally
within the confines of the church, a prospect that until now had
seemed totally acceptable. Today, this thought only gave him a
strong discomfort in the pit in his stomach.

A path wound down to a sandy little
beach, a favorite spot of his, where a fallen tree had offered him
a wonderful resting place in the past. The river slowed here and
arced, creating a large and deep eddy. It murmured like a sleeping
giant, hiding its dangerous currents. The sand was brilliant, soft,
and warm if you were barefoot. It stretched out straight away from
the tree line.

Enormous black walnut trees
reclusively lined the tiny bay. It was calm and quiet, a sheltered
haven, and utterly private. It was good to be here, and he
suspected it would give him great opportunity to sort things
out.

He relaxed ever so slightly as he
strode purposefully down the path, the animal hugging his heels.
Everything would be all right, he told himself. He would figure out
this trouble and things would be as they were. It was the sensible
thing to do, and a very safe course to take.

Breathing out a deep sigh of
consolation, he stepped suddenly from the trees into the openness
of the beach, his boots sinking into the fine, velvety sand. He
blinked from the bright glare of the sun.

Once, as a child, D’ata had sat upon
the second story ledge of an unfinished church in Marseille,
peering down at the gentle grassy slope twenty feet below, feeling
the thrill of danger at such an incredible height.

He'd crouched there, his toes close to
the edge of the eave while his best friend, Belone, squatted
slightly behind and near to him. Belone, in a moment of not so rare
stupidity, chose to startle his friend from behind, not pushing him
really, but grasping him suddenly, as to make him think he might
fall from the dangerous height.

What Belone did not anticipate was
D’ata’s reaction, that he would startle reflexively and leap,
accidentally throwing himself from the already precarious perch he
held.

Down, down, down D’ata fell. He was
stunned at how almost instantly he struck the soft hillside, flat
on his back. The slope of the hill broke his fall and except for a
few bruises, he was remarkably unscathed.

There could not have been a greater
surprise the very moment that D’ata hurtled from the rooftop,
striking the gently sloping hillside, than the shock that
confronted him as he stepped onto the beach.

God appreciates comedy. D’ata thought
this on occasion. He also thought God even sometimes allowed life
to become complicated for humor’s sake alone. Now was one of those
times, for there, sitting on his fallen tree, on this afternoon, in
his hidden spot, was the amber-haired beauty of this
morning.

D’ata’s breath caught in his
chest.

Her head was bent down, a book in her
lap as she sat boy-style, cross-legged on the tree. Her simple
dress was bunched up in her lap, allowing the warm sun onto her
bare legs, her stockings and shoes tossed carelessly into the
sand.

Her legs were tan, as though she had
done this before, and her skin was beautifully warm against the
gray of the dead, fallen tree trunk where she perched. She sat as
still as stone, the only indication of life was the way her hair
lifted and fell in the breeze; she was that absorbed in her
reading.

D’ata stopped dead in his tracks, his
mouth falling open. He could not take his eyes from her. The sight
of her sitting, so uninhibited, upon his favorite perch was such
agony. His primary instinct was to flee, to turn around quickly
before she saw them, and quietly escape. He was certain he’d been
betrayed by God, or trapped by Satan, whatever the difference, if
there was one. Recently, he had begun to have doubts, and such an
awful trick this was. D’ata was at extreme odds with
himself.

She hadn’t seemed to notice them at
all. Her hair fell in such a way as to provide a drape from the sun
and anything else that might bother her.

The gelding, perhaps surprised at the
sudden halt, perhaps as part of the divine comedy, planted its
sweaty head firmly between D’ata’s shoulder blades and shoved
hard.

Lunging forward, D’ata lost his
footing and stumbled, awkwardly flailing about as he attempted to
regain his balance in the shifting sand. He fell instead to his
knees.

The horse tossed his head up, the
whites of its eyes rolling as it startled from its master’s clumsy
behavior.

* * *

Julianne, catching movement from the
corner of her eye, looked up suddenly from her reading. Seeing
someone ridiculously flailing about with a horse, she jerked her
skirts down to cover her bare legs. Jumping up from where she sat,
she took a step back from the intruder.

Holding a hand up and squinting into
the sun, she noticed it was the young priest, the same priest who
had so horribly embarrassed her this morning. In fact, his behavior
had caused her to be chastised by several of the senior
parishioners after the encounter, as though she had caused the
transgression herself—as though she had done something to prompt
attention from the blathering idiot! This had been her first visit
to a new church, and they’d travelled further than usual to worship
in the beautiful cathedral. She and Yvette had looked forward to it
for some time, but it had gone horribly wrong.

For the rest of the morning, she’d
been outwardly angry with him and anyone else who dared approach
her about the event. It had made things difficult with her father.
She was the one who’d suggested they visit the other
parish.

How dare he put her in this position!
Who in the devil’s name did he think he was, approaching her as he
had, and why, in God’s name, had a holy man done such a thing
anyway? And, that pathetic congregation, as if he were God’s holy
gift to them! They had blamed her for his ignorance!

She’d brooded most of the day on
it—and fantasized the rest. Most irritating was the notion that, on
some level, she was pleased. There was no denying it, he was
stunning, with his dark features and striking eyes. It had
thoroughly surprised her when she’d first knelt for communion and
looked up to see the most lovely priest gazing down at her. How
unfair it was for God to call such a man to the clergy.

It had become a serious object of
contention for her, that she hadn’t been able to shake him from her
thoughts. This only added to her consternation, and seeing him all
of a sudden on the beach only served to bring back her
anger.

Julianne was not one to be easily
befuddled by the attractiveness of the opposite sex. She was
fiercely independent and strongly devoted to her father and younger
brothers and sister. She was also deeply grounded in her religious
convictions and knew this morning’s events to be a dangerous path
on which to stumble. She was not as easily confused about such
things as some of the other young women of the congregation were,
stupid cows.

She had finally escaped this afternoon
to read poetry at her favorite, secret place along the river. It
was a wonderful book of women’s poems a friend had given to her,
and she fled the farmhouse with it tucked under her arm. The poems
were scandalous, forbidden and adventuresome. The women were
pioneers and Julianne idolized her fictitious heroines.

'And look at him, stumbling into her
haven, stumbling into her mind again. Standing there, looking all
ridiculous and—and, anyway, how dare he indeed!'

* * *

The horse foiled D’ata’s plans to turn
and flee by thrusting him more into the open. He inadvertently
yanked hard on the reins, which only served to make the situation
worse as the horse threw its nose in the air and flailed its head
back and forth. D’ata was yanked back to his feet abruptly and
shushed the animal too loudly in an effort to calm it. It was too
late. He was discovered.

Now that she'd seen him, it would be
entirely unacceptable to simply turn and leave without begging off.
He turned and struggled awkwardly to hold the fidgeting animal
still as it circled around him. Clearing his throat, he said, “I’m
sorry. I—it seems I have disturbed you. I didn’t realize...” He
stumbled over what to say.

Her gray eyes darkened as she squinted
to peer at him, her hair cascading carelessly around her face and
down her back. Without hesitation, she pulled it roughly behind her
ear, then clutching her book with both hands to her chest, she
asked, “Did you follow me here?”

This startled and silenced him at
once. He was again immediately overcome with her beauty and could
not bring his eyes from her face. He thought he'd imagined how
breathtaking she was to be at the church, the extent of it. He
realized that, in fact, he had not. He reached forward and stepped
towards her, then stopped himself, not sure what to say. He was
enraptured again and could not believe they were having a
conversation.

“
Well? Did you?” she
demanded an answer.

“
No, I wouldn’t—do such a
thing. It’s just that I frequently come here to think about
things,” he paused, realizing that he was sounding very much the
liar as he carried on. He tried again. “I see I’m not the only one
who finds this place particularly inviting.” He smiled awkwardly,
trying to lighten the situation.

Setting her book on the tree trunk,
Julianne reached down to gather up her stockings and shoes from the
sand. She stood up, shaking the sand from them, her head cocked to
one side, eyes narrowed and frowning at him. As he continued to
just stand there, staring at her, she glared at him. “Do you
mind?”