From Here To 1137 AD; Episode 43, Two Mugs Of Wassail

This is episode forty-three 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. 

Two Mugs Of Wassail

Sleet darted down from the dark gray skies over Scarborough harbor and blew across the deck of the sixty-five-foot cog named The Frideswide. Tom walked on a solid oak plank from The Frideswide onto a wet wooden dock. Dressed for the weather, he wore a green hooded cape to cover his shoulders, a thick green wool coat, a red wool shirt, and brown pants. A tightly rolled canvas tent was tied to his back by leather ties that wrapped around his shoulders. He looked around the harbor’s street and buildings. Few people were outside.

He spotted a tavern and walked in. It was there that he planned on planting a story and a seed that he hoped would reach Morpeth before him. 

Candles dimly lit the tavern. In the middle of the room, a hearth of glowing coals heated the room. A half dozen shabby men huddled in pairs, speaking in low voices. 

Tom stepped to the bar. A heavily dressed rustic man, whom Tom assumed to be the proprietor, stood in front of him on the other side of the bar.

The man said nothing.

“They say this place has the finest caudle in Scarborough,” Tom said.

“I fear not, my friend,” he smiled. “It is the finest wassail that we serve.”

Tom smiled. “Then my ears or who I heard it from deceived me.”

“A mug of wassail for a good man,” he said.

The man left the room and returned with a wooden mug filled with wassail.

Tom sipped the warm mixture. “Ah, this is the finest I’ve ever had.”

“Where do you come from, friend?” he asked.

“South, but I traveled to Normandy with King Stephen and served him there. I was paid my wages by Baron Morley, and now I’m on my way to Morpeth to join up with my uncle’s family.”

“And what does your uncle do on Morpeth?” the man asked.

“The last I knew of him, he was a farmer, a free man. Also a wool merchant.”

“He seems to be successful,” the man said.

“He is dead,” Tom said.

The man stiffened and stood straight. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I am going there to help his son, my cousin. But also, I will go to avenge my uncle’s murder.”

“He was killed?” the man said.

“By the sword of a Count, named Drake Bouchard.”

The room fell silent except for two men sitting closest to the door. The others leaned their ears to hear more.

Tom sensed the silence. He read the expression on the bartender’s face. It indicated the comments had gathered the attention of the room.

“Have you heard of him?” Tom said.

“Possibly,” the bartender said coyly. 

A slight-looking man who looked as if he might be a sailor strolled from his chair to the bar. “I may have heard tell of the man, my friend.”

Tom cocked his head and clicked his cheek. “Well, there you have it, a ‘possibly’ and a ‘may.’ That adds up to a ‘precise.’”

“He’s a count,” the bartender said, “One must be careful what one says about such a man.” And he made a slit of the throat sign with his thumb.

“I wish not to put anyone in harm’s way,” Tom said apologetically. “You asked about my business, and I’m forward about it. I have nothing to hide. My intentions are clear.”

“I’ll pray for you,” the sailor said.

“Thank you, kind sir,” Tom said.

A man from one of the seats laughed heartily, “Ha, he’d slit your throat quicker than the count and sell your innards at the shambles.”

Everyone broke out into uproarious laughter. 

Tom sipped his wassail as the men returned to their conversations. He listened. 

“How far to Morpeth?” Tom said to the room of men.

“If you’re a brisk walker, five days,” one man said.

“I am,” Tom said. “I was a courier for King Stephen.”

“Exactly what did you do?” A man asked.

“I had to deliver correspondence and sometimes battle plans to King Stephen’s commanders.”

“Did you ever kill a man in battle?” A man asked as if interested in a gory tale.

“I carried neither sword, lance, nor bow,” Tom said. “I had to move swiftly and carried nothing that would encumber me.”

Tom sipped the wassail again. 

“Aye!” One man lifted his mug as did the rest. “It is a brave lad who does such a thing. I knew a few couriers. I was with Henry, the Battle of Tinchebray.”

They drank.

Tom lifted his mug. “To the brave men at Tinchebray.”

Everyone lifted their mugs and drank.

The man from the Battle of Tinchelbray came to the bar and stood next to Tom.

“I have heard of Morpeth,” the man said. “It has a reputation for many deaths. Men have been murdered there more than common. From here, walk west. In an hour, you should reach a road that goes north. It’s called the Scalby Road. There is a road that goes further north to Middlesbrough. That is as far as I can help.”

Tom already knew the directions to Morpeth. He had to appear unfamiliar. 

“Thank you, my friend,” Tom said.

Tom slowly sipped the wassail and had another one. He listened to the men talk about their lives. He was younger than they were. And they treated him with the same indifference as the farmers back home. He grinned and thought, ‘It takes a while before the herd accepts you.’

The sleet ended, and the sun made its way through the clouds. 

“Thank you for your kindness and hospitality,” Tom said. He removed two farthings from a leather purse and tossed them on the bar.  “I must be on my way and find the Scalby Road.”

“God be with you,” one man said. And all chimed in, “Here, here.”

As Tom grabbed the handle to the door, a man stood. “If you are not a swordsman, a lancer, or a bowman, how are you going to exact revenge on your uncle? It is said that Count Drake Bouchard may be one of the finest swordsmen in England.”

“I don’t know,” Tom smiled. “I have a long walk ahead of me. I have plenty of time to think it over.”\

Tom waved. He hoisted his bedroll on his back and ducked through the doorway. 

Standing just outside the door, he heard one man say, “The long journey may offer him enough time to change his mind.”

Then Tom heard the voice of the bartender. “I know determination. He will meet with the Count.”

Another man said, “And if we hear of the Count’s end, we shall raise our mugs and drink to that young man.” 

“Did you ask his name?”

Tom walked away from the door and looked up at the clearing sky. He began walking west.

From Here To 1137 AD; Episode 42, A Virtual Trip

This is episode forty-two 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 Virtual Trip

"We are within a light year,” Brian said.

Tom did not reply immediately. He sat stolidly in the captain’s chair. 

Finally, he spoke as if unimpressed by what was just said. “A light year away. It’s said like, just down the road, about a mile or two.”

“I sense it will be good for you to be around humans,” Brain said. 

“Human! You mean the 12th-century ones? They are little more than holograms. You can’t have a relationship with someone who is, in some technical sort of way, doesn’t really exist. This is, indeed, so bizarre, and I was the fool who bought into it. Between you and Gordon, I think you exploited a weakness in my character. Who in their right mind would do this?”

“The isolation is affecting you,” Brain said.

“You are affecting me,” Tom retorted sharply.

“Here is a suggestion,” Brain said. “The replicator can be expanded to the lounge and create a virtual reality for you. It could have a calming effect.”

“What would you suggest, a field of poppies?” Tom replied sarcastically.

“If that’s what you would like,” Brain said.

Tom hung his head and massaged his forehead. “You are right. I need something to calm me. I’m not prepared for this. I’m not prepared for isolation. You have no idea what it’s like inside my head.”

“You are right,” Brian said. “I’m a machine and can’t feel or sympathize or empathize. I am not even an ‘I.’ However, from a logical reckoning, something can be provided for you. I am sure it will help.”

“Brain, you can’t fathom loneliness. You can define it, but can’t feel it. I’m who knows how many million light-years from my home and friends. They might as well not even exist. How can something that far away exist? There must be a point in distance at which something does not exist.”

“The logic is acceptable to my reasoning,” Brian said. “I understand.”

“Thank you, Brain. Knowing it is logical eases me. That’s a start on empathy.”

“Indeed,” Brian said, “just knowing someone or, in my case, something, understands is helpful.”

“Do you still have something virtual in mind for me?”

“I will patriciate the control room from the lounge and beg you patient indulgence for a few moments,” Brain said. “And then you can enter the lounge from a door. It is best to have a solid division between the real world and the virtual one. Otherwise, it can be confusing and disorienting.” 

Tom swirled in the captain’s chair to face the control panel. He examined the various readings. It was a control panel completely foreign and nonsensical to him a few months ago. Now, it informed him of all he needed to know about the operation of the pod. 

“You may enter the lounge at any time,” Brain said.

“Thank you, I can’t wait to see what you’ve prepared.”

“I have come to logical conclusions that you will be satisfied with it.”

Tom swiveled around and stood. He opened the door to the virtual world that Brain prepared. Tom’s eyes sparkled. A soft, pleasing smile rose on his face. His chest felt warm. 

“What do you think?” Brain asked.

“Brain, this is more than what I expected or hoped for. This is the stream at the edge of our property, back on the farm. That is the willow tree hanging over it. I can smell the grass. I can hear the stream flow and trickle over the rocks.”

“Remove your shoes,” Brain said. 

Tom sat on the ground. He removed his shoes and socks.

“Now,” Brain said, “put your feet in the water.”

Tom sat on a rock and eased his feet into the stream.

“Oh my, how did you do this? Never mind, I don’t need an explanation.”

“It is as if you recreated a perfect day on the farm. It’s as if I’m actually there. Clouds are moving across the sky. I hear red-wing blackbirds. I hear a tractor in the distance, and crickets, and the sound of singing semi-tires on the interstate. How long is this good for?”

“As long as you like,” Brain said, “but remember, events will not hold for you; the 1138 Earth is moving along second by second.”

Tom chuckled. “I’m actually chilled. But I don’t want to take my feet out of the water.”

“If you like,” Brain said, “I can change the ambient temperature for you. It is seventy-two degrees now. What about the water’s temperature, which can be adjusted?”

”Nah, leave it like it is. I don’t want to get spoiled. It’s reality I desire, and there’s only so much you can do with reality. Sometimes you just have to give in to what is real.”

A few minutes elapsed, thinking about the past on the farm. He remembered fishing with his dad not far from this spot. It was where this stream met with a larger stream. Most of the year, it was a gentle flowing stream, but after a hard rain and during the spring, it was turbulent. Tom’s father said fish gathered there to feed, and it was a good place to fish—and it was. 

“How far can I go in this virtual world?” Tom asked Brain.

“As far as you like,” Brain said, “but be mindful of the time.”

Tom stood and walked barefoot to where the two streams converged. By the time he arrived, his feet were dry, and he slipped his socks and shoes on. 

He rested on a high point overlooking the convergence of the two streams. It brought back a flood of good memories. They were memories full of meaning and love. It was here that his father spoke to him about life, conduct, integrity, and the lessons he learned from his life. 

“I understand the problem with a hologram now,” Tom said. “I want my dad to be here desperately. But when the experience is over, it would be like another death—and the pain that goes with it.”

“That is a logic assessment,” Brain said.

Tom stood and walked along the bank of the stream. “When I return, and late spring comes, I’m going to walk along this bank with Debbie. I’m going to capture every moment as if it’s filmed.”

Tom stopped and imagined for a moment Debbie being with him. He envisioned a soft, subtle smile and the sun shining in her eyes. She squints and brushes her hair from her face.

“Brain, how do I get out of this virtual setting?”

“Just say, ‘reality,’” Brain said. 

“Reality,” Tom said.

Everything appeared to melt and vanish. In not much more than a few seconds, Tom stood in the lounge of the pod.

“Thanks, Brain. I’m ready for the 12th century.”

“Good, because we are there.”

 

From Here To 1137 AD; Episode 41, Longing

This is episode forty-one 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. 

Longing

Shortly before the supper meal, Tom sat in the lounge typing notes into his tablet.

Brain said, “We are entering the next galaxy.”

“Thanks, Brain.”

“Have you made any firm decisions that I may be able to assemble things in motion for you?” Braid said. 

“I have decided to be Invisaported to Scarborough. It’s a port city. It may help establish some sort of authenticity. I read that word about a stranger or traveler will reach a village before they get there. I’m going to try to dress the part and act the part, but curiosity often gives way to paranoia. The time that I’m going to Northumberland is a time of great mistrust and suspicion. A war is about to break out, and any stranger may be viewed as a spy.”

“May I suggest including in your Instaport protocol a few physiological changes to your current makeup?” Brian said.

“What do you have in mind?”

“Disease is rampant in the 12th century period,” Brain said. “Your generation may have lost some of the immunities that they possess and it would be wise to make certain you are immune to what they are not immune to. That can occur best when instaported and reversed when you return.”

“Thanks.”

“Also,” Brain continued, “there may be odors you may find objectionable.”

Tom interrupted, “Brain, I was raised on a farm.”

“Nevertheless,” Brain said, “I will include what is needed for you to withstand any objectionable odors. Along with that, taste will have to be adjusted.”

“You’re right on top of it, Brain.”

“In case of extreme loneliness, I can create a hologram version of myself,” Brian said. “The only thing needed for you to do is to offer a description. By integrating the Instaport and replicator, it can be accomplished.”

“That’s intriguing.” Tom set the tablet down. He began to contemplate what he would like Brain to look like.

“However,” Brain warned, “caution must be advised. It is possible to become emotionally attached to the hologram.”

“You mean when it fades into the fog like Debbie?”

“Yes,” Brain said. “I did note a rapid adjustment in your levels of serotonin, dopamine, and norepinephrine.”

“I’ll trust your experience on such things.”

“Would you like some music?” Brain asked.

“Do you have the movie, Forbidden Planet? I remember watching it with my dad. He said it scared him as a kid. As far as I’m concerned, it was really lame.”

“It is available,” Brain said. “And may I ask, why watch it if you didn’t like it?”

“It reminds me of Dad.”

“Yes,” Brain said, “sentimentality. It is only understood on an academic level. It can be quite emotionally burdensome for living beings possessing the capacity for such.”

“As a matter of communicating with living beings, why not try accessing poets? I’m sure you could come up with words that might soothe one who has become sentimental over lost and longed-for relationships.”

“Is there a tone of sarcasm and dissatisfaction in your comment?” Brain asked.

“You’re not sounding very academic.”

“In case you may request a hologram,” Brian said. “I’m merely trying to emulate correct responses to you that will appeal positively to your needs.”

“Duly noted, and with much appreciation.”

The trip across the galaxy lasted three days, as calculated. During that time, Tom continued to prepare for the civilization that he would suddenly find himself in. He entertained himself with movies and music. His thoughts often turned to Debbie, and occasionally, he worried about Edgar. He felt as if he should have done more to prepare Edgar for his long absence. Edgar had already become suspicious and began to inquire. He would never be able to figure out exactly what Tom was doing; nevertheless, suspicion could have made Edgar act irrationally or distrustfully. 

Brain announced that once again, the pod had entered a space between two galaxies. It lasted fifteen Earth hours, during which Brain announced they had entered the galaxy that was the location of Tom’s destination.