From Here To 1137 AD; Episode 49, A Smile From Lattice

This is episode forty-nine of the novel, From Here To 1137 AD. If you would like to purchase From  Here To 1137 AD, it is available on Amazon in Kindle format or paperback. 

A Smile From Lattice

After birthing the calf, Thomas took Tom on a tour of his fields. They strolled beside the border.

“You seem to have birthed many cows before,” Thomas said.

“A few.” 

“Where you are from, how many cattle do you have?” Thomas asked.

“Enough to keep me busy.”

“What kind of crops do you farm?”

“Wheat and oats.”

“How many bushels per acre?” 

“I do pretty well.”

“What is pretty well?” Thomas asked, slightly peeved.

“What is pretty well for you?”

“Ten bushels would be a very good yield.”

“If you plant one seed, how many seeds will it yield?” Tom asked.

“Four.”

“How much do you take to market?”

“Half.”

“Hmm,” Tom stroked his chin.

Before Tom could speak, Thomas said, “Of the half we keep, half is saved and sown for the next year. We use what remains for ourselves: bread, ale, pottage. What about you?”

Tom feigned interest. “What about your oats?”

“Fifteen to twenty bushels per acre and three to fourfold,” Thomas said. “What about you?”

“We use a very similar crop rotation as you do,” Tom said. 

“You are new here,” Thomas said, “how do you know about our crop rotation?”

“On my trek here, I spoke to farmers and innkeepers,” Tom said. “You know what they say, ‘If you want to know God’s thoughts, ask the innkeeper before the priest; the innkeeper is more reliable, so God says.’”

Thomas chuckled. “You are purposely avoiding my questions and trying to steer our conversation. I’m becoming distrustful.”

“What would I have to be distrustful about?” 

“I don’t know,” Thomas said. “Although I can read, I am not familiar with the words of the law. Only nobility can afford a pleader or an attorney. Even if they do not employ one, they win in court, all the same.”

“What about your legal situation?”

“The law is the law, but from Duke to Duke it can be applied differently,” Thomas said. “The last ruling was that the land my father legally obtained belongs to my mother. When I’m twenty-one, the title can be granted to me. Elsewhere, it can be granted to me at my present age. Here is my legal situation; if the court should determine my mother is not competent, the Duke can claim the land as his own or award it to one of his friends or to one who has served him loyally.”

“Drake Bouchard?”

“Yes,” Thomas said.

“What about your mother? Is she competent?” 

“She bears a humiliation no woman should experience,” Thomas said. “Not only did Bouchard violate her, but he killed her husband, my father, before our eyes. Her burden leaves her as close to death as a person can come while still breathing.”

“Can you afford someone versed in the law to adequately represent you?”

“I trust no one,” Thomas affirmed. “Not even you. My father’s death has left me bitter and seeking only vengeance. I do trust my mother, that’s it. As for you, I ask questions that you do not answer. And you steer the conversation to suit your own interests. You have deceived me at least once. I can’t trust you.”

They walked for a couple of minutes, neither saying a word. 

Thomas bolted forward and planted himself directly in front of Tom. Tom stopped.

“Face to face we are, man,” Thomas said. “I can’t figure out your interest in this. I’m not familiar with the ways of businessmen’s and nobles’ trickery, usury, and handi-dandy. Sure, I know about certain frauds and dishonest scales, but the weaving and wavering of schooled nobles, I am unfamiliar with. And you may be all a part of it. You win my confidence and trust and then slowly sink a knife into my back. Is that the way it is plotted? The countryside is full of such villainy.”

“Your distrust is warranted, but not in full,” Tom said. He nodded forward to indicate he wanted to walk further. “Show me more of your land.”

They continued to walk.

“Is this giving you time to harvest another fable?” Tom said sarcastically.

“You see,” Tom said, “from my point of view, I may have greater reason to hold things confidential without informing you.”

“You think I am the one who can’t be trusted?” Thomas said incredulously.  

“Not in the way you suppose. I could trust you with any transaction. If we agreed upon a price for some goods and you dropped the money into my hand, I would not have to count it. What we agreed upon would be there—in full.”

“And I’m inclined to view you equally, given the same sort of transaction,” Thomas said. “But I sense you are hiding something of greater value than a handful of coins. I watched as you brought about the birth of a calf. It was not a birth, it was a life. You looked with pleasure and satisfaction at a new life. Life has meaning to you. I sense you are not a scoundrel. And if you are, you have goodness in your soul.”

“I would like to meet your mother.”  

“What? You want to confirm she is not stable?” Thomas said forcefully. “And then lend testimony in the Duke’s court?”

“To the contrary, I want to see her in a way that I will explain later.”

“You will not impose on her or upset her in any manner?” Thomas asked.

“Never,” Tom said, “never.”

Thomas motioned with his head to return to the house.

Tomas continued to speak. Tom listened and answered passively. His thoughts were elsewhere. He was full of emotions. He had looked into the eyes of Thomas, a vibrant and spry lad, knowing that he was, at least, a distant thirty-generation progenitor. Now he was about to look into the eyes of an additional generation beyond Thomas—to a woman barely clinging to life. 

Tom asked Brain telepathically, “Are these really my ancestors?”

Brain replied, “There are matters of the universe that you will never comprehend. And there are things I will never be able to compute, but I can tell you for certainty, they are you.”

Tom continued to walk with Thomas, mechanically carrying on a conversation. 

They walked into the house. Thomas’s mother sat in a chair, staring at a wall and grinding wheat with a quern that sat on a table. She continued turning the handle as if no one entered the house.

“Mother,” Thomas said, bending down to her, “I have brought someone who bears the same name as mine. He is a distant relative of Father.”

Thomas moved aside. He gestured with his head for Tom to move closer and speak to her.

Tom grabbed a stool and dragged it across the plank floor. He placed it in front of her. He eased deliberately onto the stool. He gently placed his hand on top of her hand that ground the grain. She stopped. He looked into her thin, troubled face with gullies swept deep by tears. He slowly slid the quern aside on the table. 

“What is your name?” Tom smiled kindly and said with a gentle whisper.

“Lettice,” she said softly.

“That is a lovely-sounding name. It means joy, does it not?”

A smile trickled from one side of her mouth.

“Lettice, look into my eyes.”

Lettice’s attention slowly moved from the wall and met Tom’s eyes.

“Thank you,” Tom said. “I see a good woman, a strong woman, a woman in distress. Your strength will overcome that distress. Someday you will grind wheat for grandchildren. They will be nurtured by your warmth, calm, strength, and love.”

“Hope,” Lettice uttered.

“As you look deep inside me, what do you see?”

A gentle smile rested on his lips. “I see a son.”

Tom leaned forward and kissed her gently on the forehead.

She moved the quern near and began to grind.

Tom stood and walked outside. Thomas followed.

“What did she mean?” Thomas said.

“There are things in this world that will never be explained,” Tom said. “I think that may be one of them.”

“I don’t understand,” Thomas said.

“Tell your mother you will be gone for a while,” Tom said.

“Where are we going?” Thomas said. 

“Just tell your mother,” Tom assured Thomas, gripping his shoulder.

From Here To 1137 AD; Episode 48, Tom to Thomas, Farmer to Farmer

This is episode forty-eight of the novel, From Here To 1137 AD. If you would like to purchase From  Here To 1137 AD, it is available on Amazon in Kindle format or paperback. 

 

Tom to Thomas, Farmer to Farmer

The Northumberland farming landscape stretched flat with unexpected bulges. It lay in small patches of fields cared for by peasants. Not far from the road, Tom saw a man sitting on the ground, watching a flock of sheep graze.

Tom walked toward the man. The man stood and waved.

“Good day,” Tom waved and said. “The weather seems to be turning pleasant.”

“There will be a wee bit more snow,” the man stood. “Do you come from far?”

“Yes,” Tom said. “I have come to visit my family and secure their welfare.”

“And who might that be?” The man asked. 

“I’m looking for a lad, Thomas Bales.”

“Young Bales is in the village today. I saw him at his home this morning, on my way out,” the man said. “It is just over the next rise. It is called Hanby.” The man pointed to a rise in the road about half a mile away. “He lives in the first house on the right.”

“Thank you and good day, my friend,” Tom said and followed the road toward the rise.

Tom reached the top of the rise in the road. A quarter of a mile away, twenty small daub, thatch-roofed houses lined both sides of the road. All around the hamlet, fallow fields dotted the late winter windswept landscape. Cattle, sheep, and goats placidly grazed. The wind at the top of the rise whirled and whistled through two barren trees where Tom stood.

He hesitated, trying to calculate the importance of what lay ahead of him. He reviewed strategies. He expected that his arrival would be received as a welcome surprise—a tonic for the bleak situation.  

After several minutes of thought, he hurried down the rise. Soon, he stood at the house of one of his earliest known ancestors. 

Tom lifted his hand to knock on the door.

“What is it?” A voice from the side of the house said before Tom was able to knock. It was a short boy who looked as if he had not grown yet into manhood. He was dressed in brown trousers and a hooded cowl. 

“What is it, stranger?” Thomas said sharply. 

“Are you Thomas Bales?” Tom said. 

“Yes,” Thomas said. “And what do they call you?”

“We bear the same name.”

“Does that make us relatives?” Thomas said.

“In this case, it does.”

“How?” Thomas asked, tilting his head to one side.

“I am your uncle,” Tom said. “I am your father’s brother.”

“He has no brothers,” Thomas said curtly. “He spoke only of four sisters and a brother who died at birth.”

Tom expected nothing but gratification from Thomas upon learning a relative from far away had made a trip of considerable distance. He thought he’d be greeted with wide-eyed curiosity. It appeared as if the death of his father, Geoffrey, had left him cynical and suspicious.

“Tell me, please, the names of my grandfather and grandmother?” Thomas asked. “Before you answer, you look as if, at the most, you are five years older than me. How old are you?”

Brain said telepathically, “Likely you have already assessed. You should be honest and forthright with Thomas. How that is accomplished is best left to you.”

“Well, sir,” Thomas repeated, “that was not a hard question. How old are you?”

“I’m nineteen,” Tom said apologetically. 

“Whoever you are, leave my door,” Thomas said firmly.

“I can assure you, Thomas, that we are most assuredly related.”

“My family has always had good hearing,” Thomas said. “If you were a Bales, you would have heard me perfectly. Leave my door.”

Tom stepped into the road. Thomas suspiciously watched and glared.

“I came here to avenge your father’s murder by the sword of Drake Bouchard. Several days ago, I planted the rumor so that my arrival would not be unexpected, especially by Bouchard.”

“So the rumor is,” Thomas said.

“And while walking all the way from Scarborough, all I gave thought to was greeting you and helping. My thinking was clouded by the fact that I thought you might be a simple peasant who would be gracious at the thought of someone from faraway wanting to claim vengeance. It appears I have failed. For one, you are more sophisticated and clever than I estimated. And second, I have made the mistake of being less honorable with my tongue than it would take to earn your trust.”

Thomas stepped from the side of the house and stood no more than a stride from Tom.

Thomas looked up at Tom. He looked around to see if anyone was in earshot. “I am what I am, sir, nothing more. I am no fool. My father saw to it that I was familiar with letters and numbers. Advantages have been withheld from me, but I can read and write and calculate.”

“I have come here only to help,” Tom said. “Once I have completed what I came here to do, I will be gone, and you will never hear of me again. I, too, am a farmer. I respect the land. I raise cattle. I know the work that it involves. But I am from far, far away and not familiar with your customs and formalities. My approach may have been interpreted as speaking down to you. For that, I am ashamed. We have much more in common than what you might think.”

“Explain yourself, man,” Thomas said.

“I was the same age you were when my father died. My father was not murdered. I had an older brother who was away. My mother and I worked our farm. I worked the fields, and she made certain that we made a profit. I know what it’s like to have responsibility at an early age. Your friends work, but have no responsibility. Their workday ends, yours never does. You wonder if the clouds will pass over without rain, too much rain, or just enough. A sound at night could be a predator after one of your sheep. You haven’t enjoyed anything since your father’s death. You have not seen your mother smile since your father’s death. Every event in your life is measured by the distance from before and after your father’s death. I know the loneliness.”

Thomas stared into Tom’s eyes for a moment. Then he said, “Only a man who has cut a furrow such as mine could say those words. It is painful to live them, but the burden is shared and lightened when someone can speak them from his own life.”

“Like I said, I am here to help.”

Thomas nodded. “Well, my friend, if you tend cattle and are here to help, remove your coat and roll your sleeve. Your arm is longer than mine, and you appear stronger. You can help birth a calf.”

Tom removed his coat and handed it to Thomas. He rolled up his shirt sleeve. “Take me to your cow.”

Tom followed Thomas to the rear of the house.

From Here To 1137 AD; Episode 47, A Pouch Full of Pebbles

This is episode forty-seven of the novel, From Here To 1137 AD. If you would like to purchase From  Here To 1137 AD, it is available on Amazon in Kindle format or paperback. 

A Pouch Full Of Pebbles

Tom walked for nearly an hour. In the distance, ahead, a man walked toward him.

Brain said telepathically, “The man coming toward you is likely a robber. He has a dagger. Two men have come out of the bushes you passed a short time ago. It is most likely that they are robbers also. I suspect they are working in concert.”

“What about the two men behind me? What type of weapons do they have?”

“One has a pole with one end sharpened to a point, and the other has a mallet.”

“I suspect that neither is a shepherd nor a carpenter,” Tom said.

“Your suspicions will likely be validated soon,” Brain said. “Remember, placed in your side pouch is a stinger weapon. Press the button, and it extends to three feet. It fits comfortably against your shoulder, much like your hunting rifle. It will have one hundred bursts available. Upon your request, more can be added.”

“Complete instructions on operating the stinger were not included in the operation data of the pod. Can you let me know what the settings are used for?”

“Setting zero will knock down a man with a jolt. Setting one has the power of a bullet. Setting two has the power of a grenade. Setting three will destroy a car or tank. Setting four, a house. Setting five, a city block. Keep in mind that each shot has the same capability. Increased capability is adjusted while in the preparation chamber of the stinger. If not activated, they are as harmless as a pebble. Remember, place the beam on the target, and press the activation pad. Also, remember, it is programmed so that only you can use it.”  

“Yeah,” Tom scoffed, “I don’t want a disgruntled cobbler grabbing it and conquering half of England. On the other hand, what I’ve read about the English royalty, a cobbler might be a refreshing improvement.”

“Be ready, Tom, it looks as if they are about to strike.”

The man walking toward Tom stopped about ten paces from him and held out his hands. “Stop.”

Tom stopped. He turned around. The two men following him drew to about ten paces away.

Tom stood sideways. His head turned back and forth to them as he spoke. “What do you want?” 

“You have a pouch of money,” the man in front said. “Toss it to me.”

Brain spoke telepathically. “There is every reason to believe they will try to kill you after collecting your money.”

The man in front pulled out his dagger. “I will quarter you and feed your entrails to the dogs if you don’t hand over the money in your pouch.”

Tom spoke telepathically to Brain. “Remove the money from the pouch and place it in my food pouch. Tom loosened the money pouch from his belt. He tossed it to the feet of the man in front of him.

The man picked up the pouch. He looked inside and turned it upside down. Pebbles fell from the pouch. He tossed the pouch to the ground. “Where is your money?”

Tom said nothing but spoke again telepathically to Brain. “Transport the money back to the pouch.”

“Toss me your food pouch,” the man said.

Tom tossed the food pouch to him. He picked it up and turned it upside down. A piece of bread and pebbles fell on the ground.

“Toss me the gear you have strapped to your back!” The man said.

“Look again in the money pouch,” Tom said. “It will save us time.”

As the man bent down to pick up the money pouch, Tom removed the stinger from the pouch on his side that was strapped to his belt.

The man picked up the money pouch and poured a dozen coins into his hand.

“How did you do that?” The man said. He called out to the other two men. “Did you see what he did?”

“If I can disappear coins and make them appear again, imagine what I can do to you three men.”

“You’ll not fool me with some court magician’s trick,” the man said. 

“No,” Tom said. “I can see you are far too clever for that.”

Tom held the compacted stinger in his hand. He pushed the button, and it expanded with a snap into full size.

All three men jerked.

“A jester’s trick,” the man scoffed. “Are you going to Whitford Castle to entertain the Duke?” 

“He may find me entertaining, but not with these tricks.”

The man in front wore an evil smile and advanced a step. “You made sport of me. I don’t like that.”

Tom held the stinger waist-high. “Careful, my churl fiend, you are about to fall to the ground.”

The man slowly lifted his foot to advance another step. Tom pointed at the man’s belly. He pressed the activation pad.

“Ahhh!” The man screamed and fell to the ground. 

Tom whirled around and activated two more shots into the bellies of the remaining two. They both screamed in pain and fell on their backs.

Tom turned back to the man in front. He attempted to stand but fell. 

“What have you done?” The man cried out and began to curse at Tom.

“Careful what you say and how you say it,” Tom said. “You were the man who was about to rip my entrails out. I should do no less to you, but I am not your ilk. However, something inside me pleads to kill the three of you, here and now. For the world will be better without you.”

All three managed to steady themselves on their feet. Tom waved the man in front to join the other two. 

“What are you going to do with us?” One man said.

“I am not a murderer,” Tom said. “And that’s good for you. Nor would I maim you for life.  But don’t test the indulgence I am affording.” 

“Thank you, sir,” they all said with humble and awkward bows. 

“I do not suppose the name, Three Stooges, means anything to either one of you, does it?”

Bewildered, they looked at each other for a clue. 

“No,” each one said.

“Never mind,” Tom said, “it’s meant to be funny.”

They attempted to laugh and forced pathetic smiles.

“Go as far away south as you can and as fast as your feet will carry you.”

They backed away slowly.

“Run!” Tom yelled.

They ran and never looked back.

Tom gathered his pouches and coins from the ground. He collapsed the stinger and returned it to its place and walked on.