Trajan proudly showed Brys his father’s army discharge plate, an engraved sheet of copper he’d hidden from the invaders. They talked long of the Romans and their battles. These simple people, who accepted whatever life threw their way, were desperately in need of a strong leader. Hopefully Trajan would fulfil that need, yet he’d proved useless against Garth. It was just a question of how long they could hold out against Saxon invaders.
A couple of men trudged by, toting a strip of wood, and Trajan said, “My sons are repairing a wagon and two oxen for your journey.”
“I thank you for your generous offer.” Although reluctant to accept, Brys knew they were needed. It would be a hard march to the west coast and Haesal’s servants were in no condition to tote the necessary supplies.
Trajan held up a hand. “It is the least we can do after what you did for us. We would never have been able to kill Garth.”
Sometime later Brys bid Trajan farewell.
Like children with their teacher, Haesal’s people followed her every instruction, and Brys was never alone with her for the remainder of the day. Despite his tiredness, he lay sleepless as many thoughts tossed about in his head. What did the days ahead hold in store for him? Would Haesal admit to sharing the attraction that flared between them? Would she admit to understanding this journey through time to be with her was pre-ordained?
* * *
It was misty and dull at daybreak, the rising sun hidden behind low clouds. Going by the mildness of the night, Brys judged it to be May or June. Casting a glance at Haesal, he was certain she was going out of her way to avoid meeting his eyes. Also, each time he spoke to her she blushed. Was she ashamed of her reaction to his kiss?
All the inhabitants of Lindum gathered around the main gates and a lump formed in his throat at their pathetic efforts to appear cheerful. Four young women, Esme, Becky, Girda and Eunice, had been persuaded by Haesal’s male servants to accompany them, and there were some stiff interchanges as they said goodbye to their kin.
Including Anstred, who’d chosen to begin the journey in her human form, there was a total of ten males and nine females in the group. Fitz was as young as Saul, and Brys guessed Oswald, in his seventies, was the eldest male. The other men were around the mid-twenties.
The responsibility loaded on him was overwhelming.
“We wish you a safe journey,” Trajan said gravely.
Feeling compelled to offer some small words of advice, Brys said, “The newcomers are more concerned with building their communities in your land. If you offer little resistance, they will be more likely to take your women for wives and your men to tend this land. It is clear that if you wish to live as you did in the old days, you’ll have to do as we’re doing and head west.”
Trajan looked solemn. “Your words are wise, but I have lived my life and now will do as my sons wish. They want to fight the invaders. God go with you.” Abruptly he turned and walked past the priest, who was mumbling a prayer.
Egbert shouted and slapped the oxen on their rumps with a long staff. The wagon wheels creaked as they began to roll. Then, with a few last shouts, the townspeople turned and went back through the gates of the town. Brys feared for the poor devils.
As the small procession set off, Brys looked back. It was eerie. The eastern gateway of Lindum looked almost the same in the future.
Haesal sat beside Oswald on the rough wooden plank at the front of the wagon. Brys sent her a smile. He and Gerald were riding two of the horses Garth brought to the town. They were sturdy animals with cobby legs and shaggy coats, and would serve them well.
For a while they traveled near the canal that Brys knew the Romans built from Cambridge to Lincoln to carry their corn and other grain as far north as York. The horses were keen, and for the first mile or so strained against the crude bits. But the beasts soon settled into a steady plod, keeping alongside the slow moving oxen. They had no saddles, and the bridles were fashioned from plaited leather thongs. Brys thought of his horse, Arthur, and grew pensive.
Haesal glanced his way, saying, “You are sad while I am joyful to be heading home.”
“Oh no, I’m quite happy.” He smiled to prove it. “I was thinking of my own home. And that I am on another road.” Would this be the final journey?
She must have seen his small shudder of fear, for she smiled softly. “I keep forgetting that this must be very strange for you too. You have been thrust into an unknown place, with people who are foreign to you.”
“But not you. Don’t forget that I’ve met you before,” he reminded her. “Much worse than the fear of the unknown is the dread of leaving here again at any time. Now that I’ve found you I don’t think I would be able to bear life without you.” He bent towards her and her cheeks reddened as she glanced around. Gerald was now at the rear of the group, and the walkers were paying no heed to them.
“Do not speak so.” She gave her driver a quick glance, but Oswald was watching the oxen as if in a doze.
“It’s true, and I believe you’re one who always wants the truth.” Brys decided to change the topic when he saw her apprehension. “This is called the Fosse Way.” After studying the priest’s rough maps he’d worked out the most direct route to Cornwall. It was certainly weird that the last thing he was reading before falling asleep at home was a chapter on this Roman road.
He would have preferred to go by Ermine Street, because it led to London through St. Albans, and he longed to see those cities now. But Haesal logically thought that the further west they kept the less likely they would be to meet up with Germanic warriors. With so many under his protection, the less trouble encountered along the way the better.
Oh for a car, or better still a bus, he thought ruefully as they trudged along. “I’m amazed at how well the road has stood up to the passing of time. In my day we have heavy machinery to do what the Romans achieved with manpower.” Brys spent the next ten minutes trying to explain what that was.
Haesal nodded. “My father told me of the Roman roads that were raised up to keep the bottoms dry in marshy country.”
“They understood the physical geography of the land that many people don’t even understand in my time. This road forms the south side of a division that commanded all the country to the northeast.” The road, which once had officials of the Roman Empire and merchants traveling it regularly, was slowly deteriorating. The roads were set out from one high point to another using fires to act as a guide. This would be handy now. Brys was more worried about his charges being conspicuous than he cared to admit.
Haesal beckoned to him. “We have friends in the Coritani tribe whose land lies along our way. Anstred will keep a lookout, so do not fear for our safety.” Had she sensed his worry?
“Of course. I’d forgotten her powers.” The raven was tantamount to having an aerial watchdog.
The sun was high above them when they pulled off the road beside a small stream. Zoe and Emily brought out a meal of hard cheese, bread and berries, and they all drank from the clear stream.
The time it took them to cover the less than fifty miles to Ratae—Leicester, would set the pace for the journey. Exeter was about 200 miles from Lincoln, and Haesal’s home about forty miles further on. Haesal’s finger gesturing told Brys that Garth took about two weeks to do the journey. He’d stolen horses from some tribesmen he caught unawares, and also spent time visiting fellow countrymen.
When he and Haesal sat side by side near the stream, Brys said, “We will try to cover about seventeen miles a day.” Of course she didn’t understand, so he tried to recall the measurements used by the Romans. “They had a way of measuring by using the hands and the feet. The foot was made up of so many palms.” He held up his palms twice. “And a cubit was six of these palms, or one and a half feet.” Brys stood and took a stride. “Five Roman feet went to make a pace and a thousand of these paces made up a mile. Can you imagine how many of these strides make up a mile?”
“I cannot.” She sighed. “What a foolish woman I am.”
Brys shook his head. “You’re extremely sensible, and educated, and you can read and write. Both rare among your people.”
“True. A priest taught me, now I am teaching Gerald. My father was firm on us learning, although some of the women of other clans are against teaching a female what they see as useless crafts.”
“In my time a woman learns to do many things. Mainly she does what she feels is right for her. Modern women are encouraged by their husbands.”
“I think I would like to live in your time,” she said wistfully.
“If only I could take you back with me.” Brys ached with the need to keep her beside him forever. “I don’t wish to ever return there without you.” She gave a shuddery little sigh. If only the same powerful magic that brought him here could take them both forward.
Gerald strode over, complaining, “I am eager to be on our way. We waste too much time sitting around gossiping like women. Anstred has returned and agrees we have tarried too long.”
There were times Brys felt like wringing the little twerp’s neck—especially when he made a habit of interrupting their few private moments together.
“Hush Gerald. We are ready.” Haesal stood and straightened her skirt.
As the morning warmed, she’d discarded the cape she’d worn over a simple blue dress. Over which she wore a knee-length, T-shirt-like garment. Brys often compared her unadorned face—eyebrows that had never seen tweezers—with all the women he knew, including Gwen. He’d never seen any of them without makeup. Even the few he’d spent the night with managed to look like they’d just stepped out of a beauty parlor first thing in the morning.
“We shouldn’t waste too much time in breaks,” Brys agreed, even if he would dearly love to linger with Haesal. “We must find somewhere secure for overnight.”
When they reached what looked like a good place to make camp, Brys estimated they’d covered about fifteen miles. The women seemed content to hike indefinitely. Certainly the four newcomers were enjoying themselves—striding beside the men they chose to accompany.
The Lindum people supplied everyone with cowhide strips for their feet, and because they kept to the soft grass at the verge of the road there was less wear and tear on the soft leather. To give Haesal a break from the hard bench of the wagon, Brys gave up his horse to her earlier, and had enjoyed the hiking.
The campsite he chose was on a slight rise, and well secluded by oak trees, whose thick trunks gave shelter for the guards he placed strategically to watch over the road in both directions.
“Can you climb that?” he asked Fitz, who nodded eagerly and then agilely climbed the oak. He made himself comfortable in a fork of two great branches, but Anstred in raven’s form was surely the best lookout of all, perched on the tallest tree.
Boyd lit the fire by the age-old method of rotating a stick in a hole on another stick. When the fire was going, the men roasted strips of lamb. As everyone sat eating, Brys asked, “Doesn’t Anstred eat?”
“I have never seen her, but I suppose she must.” Haesal looked up towards Anstred’s perch. “She does not seem to perform many human actions. I sometimes feel she is like a lost soul, divided between the animal kingdom and the human one.” That obviously saddened her.
“I’m sure she’s happy taking care of you, as I am.”
“Am I not fortunate, having such faithful servants to watch out for me?” She sent him a dimpled smile.
“I wish you didn’t have so many faithful watchers.” Brys glanced about at the people nearby. “Are we never to be alone? I long to hold you in my arms and smother you with kisses, as I have in my dreams.”
“Please do not say these things.” She dipped her head, but not before he saw her pink cheeks.
“I’m sorry, but it’s frustrating being this close to you, yet not be able to hold you.” No doubt she had no idea what she was doing to him. This was a new experience to him. Never a womanizer by any stretch of the imagination, but he’d always set the pace in the past.
“What is this frustrating, is it a sickness?” A worried frown wrinkled her brow.
Brys sighed. “No. With a sickness there’s often no cure. What ails me can be cured. With your help.”
“I am good with potions, but without knowing what it is I have to cure I cannot make the right mixture.” For a second he thought she was flirting with him. But then he realised how daft that idea was. She was innocent in the ways of his world, and had no idea what ache he meant.
“You have all that’s needed to cure my frustration in your hands. But I must be patient.” He raked his fingers through his hair—mainly to repress the urge to touch her. “I’ve no wish to scare you.” Her lovely eyes watched him with a wariness she couldn’t conceal.
* * *
That light in his eyes made Haesal tremble. If only she had listened more closely to the women when they talked of men and their ways. If only her mother had not died before giving her advice on such things. Perhaps Anstred could explain the strange feelings that attacked her when he was near—and why he filled her every thought.
The kisses of Erwin left her with a desire to rid herself of the taste of him. But when Brys pressed his lips to hers all she thought about was how soft they were and how sweet he tasted. And how she never wanted him to stop. When his hands touched her body, a strange longing she did not understand pulled at her senses.
The temptation to give in to his pleas grew ever greater as he spoke and laughed—as she witnessed his strength and courage. In his arms her thoughts were only of the pleasure his nearness brought. When Erwin kissed her she prayed for it to be over quickly.
If she could find the courage, she would like to question Brys further about this frustrating he spoke of. Could it be this wild longing that was so new to her, which filled her with wonder, even as it scared her?
Brys fidgeted. How the hell was he going to make it through the night with Haesal so near? He had to bite down hard on his lip to stifle a groan as he rolled away from her dim outline. Not that it helped—her image was still imprinted on his brain and filled him with such a hot rush of desire that he felt as if he would melt from the heat.
Talk about safety in numbers! Brys lay within touching distance of Haesal beneath the wagon. Gerald lay stretched out beside his sister and Rhoda lay on her other side. Godwin was tucked at Gerald’s side while Saul lay near Brys’ feet. Oswald, Fitz, Zoe and Emily were curled up like puppies for warmth.
Esme had paired up with Egbert, Becky with Boyd, Girda with Dafod and Eunice with Tam. They obviously had few inhibitions, and once everyone ceased shuffling about, the muted sounds of their enjoyment could be heard.
Now Brys really knew what frustration meant, and he wasn’t the only one finding it difficult to sleep. After an hour of restless turning and grunting, Godwin crawled over Brys’ legs and stomped off through the bushes. When he didn’t return, Brys went looking for him.
Hell, sleep seemed highly improbable, so it was useless trying. He found Godwin squatting in one of the guard’s positions. Apparently he’d sent the guard off to his bed.
Brys sank to his haunches. “Couldn’t sleep either, eh?” he whispered.
The moon shimmered through the branches of the great oaks and surrounding greenery. “As you could not.” Godwin sent Brys a crooked grin. “It is hard to rest when the woman you want lies so close yet you cannot reach out to touch her.” Godwin’s grunt showed his displeasure.
“You desire your mistress?” Brys was ready to beat this man senseless for harboring lecherous thoughts about Haesal.
“My mistress?” The look of incredulity on Godwin’s face answered Brys’ query better than any explanations could.
“Ah I see, it’s the fair Rhoda you pine for.” At Godwin’s firm nod, Brys grinned. “You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours.” The servant’s perplexed look was amusing. “What I mean is—you look to my interests and I will certainly look to yours.” He winked.
Godwin chuckled. “I am not sure where you are from, and I cannot understand how you felled Garth. That I could never do. But I think that in some ways we are not so unalike. If we were not the servants of the mistress and master I would be with Rhoda now, doing what I yearn to do. I will certainly scratch your back if you will help me.” Godwin pulled on his beard and nodded fervently.
“It’s a deal.” Brys extended a hand and they sealed the pact with a handshake before settling down on the turf, hands beneath their heads.
The moon shone brilliantly and a million stars glittered across the cloudless sky. “A night made for a man and a woman to share.” Godwin shifted in an attempt to make himself comfortable.
“You’re a true romantic.” Doubtless Godwin had no clue what a romantic was, but he didn’t answer. Brys was becoming used to the almost childlike minds of his fellow travelers, which only made him more amazed at Haesal’s intelligence. Compared to her servants, she was very brainy. No doubt she’d learned a lot from her father for she was always quoting him. The servants simply disregarded anything they failed to understand, and seemed to accept without question that because Brys was different, he spoke gibberish at times.
The horses and oxen were hobbled nearby. It was very quiet apart from their munching on the grass. “How long have you had this fancy for your mistress’s maid?” Brys asked softly.
Godwin sighed. “Since the day she came to work for our mistress. I worked for Chief Targal, and when the young master was past the age for a nurse I was made his body servant. Rhoda came there soon after. She was a babe in many ways. I have watched her become a fine woman.”
Rhoda was little more than thirteen or fourteen—still very young by modern standards. It was a mystery to Brys why Erwin hadn’t carried Haesal off years ago. Thank the Lord her father didn’t push her into matrimony as soon as she was of childbearing age. But a damned promise obviously meant as much to her as an engagement ring on the finger meant to a modern woman. “Do you know this Erwin fellow that your mistress is pledged to?” he asked.
Godwin turned to look at Brys. “I have known him since his father aided Chief Targal.”
“And how do you find him? Is he a likeable fellow?”
Godwin’s small raspberry verified Brys’s opinion of Erwin. “He is a weak boy compared to you.”
“In years he is not far out of his boyhood, I guess, but tell me about the man. Does he deserve your mistress? Does he treat the servants well? How did he come to be chosen as a mate for your mistress?” All these questions had churned around in his head.
“To be truthful, I do not know him well.” Godwin seemed to ruminate before continuing. “But I believe he is not good enough for our mistress. He treats other men as if they are no more than the lowliest creature. Unlike you—who make us feel as if we are your equals.” He scratched his head and thought some more. “I suppose some women would admire his ways, for it is my belief that certain wenches like men with an air of...”
“Arrogance.”
Godwin shrugged. “I know not this word, but he is cunning. He tried to please the old master when he was alive—he is a man with two faces. I feel that the mistress has only seen the side he has chosen to let her see. Do I make myself clear?”
“Clear enough.” From this simple man’s observations, Brys now knew that Erwin was arrogant, overbearing, and sly as a fox. “Thank you. Now, we need to get some sleep. I would like to reach Ratae by sundown tomorrow, and it’s a long trek. One last thing—how did the mistress become promised to Erwin?”
“I was told that when the invaders first came in narrow ships, they made their way up the small rivers. The Picts and Scots were fighting near the great wall and the invaders were coming from over the seas. Our Chief fought them and won all his battles.” Godwin’s pride in his chief showed clearly in his voice. “Our master brought together a large army from all the tribes, and the father of Erwin fought at his side against the Germanic warriors. One day they lay in wait at a river crossing, and during the battle with the barbarians Chief Targal was speared here.” He patted his shoulder. “He fell in the river and was dragged down. The father of Erwin pulled him to the shore just as the warriors were about to charge again.”
His words tumbled out as he related the story. “The clansmen of Erwin killed most of the invaders, and those left alive fled. The chief’s ally pulled the spearhead out of our chief before bringing him home, where his woman cured him with medicines and potions.
“So our chief was beholden to the man who saved him and the debt was settled when they agreed that the two eldest children from each clan should be given to each other. As everyone knows, his daughter has a soft side to her nature, and he sought a partner for her of the same kind. He thought he had found such a one in Erwin.”
“And what of her feelings?” Brys was furious at this utter chauvinism. “Did no one think to ask her how she felt?”
Godwin raised himself on his elbows to stare at Brys. “A female obeys the wishes of her father, even after his death.”
“Over my dead body!” Brys grumpily turned on his side, while Godwin muttered something about not understanding what Brys’ body had to do with anything.
His dream lover—the woman he idolised above all others, was pledged to this Erwin to pay a debt to his father. There was no way he’d let her go ahead with this union. But what if he was suddenly transported back to his own time? The thought terrified him. It was all too distressing to think about. Better by far to let his thoughts wander elsewhere.
Haesal’s father’s deeds aligned so much with the legendary King Arthur’s well-touted actions, could the stories be based on Chief Targal? The period referred to as the ‘Dark Ages’ had puzzled men for generations. Brys often thought that tales professed to have been based upon fact were little more than stories made up by active imaginations. It was clear that the deeds of Haesal’s father and the other chiefs closely resembled the tales he loved as a boy. His horse, Arthur, was named after his hero.
A pang hit him in the gut. Had Arthur missed his morning carrot? Had Paul from the village exercised him? The lad was only too glad to come over to ride the horse when the Lord of the Manor was elsewhere.
Lord? That didn’t sound right now. As Brys drifted into sleep his last thought was how strange ‘Lord Bartholomew’ sounded.