This is episode forty-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 Chat With The Inkeeper
After two more days, Tom stood at the River Tyne. The road ended there. It appeared to him that the river’s width was more than three furlongs.
“Brain,” Tom said, “other than using the Instaport, the darter, or swimming, is there another way to cross this river?”
“Yes,” Brain said. “To your left is a rope extending across the river. Do you see it?”
Tom turned to his left. He saw a large rope tied to a tree. It dipped into the river.
“Next to the tree is a raft,” Brain said. “Attach it to two metal loops on the raft and use it to guide yourself across the river.”
Tom did as directed by Brain. He pulled the raft across the river, hand over hand, until reaching the other side.
“A man is approaching,” Brain said. “He will expect two farthings.”
Tom paid the man and continued to follow the road.
That night, he stopped at an inn and stayed there. He was the only customer. The innkeeper told him that in a month, the number of people traveling would increase.
The innkeeper and his wife told him that a man on a horse had passed by a day and a half earlier. The description of the horse and the man matched Hadley.
Tom stayed the night, and the next morning, the innkeeper ate breakfast at a table in the main room. They drank ale and had a bowl of boiled wheat with herbs and honey. They ate until they talked.
“I must warn you,” the innkeeper said. “To do otherwise might bring blood upon my head.”
“What do you mean?” Tom asked.
“If it is Morpeth you are going to, it is dangerous,” the innkeeper said. “I know you are not from these parts, but Morpeth has an evil reputation. It is the place of many murders. Sometimes by outlaws and footpads who have no morals and take advantage of men traveling alone or in small numbers by foot.”
“I am aware of the dangers, sir,” Tom said. “Your candor is much appreciated. I have been keeping myself alert.”
“Sometimes travelers will wait at the inn until a large number of them gather,” the innkeeper said. “You could stay until more travelers appear.”
“You are too kind and considerate,” Tom said. “But I must get to Morpeth as soon as possible.”
“That is your affair,” the innkeeper said.
“Do you know about Whitford Castle?”
“I have heard of it, but never been there,” the innkeeper said. “Is that where you are going?”
“Not directly,” Tom said. “Do you know anyone in that area?”
“Some I know,” the innkeeper said. “They may pass this way, and I am able to have the pleasure of knowing them.”
“I suppose you want to know if I am familiar with any family who bear your name?” The innkeeper said. “I am. And I knew Geoffrey Bales. I also heard about his death.”
“At the sword of Drake Bouchard?” Tom asked.
“Some say it was dual; one swordsman against another swordsman, like gentlemen or nobles. Bouchard is a trained swordsman,” the innkeeper stated. “Bales was a farmer. I was not there, but those who were said it was only a sport for Bouchard. Any person with the sense of the justice of a goose would rightly call it murder.”
“Why did Geoffrey engage in a sword fight with Bouchard?” Tom asked.
“Bales legally purchased a small tract of land,” the innkeeper sipped his ale. “It was land Bouchard wished to purchase, but he was away when the land came up for sale. The two men bickered for nearly a month. Bouchard is known for violating women. He violated Bales’ wife. Bales demanded satisfaction. It is reported that Bales fought valiantly. Bouchard let him bleed to death rather than end him quickly. In Bouchard’s mind, that was the ultimate humiliation to Bales. The nobles were in favor. They never want to see a peasant, free or not, best a nobleman. That would be their humiliation.”
Tom lifted a spoonful of the frumenty to his mouth. Deep in his thoughts, he chewed.
“It is rumored that you are here to exact vengeance, is that so?” The innkeeper said cautiously.
Tom swallowed. He nodded. “You may speak openly about this matter, for it is not a rumor; it is true.”
“It is said, there is not his equal with the sword in all of Britannia,” the innkeeper warned.
“So it is rumored,” Tom said.
“He has the quickness of a cat and the cunning of a fox,” the innkeeper said.
“And, my friend,” Tom grinned, “I have the quickness of a fly and the hardness of a turtle’s shell.”
Tom finished eating before the innkeeper. He stood and placed a shilling next to the innkeeper’s bowl.
“That is more than generous, my friend.”
“You have provided me with many times the value of that coin,” Tom said.
“God be with you,” the innkeeper said.
“And you, as well.”
Tom grabbed his wooden mug. He lifted it to his mouth and downed its last two swallows. He set it down and walked out of the inn and toward his destination.
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