This is episode forty-eight 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.
Tom to Thomas, Farmer to Farmer
The Northumberland farming landscape stretched flat with unexpected bulges. It lay in small patches of fields cared for by peasants. Not far from the road, Tom saw a man sitting on the ground, watching a flock of sheep graze.
Tom walked toward the man. The man stood and waved.
“Good day,” Tom waved and said. “The weather seems to be turning pleasant.”
“There will be a wee bit more snow,” the man stood. “Do you come from far?”
“Yes,” Tom said. “I have come to visit my family and secure their welfare.”
“And who might that be?” The man asked.
“I’m looking for a lad, Thomas Bales.”
“Young Bales is in the village today. I saw him at his home this morning, on my way out,” the man said. “It is just over the next rise. It is called Hanby.” The man pointed to a rise in the road about half a mile away. “He lives in the first house on the right.”
“Thank you and good day, my friend,” Tom said and followed the road toward the rise.
Tom reached the top of the rise in the road. A quarter of a mile away, twenty small daub, thatch-roofed houses lined both sides of the road. All around the hamlet, fallow fields dotted the late winter windswept landscape. Cattle, sheep, and goats placidly grazed. The wind at the top of the rise whirled and whistled through two barren trees where Tom stood.
He hesitated, trying to calculate the importance of what lay ahead of him. He reviewed strategies. He expected that his arrival would be received as a welcome surprise—a tonic for the bleak situation.
After several minutes of thought, he hurried down the rise. Soon, he stood at the house of one of his earliest known ancestors.
Tom lifted his hand to knock on the door.
“What is it?” A voice from the side of the house said before Tom was able to knock. It was a short boy who looked as if he had not grown yet into manhood. He was dressed in brown trousers and a hooded cowl.
“What is it, stranger?” Thomas said sharply.
“Are you Thomas Bales?” Tom said.
“Yes,” Thomas said. “And what do they call you?”
“We bear the same name.”
“Does that make us relatives?” Thomas said.
“In this case, it does.”
“How?” Thomas asked, tilting his head to one side.
“I am your uncle,” Tom said. “I am your father’s brother.”
“He has no brothers,” Thomas said curtly. “He spoke only of four sisters and a brother who died at birth.”
Tom expected nothing but gratification from Thomas upon learning a relative from far away had made a trip of considerable distance. He thought he’d be greeted with wide-eyed curiosity. It appeared as if the death of his father, Geoffrey, had left him cynical and suspicious.
“Tell me, please, the names of my grandfather and grandmother?” Thomas asked. “Before you answer, you look as if, at the most, you are five years older than me. How old are you?”
Brain said telepathically, “Likely you have already assessed. You should be honest and forthright with Thomas. How that is accomplished is best left to you.”
“Well, sir,” Thomas repeated, “that was not a hard question. How old are you?”
“I’m nineteen,” Tom said apologetically.
“Whoever you are, leave my door,” Thomas said firmly.
“I can assure you, Thomas, that we are most assuredly related.”
“My family has always had good hearing,” Thomas said. “If you were a Bales, you would have heard me perfectly. Leave my door.”
Tom stepped into the road. Thomas suspiciously watched and glared.
“I came here to avenge your father’s murder by the sword of Drake Bouchard. Several days ago, I planted the rumor so that my arrival would not be unexpected, especially by Bouchard.”
“So the rumor is,” Thomas said.
“And while walking all the way from Scarborough, all I gave thought to was greeting you and helping. My thinking was clouded by the fact that I thought you might be a simple peasant who would be gracious at the thought of someone from faraway wanting to claim vengeance. It appears I have failed. For one, you are more sophisticated and clever than I estimated. And second, I have made the mistake of being less honorable with my tongue than it would take to earn your trust.”
Thomas stepped from the side of the house and stood no more than a stride from Tom.
Thomas looked up at Tom. He looked around to see if anyone was in earshot. “I am what I am, sir, nothing more. I am no fool. My father saw to it that I was familiar with letters and numbers. Advantages have been withheld from me, but I can read and write and calculate.”
“I have come here only to help,” Tom said. “Once I have completed what I came here to do, I will be gone, and you will never hear of me again. I, too, am a farmer. I respect the land. I raise cattle. I know the work that it involves. But I am from far, far away and not familiar with your customs and formalities. My approach may have been interpreted as speaking down to you. For that, I am ashamed. We have much more in common than what you might think.”
“Explain yourself, man,” Thomas said.
“I was the same age you were when my father died. My father was not murdered. I had an older brother who was away. My mother and I worked our farm. I worked the fields, and she made certain that we made a profit. I know what it’s like to have responsibility at an early age. Your friends work, but have no responsibility. Their workday ends, yours never does. You wonder if the clouds will pass over without rain, too much rain, or just enough. A sound at night could be a predator after one of your sheep. You haven’t enjoyed anything since your father’s death. You have not seen your mother smile since your father’s death. Every event in your life is measured by the distance from before and after your father’s death. I know the loneliness.”
Thomas stared into Tom’s eyes for a moment. Then he said, “Only a man who has cut a furrow such as mine could say those words. It is painful to live them, but the burden is shared and lightened when someone can speak them from his own life.”
“Like I said, I am here to help.”
Thomas nodded. “Well, my friend, if you tend cattle and are here to help, remove your coat and roll your sleeve. Your arm is longer than mine, and you appear stronger. You can help birth a calf.”
Tom removed his coat and handed it to Thomas. He rolled up his shirt sleeve. “Take me to your cow.”
Tom followed Thomas to the rear of the house.
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