This is episode forty-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.
The Knight
The monks provided mats to sleep on. They placed a small brazier in the middle of the nave. Tom and Randolph slept close to it.
In the morning, the monks prepared bread and a caldron.
Tom paid the monks a shilling and struck out on the road toward Middlesborough. Randolph delayed his departure by meeting up with the knight. He reported Tom’s original story to the knight. Randolph told him that Tom had uncovered his deception. The knight said few words and hastened on horseback toward Middlesborough.
The day warmed. Tom removed his heavy coat, rolled it tight, and strapped it onto his back. He walked freely and contentedly, thinking this is the way life should be. He looked around. He thought, ‘There are no sounds of the eternal combustion engine. The road is not lined with power or telephone lines and poles. The steam locomotive is seven hundred years in the future. The radio and television are beyond fantasy. I’m not sure I could even explain it to them so they could believe it.’
He forgot about his reason for being there. He forgot about Debbie, the farm, Edgar, and his life on 20th-century Earth. A passing thought of those things became a fantasy.
In the distance ahead, he saw something at the side of the road. A bay horse lazily grazing came into focus. The closer he walked, his suspicions became confirmed; the horse belonged to the knight. The knight sat on the ground, further from the side of the road than the horse.
The man had a handful of stones and passively tossed them a couple of feet away. He was waiting.
“Good day, fellow,” Tom said as he neared.
The man looked up. And returned to tossing the stones as if Tom was no more than a leaf that had blown across the road.
“That is a fine-looking horse,” Tom said. “He looks as if you have both been bound by battle and honor.”
The man stood. He stood taller than Tom. He appeared rugged. He wore a clipped beard covering a scar. His hair was black and long.
He blocked Tom’s way.
“Who are you, fellow?” the man said.
Tom smiled, trying to avert a confrontation. “My name is Thomas Bales, and you, sir?”
The man walked around Tom, inspecting him up and down.
Brain spoke telepathically, “This man is Sir Graham Hadley. He is the knight Randolph spoke about. He has never been to Normandy. He has never ridden that horse into battle. He has served only in a minor uprising. His valor is greatly overestimated. However, he is well trained in all facets of warfare.”
“There are rumors about you,” Hadley said.
“How should I address you?” Tom asked.
“I’m Sir Graham Hadley. I know a soldier when I see one.”
“I was never a soldier,” Tom said. “I am a courier.”
“Curriers are small,” Hadley said, “smaller than you.”
“And they are fast and can run long distances without rest,” Tom said. “I happen to be one of the fastest, and no one outdistances me.”
“Yonder,” Hadley pointed, “is a large tree. Larger than the rest. Do you notice it?”
“It is an oak,” Tom said.
“Yes,” Hadley said. “I am the fastest runner of my brigade. We run to the tree, touch it, and back to this spot.”
“What is the objective?”
“To prove you are not who you say you are,” Hadley said.
“I may be a fast liar,” Tom said.
“I will allow you to start,” Hadley said. “But no more than a stride or two, and then I will start.”
“That’s rather sporting of you,” Tom said. “That will give you time to mount your horse.”
“Why mount my horse?” Hadley said, perplexed.
“That is the only way you can best me,” Tom said.
“Unsling your gear,” Hadley said.
“For no other reason than to put it back on?” Tom grinned.
Hadley dragged his foot across the path, making a line in the dirt. “That line is where we start and where we end.”
Hadley stood on the line and leaned slightly forward. Tom waited, relaxed slightly behind the line.
“Have it your way,” Hadley said and bolted.
Tom sprinted and was soon just behind Hadley’s left shoulder.
They reached the oak, and Hadley touched it slightly before Tom. Within a few strides, Tom passed Hadley, who strained to run faster. Without the use of MAS, and having his coat and canvas strapped to his back, Tom finished four strides ahead of Hadley.
Hadley bent over, trying to catch his breath. Tom approached him, breathing heavily but feeling refreshed.
“You may be faster at distance, Sir,” Tom said flippantly. “Let us run for a longer distance.”
“I have not trained vigorously in a while,” Hadley excused breathlessly. “Otherwise…”
Tom interrupted. “Your brags don’t impress me, nor does the horse.”
“I know you are not who you say you are,” Hadley said, breathing heavily. “I believe you to be a spy for the Scots.”
“I hear many things,” Tom said. “I remember them. I heard of a knight named Hadley. It may not be you. There may be other knights named Hadley. The one I heard of has a reputation based on bloated, spurious, and apocryphal reports. Could you be that one? I don’t know.”
Hadley dashed for his horse and drew a sword from a sheath. “You have insulted me, you swine. You will pay with your blood. And I shall be rewarded for it.”
“Careful, my friend,” Tom held out his hand to sue for peace. “Couriers often possess the favor of Kings and commanders. My death by your sword will bring about your death. The king will hear of it and be sure justice is carried out in the most gruesome and hideous way.”
“You are not a courier,” Hadley clenched his jaw. He breathed heavily through his nostrils and pointed his sword toward Tom.
“I truly doubt if you have ever raised a sword and faced your enemy in battle. You have never looked into a man’s eyes as he has fallen into death. I know you, far better than you know me. To state conclusively, when the news of my death reaches the King’s ear. He will exact the soul of the one responsible. The truth is, you cannot afford to be wrong.”
Hadley’s sword hung at his side. He mounted his horse. “If you are who you say you are, I will be in the audience witnessing your death at the sword of Sir Drake Bouchard.”
Hadley turned his horse and galloped away.
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