From Here To 1137 AD; Episode 56, A Lesson In Pain

  This is episode fifty-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 Lesson In Pain

   One by one, each man exited the room to have his case heard by the earl’s court. Laughter from the great hall seeped through the crack between the door and floor.

The constable summoned the last man to appear before the earl, before Tom. 

Tom could not hear how the cases were being presented, but as with the others, the muffled sounds of intermittent uproarious laughter continued.  

Tom spoke telepathically. ‘MAS, make certain my reflexes will be greater than the swiftness of Bouchard’s sword.’

Brain replied telepathically. ‘All systems are set for peak performance against Bouchard.’

‘I am nervous,” Tom said.

‘There is no need to be,’ Brain said.

‘Easy for you to say.’

‘Understandable,’ Brain said, ‘I have no nervous system.’ 

‘I’m concerned about the aftermath,’ Tom said. ‘Sometimes the results we desire and expect are not the ones we get. This may turn out to be bad for Lattice and Thomas.’

‘There is a beauty in being wrong and being able to adjust to make events turn out better than originally expected,’ Brain said. ‘Many of the poets and philosophers have been considered recently. They have provided a wealth of insight into the human emotional and intellectual condition.’

The constable stepped in. 

“Nature calls for the earl,” the constable said. “He must visit the gong.” 

“I wish him well,” Tom joked.

“Tom,” the constable said, “I have seen to it that Lattice and Thomas will be the chandeliers during today’s court. They will have a better view than the earl.”

“Why?” Tom asked.

“As I told Lattice and Thomas, not long ago, I have never seen a man move so quickly, grip so tightly, look so invincible as you. And I should know. In my younger days, I fought on bloody battlefields and have the scars to prove my days of glory. I have looked into the eyes of men full of fire and will, but none such as yours.”

“How is your wrist?” Tom asked to divert attention from his prowess. 

“It throbs with pain,” the constable said.

“You don’t show it,” Tom said.

“In my day, I have had to endure much pain on many occasions,” the constable said.

‘Brain,’ Tom said telepathically, ‘produce something to ease the constable’s pain without making him drowsy.’

‘Count to ten and check your money pouch,’ Brain said.

Tom counted and reached into his money pouch. He removed a white pill.

A bucket of water with a ladle sat on a bench across from Tom. He scooped a ladleful of water. He handed it to the constable along with the pill. “Swallow this along with the water. The pain will go away.”

“What is it?” The constable examined the pill in his hand.

“It is a medicine that will take away your pain,” Tom said. 

“I don’t know why I trust you,” the constable said. “You lied to me about the rabbit.”

The constable tossed the pill in his mouth and washed it down with the water. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” Tom said. 

“It still hurts,” the constable said.

“Walk out and see if the earl has finished his time on the gong,” Tom said. “And by the time you return, the pain will be gone.”

He walked out of the room. It gave Tom a few moments for quiet reflection. 

The constable returned. “The earl is on his way back to the throne.”

“The pain?” Tom inquired.

“What pain?” The constable grinned. 

“That’s good to hear,” Tom said.

“Why?” The constable said.

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you easing my pain?” The constable asked. “Isn’t the whole idea of pain meant to make a person think long before trying to inflict pain on others in the future?”

“You, yourself, just said you have experienced much pain in your life, isn’t that so?”

“Yes,” the constable said.

“And has it caused you in any instance to lessen the pain and punishment of others?” Tom asked. “Without you answering, I would argue, it has not.” 

The constable tossed his head in agreement.

“You now know what it feels like to relieve pain,” Tom said. “So, which would you rather do, cause pain or relieve it?”

“But my job is to cause fear, and pain is often a part of it,” the constable said. 

“Did you serve your king out of fear or respect?” Tom asked. “Again, don’t answer, because I don’t think you fear any man, but you serve out of respect.”

The constable stepped outside and craned his neck to see if the earl had returned to the throne. 

He stepped back into the room. “He’s conversing and allowing the nobility to curry favor on his walk back to the throne. He really likes this part of his position. It’s all praise. He drinks down it like wine.”

“This is all sport to them, isn’t it?” Tom said. “They enjoy listening to the squabbles, transgressions, and troubles of the peasants. Somehow, the sufferings of others lessen their own suffering. They hide behind the sufferings of others, so theirs will not be noticed.”

“You are talking about me, aren’t you?” the constable said. “Never mind answering, I know the answer.”

“Follow me,” the constable said. “The earl is expecting to be entertained.”

“Wait,” Tom said. 

The constable turned to face him.

“When I looked into your eyes two nights ago, I saw a man with fear, but I also saw a very good man.”

“You are too kind,” the constable said. He walked toward the great hall, and Tom followed.  

From Here To 1137 AD; Epsiode 55, Lighting Candles

 This is episode fifty-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. 

Lighting Candles

The bell at Whitford Castle’s tower rang ten times. It echoed over the sleepy countryside of dew and clover. It reminded everyone that the Royal Court would commence hearing cases before the ruling earl. 

Tom, Thomas, and Lattice arrived early, waiting at the main gate of the castle. As time passed, a crowd gathered there also. Nobles began to arrive, and they climbed from their carriages and horses. The commoners were pressed back by castle guards. At least one hundred nobles from the surrounding manors dressed in their finery strutted inside.

The constable appeared at the gate, his wrist bandaged. He nodded and winked at Tom. Then he called out, “All having complaints of law, come forward.”

A half dozen men fell in line at the side of the constable. Tom lined up last.

The constable called to one of the guards, “Take them to the waiting room.”

The men, along with Tom, followed the guard to a cramped, dark, dank room lit only by four sconce candles. Wooden benches lined the walls of the cramped room. The guard told them to sit.

Meanwhile, a crowd of commoners and peasants grew at the castle’s main gate. 

“Witnesses follow the guard to the witness gallery,” the constable called out.

A group of about two dozen men followed the guard.

“Guards,” the constable called out, “Take one hundred and fifty to the balcony.”

They huddled together and moved through the main gate. Several in the crowd, knowing Lattice’s and Thomas’s interest in the day’s proceedings, waved them to the front.

“You two,” the constable pointed at Thomas and Lattice, “come with me.”

A mumble of concern rippled through the crowd. 

They followed the constable.

“What are you going to do with us?” Lattice said fearfully.

“Follow me and say not another word,” the constable said gruffly. 

They followed the constable across the main courtyard. He walked through a small opening and climbed down a flight of stone steps. At the bottom of the steps, he opened a heavy oak door. On the other side of the door, a dozen or so servants, cooks, and bakers busily prepared food. It was the castle's kitchen. 

They followed the constable to a hearth against the outside wall. He grabbed two torches and handed one each to Thomas and Lattice. 

“Follow me,” the constable motioned with his head. 

They followed him through another oak door and climbed up a flight of stone steps. 

They entered the great hall of the castle. And stood at the opening. Thomas’s and Lattice’s heads swirled as they gazed with wonderment at the vastness of the great hall. 

Nobility sat in chairs in a colonnade surrounding the great hall. A balcony supported by arched cathedral pillars was positioned directly above the colonnade. The throne, rested on a dais, pressed against a wall. Shafts of dusty light shone in from openings above the balcony.

“Take the torches and light each candle in the court,” the constable said. “Stay alert during all the proceedings. If a candle goes out, hurry to it and light it again. That’s your job, understood?”

“Yes,” Lattice said.

“Yes,” Thomas said. 

The constable turned to walk back down the steps.

“Sir,” Lattice asked, “why are you doing this?”

The constable turned and faced Lattice. He hesitated, then spoke. “Last night, when Tom gripped my hand after catching it before I could strike him, I looked into his eyes, and his eyes did the same to me. I have never seen such quickness nor cast my eyes upon such a deadly gaze. I knew at that moment, Bouchard had met his match. I want you to see closely, your reputation restored and vengeance due your husband.” He tossed his head toward the nobility sitting and tittering to one another in their seats. “I’m a commoner. They are not my kind.” 

Unexpectedly, Lattice leaned to the side and forward. “I’m sick,” she said.

The constable grabbed her and held her steady.

“This is where my husband lost his life for my honor,” Lattice said with her face about to let go of a torrent of tears. “It is hard to look upon.”

The constable grabbed her shoulders and said, “No matter what you think of me, if not for the care of my family, I would have gladly taken your husband’s place. Now, you be strong.”

Her lip quivered, and she forced a smile. “I will.”

The constable winked, nodded, and hurried through the doorway and back down the steps.

“Are you strong enough for this?” Thomas asked. “If we leave now, no one would be the wiser.”

“It is the constable’s duty to make certain someone is employed to light the candles,” Lattice said. “If they are not lit, the constable will be severely punished. He will lose his position. As corrupt as he is, it is better to have him as a constable than one who has no compassion or no family.”

Thomas and Lattice, with flaming torches, walked briskly into the great hall. They lit the wall-mounted candelabras hanging at each arched pillar, and the sconces on each side of the pillars. Two candelabras stood at each side of the throne, and they lit them. 

They returned to the doorway where they started. They appeared out of breath, but nervousness seemed to be the reason for the heavy breathing.

“I’d rather plow a field,” Thomas whispered to Lattice.

“I’d rather grind grain,” Lattice whispered to Thomas. 

From Here To 1137 AD; Episode 54, Truth and Love

 This is episode fifty-four 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. 

Truth And Love

The next day, the oxen were hitched, and another day of plowing ensued. Thomas continued to teach Tom the finer points of plowing by oxen. It created hearty laughter and memorable moments.

In a strange way, although Tom was three years older than Thomas at present, Tom felt younger than Thomas. He viewed him as older and wiser. At times, Tom tried to present himself as the older and more experienced, but it seemed unnatural. Whether it was because of the knowledge of an eight-hundred-year difference in civilizations or something genetically instinctive, he simply did not know.

Lattice brought bread and cheese to the field. Thomas stopped the oxen, and they sat beneath an oak tree that marked the boundary between the Bales’ farm and their neighbor’s farm. They talked and ate. The oxen rested.

The cheese was hard, and Thomas shaved it with his knife and passed the shavings to Lattice and Tom. 

“If you defeat Bouchard, will you return to your home?” Lattice asked.

“I will return to my home,” Tom assured. “Bouchard will not defeat me.”

“Where is home?” Lattice asked.

“It is far, far from here,” Tom said. “It is so far away that the name would mean nothing to you.”

“What is its name if it means nothing?” Lattice urged.

“It’s called Ohio.”

“That is a strange name,” Lattice said. “I never heard of it.”

Tom smiled. “Isn’t that what I said?”

“You are a curious fellow,” Lattice said. “I’ve never met you before, but I feel as if I know you.”

“I feel the same way about you and Thomas,” Tom said. 

“If you were here when Geoffrey was alive, you two would have been good friends—just like you and Thomas.”

“I am sure we would have been,” Tom said.

“There is something I am curious about,” Tom said. 

“What is that?” Lattice asked.

“Where I am from, the custom is for the woman to change her surname when she marries a man,” Tom said. “And she takes her husband’s surname.”

“My father was known as James Shepherd, and I’m known as Lattice Shepherd, wife of Geoffrey Bales.”

Tom again gazed into the open countryside. He thought, ‘From this generation to mine, the genetic similarities between Gene Francis and me are greater than Lattice and Tom is to me, yet there is something beyond genetic matching that draws me close to them. It can’t be measured, defined, or seen. It’s just there. Their memory I will carry eight hundred years into the future. But they will remain planted solidly and deep into my heart as if they are walking every step alongside me.’

Thomas interrupted Tom’s thinking. “I will finish when I am at that stake. That is about three furlongs.” Thomas pointed to a stake in the ground a short distance away. “And you rest, Tom. Tomorrow is a big day.”

“Yes,” Lattice said, “Help me back to the house with the cheese, bread, and mugs.”

They gathered the uneaten cheese and bread. They swallowed the last of the ale. Tom and Lattice walked toward the house.

“What is it you wish to speak to me about?” Tom asked. “You really don’t need help carrying these things.”

“I want you to leave,” Lattice said regretfully. “You are confident, but Bouchard is trained. I haven’t noticed you doing anything to prepare for a sword fight. You don’t even possess a sword. When Geoffrey fought Bouchard, he prepared for a month. I pleaded with him every day not to fight Bouchard. He was certain also. I cannot bear to see another man die for my honor. Everyone knows what really happened; that’s honor enough for me.”

“Thomas was willing,” Tom said. 

“I had him talked out of it,” Lattice said. “I asked him who was going to care for me if he were dead?”

“And you were as close to death as anyone, two days ago,” Tom said. “If you had died, Thomas would have picked up the sword.”

“Please,” Lattice pleaded, “leave in the night. Follow the road north and take the next road west. In a day, you will be beyond the realm of Bouchard and Whitford Castle.”

“You know it is in vain you are speaking.”

They reached the door, and Tom held it open for Lattice. They walked in.

“Sit,” Lattice said, gesturing kindly to the table.

Tom sat, and Lattice sat across the table from him.

“I feel there is much I don’t understand about you,” Lattice said. “You say you are related to Geoffrey, and you are from the south. I am from the South. I have never heard of you. Geoffrey never mentioned anyone in his family named Tom.”

“I told you all that I know,” Tom said.

“There is something else,” Lattice said. “You say you are related to Geoffrey and his family, but something is troubling.”

“What is that?” Tom asked.

“I feel we, you and I, are related,” Lattice said.

“Indeed,” Tom said, “that is troubling and difficult to explain.” Tom looked around as if trying to find something to change the conversation.

“The troubling thing is that I feel as though you may be a son,” Lattice said. “I was sixteen when Thomas was born. I had no man before Geoffrey. And if you are nineteen, as you claim, that would have made me twelve or thirteen when you were conceived.” She smiled broadly. “And I know that didn’t happen.”

“Sometimes people have feelings. And they are misread,” Tom said.

“Can you tell when a person hides the truth from you?” Lattice asked.

“You mean lie?” Tom said.

“I suppose,” Lattice said, “but that’s your word and not mine.”

“Sometimes people say things that are not true to protect those they love,” Tom said. “I have been raised to believe that truth is the most valuable thing there is. Only from truth is understanding. Truth and love are the soil and the crop. The crop can only grow if the soil is good and nourished. Love grows on nourished truth.”

“Your own words betray you,” Lattice said. “Thomas knows who you are. I can tell. I vaguely recall you putting something on my chest while I was near death. It was something not from this world. You are not from this world, but you are a part of me in some sort of way I can’t explain.” 

“I made Thomas swear not to tell anything he knows about me, other than what is already known by everyone,” Tom said. “He is a man of his word. I will set him free from his promise, but only to you.”

“I want to hear it from your lips,” Lattice said.

“I have violated the trust handed to me on two occasions,” Tom said. “It has only been to those I trust and love. I cannot conceive that the promise I made was absolute. Explanations are needed, especially to the ones I love and who love you.”

“Do I demand too much from you?” Lattice said.

“Never.” Tom reached across the table and patted her hand. “Have you ever desired that someday you will hold a grandchild?”

“Yes,” Lattice smiled.

“And,” Tom asked, “holding a great-grandchild would be that much more meaningful, but less likely to happen?”

“Yes,” Lattice’s smile slowly faded.

“What if you could live long enough to see a grandchild ten generations into the future?” Tom said.

Lattice chuckled. “That is foolish to ponder. I’ve never thought about such a prospect until now. And even now, it cannot be imagined.”

“I, Tom Bales, am a thirty-third-generation grandson of you.”

Lattice smiled as if she were about to entertain a drunk man’s ramblings. 

“The truth is,” Tom said, “I come from afar: from a land not yet known to people who live here in England today. And I am from a time 800 years in the future.”

Lattice looked away for a moment. 

Tom waited for a reaction. He wondered what thoughts might be rushing through her mind. What element of 1137 AD could she latch onto that might help her grasp the concept just presented to her? He began to wonder if he had overstepped the realm of reason with her. He wondered if he should have ignored her demand to hear it from him and leave it to Thomas. Likely, he, being more familiar, could have gained greater confidence and trust.

Lattice turned back to Tom. She reached across the table and placed her hand gently on his. She leaned slightly forward and looked into his eyes. “You are telling me the truth. I cannot pretend to understand what you have told me, but I know it is the truth.”

 

From Here To 1137 AD; Episode 53, Rabbit Pottage

 This is episode fifty-three 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. 

Rabbit Pottage

Tom strolled back to Thomas’s farm. A rush of jubilation flowed from his chest to his face. He experienced greater pleasure and freedom than he had while walking to Bouchard’s manor. A smile of completeness and satisfaction radiated from his carefree and confident gait. To Tom, the air was sweeter, the sounds more melodic, and the colors of the surroundings more vibrant.

Upon his return, Thomas showed Tom how to plow a field using the oxen. They laughed at Tom’s awkward attempts to plow straight and handle the team of oxen. 

Thomas stood at a distance and called out, “Give me five years and maybe I can make a farmer out of you.”

Tom smiled as the team jolted him forward. He thought, ‘If I could take you to my time and my farm, you would master it all in a week. He is a sharp lad. Wait a minute, that is my grandpa by at least thirty greats.’

While Tom plowed, heading back toward the house, Thomas drove a wooden pole into the ground. When the team reached the pole, Thomas held up his hand, “Whoa!” He walked back to Tom. “That will be all for the day.”

Tom turned and gestured to the sun. “We still have plenty of daylight.”

“One acre,” Thomas said, “we don’t overwork the team. Tomorrow we plow another acre and rest the oxen. The next day, they will be well-rested for another acre. Then they belong to my neighbor. He will use them for two days at the same rate. He will pass them to the next neighbor. I own two oxen, my neighbor owns two, and so on. At the end of six days, they are returned to me, then two more acres are plowed.”

They unhitched the oxen and led them to the barn attached to the house. 

“You take good care of your animals,” Tom commended as they walked around the side of the house to the front door.

“Do you not take good care of your engine that pulls your plows?” Thomas asked. 

“We do,” Tom said. “If we don’t, the same thing will happen to our equipment that will happen to your beasts. They will break down and become weak or useless. We feed and maintain our beasts, but in a different way.”

They entered the house. Lattice greeted them with a warm smile. 

“Mother,” Thomas said, “you have not smiled like this in a long time.”

“I’m feeling better,” Lattice said. “I don’t know what that potion Tom gave me had in it, but it certainly made me feel better.”

“It is important you eat,” Tom said. “Go outside and feel the sun on your face. Take long walks. That will help you remain as you are.”

A pot hung over the hearth that lay in the middle of the room. 

“Walden,” Lattice said to inform Tom, “a neighbor caught two rabbits today. He gave us one, and I am cooking rabbit pottage.”

“How much did the rabbit cost?” Tom said, opening his money pouch.

“No, no,” Lattice said. “If Walden were caught with two rabbits, he could be punished for poaching.”

“What kind of punishment?” Tom said.

“If from Bouchard’s land, Walden could have been blinded or castrated.”

“What!” Tom said. “For a rabbit!”

“Pouching from nobility’s land is serious,” Thomas said. “For a deer, a man can be hanged.”

“Why would Walden take such a risk?” Tom asked. 

“He heard the man who will duel Bouchard is under our roof,” Lattice said. “He wanted such a man to be healthy and vigorous.”

“Bouchard must be hated,” Tom said.

“Hate is the kindest word that can be used,” Thomas said.

“I am not the only woman he has violated,” Lattice said.

“And my father was not the only man he has killed,” Thomas added.

“I’m surprised someone has not lain in wait and killed him,” Tom said.

“If that should happen,” Tom said, “villagers would be questioned and tortured until the name was given.”

“So, the only way to settle a score with Bouchard is by a duel at the royal court,” Tom concluded.

“Or if he should ever die in battle,” Thomas said. “And given what is known about him, that will never happen.”

Lattice said the pottage was done. She used a ladle to fill three wooden bowls. She placed them on the table where three wooden mugs of ale sat. 

They sat on stools at a table, and Thomas placed spoons next to each bowl. While standing, he drew a knife from his side and sliced the bread that lay in the middle of the table.

They began eating and drinking.

“Lattice,” Tom smiled, “this is very good.”

“Yes, Mother,” Thomas smiled. “It is very good.”

“Thank you,” Lattice smiled modestly.

“You are eating from my father’s bowl,” Thomas said.

“I am honored,” Tom said. He paused; the moment seemed surreal.

“Is something wrong?” Lattice asked, placing her hand on Tom’s wrist.

Tom smiled. “No, I just can’t tell you how good I feel at this moment. It is very special.”

They dipped the bread in the pottage and ate. And they drank from the mugs.

Suddenly, three violent knocks at the door made them all jump.

“Constable!” And the door flung open. 

The constable was a burly man with a scraggly beard. He had bulging eyes above round, red cheeks. He wore a heavy fur coat. A foul odor accompanied him. 

Tom, Thomas, and Lattice stared fearfully at the constable.

“What are you eating?” The constable demanded.

“Rabbit pottage,” Lattice said. “Would you like a bowl?”

“Err,” the constable growled. He looked at Tom. “Who are you?”

“My name is Tom Bales.”

“The one to die by Duke Drake Bouchard’s sword,” the constable said.

“I will die an old man,” Tom said.

The constable sneered. “Walden had rabbits. Did he have two and sell you one?”

“No,” Lattice said.

The constable glared at Tom. “You were at Bouchard’s manor today. Did you pouch it from his property while you were there?”

“No,” Tom said. “In fact, I saw no rabbits. But I did see a swine named Bouchard.”

The constable raised his hand and swiped toward Tom’s face. Tom grabbed the constable’s wrist before it could land against his face.

The constable reached for his knife. “Careful, Constable,” Tom said, sure and deliberate. “If that knife is drawn, I will take it away from you and dig your eyes out with my spoon.”

The constable grabbed his knife. Tom increased the pressure on his wrist.

The constable’s hand let the knife drop to the floor and grabbed Tom’s hand that was squeezing his hand. 

There was a crack.

“Ahhhhh, Man,” the constable shrieked. “What are you doing?”

“What will you tell others about what happened to your wrist?” Tom said, staring coldly into his eyes.

“I will tell all that I feel.”

Tom released the constable’s wrist.

“If anyone inquires about the rabbit, Lattice,” Tom said to Lattice, “what should be said?”

“It ran into our house of its own accord,” Lattice said.

The constable held his wrist close to his chest and rubbed it.

“You know as well as I that this woman has suffered much humiliation,” Tom said. “She said the rabbit ran into the house. Make certain she is not charged for lying. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my lord,” the constable said.

“I am not your lord or anybody’s lord.”

“As you wish,” the constable said.

“Sit,” Tom nodded toward his chair.

The constable sat.

“You have a broken bone,” Tom said. 

He asked Thomas to fetch four pieces of stiff kindling from the wood pile. He cut a strip of fabric from the constable’s shirt. Tom used the kindling as splints and the strips of fabric to wrap the splints, holding the wrist immobile. 

“Leave this for six weeks,” Tom said. “It will heal and be as good as ever in three to four months.”

“Thank you, my lord,” the constable said humbly.

“Go in peace,” Tom said.

 The constable bowed until leaving the house. Everyone let out a sigh of relief. They chuckled when they were certain he was far enough away not to hear them.

“Let us finish,” Lattice said.

They finished the meal and spent the rest of the day talking about life in 1137 AD Northumberland.