THE ALTERED COURSE

BY:  ROSE CARR

CHAPTER FIVE

Struggling, Richelleen cried out, "Have you gone insane Roland? Stop it, let me go, now!" Sweating heavily, his face smeared with blood from the bite on his chin, he growled, "Yes! I have gone mad!" His voice became raspy, gritty as he threatened her. "I know you will never be mine, but for this moment you will belong to me and only me!"

My God, she thought, a prickling of fear running through her, he has gone crazy. In a move born of desperation she stopped fighting, tried to keep her lips from trembling as she smiled seductively at him, while her hand searched along the ground for any weapon she could use. Finding a rock, she grasped it and swung her arm towards his head.

Reacting quickly to her sudden movement, Roland evaded the blow. Cruelly he gripped her wrist, squeezing it until she grimaced in pain and let the rock fall. Pinning her arms by the wrists above her head with one large hand, he held her legs down with his knees, while his other hand fumbled with the closure of his pants. He looked down at her, his eyes dark and wild, an ugly dirty laugh coming from some black place inside him that turned into a howl of rage, as a powerful force yanked him up by the collar and sent him flying backwards landing so hard on his back, the air was forced from his lungs.

Quickly Javert knelt down, putting his arm around Richelleen, helping her to sit up. His voice full of concern he asked "Did he hurt you Richelleen, can you walk?"

Nodding her head yes, she threw her arms around his neck as he helped her to stand. Javert picked up the discarded towel and wrapped it around her. Richelleen hid her face in his chest for a moment, her body trembling more from rage than fear. A sound made them turn at the same instant. "Look out!" she screamed.

Javert let her go and pivoting on his heel, turned in time to see Roland charging him. Colliding, both men went down, scuffling and rolling to the river's edge. Breaking free, panting and sweating, they stood facing each other. Warily they circled one another, darting and feinting, each looking for an opportunity to strike. A raw scream of rage escaped from deep within Roland as he threw a punch aimed at Javert's head. Moving quickly for such a big man, Javert evaded the blow, his massive hand closing over Roland's fist, bending it back at an impossible angle. An incredulous expression spread over Roland's face as red hot sparks of pain ran from his shoulders down to his fingertips. Roland, his eyes blinking back stinging tears of pain, stared at his wrist and into Javert's face. He could only watch helplessly as the big man calmly, efficiently applied pressure on his twisted wrist, until he was forced to his knees.

Richelleen's screams had brought other members of the camp running to the riverside. Gaspar arrived to see Javert standing over Roland, who had slumped down at his feet, and was holding his injured wrist. Gaspar bellowed and started for Javert. Richelleen, who had managed to struggle into her blouse and skirt, tugged at his arm and shouted, " No Gaspar, he is not the one! Roland attacked me, and Monsieur Javert saved me from him!" Gasping and covering her mouth with her hands, Richelleen froze, for she knew instantly what she had said.

A murmur ran through the crowd, for while the big stranger had not been recognized by the people of the camp, the name of Monsieur Javert, Inspector of the First Class was known to many. Gaspar, stared, his mouth hanging open, as it dawned on him where he had seen this man. Without the great coat, the tall black hat or his uniform jacket he had not recognized him as the man he had seen in the police post on the Rue de Chatalet.

Shaking Gaspar out of his daze, Richelleen said, "Gaspar, Roland went crazy, he attacked me. Monsieur Javert ran here when he heard my cries for help and stopped him. It is Roland you should be dealing with, not him!" The group parted as Andre ran in, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Taking in the scene before him the old man knew at once what had taken place.

"You are disgusting, no better than a rutting pig! Be glad it was not your neck he almost broke," he growled at the crouching Roland. Lurching to his feet and nursing his wrist, Roland's face turned ashen, his mouth moved, but made no sound. Seeing the hurt and accusing eyes of Richelleen staring at him, he shook his head, as if to clear it, staggered towards her and fell at her feet.

Gaspar, looking helplessly at Richelleen, hurried to his brother's side. Glancing at Andre, Gaspar saw the disapproving look on his face and said. "He may deserve to be whipped, for what he has done, but he is still my brother, and I have to help him." Gaspar grabbed Roland under his shoulders, helped to his feet and started leading him away explaining. "I will take him to his wagon Andre and clean him up, he will stay there until you come for him."

Scowling at their retreating figures, he dark eyes hard as flint, Andre shouted angrily, "You see that he does Gaspar, you see that he does. For he will have to face the judgment of this camp for what he did to my daughter!" Javert had been standing still, arms at his side, watching and waiting for Andre to make the next move. Andre, walked to Richelleen's side, put his arm around her shoulders, and said, " Monsieur Javert, come with us."

Giving a little nod of assent, Javert moved up beside Richelleen and started back with them. Taking his hand in hers she gave him an encouraging smile as they passed through the aisle the now silent crowd had made for them.

Richelleen told her father she wished to return to her own wagon. They walked in silence, each lost in their own thoughts, until reaching the back door of her wagon. Javert helped her up the few steps and inside, then held the door for her father to enter. Exhausted she walked to the bed and dropped down heavily on it.

Javert hurried to the table that held the basin and water pitcher. Pouring water into the basin and getting a towel from the shelf, he walked to her side, wet the towel and began washing the blood and dirt from her face. Richelleen winced as he gingerly dabbed at the purpling cuts and bruises on her face and neck.

His brow was furrowed with concern as he continued to gently cleanse her injuries. "I do not mean to hurt you, but this needs to be done. Tell me what kind of salve or cream to use and I will apply it when the this is done." Smiling, very touched by his obvious concern, she looked up into his eyes and lifted her hand to touch his face. He took her hand in his, kissed the inside of her palm and laid it against his cheek, holding it there several moments before he put it down and proceeded with his ministries.

Andre felt almost embarrassed witnessing the scene between Richelleen and Javert. Clearly they cared for each other, but Zut alors! Javert was an Inspector, the.....the enemy! Rubbing a callused hand over his face and loudly clearing his throat he spoke up. "Ahem, Richelleen, do you feel well enough to tell me exactly what took place back there at the river?" She turned her head slightly and gave her father a sweet sad smile. She spoke quietly.

"Roland was bathing, or so he said, when he heard splashing at the other end of the river and came to investigate. He must of have arrived just as I completed my bath. Oh Papa!" she cried in an anguished voice. "He was watching me, watching as I walked from the water, not saying a word to let me know he was there. He came up behind me saying he wanted to talk to me, but I told him no, I wasn't even dressed and ask him to go away. He...he changed. He went wild, said he would make me...belong to him." She closed her eyes and Andre could see little beaded drops of tears clinging to her dark lashes, it tore at him because he knew tears did not come easily to her.

Lowering his eyes, his voice very soft and controlled Andre asked her "Did he..did he rape you Richelleen?"

Her dark winged brows knitted together, as she raised her hand to trembling lips and shook her head no. "No...no Papa, but only because Monsieur Javert prevented him from doing so." Andre stood and stared without speaking out the window. The sill was below the level of his eyes gave him a view of the camp. In the silent wagon the sound of music and the occasional shouts of children could be heard. For years he had considered himself to be an astute and wise leader of his people. Always fair in meting out justice and rewards, but it greatly disturbed him that his wisdom deserted him where the welfare of his child was concerned. The main questions facing him now were what to do about Roland, and although it did not seem fair in view of his brave actions, what to do about Monsieur Javert?

Andre walked over to his daughter and sat down beside her for a moment. "I will meet with the others Richelleen and we will decide on what to do about Roland, and Monsieur Javert. It is obvious to me that you are in good hands here and will be ably taken care of. I will talk to you both after our decisions have been made."

Kissing her on the head and giving her shoulder a squeeze he stood up to leave. Facing Javert, who had stopped his doctoring and was watching them intently, Andre offered his hand to him. "Thank you sir, thank you for protecting my daughter." Surprised, Javert took the offered hand, Richelleen watched as her father whispered something in Javert's ear and saw Javert give a little nod of acknowledgment. As Andre turned to leave, Richelleen could swear she saw a little smile cross her father's face.

Across the camp, Gaspar was roughly administering to the injuries of his brother. Snorting in disgust he said, "What came over you? What could possibly have been running through that tiny pea sized little brain of yours to make you do such a thing?" Roland pushed his brother's hand away that had been applying salve to his scratches. Burying his head in his hands, he moaned.

"I'm a vile creature, lower than the lowest thing that crawls the earth."

"You will get no argument from me there," Gaspar muttered under his breath.

"I promised Armond as he lay dying that I would take care of her -- and look at what I have done!"

Gaspar looked down on his bother's bent head, his heart aching despite his abhorrence for the act he had committed. He reached out his hand and smoothed his hair whispering. "There there." It was the only comforting thing he could remember his mother doing. His voice cracking with emotion he said, "Roland you are my brother, the only family that I have and I love you.....but I can't offer any explanations for your behavior, or any absolution. You need to look deep inside yourself for those answers, or to a higher authority than me."

Javert finished applying the salves Richelleen asked him to use on her bruises, then gave her a cup of steaming tea to drink. "What is this?" she asked as she took it from his hands.

"An herbal tea your father ask me to make for you. He said it would help you feel better and let you rest more comfortably." She drank some of the hot clear liquid and handed the cup back to him. Afraid to hurt her but wanting to comfort her he carefully gathered her in his strong arms and pressed her close to him. His nose burrowed deep into her hair, breathing in her sweet clean fragrance, his breaths warm upon her skin. Grasping him about his neck she raised her head, offering her mouth to him. He smiled and brushed his lips against her cheek very gently. "Sssshh...ssshhhh.," he whispered. "This is not the time for that." A pervading sense of peace and comfort washed over her as she felt herself being lifted and gently lowered onto the bed. Relaxing as he lay down next to her, she nestled her head against his strong wide shoulder, and felt the hands that had so ably defended her a short while ago, now stroke and comfort her. Unable to keep her eyes open any longer, she closed them and slept.

Darkness fell and the camp settled in for the night. Javert carefully withdrew his arm from under the sleeping Richelleen and sat up on the edge of the bed. She murmured and stirred, then turned over on her side, her breathing returning to the easy slow rhythm of sleep. He shrugged into his jacket that had been repaired and returned to him by Adele, slipped out the door and made his way across the camp to Roland's place. Knocking on the door, he heard a voice tell him to enter. Bending and shouldering his way through the small doorway he stopped just inside the entry. Roland was sitting on the side of his bed, head in hands. He looked up when his visitor did not speak and looking surprised but not angry said. "Oh it is you. Did you come to finish the job? Not that I would blame you if your did." And as he remembered their first two meetings, rubbed his aching wrist and said. "Or could stop you if I wanted to." Javert stood with his hands behind his back, his words halting and slow for this was very difficult for him.

"Monsieur Roland" he began. "I want you to know that I understand some of the emotions you may be experiencing now. My....circumstances were...different but all obsessions are the same and they can have a devastating effect on a person's life no matter the object or person involved." Roland did not look at him, but Javert went on. He tried to offer the only help he could. "My advice to you is to talk to someone you trust, Andre, a good friend or a priest. Talk to them and work this through before you wind up on the edge of a bridge like I did, ready to throw your life away. I was very blessed, Richelleen was there to save me, you may not be so fortunate." Roland did not say a word, only stared down at the floor. He could not bear looking into those clear steady eyes of Javert's. He did not want to see accusation or pity. Had Roland looked, he would have seen eyes that held only sorrow for a fellow human being who had lost his way and fallen into the void he had been fortunate enough to have escaped.

Leaving Roland's, Javert walked quickly back to Richelleen's. It had grown colder, the rising wind swirled dust and leaves around his feet. Entering the wagon he was glad for it's warmth as he undressed in the darkness. Not wanting to disturb Richelleen, he carefully eased onto the bed and snuggled up to her back. Unable to resist the feel of her satiny skin, his hand traced a trail along the curve of her gently sloping belly, moving up to cup the full heavy weight of her breasts. Richelleen made a soft little inarticulate sound and he held his breath as he felt her press her silky bottom against him, and was somehow pleased that she responded to his touch even in her sleep. Satisfied that he had not awakened her, he let out his breath but left his hand where it was, cupping one smooth soft globe. Her warmth was soothing, relaxing, feeling his lids grow heavy he soon joined her in a sound sleep.

A loud persistent knocking woke them both. Richelleen feeling sore and stiff scrambled out of bed and threw on her robe. Tying the sash around her as she walked to the door, she called out. "Who is it?" "It is Gaspar, Madame Richelleen, is Roland with you by any chance?" Opening the door, her eyes wide with surprise she said.

"Roland? Here.... in my wagon? Now what do you think Gaspar?" Javert walked up behind her, buttoning his shirt and looked inquiringly at young Gaspar.

"I am sorry," Gaspar said, " but he is not in his wagon and we have looked everywhere for him." The bleak and worried look in the young man's eyes tugged at Richelleen's heart. "This was the last place to look, please forgive me for having bothered you." He thanked her and hurried away in the direction of the river. Poor boy she thought, as she watched him hurry away, his thin shoulders hunched against the cold wind, none of this can be easy for him. She closed the door and turned to find Javert putting on his boots. They had finished dressing when Andre came to the door. They welcomed him inside and waited to hear what news he had brought them.

"It appears that Roland has ran away," Andre said looking quite distressed. "I did not want to believe he would run. True he has always been impulsive and hot-headed, but never has he been a coward. I have an idea of where he may have gone but we will need your help Monsieur Javert. Will you ride with us?" Javert raised a questioning eyebrow, but did not speak. "We are returning to Paris, and Richelleen said you could be of help to us there."

Tilting his head to the side, he said. "But of course Monsieur Andre, I would be glad to assist you, but how do your men feel about me going with you?"

Meeting his level gaze Andre said. "I will not lie to you, they do not trust you, but.... they do trust me, and they will do as I ask. Both of you meet me where we keep the horses tethered as soon as you can. I am sure Richelleen will find a warm coat for you and a horse suitable for you to ride. You do ride, don't you Monsieur Javert?" He was not used to teasing, but seeing the twinkle in the old man's eye, he decided he was having fun. Not knowing how to respond Javert simply smiled and said.

"Of course, but perhaps Madame Richelleen should not join us, the dangers....." A snort from the old man cut his words off. "You try to stop her from doing what she has set her mind to Monsieur, perhaps you will have better luck than me." With that he made his way out the door.

Javert and Richelleen arrived at the stand of trees where the small herd of horses was kept. She disappeared for a moment then he saw her come from the behind the trees, leading a large steel grey gelding. Stopping in front of Javert she handed the reins over to him, saying "This is Liberte, he is a good boy, strong and swift. He will serve you well."

A look of pure enjoyment came over Javert's face as he moved quietly towards the beautiful animal. The horse turned it's massive head, nickered and rolled it's dark eyes as if in a greeting. Javert laid one hand upon the gelding's back and stroked it's fine neck with the other, speaking it's name, letting it get used to his smell and presence. He will do fine Richelleen thought as she strode over to a dark brown mare waiting for her a few feet away. Grasping the mare's mane, she sprang up on it's back and sat astride it, the long cloak she wore falling around her.

Andre called to them, everyone was ready to leave. Javert put his foot in the stirrup and swung himself into the saddle, leaning forward to pat the horse's neck again. Richelleen felt her breath catch in her throat as she saw Javert astride Liberte, the gelding's steel grey mane echoed the flowing hair of it's rider. They are perfectly matched she thought, both brave and strong, both magnificent. Wheeling her horse around, she followed Javert to the group of men gathered near the road. Once they were in the open, they broke into a gallop. The wind in their faces, they rode hard, hoping to make Paris by nightfall.

to be continued. . .

© 1997 Rose Carr

Contact the author:Rosematuse@aol.com

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