IS HE DEAD?

A voice crept through the haze. A woman's voice... I opened my eyes. But I couldn't make out a thing. Only a shifting blur.

I don't know, my lady, another said, but his wounds are grave. He doesn't look far from gone.

Such unusual hair... remarked the first.

I blinked, my brain slowly starting to clear. It was as if there were a shimmering veil reflecting my sight.Was I dead? There was a lovely face leaning over me. Yellow hair, braided densely, tumbling from under a brocaded purple cloak. She smiled. It warmed me like the sun.

Sophie, I muttered. I reached to touch her face.

You are hurt, replied the woman, her voice like the delicate trill of a bird. I'm afraid you mistake me for someone else.

My body felt no pain. Is this Heaven? I asked.

The woman smiled again. If Heaven is a world where all wounded knights resemble vegetables, then, yes, it must be.

I felt her hands cradle my head. I blinked again. It was not Sophie, but someone lovely, speaking with the accent of the north. Paris.

I still live, I uttered with a sigh.

For the moment, yes. But your wounds are serious. We must get you to a physician. Are you from here? Do you have a family?

I tried to focus on her questions. It was all too fuzzy and hurtful. I just said, No.

Are you an outlaw? the second woman's voice intoned from above.

I struggled to see a lavishly robed lady, clearly royal, atop a stunning white palfrey.

I assure you, madame, I said, doing my best to smile, I am benign. I saw my tunic matted with blood. Regardless of how I look. Sharp pangs of pain now lanced my stomach and thigh. I had no strength. With a gasp, I fell back once more.

Where do you head, Monsieur Rouge? the golden-haired maide............