Timeline - Crichton Michael - Страница 77

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"A teenager has breakfast, then goes to the store to buy the latest CD of a new band. The kid thinks he lives in a modern moment. But who has defined what a `band' is? Who defined a `store'? Who defined a `teenager'? Or `breakfast'? To say nothing of all the rest, the kid's entire social setting - family, school, clothing, transportation and government.

"None of this has been decided in the present. Most of it was decided hundreds of years ago. Five hundred years, a thousand years. This kid is sitting on top of a mountain that is the past. And he never notices it. He is ruled by what he never sees, never thinks about, doesn't know. It is a form of coercion that is accepted without question. This same kid is skeptical of other forms of control - parental restrictions, commercial messages, government laws. But the invisible rule of the past, which decides nearly everything in his life, goes unquestioned. This is real power. Power that can be taken, and used. For just as the present is ruled by the past, so is the future. That is why I say, the future belongs to the past. And the reason-"

Doniger broke off, annoyed. Kramer's cell phone was ringing, and she answered it. He paced back and forth, waiting. Trying one hand gesture, then another.

Finally, Kramer hung up the phone, looked at him. He said, "Yes? What is it?"

"That was Gordon. They're alive, Bob."

"Are they back yet?"

"No, but we got a recorded message of their voices. Three of them are alive for sure."

"A message? Who figured out how to do that?"

"Stern."

"Really? Maybe he's not as stupid as I thought. We should hire him." He paused. "So: are you telling me we'll get them back after all?"

"No. I'm not sure about that."

"What's the problem?"

"They're keeping their earpieces turned off."

"They are? But why? The earpiece batteries have plenty of power to go thirty-seven hours. There's no reason to keep them off." He stared. "Do you think? You think it's him? You think it's Deckard?"

"Maybe. Yes."

How? It's been over a year. Deckard must be dead by now - remember the way he kept picking fights with everybody?"

"Well, something made them turn off their earpieces…"

"I don't know," Doniger said. "Rob had too many transcription errors, and he was out of control. Hell, he was going to jail."

"Yes. For beating up some guy in a bar he'd never seen before," Kramer said. "The police report said Deckard hit him fifty-two times with a metal chair. The guy was in a coma for a year. And Rob was definitely going to jail. That's why he volunteered to go back one more time."

"If Deckard's still alive," Doniger said, "then they're still in trouble."

"Yes, Bob. They're still in plenty of trouble."

Back in the cool darkness of the forest, Marek drew a rough map in the dirt with a stick. "Right now, we're here, behind the monastery. The mill is over here, about a quarter mile from where we are. There's a checkpoint we have to get past."

"Uh-huh," Chris said.

"And then we have to get into the mill."

"Somehow," Chris said.

"Right. After that, we have the key. So we go to the green chapel. Which is where, Kate?"

She took the stick, and drew a square. "If this is La Roque, on top of the cliff, then there's a forest to the north. The road's about here. I think the chapel is not very far - maybe here.

"A mile? Two miles?"

"Say two miles."

Marek nodded.

"Well, that's all easy enough," Chris said, standing and wiping the dirt from his hands. "All we have to do is get past the armed checkpoint, into the fortified mill, then go to some chapel - and not get killed on the way. Let's get started."

Leaving the forest behind, they moved through a landscape of destruction. Flames leapt above the Monastery of Sainte-Mere, and clouds of smoke darkened the sun. Black ash covered the ground, fell on their faces and shoulders, and thickened the air. They tasted grit in their mouths. Across the river, they could just make out the dark outline of Castelgard, now a blackened, smoking ruin on the hillside.

Walking through this desolation, they saw no one else for a long time. They passed one farmhouse to the west of the monastery, where an elderly man lay on the ground, with two arrows in his chest. From inside, they heard the sound of a baby crying. Looking inside, they saw a woman, hacked to death, lying face down by the fire; and a young boy of six, staring at the sky, his innards sliced open. They did not see the baby, but the sounds seemed to be coming from a blanket in the corner.

Kate started toward it, but Marek held her back. "Don't."

They continued on.

The smoke drifted across an empty landscape, abandoned huts, untended fields. Aside from the farmhouse with its slaughtered inhabitants, they saw no one else.

"Where is everybody?" Chris said.

"They're all in the woods," Marek said. "They have huts there, and underground shelters. They know what to do."

"In the woods? How do they live?"

"By attacking any soldiers that pass by. That's why the knights kill anyone they find in the forest. They assume they're godins - brigands - and they know that the godins will return the favor, if they can."

"So that's what happened to us, when we first landed?"

"Yes," Marek said. "The antagonism between commoners and nobles is at its worst right now. Ordinary people are angry that they're forced to support this knightly class with their taxes and tithes, but when the time comes, the knights don't fulfill their part of the bargain. They can't win the battles to protect the country. The French king has been captured, which is very symbolic to the common folk. And now that the war between England and France has stopped, they see only too clearly that the knights are the cause of further destruction. Both Arnaut and Oliver fought for their respective kings at Poitiers. And now they both pillage the countryside to pay their troops. The people don't like it. So they form bands of godins, living in the forest, fighting back whenever they can."

"And this farmhouse?" Kate said. "How does that happen?"

Marek shrugged. "Maybe your father was killed in the forest by peasant bandits. Maybe your brother had too much to drink one night, wandered off, and was murdered and stripped naked by peasant bands. Maybe your wife and children were traveling from one castle to another and vanished without a trace. Eventually, you are ready to take out your anger and frustration on somebody. And eventually, you do."

"But-"

Marek fell silent, pointing ahead. Above a line of trees, a fluttering green-and-black banner moved quickly to the left, carried by a rider galloping on horseback.

Marek pointed to the right. They moved quietly upstream. And they came at last to the mill bridge, and the checkpoint.

On the river bank, the mill bridge ended in a high stone wall with an arched opening. A stone tollbooth stood on the other side of the arch. The only road to La Roque ran through the arch, which meant that Oliver's soldiers, who controlled the bridge, also controlled the road.

Above the road, the limestone cliffs were high and sheer. There was no alternative but to go through the arch. And standing by the arch, talking with the soldiers by the tollhouse, was Robert de Kere.

Marek shook his head.

A stream of peasants, mostly women and children, some carrying a few belongings, was walking up the road. They were heading for the protection of the castle at La Roque. De Kere talked to a guard, and glanced at the peasants from time to time. He didn't seem to be paying much attention, but they could never walk past him undetected.

Eventually, de Kere went back inside the fortified bridge. Marek nudged the others, and they set out on the road, moving slowly toward the checkpoint. Marek felt himself start to sweat.

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