H e felt like he had been alternately walking and running for days, up and down hills, along side sparkling clear streams, over sun baked roads that ran through small crops of wheat, barley and corn. Twice they had crossed a river by way of a wooden bridge and both times Charlie had been astonished by the noise that Rufus’ heavy pounding hooves had made. Both bridges had shaken as though they were caught in the grip of an earthquake and Charlie had covered his ears as he ran because the noise was deafening.
He did not know exactly how far they had traveled but his best guess was that they were about ten miles from where he had first encountered Sir Geoffrey. He had just fixed his gaze on the back of the animal, becoming mesmerised by the rhythmic movement of the horse he followed almost blindly. If he refused he thought it likely that he would end up on the wrong side of the knight’s anger and Charlie was not sure he would survive another episode of that.
Sir Geoffrey glanced back at irregular but frequent intervals to make sure that Charlie was still following. This put paid to any chance he had of simply running in another direction. If he tried running away the knight would be upon him in no time at all and then heaven only knew what would happen.
Charlie was extremely fit and knew that he could run all day if he needed to and Rufus was not traveling that fast. Charlie guessed they were moving at about three or four miles per-hour, the pace of a really fast walk. He had been considering what had happened that day: the simple act of having dropped a biscuit, the discovery of the door, the cellar and then the room. He tried to understand how he had then come to be in the field, and just who Sir Geoffrey was. Charlie had discounted
most of his previous theories and now believed that the man on the horse in front of him was either a real knight or absolutely barking mad. If the latter was true then Charlie realised that he needed to find a way to get away from him as soon as possible. On the other hand, if the former were true, Charlie was really stumped. There was an explanation for the entire scenario that had not escaped him but he was struggling to accept it as a viable theory; he kept pushing it from his thoughts but it kept coming back and nagging at him. What if he had actually traveled back in time? This would answer all his questions in a heartbeat but no matter how he looked at it, the concept was impossible. Actually, Charlie knew full well that “impossible” was not strictly the right word, he had read enough theories and books on science, and specifically physics, to understand that time travel was at least theoretically possible.
The average person understands time to be constant and continuous, no beginning and no end. The seconds become minutes, the minutes become hours, the hours become days, the days become years and so on-forever. Time cannot be slowed or speeded up, it just is. But in fact, the reverse is true: time is as pliable and flexible as anything else; you just have to know how it works. For instance, the faster you travel the slower time runs for you. For speed to make a significant difference to time, however, one would have to travel extremely fast, nearly as fast as light. This is the fastest speed known to man. At the speed of light time stops altogether. The physics become complicated at this point but what is important is that time is not a constant force and can vary in relation to the state of the observer. Charlie thought of time as a river that flows past you whilst you are standing waist deep in it-but then, what if you could wade up or down stream?
Charlie was so deep in thought that he had been maintaining a fast paced walk without paying attention to anything else. His head was bowed to the ground and he failed to realise that Sir Geoffrey had brought Rufus to a halt. Charlie’s brisk walking pace came to an abrupt halt as he buried his face in the horse’s buttocks. He bounced backwards, stumbling to the ground, and landing on his backside with his glasses hanging from one ear and the musty aroma of Rufus’ rump filling his nose.
Sir Geoffrey turned in his saddle and, for a second, looked at Charlie with a quizzical stare of incomprehension, which turned to bemusement and then finally to a bellowing, roaring laugh of amusement. Such was
the knight’s delight at Charlie’s situation that he rocked back and forth and took a while to recover his composure. He did so at length and was wiping small tears from his eyes as he watched Charlie pick himself off the floor and start to dust himself down.
Charlie was not, in any way, amused by this and felt both awkward and angry. He was sweaty, dusty, starting to get really tired, hungry and…well, he now realised that he smelt of horse manure. His demeanour, which was usually cheerful, had changed to one of frustration and anger. He settled his glasses back onto his nose and looked up at the knight with a face like thunder, or as similar to such a face as he could muster. He let loose with the loudest voice he could manage.
“Oh right, go on, have a good laugh. I’m really glad that I have provided some amusement for you and that you find all this so bloody funny; I have no idea where I am, which, wherever it is, is clearly far from my home. I’m lost and I’m tired, I’m hungry and you seem to be leading me further from where I need to be. I’ve run and walked and done everything that you’ve told me to do and now I just want to sit down and take a rest and have something to eat. I can’t walk another step.”
Up to this point Charlie had been his tolerant of the man on the horse and had been content to occupy his thoughts with the question of what had happened to him. Now, in the face of exhaustion and hunger, he felt he was about ready to break down. Whatever had happened he was most definitely lost and under the control of a man about whom he knew nothing; he was feeling both sorry for himself and angry at the same time. His tirade at Sir Geoffrey had exploded out of him like a jet of Coke from a shaken can; his emotions had streamed out uncontrollably.
Then something happened that he did not expect for he did not receive the partonising mirth he had expected. The man on the horse seemed to change, for when he spoke to Charlie the gruff tone had softened significantly and he seemed to have genuine concern in his voice.
“Hmm…” he murmured, looking directly into Charlie’s eyes, “I think that you have run and walked enough today.” He then held out one of his huge gauntlet covered hands and offered it to Charlie. “Here Charlie Watts, catch hold of my hand and I will allow you to ride with me on the back of Rufus for the remainder of the journey to the castle.”
Charlie was at first a little wary of this offer and, although the idea of a ride on Rufus was appealing,-anything but more walking-he was
a little apprehensive of approaching Sir Geoffrey. He expected another head splitting cuff against his skull or something equally unpleasant.
“Come along!” said the knight, sensing Charlie’s unease but misjudging the reason for it. “I know that you must feel unworthy to be offered a ride with a knight like me but I am not completely without heart. We can let decorum slip every so often, just as long as just you and I know about it eh? It is still a league to the castle and to reach it before dusk we must quicken our pace. Come now and take my hand.””
Charlie gave in and accepted the offer from the knight. He really didn’t want to walk anymore. He moved toward Sir Geoffrey and grasped his bear like hand. He was yanked up as if he weighed no more than a rag doll and was slung behind the rider, all in one movement.
“Are you comfortable there, boy?” enquired Sir Geoffrey.
“Yes… yes, thank you,” answered Charlie.
“Good. If you look in the larger of my two pouches you will find some food that will cure that empty stomach of yours. It may also bring some better humour to you.”
As Sir Geoffrey spurred Rufus on to a quick walking pace, Charlie looked down at the two pouches slung across the horse’s rump and as instructed, selected the bigger of the two. He unbuckled the strap holding it closed and rummaged around inside. He pulled out a bundle of rough cloth that looked like a piece of old sacking and unwrapped it. Inside was half a loaf of hard bread and a greasy pale yellow substance that Charlie guessed was cheese. He broke off a piece of the bread and took a small bite. It tasted a bit dry and floury but he was extremely hungry and had soon eaten several huge mouthfuls with lumps of the cheese-like substance. The cheese was similar to cheddar but had a more powerful taste that almost irritated the roof his mouth. He discovered that the bag also contained several red and green apples and he selected the largest and juiciest looking one. The food had dried the saliva in his mouth and the juice from the apple re-hydrated him. With the food inside him, and the rhythmic movement of Rufus’s hindquarters, Charlie started to relax and regain some the composure that he had lost during his outburst. He decided to give Sir Geoffrey the benefit of the doubt and realised that if he meant to do him harm he would have done so by now.
He returned to his current predicament and now had a chance to compose his thoughts and consider his various theories. Charlie liked
to apply logic to everything but this was way beyond his understanding and therefore defeated his logic. He had no terms of reference and could not liken this to anything he had experienced before. Whichever way he looked at it he kept coming back to the same thing, that Sir Geoffrey at the very least believed that he was a real knight and, if he was, then Charlie was rather further from home than he had at first imagined. A lot further.
There was also something strange and different about his surroundings. There did not seem to be an atmosphere of modernity; even when you are in the middle of the country there always seems to be something that reminds you that you are in a twenty-first century world. Perhaps the top of an electricity pylon glimpsed through treetops, or the faraway rushing water sound of a motorway, or a crushed drink can, a discarded wrapper of some kind or an airliner flying overhead at thirty thousand feet leaving a thin white vapour trail. But all the time they had been traveling Charlie had seen nothing. Not a single thing to tell him where he was. It was as if all traces of the modern world had been erased. The trees looked greener and less polluted; the grass and plants seemed more luxuriant and plump, the sky seemed bluer and the air smelled, well, somehow fresher. All that Charlie knew and understood led him to the conclusion that, improbable as it seemed, he was actually in another period of time. But of course that was completely ridiculous.
“We are nearly there Charlie Watts.” Sir Geoffrey’s deep voice startled Charlie from his pondering. “We are close to the castle of Sherebrook; we shall get a fine view of it on the horizon shortly.”
Charlie expected to see the glistening vista of a modern town as sunlight bounced from a thousand windows, the jagged skyline of roofs and television aerials and the inevitable roads filled with cars. What he actually saw was a full-size castle. It was silhouetted perfectly on the horizon perhaps a couple of miles away. It was breathtaking and Charlie gulped down his surprise which was mixed with awe and apprehension. He now realised that the question that he should be asking himself was not where he was but when he was.