From Here To 1137 AD; Episode 50, Thomas Sees Into The Future

This is episode fifty 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. 

Thomas Sees Into The Future

 “Let’s go to the far end of your property,” Tom suggested as they stepped into the field to the side of the house.

Thomas led the way, and they began walking in that direction. 

“It seems you have prime property,” Tom said. “It is near your house.”

“My father was shrewd when it came to bartering,” Thomas said. “This is the property that Bouchard desired.”

“That certainly adds another layer of controversy to the dispute,” Tom said.

“What is it in this field that interests you?” Thomas asked as they strolled. 

“I noticed a ravine when we walked at the far end of your property. I could not see how deep it was.”

“There is a stream at the bottom,” Thomas said. “It is the northern border of our property. It is deep. It never floods onto my field.”

“I want to go to an isolated place.”

“It is isolated,” Thomas confirmed. 

“Good, let’s go there.”

They walked quietly. Thomas was mystified by Tom’s interest in the ravine and the stream. Tom looked over the bucolic farmland. The peacefulness of it seemed almost eerie. However, Tom became completely enchanted with the raw purpose of every patch of ground that only man and beast had trodden. The land never echoed the muffled sound of a gas-belching internal combustion engine, nor did it taste or smell its pollution. 

They walked until coming upon the ravine. Struggling to keep from falling, they braced themselves with their hands against the bank. 

“This is a good stream,” Tom smiled. “Do you fetch water from it?”

“Yes,” Thomas said, “and there are two wells in the village. You should see it after a heavy rain. It is swift and deep.”

“I’m going to take you someplace,” Tom said. “It may frighten you at first. Always keep in mind, you will always be safe, and nothing will happen to you.”

“You are sounding very strange,” Thomas said. “At times, your behavior makes me wonder if you are wooden.”

Tom half smiled. “I am not—at least I think I’m not.”

“Then, we are here, and from here, where are we going?” Thomas said as if speaking to a child.

“Relax, my friend,” Tom said and continued, “Brain, Instaport Thomas and me to the pod—now.”

Suddenly, Tom and Thomas stood in the Instaport station inside the pod. Thomas’s head jerked around. He held out his hands as if he expected to be attacked.

Tom held out his hands to calm Thomas. “Easy, relax. Remember, there is nothing to fear.”

“Where are we?” Thomas’s voice quavered. 

Thomas became dizzy and leaned forward. Tom caught him in his arms before he fell to the floor. He dragged him to the couch in the lounge and sat him down.

Tom called out, “Replicator, six ounces of a 12th-century elixir, please.” 

Tom hurried to the replicator. An elixir in a pewter mug waited for him. 

“I guess when I said 12th century, you went all out.”

Tom poured a little into Thomas’s mouth. He suddenly revived.

“What is this? Where am I?” Thomas said in quiet wonderment as if in a dream.

“Have another good drink,” Tom said. 

Thomas held the mug and had a good swallow. He coughed. “What is this?”

“It is spices and warm wine.”

Thomas sat upright and looked confused and wide-eyed around the pod. “I’ve never seen or dreamed of anything like this. From what country do you come, and does everyone live like this there?”

“Let me ask you something,” Tom said. “What do you think the village of Hanby and Morpeth and the castle of Whitford will look like in a hundred years?”

“I don’t know,” Thomas said. 

“What about the people, do you think any who are now living will be alive?”

“No, that would be impossible,” Thomas said. “It would be all new people. It would be full of people who are not yet born. I suppose buildings would change. New people have new ideas.”

“Have you ever gone to the mill at the River Wansbeck?”

“I have gone with my father to take grain there,” Thomas said. “And I take grain there.”

“Just as you have gone ahead a hundred years, now think back a hundred years.”

“Nobody alive now would be alive then,” Thomas said. “Those who lived and were born then would be dead.”

“The mill on the River Wansbeck?” Tom said as a question.

“Yes,” Thomas said.

“It would not have been there then.”

“I knew that there was a time they had no water mills,” Thomas said.

“Now, think. What inventions will exist a hundred years from now that do not exist now?”

“I have no way of knowing,” Thomas said.

“What would you like to be invented?”

Thomas pondered briefly. He grinned. “A faster oxen.”

“That invention is an engine hundreds of years away from being invented,” Tom said. “On my farm, I use one. I can plow three hundred acres a day.”

“Never!” Thomas exclaimed.

“Brain,” Tom said, “bring down a screen and show a video of a tractor plowing a field in my era.”

A screen suspended on nothing appeared in front of them. A video of a tractor plowing a field appeared on the screen.

“What is that?” Thomas said. “Where are the oxen and horses?”

“That is the world I come from,” Tom said.

“It is not a place across the sea and mountains, it is hundreds of years from now?” Thomas asked with his mouth half agape.

“That’s right, Thomas. In fact, it is over eight hundred and fifty years from now.”

“So you are from there,” Thomas quietly concluded and nodded at the screen. “Then, why are you here?” 

“That’s why I brought you here. If I explained it while walking in your field or sitting at your table, you would not have believed me.”

“I am still not sure,” Thomas said. “Maybe I’m the one who has woodenness.”

“I am aware you intend to duel Bouchard,” Tom said.

“I am,” Thomas said.

“He is a skilled swordsman, and you are a farmer.”

“I have been practicing,” Thomas said.

“With what?”

“I found an old sword,” Thomas said. 

“And who has instructed you, and who have you sparred?”

“I know all the moves of a swordsman and have practiced them,” Thomas said confidently.

“But you have not actually faced another swordsman?”

“No,” Thomas said.

“You see,” Tom leaned close to Thomas, “that is why I am here. I have been sent to avenge your father’s murder. Your mother’s shame, I was not aware of it. I will duel Bouchard.”

“Are you a swordsman?” Thomas asked.

“Brain, replicate two 12th-century blunt swords.” Tom grinned at Thomas. “I don’t want anyone to get cut.”

Tom stood and walked to the Instaport. Two swords lay on the floor. Tom picked them up.

“Thomas, to your feet!”

Thomas stood, and Tom tossed one of the swords to him.

“Loosen up and prepare yourself,” Tom said.

Thomas stretched and made a few dueling moves. 

“MAS,” Tom said telepathically, “Allow me to execute as a great swordsman.”

Tom held out the sword, relaxed and with minimal effort, he executed perfect thrusts and parries.

Tom turned to Thomas and said, “Are you ready?”

Thomas drew close and made a slashing move with his sword. Tom easily parried the sword aside. Thomas slashed in the other direction. With little effort, Tom turned aside. Thomas backed away and extended his arm at half-length. He thrusted and jabbed with the sword. Tom parried it to the floor and slowly moved his blunted sword across Thomas’s neck.

“If this were not a blunted sword, you would be dying,” Tom said dispassionately. “Your warm blood would be spurting like a fountain onto the floor.”

Tom removed Thomas’s sword from his hand. He tossed both of them into the Instaport. “Brain, have them disposed of.” And they faded away.

“You have come here to save my life?” Thomas inquired.

“I have come here to prevent you from challenging Bouchard,” Tom said.

“The rumors ahead of you were saying you would be exacting vengeance,” Thomas said.

“That is my plan.”

“If I am killed by Bouchard, my family stops here, is that right?” Thomas said.

“Very good. It is true.”

“And in this world that I live in, you will not exist when the engine you showed me exists.”

“Yes.”

“You are here for yourself and not for me,” Thomas stated deliberately. 

“You have a son in your loins, your son will have a son, and his son will have a son. I am here for all of them also.”

“I understand,” Thomas said.

“For a sixteen-year-old lad, you have extraordinary insight.”

“My mother looked into your eyes and said she saw a son,” Thomas said, arranging thoughts as if arranging silverware at the king’s table.

“I found that incredibly fascinating,” Tom said. “I don’t know how she knew that.”

“In a sense,” Thomas said, “you are my son, is that so?” 

“Yes. There’s over eight hundred years and more than thirty generations between us.”

“I’ll put this all in your hands,” Thomas said. “This is beyond what I can conjure in my mind.” 

“I am concerned about your mother,” Tom said. “I may be able to help her physically, at least, for a while.”

“How can you help?” Thomas said.

“Brain!”

Thomas interrupted. “What or who is Brain?”

“I’ll explain it the best I can. But I am certain it will not satisfy your curiosity and leave you with more questions.”

“At least give me a chance,” Thomas said.

“It is an engine that thinks. It sees. It hears. It speaks. And like a brain, it stores information, like a book or a ledger.”

“Well,” Thomas said, “I asked. I still don’t understand. Now, about my mother.”

“Brain, did you by chance scan Lettice?”

“I knew you would be concerned, so a scan was performed,” Brain said. “She is suffering from several vitamin deficiencies. Certainly, depression appears to be the root cause of most of her afflictions. Any other maladies are not out of the ordinary for this century or her age. If not for the depression and vitamin deficiencies, she would be in reasonable health.”

“Can something be prepared for her?” Tom asked.

“Something can be replicated for her to drink that will be pleasing to her taste,” Brain said. “It should take effect in about ten minutes. And for the sake of informing Thomas, that’s the time it takes to walk four or five furlongs.”

“It seems time and distance are somehow intertwined,” Thomas said.

Tom curiously glanced sideways at Thomas. “I think you’re picking up on these things faster than I am.”

Thomas produced a crooked smile. 

“Are you ready to return?” Tom asked.

“Yes,” Thomas said. “And we will have the potion for my mother?”

 “Yes,” Brain said. 

They stepped into the Instaport. 

“The potion is in a container at your feet,” Brain said. 

“Thank you,” Tom said.

“If Brain is an engine,” Thomas asked, “why did you thank it?” The watermill is an engine, and I do not speak to it. In fact, no one does.”

“True,” Tom smiled, “but if the watermill did talk, you would likely talk back, right?”

“I suppose I would,” Thomas said.

“I forgot to mention,” Tom said, “not a word of this to anyone, ever.”

“Not even the watermill,” Thomas said. “Someday he may talk.”

“Good one,” Tom grinned.

“Brain, we are ready. Now.”

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.