“Then we will follow those two, and see where they lead.” He nodded to Marek. “Raimondo, see to this poor man’s mount. And provide him as escort two of your best chevaliers, as you follow behind.”
The handsome knight bowed. “My Lord, if it please you, I will accompany him myself.”
“Do so,” Arnaut said, “for there may yet be some mischief here.” And he gave the knight a significant look.
Meanwhile, Lady Claire had gone up to Marek and was pressing his hand warmly in both of hers. He felt something cool in her fingers, and realized it was a tiny dagger, barely four inches long. He said, “My Lady, I am greatly in your debt.”
“Then see you repay this debt, knight,” she said, looking into his eyes.
“I shall, as God is my witness.” He slipped the dagger under his robes.
“And I will pray to God for you, knight,” she said. She leaned over to kiss his cheek chastely. As she did, she whispered, “Your escort is Raimondo of Narbonne. He likes to cut throats. When he knows the secret, have a care he does not cut yours, and those of your friends, as well.” She stepped away, smiling.
Marek said, “Lady, you are too kind. I shall take your kind wishes to heart.”
“Good knight, God speed you safe and true.”
“Lady, you are always in my thoughts.”
“Good sir knight, I would wish—”
“Enough, enough,” Arnaut said in a disgusted voice. He turned to Raimondo. “Go now, Raimondo, for this surfeit of sentiment makes my stomach heave.”
“My Lord.” The handsome knight bowed. He led Marek to the door and out into the sunlight.
* * *
07:34:49
“I’ll tell you what the goddamn problem is,” Robert Doniger said, glaring at the visitors. “The problem is to bring the past alive. To make it real.”
There were two young men and a young woman, all slouching on the couch in his office. They were dressed entirely in black, wearing those pinch-shoulder jackets that looked like they’d shrunk in the wash. The men had long hair and the woman had a buzz cut. These were the media people that Kramer had hired. But Doniger noticed that today Kramer was sitting opposite them, subtly divorcing herself from them. He wondered if she had already seen their material.
It made Doniger irritable. He didn’t like media people anyway. And this was his second meeting with the breed today. He’d had the PR dipshits in the morning, now these dipshits.
“The problem,” he said, “is that I have thirty executives coming to hear my presentation tomorrow. The title of my presentation is ‘The Promise of the Past,’ and I have no compelling visuals to show them.”
“Got it,” one of the young men said crisply. “That was exactly our starting point here, Mr. Doniger. The client wants to bring the past alive. That’s what we set out to do. With Ms. Kramer’s help, we asked your own observers to generate sample videos for us. And we believe this material will have the compelling quality—”
“Let’s see it,” Doniger said.
“Yes, sir. Perhaps if we lowered the lights—”
“Leave the lights as they are.”
“Yes, Mr. Doniger.” The video screen on the wall came up blue as it glowed to life. While they were waiting for the image, the young man said, “The reason we like this first one is because it is a famous historical event that lasts only two minutes from start to finish. As you know, many historical events occurred very slowly, especially to modern sensibilities. This one was quick. Unfortunately, it occurred on a somewhat rainy day.”
The screen showed a gray, gloomy image, overhanging clouds. The camera panned to show some sort of gathering, shot over the heads of a large crowd. A tall man was climbing up onto a plain, unpainted wood platform.
“What’s this? A hanging?”
“No,” the media kid said. “That’s Abraham Lincoln, about to deliver the Gettysburg Address.”
“It is? Jesus, he looks like hell. He looks like a corpse. His clothes are all wrinkled. His arms stick out of his sleeves.”
“Yes, sir, but—”
“And is that his voice? It’s squeaky.”
“Yes, Mr. Doniger, no one’s ever heard Lincoln’s voice before, but that is his actual—”
“Are you out of your fucking minds?”
“No, Mr. Doniger—”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, I can’t use this,” Doniger said. “No one wants Abraham Lincoln to sound like Betty Boop. What else have you got?”
“It’s right here, Mr. Doniger.” Unruffled, the young man changed the tapes, saying, “For the second video, we adopted a different premise. We wanted a good action sequence, but again, a famous event that everybody would know. So this is Christmas Day, 1778, on the Delaware River, where—”
“I can’t see shit,” Doniger said.
“Yes, I’m afraid it is a bit dark. It’s a night crossing. But we thought George Washington crossing the Delaware would be a good—”
“George Washington? Where is George Washington?”
“He’s right there,” the kid said, pointing to the screen.
“Where?”
“There.”
“He’s that guy huddled in the back of the boat?”
“That’s correct, and—”
“No, no, no,” Doniger said. “He has to be standing in the bow, like a general.”
“I know that’s the way the paintings portray him, but it’s not what actually happened. Here you see the real George Washington as he actually crossed the—”
“He looks seasick,” Doniger said. “You want me to show a video of George Washington looking seasick?”
“But this is reality.”
“Fuck reality,” Doniger said, throwing one of their videotapes across the room. “What’s the matter with you people? I don’t care about reality. I want something intriguing, something sexy. You’re showing me a walking corpse and a drowned rat.”
“Well, we can go back to the drawing board—”
“My talk is tomorrow,” Doniger said. “I have three major executives coming here. And I have already told them they would see something very special.” He threw up his hands. “Jesus Christ.”
Kramer cleared her throat. “What about using stills?”
“Stills?”
“Yes, Bob. You could take single frames from these videos, and that might be quite effective,” Kramer said.
“Uh-huh, yes, that would work,” the media woman said, head bobbing.
Doniger said, “Lincoln would still look wrinkled.”
“We’ll take the wrinkles out with Photoshop.”
Doniger considered that. “Maybe,” he said finally.
“Anyway,” Kramer said, “you don’t want to show them too much. Less is more.”
“All right,” Doniger said. “Make the stills up, and show them to me in an hour.”
The media people filed out. Doniger was alone with Kramer. He went behind his desk, shuffled through his presentation. Then he said, “Do you think it should be ‘The Promise of the Past,’ or ‘The Future of the Past’?”
“’The Promise of the Past,’ ” Kramer said. “Definitely ‘The Promise.’”
* * *
07:34:49
Accompanied by two knights, Marek rode in the dust of the baggage carts, moving toward the head of the column. He could not see Chris or Kate yet, but his little group was moving swiftly. He would catch up to them soon.
He looked at the knights on either side of him. Raimondo on his left, erect, in full armor, with his thin smile. On his right, a grizzled warrior in armor, clearly tough and competent. Neither man paid him much attention, so secure were they in their control over him. Especially since his hands were bound together by ropes, with a six-inch gap between the wrists.
He rode along, coughing in the dust. Eventually he managed to slip his small dagger from beneath his coat, and palm it beneath his hand as he gripped the wooden pommel of the saddle in front of him. He tried to position the knife so the gentle movement of the horse up and down would slowly fray the rope at his wrists. But this was easier said than done; the knife seemed to be always in the wrong position, and his bonds were not cut. Marek glanced at his wristband counter; it read 07:21:02. There were still more than seven hours left before the batteries ran out.
Soon they had left the riverside trail behind and started to climb the twisting road up through the village of La Roque. The village was built into the cliffs above the river, the houses almost entirely of stone, giving the town a unified, somber appearance, especially now, when every door and window was boarded shut in anticipation of war.
Now they moved among the lead companies of Arnaut’s soldiers, more knights in armor, each with their retinues following. Men and horses climbed the steep cobbled streets, horses snorting, baggage carts slipping as they went up. These knights in the lead had a sense of urgency; many of the carts carried pieces of disassembled siege engines. Evidently, they planned to begin the siege before nightfall.
They were still within the town when Marek caught sight of Chris and Kate, riding side by side on sagging mounts. They were perhaps a hundred yards ahead, alternately visible and hidden as the road twisted up. Raimondo put his hand on Marek’s arm. “We approach no closer.”