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. 

From Here to 1137 AD; Episode 46, A Chat With the Inkeeper.

This is episode forty-six 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 Chat With The Inkeeper

After two more days, Tom stood at the River Tyne. The road ended there. It appeared to him that the river’s width was more than three furlongs. 

“Brain,” Tom said, “other than using the Instaport, the darter, or swimming, is there another way to cross this river?”

“Yes,” Brain said. “To your left is a rope extending across the river. Do you see it?”

Tom turned to his left. He saw a large rope tied to a tree. It dipped into the river. 

“Next to the tree is a raft,” Brain said. “Attach it to two metal loops on the raft and use it to guide yourself across the river.”

Tom did as directed by Brain. He pulled the raft across the river, hand over hand, until reaching the other side.

“A man is approaching,” Brain said. “He will expect two farthings.”

Tom paid the man and continued to follow the road. 

That night, he stopped at an inn and stayed there. He was the only customer. The innkeeper told him that in a month, the number of people traveling would increase.  

The innkeeper and his wife told him that a man on a horse had passed by a day and a half earlier. The description of the horse and the man matched Hadley.

Tom stayed the night, and the next morning, the innkeeper ate breakfast at a table in the main room. They drank ale and had a bowl of boiled wheat with herbs and honey. They ate until they talked. 

“I must warn you,” the innkeeper said. “To do otherwise might bring blood upon my head.”

“What do you mean?” Tom asked.

“If it is Morpeth you are going to, it is dangerous,” the innkeeper said. “I know you are not from these parts, but Morpeth has an evil reputation. It is the place of many murders. Sometimes by outlaws and footpads who have no morals and take advantage of men traveling alone or in small numbers by foot.”

“I am aware of the dangers, sir,” Tom said. “Your candor is much appreciated. I have been keeping myself alert.”

“Sometimes travelers will wait at the inn until a large number of them gather,” the innkeeper said. “You could stay until more travelers appear.”

“You are too kind and considerate,” Tom said. “But I must get to Morpeth as soon as possible.”

“That is your affair,” the innkeeper said.

“Do you know about Whitford Castle?”

“I have heard of it, but never been there,” the innkeeper said. “Is that where you are going?”

“Not directly,” Tom said. “Do you know anyone in that area?”

“Some I know,” the innkeeper said. “They may pass this way, and I am able to have the pleasure of knowing them.”

“I suppose you want to know if I am familiar with any family who bear your name?” The innkeeper said. “I am. And I knew Geoffrey Bales. I also heard about his death.”

“At the sword of Drake Bouchard?” Tom asked.

“Some say it was dual; one swordsman against another swordsman, like gentlemen or nobles. Bouchard is a trained swordsman,” the innkeeper stated. “Bales was a farmer. I was not there, but those who were said it was only a sport for Bouchard. Any person with the sense of the justice of a goose would rightly call it murder.”

“Why did Geoffrey engage in a sword fight with Bouchard?” Tom asked. 

“Bales legally purchased a small tract of land,” the innkeeper sipped his ale. “It was land Bouchard wished to purchase, but he was away when the land came up for sale. The two men bickered for nearly a month. Bouchard is known for violating women. He violated Bales’ wife. Bales demanded satisfaction. It is reported that Bales fought valiantly. Bouchard let him bleed to death rather than end him quickly. In Bouchard’s mind, that was the ultimate humiliation to Bales. The nobles were in favor. They never want to see a peasant, free or not, best a nobleman. That would be their humiliation.”

Tom lifted a spoonful of the frumenty to his mouth. Deep in his thoughts, he chewed.

“It is rumored that you are here to exact vengeance, is that so?” The innkeeper said cautiously.

Tom swallowed. He nodded. “You may speak openly about this matter, for it is not a rumor; it is true.”

“It is said, there is not his equal with the sword in all of Britannia,” the innkeeper warned.

“So it is rumored,” Tom said. 

“He has the quickness of a cat and the cunning of a fox,” the innkeeper said.

“And, my friend,” Tom grinned, “I have the quickness of a fly and the hardness of a turtle’s shell.”

Tom finished eating before the innkeeper. He stood and placed a shilling next to the innkeeper’s bowl.

“That is more than generous, my friend.” 

“You have provided me with many times the value of that coin,” Tom said.

“God be with you,” the innkeeper said.

“And you, as well.”

Tom grabbed his wooden mug. He lifted it to his mouth and downed its last two swallows. He set it down and walked out of the inn and toward his destination.

From Here to 1137 AD; Episode 45, The Knight

This is episode forty-five 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. 

The Knight

The monks provided mats to sleep on. They placed a small brazier in the middle of the nave. Tom and Randolph slept close to it. 

In the morning, the monks prepared bread and a caldron. 

Tom paid the monks a shilling and struck out on the road toward Middlesborough. Randolph delayed his departure by meeting up with the knight. He reported Tom’s original story to the knight. Randolph told him that Tom had uncovered his deception. The knight said few words and hastened on horseback toward Middlesborough. 

The day warmed. Tom removed his heavy coat, rolled it tight, and strapped it onto his back. He walked freely and contentedly, thinking this is the way life should be. He looked around. He thought, ‘There are no sounds of the eternal combustion engine. The road is not lined with power or telephone lines and poles. The steam locomotive is seven hundred years in the future. The radio and television are beyond fantasy. I’m not sure I could even explain it to them so they could believe it.’  

He forgot about his reason for being there. He forgot about Debbie, the farm, Edgar, and his life on 20th-century Earth. A passing thought of those things became a fantasy. 

In the distance ahead, he saw something at the side of the road. A bay horse lazily grazing came into focus. The closer he walked, his suspicions became confirmed; the horse belonged to the knight. The knight sat on the ground, further from the side of the road than the horse.

The man had a handful of stones and passively tossed them a couple of feet away. He was waiting.

“Good day, fellow,” Tom said as he neared.

The man looked up. And returned to tossing the stones as if Tom was no more than a leaf that had blown across the road.

“That is a fine-looking horse,” Tom said. “He looks as if you have both been bound by battle and honor.”

The man stood. He stood taller than Tom. He appeared rugged. He wore a clipped beard covering a scar. His hair was black and long.

He blocked Tom’s way.

“Who are you, fellow?” the man said.

Tom smiled, trying to avert a confrontation. “My name is Thomas Bales, and you, sir?”

The man walked around Tom, inspecting him up and down. 

Brain spoke telepathically, “This man is Sir Graham Hadley. He is the knight Randolph spoke about. He has never been to Normandy. He has never ridden that horse into battle. He has served only in a minor uprising. His valor is greatly overestimated. However, he is well trained in all facets of warfare.”

“There are rumors about you,” Hadley said.

“How should I address you?” Tom asked.

“I’m Sir Graham Hadley. I know a soldier when I see one.”

“I was never a soldier,” Tom said. “I am a courier.” 

“Curriers are small,” Hadley said, “smaller than you.”

“And they are fast and can run long distances without rest,” Tom said. “I happen to be one of the fastest, and no one outdistances me.”

“Yonder,” Hadley pointed, “is a large tree. Larger than the rest. Do you notice it?”

“It is an oak,” Tom said.

“Yes,” Hadley said. “I am the fastest runner of my brigade. We run to the tree, touch it, and back to this spot.”

“What is the objective?”

“To prove you are not who you say you are,” Hadley said.

“I may be a fast liar,” Tom said.

“I will allow you to start,” Hadley said. “But no more than a stride or two, and then I will start.”

“That’s rather sporting of you,” Tom said. “That will give you time to mount your horse.”

“Why mount my horse?” Hadley said, perplexed.

“That is the only way you can best me,” Tom said.

“Unsling your gear,” Hadley said.

“For no other reason than to put it back on?” Tom grinned.

Hadley dragged his foot across the path, making a line in the dirt. “That line is where we start and where we end.”

Hadley stood on the line and leaned slightly forward. Tom waited, relaxed slightly behind the line.

“Have it your way,” Hadley said and bolted.

Tom sprinted and was soon just behind Hadley’s left shoulder.

They reached the oak, and Hadley touched it slightly before Tom. Within a few strides, Tom passed Hadley, who strained to run faster. Without the use of MAS, and having his coat and canvas strapped to his back, Tom finished four strides ahead of Hadley.

Hadley bent over, trying to catch his breath. Tom approached him, breathing heavily but feeling refreshed. 

“You may be faster at distance, Sir,” Tom said flippantly. “Let us run for a longer distance.”

“I have not trained vigorously in a while,” Hadley excused breathlessly. “Otherwise…”

Tom interrupted. “Your brags don’t impress me, nor does the horse.”

“I know you are not who you say you are,” Hadley said, breathing heavily. “I believe you to be a spy for the Scots.”

“I hear many things,” Tom said. “I remember them. I heard of a knight named Hadley. It may not be you. There may be other knights named Hadley. The one I heard of has a reputation based on bloated, spurious, and apocryphal reports. Could you be that one? I don’t know.”

Hadley dashed for his horse and drew a sword from a sheath. “You have insulted me, you swine. You will pay with your blood. And I shall be rewarded for it.”

“Careful, my friend,” Tom held out his hand to sue for peace. “Couriers often possess the favor of Kings and commanders. My death by your sword will bring about your death. The king will hear of it and be sure justice is carried out in the most gruesome and hideous way.”

“You are not a courier,” Hadley clenched his jaw. He breathed heavily through his nostrils and pointed his sword toward Tom. 

“I truly doubt if you have ever raised a sword and faced your enemy in battle. You have never looked into a man’s eyes as he has fallen into death. I know you, far better than you know me. To state conclusively, when the news of my death reaches the King’s ear. He will exact the soul of the one responsible. The truth is, you cannot afford to be wrong.”

Hadley’s sword hung at his side. He mounted his horse. “If you are who you say you are, I will be in the audience witnessing your death at the sword of Sir Drake Bouchard.”

Hadley turned his horse and galloped away.