I marched along the southern side of Hadrian’s Wall, to the north of the road the Romans had built in order to connect their forts together and so they could better patrol their northern border. It was approaching nine o’clock when I reached the remains of a fort where I could rest for the night. I had passed the remains of fortlets which the Romans had placed every mile along the wall, but none felt secure enough to stay in. Besides, I wanted to walk as long as it was light.
My history told me that the major forts were six miles apart, but this was the first one I’d come to. Either I was walking more slowly than I’d thought, or I had missed one that wasn’t actually attached to the wall or was so much a ruin I hadn’t recognized it.
This fort was relatively intact, I was pleased to see, with the walls standing well above my head, still fifteen feet high. In the twenty-first century, this fort would be nearly two thousand years old and much decayed. Now, it was only a thousand years old and it made a difference to be here before that extra thousand years of weather and people pillaging the stones.
The darkness grew as I tried to find the entrance. I had never been much of a night person, and dawn came early to England in summer. Better to sleep now, if I could, than walk on until it got completely dark and find myself without shelter. I followed the wall of the fort as it jutted out perpendicular to Hadrian’s Wall and walked some ways until it turned to head west again. I hadn’t realized how big a three-acre fort could be. I had only been to a small section of Hadrian’s Wall before (in modern times), near Newcastle, and had learned then that the forts could hold more than a thousand men.
Finally, I reached the southern gateway and crossed the threshold into a large space. It was magnificent. A shiver went down my spine and I remembered again what it had been like that first time in Wales, traveling through the countryside with Llywelyn.
The fort stretched before me. A large courtyard was surrounded by smaller buildings, mostly wrecked. I headed towards those on the eastern side, looking for shelter so that I could sleep, at least for a little while. I didn’t believe that anyone would come to the fort so late at night—if they ever came at all—but I didn’t want to be discovered if they did.
As with the Roman fort I’d passed through with Llywelyn (I really wasn’t going to be able to keep him out of my head, was I?), one of the rooms at the fort contained an altar with a picture of a bull carved into the stone. Roman soldiers had worshipped Mithras here, as part of the secretive, all-male cult popular in the Roman legions.
I stood uncertainly in the doorway, surprised to see footprints in the dirt in front of the altar and a dark stain across the front of the stones, evident even in the failing light.
The stain looked like blood. Surely men didn’t still worship here?
Christianity had taken over England long ago—but perhaps not everywhere. Perhaps a fringe group found refuge here from time to time. I walked forward and ran my hand gently over the stone. The worship of Mithras had involved animal sacrifice, usually goats or sheep. Please let this not be human blood! No matter what had made the stain, it had long since dried. I was imagining things; perhaps the footprints were quite old and had remained undisturbed for many years. There was a roof over this section of the fort, so the outside weather would not have touched them.
I backed out of the room and made my way across the fort through the rubble to a different section. I settled upon a private space built into the western wall of the fort. It appeared to have once been a guard tower. It had a roof that would protect me from any sudden rain, though I wasn’t concerned about the weather. As changeable as weather in England could be, stars glittered above my head, giving me enough light to see by.
I set my pack against the wall, sat down, and leaned against it. I unscrewed the cap to my water bottle and tilted all but the last inch into my mouth. I would need to find more water in the morning. Fortunately, there were many little streams and rivers near the Wall. As I’d walked earlier, I had gladly filled my bottle from them when I found them, hoping for the best in terms of sanitation. I assumed there would be more as I went along tomorrow.
Hadrian’s Wall was only seventy-miles long, straddling the north of England with Newcastle in the east, and Carlisle in the west. Even if I was quite far east when I started, it couldn’t be long before I would reach a settlement where I could find food. Two or three days without food, as long as I had water, would not kill me. I scrunched down farther and rested my head against my backpack so I could stare up at the ceiling. I tried to relax my shoulders and empty my head of worries. It wasn’t really possible, but after I counted several hundred sheep, I fell asleep.
* * * * *
I awoke to the sound of crying. Heart racing, I sat up. My ears strained to hear better. Then it came again, the distinct sound of a child weeping. I got to my feet, took a few steps into the center of the room, and then thought better of it. Instead of shouldering my pack, I stuffed it behind a fallen rock and took a moment to layer several smaller stones over it. It was the best I could do in the dark. I didn’t want to risk a medieval person coming across it by mistake.
I hurried from the room, following the child’s sounds and arrived in the main courtyard of the fort. The moon had risen while I’d slept, illuminating the stones. A young boy huddled with his back to the wall by the door.
I stopped short at the sight of him, truly stunned. What on earth could a child be doing here in the middle of the night? I glanced towards the room that held the altar, but no light appeared inside it, and it seemed the boy was alone. He looked up as I approached and held out both hands as if to push me away. “Don’t hurt me!”
I stopped again. For all that I’d been working with medieval English (and medieval Welsh, of course) for the last ten years, it took me a second to register what he’d said and to orient my thoughts so that my words would come out right.
“It’s all right,” I said. “I won’t harm you.”
“Are you a ghost?”
So that’s what he was thinking. Most medieval people avoided the Roman ruins because spirits might haunt them. “I am no spirit. Just a traveler like you.”
“I’m not a traveler,” the boy said, gaining courage. “I’m a squire!”
I closed the distance between us and crouched in front of him. The shadow of the wall obscured his face, but from his size, I guessed he was ten or twelve years old.
“You are young for such a big job,” I said. “How did you end up here?”
“The Scots.” The boy spat on the ground. “I rode out of Carlisle with one of my uncle’s companies, and we ran into—” The boy swallowed hard, unable to finish his sentence.
I touched his hand and was glad when he turned his palm face-up and allowed me to grasp it. “Did any of your uncle’s men survive?”
The boy shook his head.
“Where are they now, the Scots, I mean?”
“Riding north—or they were,” the boy said. “They didn’t tie my feet, and I slipped off the back of the pack horse they’d thrown me over. This was before the moon was up. I ran here. I didn’t see anyone follow.”
“So they captured you? Only you?” I said.
He nodded. They’d wanted him for ransom, probably, recognizing the fine cut of his cloth and that he wore mail armor, even though he was just a boy. I was surprised the Scots had ridden this far south, and even more surprised his uncle hadn’t ridden with him.
“What is your name?”
“Thomas Hartley. My uncle is Sir John de Falkes. He crusaded with King Edward and now guards his northern border against the Scots.”
I caught my breath, my heart pounding. I was close, so close! It could be 1284, it really could! Hysterical laughter rose in my throat. I bent my head forward, glad that Thomas couldn’t see my face any more than I could see his. He coughed under his breath but didn’t comment. Maybe he thought I was crying.
Relieved that the boy wasn’t in immediate danger, I cleared my throat. “Give me a moment. I need to gather my things. Then we’ll start walking again. We need to get you to your uncle.”
I left him by the front door and ran back to the side room, pulled out my pack, and once again dumped the contents on the ground. I pawed through them for anything small enough to fit into the pockets of the jacket I wore, which fortunately had inner as well as outer pockets.
The first aid kit went in first, followed by the ibuprofen, my nail clippers, safety pins, and two maxi-pads. I looked longingly at the socks, but put them back in the pack. The unusual clothing I wore was bad enough without adding to it.
Since I was going to be female from now on, I dropped the hat in the pack. I hurriedly combed out my hair and braided it … and then stopped, still holding onto the thick plait with one hand. What to tie the end with? A scrunchie wouldn’t do. They didn’t have rubber bands in the Middle Ages. I rummaged in the pack and came up with a dark blue ribbon from the hem of the broomstick skirt. I cut a length of it with the scissors from the first aid kit.
Then I slipped the chain, on which my ex-husband’s diamond ring was strung, around my neck, took off my watch (very reluctantly) and stowed it in the pack, which I put back behind the stones. There was no help for it. I couldn’t keep it. I stacked a few more rocks to hide it better and mused that an archaeologist of the future was going to get a major surprise.
By the time I got back to Thomas, he was on his feet. He glanced at the moon. “I reckon it’s after midnight now.”
“You’re probably right,” I said. “Would you rather stay here until morning?”
“No!”
“So let’s get walking.”
Much cheered, Thomas led the way out of the fort and headed west on the southern side of the wall (so as to avoid any stray Scots). I followed, trying to keep a steady pace, but Thomas, who’d been sad and scared before, rather than injured, was irrepressible now that he had company. At one point he broke into a run. When I refused to keep up, he slowed and then stopped to wait for me.
“My uncle will be very worried about me,” he said.
“How many men were in your company?” I said.
“Twelve, in addition to me.” Thomas bit his lip.
“Was it your first scouting trip?”
Thomas nodded. It might be a long time before he was allowed out again.
The wall rose and fell to our right, following the hilly terrain. Neither Thomas nor I had any idea how far it might be to Carlisle. We walked for several hours, but some time before dawn, clouds blew in to cover the moon. I couldn’t see the dips and stones in the road any longer and stumbled twice on rocks before falling to my knees on a third impediment.
“We have to stop,” I said.
Thomas gazed west, his hands folded on the top of his head and his eyes straining for any signs of the city. “It can’t be much farther.”
“It really could, Thomas. Let’s rest until morning.” A small stand of trees grew to our left. I eyed it, thinking it might provide enough shelter for us to pass what remained of the night. As soon as the sky began to lighten, we could set out under better conditions.
Reluctantly, Thomas allowed me to lead him across the fifty yards of grass to the trees. As we passed under them, their leaves obscured the moon, and it was quite dark. Thomas found a tree that was free of brambles and settled himself at its foot. Neither of us wore a cloak so I sat beside him and put my arm around his shoulders. He leaned into me, resting his head against my breast.
“I never asked your name,” he said after a minute.
I smiled. A ten-year-old’s oversight. “You can call me Margaret.”
“You speak strangely,” the boy said.
“To me, you speak strangely too. I have never been here before and much of this land is unknown to me.”
Thomas didn’t reply, and I thought he might have fallen asleep.
“Thank you for saving me,” he said. Within two minutes, his breath came slow and even.
I eased my back further down the tree so I didn’t sit so upright and closed my eyes too. But I couldn’t sleep. In the cold, dark woods, alone but for a ten-year-old boy, the fragility of my position pressed on me. I sat a little straighter, opened my eyes again, and watched.