From Here To 1137 AD; Episode 52, The Insult

 This is episode fifty-two 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 Insult

The next morning, Tom helped Thomas hitch a team of eight oxen to a wooden plow. 

Thomas gripped the handles of the plow. Leather reins extended from the oxen and draped over his shoulders.

“Are you sure you don’t want to try this?” Thomas joked.

“I have a bad back,” Tom quipped.

“You do?” Thomas said, concerned.

Tom chuckled. “That’s a joke where I am from. It is a lame excuse for not doing work. And we often say it to amuse everyone. However, when I come back from Bouchard’s place, maybe I’ll give it a try.”

“I will be glad to teach you,” Thomas said. “He snapped the reins and yelled, “Hie on!”

Tom watched Thomas plow for a couple of minutes. Something seeming difficult to Tom, Thomas performed with ease. Yet, he recognized the hours of struggling that it took to make it appear easy. He thought, ‘Farmers didn’t love to farm. They were desperate and exploited by the nobility. They were offered work and paid only enough to keep them alive and reasonably healthy from harvest to harvest. By the time the first son was strong enough to pull his weight, the father was near being used up. But they survived and, in time, prospered. They are a hardy breed, a brotherhood stretching from Abel to Thomas, and to me. It truly is the oldest profession.’

Tom walked through the fields on his way to Bouchard’s manor. The sweet scent of spring wafted across the landscape. Sheep bleated. Cows bellowed. Dogs barked. Birds sang. Roosters crowed. An orchestration of nature that many composers will attempt to capture. And their efforts bring to humanity beauty, inspired by what brought a pleasing smile to Tom's face.

In Tom’s mind, he heard the classical records his mother often played and listened to: Vivaldi, The Four Seasons, a favorite, Wagner, Ride of the Valkyries, on windy days. On hot summer days, Gershwin’s Summertime.

‘I am so glad Thomas’s mother could be saved. If she died, he would have been worse off than my situation, except for a debt-ridden, egotistical, highly educated, buffoon brother. But, I love him.’

He came upon several hedgerows that he was able to easily step over. Then he came to one that was four feet high and four feet in width.

Tom looked beyond the hedgerow. A two-story gray-stone house with three matching barns rested in the distance. 

Tom walked along the hedgerow, hoping to find an opening. After a little more than a furlong, he noticed an opening near the ground that appeared as though he could crawl through. So he got down on his belly and crawled through the opening. 

He walked the two furlongs to Bouchard’s manor.

He entered the grounds of the manor and barns. A dozen curious peasants came out of the barns and from behind them. 

A small man dressed in clean peasant clothing, who Tom took to be a servant, ran from the house and greeted Tom.

“Good day, sir. If you do not have business with My Lord Bouchard, politely leave until you are here by invitation.”

“Please say to your master, My name is Thomas Bales. I am a relative of Geoffrey Bales and Thomas Bales, the younger. I wish to speak with the man often referred to as The Swine Bouchard.”

The savant stood stiff and astonished by Tom’s remarks. 

“Be about your business, and repeat every word to your master as you have just heard,” Tom flipped his hand to the servant, hurrying him away.

The servant leaned forward and whispered, “He may flog me for saying that.”

Tom cupped his hands around his mouth and called out, “Duke Drake, The Swine of Northumberland, Lord of Leeches, Sire of Snakes, and renowned raper of peasant women, I am here to demand satisfaction. I bear the Bales family name, and I am here to exact vengeance on behalf of my family. You cowardly cat, cur chicken, and halfwitted and halfhearted heathen hare, never send a servant to do a master’s bidding.” 

Bouchard burst through the front door in a rage. His long, black, curly locks bounced. He wore tight blue silk pants and black buckled boots. Apparently, he didn’t have time to sling on a shirt; he wore only a linen undershirt. His long face and sharp nose parted the wind that he stormed against. In his hand, he grasped a sword and waved it with such velocity that it made a swishing sound.

“I will slit your throat from ear to ear and disembowel you and feed it to the swine,” Bouchard said angrily.

“It will be a fine meal you will be having,” Tom said, “since you are the only swine I see. And certainly not before peasants and servants, they have not attained the breeding to enjoy such barbarism.”

Bouchard slowed his hurried gait and drew to within three paces of Tom. A crooked, evil grin slowly developed. “You are the man I have been hearing about and waiting to gaze upon. You have come to avenge the insolent peasant cuckold, Geoffrey Bales.”

“I will meet you at the Duke’s court, the day after tomorrow. I wish to settle the matter of land disputes, your murder of Geoffrey Bales, the rape of Lettice Bales, and, most recently, referring to Geoffrey Bales as a cuckold. I am assuming you will deny all these well-known and provable charges. And I will demand we settle this as gentlemen—a duel to the death.”

“Gladly, courier boy,” Bouchard said. “It is rumored you accomplished little more in the King’s service than pass notes.”

“And it is a fact you have accomplished little more in the King’s service than pass wind.”

The servants chuckled but covered their mouths with their hands. 

“You will die slowly,” Bouchard said. 

“Bouchard, you wretched pile of buzzard vomit, a question for you to ponder: what is worse than a slow death?”

Bouchard smirked.

Tom smiled. He bowed as if to royalty. “I look forward to our next meeting. See you in court.”

 

From Here To 1137 AD; Episode 51, Saving Lettice

 This is episode fifty-one 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. 

Saving Lettice

They materialized back at the ravine. 

“You picked this place because you didn’t want anyone to see us?” Thomas asked.

“It would be hard to explain why we suddenly disappeared or suddenly appeared,” Tom said.

They climbed the steep incline and walked back toward the house. 

“When were you planning to duel, Bouchard?”

“In two days, there is a royal court at Whitford Castle’s great hall,” Thomas said. “I was going to plead my case and demand satisfaction. If Bouchard accepted and the Duke approved, we would duel in the great hall.”

“To the death?” Tom asked.

“Yes,” Thomas said, “but sometimes the winner will strike the death wound. He will show mercy, but that will not be the case with Bouchard. He always strikes the death wound.”

“Does Bouchard own a manor nearby?” 

“The ravine is a boundary between us,” Thomas said. “His manor is a mile beyond.”

“He wants to own both sides of the stream for what reason?” Tom asked.

“The stream on our land is the best place to build a watermill,” Thomas said. “He needs our permission to build the mill. My father was willing. My father wanted a share in its profits. Ordinarily, this would not be a problem. Bouchard was not going to enrich a commoner.”

“And that’s where it began?” 

“No,” Thomas said. “Long before that. Drake Bouchard wanted my mother as his legitimate wife. She favored my father.”

“Let me get this straight,” Tom said. “I’ve been doing some reading about the nobility of this period. If your mother married Bouchard, she would not ever become a noble, but she would have a good life, right?”

“That’s right,” Thomas said.

Tom continued. “And if the marriage was legitimate, the children would become nobles.”

“That’s how it is,” Thomas said.

“Your mother gave up a lot.”

“She does not see it that way,” Thomas said. 

“All those years, Bouchard envied your father and lusted for his wife and found a way to dishonor both,” Tom concluded. “He has a sick, dark mind.”

Tom handed the container of the potion to Thomas. “Here, convince your mother to drink all of this.” 

They reached the house and walked in. Lettice lay limp on the table still sitting on her stool.

“Mama! Mama!” Thomas rushed to Lettice’s limp body. “She is dead!”

Tom reached down and felt for a pulse on her wrist. “She has a pulse.”

“Brain!” Tom called out. “Send me an examination device! Place it on the table.”

“Thomas, Tom said, “I will lift her by the shoulders and you lift her legs. We will place her on the bed.”

They gently lifted Lettice. She moaned as they placed her on the bed.

The examination device sat on the table. Tom grabbed the silver metallic device that was about the size of a box of cereal. He lifted her blouse and placed the device in the middle of her chest. Tom pressed a silver button. It hummed. 

The device spoke. “Do you want treatment?”

“Yes,” Tom said.

The device hummed for about a minute.

During that time, Thomas asked, “Will that device cure her?”

“This is the first time I’ve used it,” Tom said. “Brain, will this cure Lettice?”

“There is every indication she will recover,” Brain said. “The examination device has limitations, but her condition did not exceed them. She is being provided with hormones and electrolytes. As soon as she is able, the liquid should be given to her. She should drink it all within fifteen minutes.”

Thomas’s eyes were full of tears. “Thank you, Brain.”

The device stopped humming, and Tom removed it.

Lettice’s eyes opened. Thomas sat her up and helped her drink.

She sat on the edge of the bed. “What happened?”

“You were exhausted,” Tom said. 

“You were near death,” Thomas said. He looked at Tom. “But tome mixed up a potion. I have it to you, and now you are better.”

“What was in it?” Lettice asked.

“Oh, just some herbs and spices I carry with me,” Tom said, “and I mixed a little honey with it to make it taste better.”

“I really feel good,” Lettice said. 

She started to stand, and Thomas gently held her in place. 

Lettice looked at Thomas. “Thomas, I have more wheat to grind.”

“Don’t bother, Lettice,” Tom said. “I will purchase enough for a few days. You should rest for a couple of days.”

Lettice slowly nodded and laid down. Thomas covered her. She smiled and slowly closed her eyes.

“Are you sure she will be healed?” Thomas asked.

“If Brain is sure, that is as sure as it can be,” Tom said. 

“Will you stay with us?” Thomas asked. “It is not as clean and comfortable as what you are accustomed to, but it is all we have to offer.”

“It would be an honor for me to do so,” Tom said. 

“You can have my cot,” Thomas said. 

“A straw bed is all the accommodations I need.”

“The royal court is not for two days, what will you do?” Thomas asked. 

“Well, there is work here, and tomorrow, I’ll call upon Drake Bouchard. I will tell him who I am and challenge him. And to sweeten the pot, I will insult him in every way I know how.”

Lulu Leroy (Composed and sung by Tim Burgess, based on a poem by Byron Lehman)

Click to hear the song.

He was twenty miles from Mobile

Trudging up a big hill 

Growing to man from a boy. 

Saw a dirty-faced beauty 

Walkin’ free bound to no duty 

Introduced herself as Lulu Leroy

She carried an old six-string 

Showed him how she could sing

Said she wanted to be a star

He said, “Sister, if ya will 

Let’s both hitchhike down to Nashville 

Show 'em how you sing and play that guitar

Every honky-tonk and dive in town 

She laid her music down 

And nobody seemed to catch on

Producers didn’t like her music 

Weren’t crazy for acoustics 

After six weeks, they were gone

Hopped a train north to Chicago 

Slept with tramps, bums, and hobos 

Tried her style in bars and clubs

Paid nothin’ but chicken feed 

And handouts on corners and streets

Not enough for rent or grub

They slept in the tall grass 

West of Topeka, Kansas

Her love for him brought him such joy

She sang a song about him 

He was one of many men 

Who had the love of Lulu Leroy

She had an Uncle Jim in Fresno 

At least that’s what she said so 

Restless and began to fuss

Gave her money to go westbound 

She got aboard the next Greyhound 

Waved goodbye from the back of the bus. 

He headed on up north to Fargo 

Worked fields where the wind blows 

Couldn’t get that girl out of his mind

Cut timber in the Yukon 

Oil rigs in Saskatchewan 

Looking for something he couldn’t find

After five years, he went to Fresno 

To find Uncle Jim cause she said so 

Found him with a little boy

His hair was black and wild 

The way he was as a little child 

This was his son and Lulu Leroy's

Uncle Jim took him on a short ride 

To grave upon the hillside 

Where there were no tears of joy

He stood broken and alone 

Read from a simple headstone 

Here lies Lulu Leroy

Raised me not to wander 

Unafraid of lightin' 'nd thunder

To build on life and not destroy 

Three graves on a hillside

That’s where they reside 

Uncle Jim, Daddy, and Lulu Leroy

From Here To 1137 AD; Episode 50, Thomas Sees Into The Future

This is episode fifty 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. 

Thomas Sees Into The Future

 “Let’s go to the far end of your property,” Tom suggested as they stepped into the field to the side of the house.

Thomas led the way, and they began walking in that direction. 

“It seems you have prime property,” Tom said. “It is near your house.”

“My father was shrewd when it came to bartering,” Thomas said. “This is the property that Bouchard desired.”

“That certainly adds another layer of controversy to the dispute,” Tom said.

“What is it in this field that interests you?” Thomas asked as they strolled. 

“I noticed a ravine when we walked at the far end of your property. I could not see how deep it was.”

“There is a stream at the bottom,” Thomas said. “It is the northern border of our property. It is deep. It never floods onto my field.”

“I want to go to an isolated place.”

“It is isolated,” Thomas confirmed. 

“Good, let’s go there.”

They walked quietly. Thomas was mystified by Tom’s interest in the ravine and the stream. Tom looked over the bucolic farmland. The peacefulness of it seemed almost eerie. However, Tom became completely enchanted with the raw purpose of every patch of ground that only man and beast had trodden. The land never echoed the muffled sound of a gas-belching internal combustion engine, nor did it taste or smell its pollution. 

They walked until coming upon the ravine. Struggling to keep from falling, they braced themselves with their hands against the bank. 

“This is a good stream,” Tom smiled. “Do you fetch water from it?”

“Yes,” Thomas said, “and there are two wells in the village. You should see it after a heavy rain. It is swift and deep.”

“I’m going to take you someplace,” Tom said. “It may frighten you at first. Always keep in mind, you will always be safe, and nothing will happen to you.”

“You are sounding very strange,” Thomas said. “At times, your behavior makes me wonder if you are wooden.”

Tom half smiled. “I am not—at least I think I’m not.”

“Then, we are here, and from here, where are we going?” Thomas said as if speaking to a child.

“Relax, my friend,” Tom said and continued, “Brain, Instaport Thomas and me to the pod—now.”

Suddenly, Tom and Thomas stood in the Instaport station inside the pod. Thomas’s head jerked around. He held out his hands as if he expected to be attacked.

Tom held out his hands to calm Thomas. “Easy, relax. Remember, there is nothing to fear.”

“Where are we?” Thomas’s voice quavered. 

Thomas became dizzy and leaned forward. Tom caught him in his arms before he fell to the floor. He dragged him to the couch in the lounge and sat him down.

Tom called out, “Replicator, six ounces of a 12th-century elixir, please.” 

Tom hurried to the replicator. An elixir in a pewter mug waited for him. 

“I guess when I said 12th century, you went all out.”

Tom poured a little into Thomas’s mouth. He suddenly revived.

“What is this? Where am I?” Thomas said in quiet wonderment as if in a dream.

“Have another good drink,” Tom said. 

Thomas held the mug and had a good swallow. He coughed. “What is this?”

“It is spices and warm wine.”

Thomas sat upright and looked confused and wide-eyed around the pod. “I’ve never seen or dreamed of anything like this. From what country do you come, and does everyone live like this there?”

“Let me ask you something,” Tom said. “What do you think the village of Hanby and Morpeth and the castle of Whitford will look like in a hundred years?”

“I don’t know,” Thomas said. 

“What about the people, do you think any who are now living will be alive?”

“No, that would be impossible,” Thomas said. “It would be all new people. It would be full of people who are not yet born. I suppose buildings would change. New people have new ideas.”

“Have you ever gone to the mill at the River Wansbeck?”

“I have gone with my father to take grain there,” Thomas said. “And I take grain there.”

“Just as you have gone ahead a hundred years, now think back a hundred years.”

“Nobody alive now would be alive then,” Thomas said. “Those who lived and were born then would be dead.”

“The mill on the River Wansbeck?” Tom said as a question.

“Yes,” Thomas said.

“It would not have been there then.”

“I knew that there was a time they had no water mills,” Thomas said.

“Now, think. What inventions will exist a hundred years from now that do not exist now?”

“I have no way of knowing,” Thomas said.

“What would you like to be invented?”

Thomas pondered briefly. He grinned. “A faster oxen.”

“That invention is an engine hundreds of years away from being invented,” Tom said. “On my farm, I use one. I can plow three hundred acres a day.”

“Never!” Thomas exclaimed.

“Brain,” Tom said, “bring down a screen and show a video of a tractor plowing a field in my era.”

A screen suspended on nothing appeared in front of them. A video of a tractor plowing a field appeared on the screen.

“What is that?” Thomas said. “Where are the oxen and horses?”

“That is the world I come from,” Tom said.

“It is not a place across the sea and mountains, it is hundreds of years from now?” Thomas asked with his mouth half agape.

“That’s right, Thomas. In fact, it is over eight hundred and fifty years from now.”

“So you are from there,” Thomas quietly concluded and nodded at the screen. “Then, why are you here?” 

“That’s why I brought you here. If I explained it while walking in your field or sitting at your table, you would not have believed me.”

“I am still not sure,” Thomas said. “Maybe I’m the one who has woodenness.”

“I am aware you intend to duel Bouchard,” Tom said.

“I am,” Thomas said.

“He is a skilled swordsman, and you are a farmer.”

“I have been practicing,” Thomas said.

“With what?”

“I found an old sword,” Thomas said. 

“And who has instructed you, and who have you sparred?”

“I know all the moves of a swordsman and have practiced them,” Thomas said confidently.

“But you have not actually faced another swordsman?”

“No,” Thomas said.

“You see,” Tom leaned close to Thomas, “that is why I am here. I have been sent to avenge your father’s murder. Your mother’s shame, I was not aware of it. I will duel Bouchard.”

“Are you a swordsman?” Thomas asked.

“Brain, replicate two 12th-century blunt swords.” Tom grinned at Thomas. “I don’t want anyone to get cut.”

Tom stood and walked to the Instaport. Two swords lay on the floor. Tom picked them up.

“Thomas, to your feet!”

Thomas stood, and Tom tossed one of the swords to him.

“Loosen up and prepare yourself,” Tom said.

Thomas stretched and made a few dueling moves. 

“MAS,” Tom said telepathically, “Allow me to execute as a great swordsman.”

Tom held out the sword, relaxed and with minimal effort, he executed perfect thrusts and parries.

Tom turned to Thomas and said, “Are you ready?”

Thomas drew close and made a slashing move with his sword. Tom easily parried the sword aside. Thomas slashed in the other direction. With little effort, Tom turned aside. Thomas backed away and extended his arm at half-length. He thrusted and jabbed with the sword. Tom parried it to the floor and slowly moved his blunted sword across Thomas’s neck.

“If this were not a blunted sword, you would be dying,” Tom said dispassionately. “Your warm blood would be spurting like a fountain onto the floor.”

Tom removed Thomas’s sword from his hand. He tossed both of them into the Instaport. “Brain, have them disposed of.” And they faded away.

“You have come here to save my life?” Thomas inquired.

“I have come here to prevent you from challenging Bouchard,” Tom said.

“The rumors ahead of you were saying you would be exacting vengeance,” Thomas said.

“That is my plan.”

“If I am killed by Bouchard, my family stops here, is that right?” Thomas said.

“Very good. It is true.”

“And in this world that I live in, you will not exist when the engine you showed me exists.”

“Yes.”

“You are here for yourself and not for me,” Thomas stated deliberately. 

“You have a son in your loins, your son will have a son, and his son will have a son. I am here for all of them also.”

“I understand,” Thomas said.

“For a sixteen-year-old lad, you have extraordinary insight.”

“My mother looked into your eyes and said she saw a son,” Thomas said, arranging thoughts as if arranging silverware at the king’s table.

“I found that incredibly fascinating,” Tom said. “I don’t know how she knew that.”

“In a sense,” Thomas said, “you are my son, is that so?” 

“Yes. There’s over eight hundred years and more than thirty generations between us.”

“I’ll put this all in your hands,” Thomas said. “This is beyond what I can conjure in my mind.” 

“I am concerned about your mother,” Tom said. “I may be able to help her physically, at least, for a while.”

“How can you help?” Thomas said.

“Brain!”

Thomas interrupted. “What or who is Brain?”

“I’ll explain it the best I can. But I am certain it will not satisfy your curiosity and leave you with more questions.”

“At least give me a chance,” Thomas said.

“It is an engine that thinks. It sees. It hears. It speaks. And like a brain, it stores information, like a book or a ledger.”

“Well,” Thomas said, “I asked. I still don’t understand. Now, about my mother.”

“Brain, did you by chance scan Lettice?”

“I knew you would be concerned, so a scan was performed,” Brain said. “She is suffering from several vitamin deficiencies. Certainly, depression appears to be the root cause of most of her afflictions. Any other maladies are not out of the ordinary for this century or her age. If not for the depression and vitamin deficiencies, she would be in reasonable health.”

“Can something be prepared for her?” Tom asked.

“Something can be replicated for her to drink that will be pleasing to her taste,” Brain said. “It should take effect in about ten minutes. And for the sake of informing Thomas, that’s the time it takes to walk four or five furlongs.”

“It seems time and distance are somehow intertwined,” Thomas said.

Tom curiously glanced sideways at Thomas. “I think you’re picking up on these things faster than I am.”

Thomas produced a crooked smile. 

“Are you ready to return?” Tom asked.

“Yes,” Thomas said. “And we will have the potion for my mother?”

 “Yes,” Brain said. 

They stepped into the Instaport. 

“The potion is in a container at your feet,” Brain said. 

“Thank you,” Tom said.

“If Brain is an engine,” Thomas asked, “why did you thank it?” The watermill is an engine, and I do not speak to it. In fact, no one does.”

“True,” Tom smiled, “but if the watermill did talk, you would likely talk back, right?”

“I suppose I would,” Thomas said.

“I forgot to mention,” Tom said, “not a word of this to anyone, ever.”

“Not even the watermill,” Thomas said. “Someday he may talk.”

“Good one,” Tom grinned.

“Brain, we are ready. Now.”