Traveller Manifesto
72. Aengland - 11th Century

Aengland – 11th Century.

Following the incident of the attacking men, Michael found himself in a black mood that only brightened when Tatae handed him Genovefa. As his daughter cooed and blew raspberries, Tatae walked with her arm slung through his. “I love you,” she affirmed. “You saved us. You did the right thing, my love. Men sometimes have a difficult path, but you must do what you must.” They walked the lonely paths through forest and over moors and, as the day passed, he slowly brightened. He missed their home, their village, and their friends. He eventually placed his arm around Tatae’s shoulders and held her close. With his beautiful wife and daughter, how could he remain sad? Their travelling companion was almost forgotten.

The land rose to broad, open meadows, leaving the deep forests clustered in the valleys. Bare rocks splashed with pale blobs of lichen littered the slopes as they tramped through the rise and fall of their path. At one point, Tatae’s head came up as if she heard an inaudible call. She led them over a hill and through a valley to a bare hilltop where a circle of giant stones maintained a lonely vigil. Michael again wondered at his wife. How did she know of the stones? It was only after a cleansing ceremony and fervent prayers that Tatae’s look of consternation faded. They stayed for the midday hours before finally moving on, Tatae’s cries of respect and good-will ringing over the windswept hills was they parted. They passed a few lonely farmers’ shacks while black, horned sheep bleated before scarpering off to a safer distance.

That night they took shelter in a valley forest and quietly made love. They left the scop alone by the fire and, guided by Tatae, found a still place. Michael’s mind had been in turmoil, for he feared another attack, but in Tatae’s arms the darkness soon fled.

It was in the mid-morning of the next day that they came to a barrier, a raised mound that stretched before them. Much of it was covered with scattered bushes and on climbing to the top they saw, before them, a deep ditch through which they scrambled before their journey could resume. Wasdewy, who had been silent for most of the journey since the attack, now spoke up. “Offa’s Dyke,” he explained. “Saxon King Offa of Mercia built this to mark the boundary with the Welsh.” He paused as he gazed back into Aengland. “It has been many a year since I have been home.”

Michael grunted and barely looked back, only hoping they had made enough distance from possible pursuit. He had been so engrossed with the deaths of Ro and his dog that he had momentarily forgotten why they had left Giolgrave in the first place. His wife and daughter had been exposed to weather and the threat of violence because they were in danger from the 21st Century. Hurley had warned them, but now he felt it, like a hot breath at the back of his neck. They had to be careful. Michael knew of the capability of modern technology in replaceing fugitives such as his family, but in the world of Saxon Aengland, where there was no blanket satellite coverage and face recognition software attached to the ever pervasive CCTV cameras, they had a chance of slipping away, even if he was chipped. He could only imagine that such a chip would have a limited broadcast range. In the modern world a signal might be detected by specialised satellites or drones, but would not be so effective if sought by troops on the ground. All he had to do was make the distance between Giolgrave and themselves as great as possible. Intervening mountains would make detection almost impossible.

He had experienced the realities of working in mountains in Afghanistan and Pakistan, where the precipitous valleys and majestic, jagged peaks so effectively hampered the wonders of modern communication technology. Despite satellites, drones and other new technologies used by the greatest military alliance the world had ever produced, insurgent groups safely lived and regrouped within the granite bulwarks. It all too often took men on the ground to replace them the old-fashioned way.

They soon found themselves within the protective embrace of another forest, which had Michael breathe a sigh of relief. Being in the open had been stressful, for he still feared a reconnaissance drone. The forest hulked with ancient wisdom, seemingly devoid of any human contact. The profusion of wildlife and abundance of herbs and mushrooms meant they could set up camp and rest. A sparkling stream promised a swim, though it would be chilly. A chance to wash loincloths and Genovefa’s clothes was especially welcome.

Latis gave a snuff, her ears raised as she looked around. A marten scampered above while hedgehogs scurried in the fallen leaves.

Michael groaned as he carefully lowered his pack. He turned to assist Tatae when two arrows flew into the oak by which they stood. They hit with a firm ‘thwak’ and the feathers of the fletching vibrated with a gentle hum. It was as if they had appeared by magic.

Two bows! Two very good archers.

He turned in shock as his hand flew to his sword. Latis gave a growl and then a bellow, but two more arrows thudded into the leaves at Michael’s feet. Latis looked around and bellowed again and made as if to attack, but the warrior called out to restrain her. The arrows were not an attack, but a warning. If Latis attacked, they would doubtlessly replace their mark. With the memories of the attacking men burned deeply into their minds, Wasdewy cried out in panic while Tatae turned away and held Genovefa tight, sheltering their child with her body.

Michael raised his hands and cried out for peace. He imagined arrows appearing in Tatae’s back and he felt utterly helpless. His cries were joined by the scop, who also called out in his own language. His hope was that they had stumbled onto a patrol of forest dwellers similar to the residents of Giolgrave. Michael had done his best to learn the ancient Briton language that would, in part, become Welsh, though many of the words still eluded him. Wasdewy loudly screamed, “We are simple travellers who come in peace! We have a woman and a child. For the love of the Gods, I’m but a simple scop! Do you know of anyone who was ever killed by a scop?”

Michael knew when to fight and when to be still. There was nothing he could do. He looked to Tatae, her back to the archers. Her eyes were wide and she chewed her lip in fear. The arrows had flown true and were to startle, not kill. If meant to kill, they would all be dead.

A dark-haired man emerged from the trees some twenty paces off. He held a long bow and, in his other hand, carried a fist of arrows. One was nocked, ready to fire. Of ragged and tousled appearance, Michael’s immediate impression was of Yffi, only dark-haired and not as tall.

“We are friends and mean no harm!” called Wasdewy.

“Well who are you then?” asked the stranger.

“Simple travellers,” called Tatae, who had turned with her golden eyes wide as if with hope. She held Genovefa at her chest, while Michael restrained Latis as she growled. Unlike their contact with the three attackers days earlier, she lacked the murderous snarl but only growled protectively, as if sensing less threat. Michael was often puzzled at the hunting dog’s ability to sense hostility or the lack of it.

The man looked from Tatae to Wasdewy and then to the warrior with his hunting hound and he gave a nod as he lowered his bow. “Well I’m happy to hear your tale if you keep that hound from me. She’s a lovely beast, I’ll give you that, but I’ll fill her with arrows if she even looks like running at me.” He looked across cautiously. “I’ll make her a hedgehog. See if I don’t.”

Michael nodded in agreement and replied, “She won’t attack unless you threaten us,” he stumbled in a mix of Saxon and Welsh. He curtly ordered Latis to sit. She looked to Michael, then to Tatae and then the stranger. She then came to her own conclusions and promptly sat and resorted to her goofy grin.

The archer gave a small smile and nod. “And you!” he called to Michael. “You look like you can use those swords. At least you try to speak the tongue, I’ll give you that! Give me your word that we can have peace and we can see where this takes us.”

“We are peaceful travellers and only seek a place to eat and stay a while,” continued the scop. “I am Scop Wasdewy, known in the halls of the nobles, while this here is Lord Michael, a warrior of renown. His wife is the great healer, Tatae, and their daughter Genovefa.”

“Not yet of renown, is she then?” replied the archer with a small smile. “Well, since we are making formal introductions, then you should know that I am Llew, of no renown. That will do for now.”

“And your friend?” asked Michael.

“Friend?” frowned the archer.

“There was another who fired at us,” continued the warrior.

“Was there?” replied the stranger with a chuckle.

Michael paused in confusion. He detected no animosity, but was not sure if the man played them as fools.

Llew seemed to make his own evaluation of the strangers and gave a sharp nod. “No other. Just me.”

Wasdewy gave a snort of disbelief while Michael frowned. “We respect your skill, but there were two arrows,” asked Michael.

“Aye, there was at that,” the archer nodded. He then gestured to a tree some twenty paces off. His hands moved with familiarity over the longbow, a solid timber weapon that stood at almost two metres, longer than the archer was tall. Michael quietly wondered how effective the weapon would fare when carried through the deep forest. However, in the hands of an expert, he soon found his fears to be unfounded. The archer fired an arrow with deadly accuracy. It struck true, followed almost immediately by two more arrows. He watched in surprise as the arrows were nocked and flew straight, with three fired in under two seconds.

“Wow!” he exclaimed and laughed as he shook his head. “That’s bloody impressive. I’ve never seen arrows fly so fast.”

Llew seemed to puff up a little as he stood taller. “I can fire faster, as needed,” he explained in a tongue that took some concentration to decipher. He had a similar roguish grin as Yffi, Michael’s old hunting companion from Giolgrave, and the Traveller took an immediate liking to him.

“We welcome you, good Llew,” exclaimed Tatae in greeting. “Your tongue is as I spoke as a child, which is a mystery to me. My mother taught of it, of the people of the forest and the ancient ways.”

The archer looked to Tatae with a frown and narrowed eyes as he tilted his head to one side. Michael watched as he looked her up and down, then to her hair and the pouches she wore about her, pouches that held her precious herbs, dried mushrooms, and more. His eyes then went to her amulet, then widened as he then looked to Michael, whose amulets were also visible. His look back to Tatae was in surprise. He fired some words to her in a tongue Michael could not decipher. It was the same liquid tongue by which Tatae often addressed the Goddesses, a tongue she considered sacred.

On hearing his words, Tatae gasped and, with her hand to her heart, replied with almost a laugh of relief. She rattled on with more phrases and, as she did so, the man of the forest gave a loud exclamation and fell to his knees. With his head bowed he released his weapon and placed his hands onto the leaves. There was a brisk exchange that had Tatae look to the forest around her and cry out in exultant prayer.

Wasdewy gasped and opened his mouth to comment, but Michael gestured him to be silent. Something was happening and, like many moments of sacred import with Tatae, he knew it was best to wait until it was over.

Llew then stood and, leaving his precious bow and arrows in the leaf litter, stepped forward and embraced Tatae as family, kissing her cheeks and her forehead before he promptly stepped back. To his surprise, Tatae had tears that ran freely down her cheeks. She then gently placed Genovefa into the leaves and returned the greeting, then looked to her husband with a radiant smile. “We are safe, my Michael. We have now come to the place we can call home.” She exclaimed her relief in delight, as if the weight of the world had been lifted from her.

Finally, they had hope. Michael looked around at the deep forest and the mighty trees, reminiscent of the forest around Giolgrave and knew there was more to it than what he could see. There would, of course be a village and people. Best of all, there might be a chance for him to build a home for his family. Tatae and Llew happily chatted together, so Michael stooped to pick up Genovefa who was making a beeline for the arrows. Seeing the progress of the wee girl, Llew laughed gently and picked up his bow. He then unstrung the bowstring and settled the bow and arrows against a large log that bisected the clearing.

Tatae soon decided that it was time to eat and, as a fire was made, she busied herself with her small cauldron and added mushrooms and greenery to make a stew. Llew continued to chat with Tatae as Wasdewy placed his precious instrument to rest against the log. With Michael, he gratefully dropped his pack. This looked to be an oft-used stopping point for travellers as Tatae used a fireplace marked with a circle of scorched stones.

Because she wiggled and kicked her feet, Genovefa was let loose to crawl about the leaves. She soon found a stick, which was promptly placed into her mouth. She pulled a face and Michael knelt and gently removed it from her grip at which she gave a sharp yelp of objection. Familiar with his daughter’s antics, Michael immediately placed a small, leather doll into her pudgy hand. She gave a tombstone-tooth smile and commenced to gnaw on the familiar, well-chewed leather. She had been a very good child and now it was time for her to wriggle about and drool, for her pink cheeks showed she was teething.

With Wasdewy as translator, Michael did his best to communicate.

“You show a rare skill with the bow,” he praised the archer.

Llew bowed his head in thanks as he watched Tatae. “My thanks, my Lord,” he replied. “I give thanks for your hospitality, but what has a warrior, a scop and a priestess of the sacred ways wandering the forests?”

“We have had to leave our home, far away,” admitted Michael carefully. “We seek a new home.”

“The priestess says you could be hunted?” asked the archer carefully.

Wasdewy gave a gasp at the news and Michael frowned. That was not something that should have been divulged. He sighed. “I have given offense to my people and they seek redress. From the safety of our home, we have fled for many days now.”

Llew said nothing, but watched the fire thoughtfully as Tatae worked on the meal. Michael knew she was desperate for a return to normalcy, that they could live in a home from whence she could serve others. Latis carefully wandered over to the archer and gave him a thorough sniff. Llew watched carefully, his arms up as the big dog stuck her nose under his arms and into his crotch before she wandered back to Michael to recline and place her muzzle onto her paws with a satisfied huff. She readily accepted the newcomer’s inclusion as a friend.

Wasdewy yawned and stretched till his back cracked, then carefully unpacked his rebec and bow. He took a seat on an appropriate part of the log and gave the instrument a strum. At the tone, Llew turned from the fire in surprise and with an involuntary cry of joy. Before long, the steady thrum of the instrument was joined by the voices of the scop and the archer. Their song rang like crystal in the forest and, as they finished, they laughed together. Animosities and suspicion were but a memory.

“Come, Lord Michael! Come! Show our friend that there is much joy to be had. Now we will have a place to stay. Finally, we have found a people who know how to sing!” cried Wasdewy with a laugh of unrestrained delight. He spoke rapidly as Michael removed his own mandolin from its leather cover. He then played as Tatae chuckled and gave the pot a stir. There was an almost festive air as the mushrooms bubbled in the pot, while strips of dried meat were set aside. The rock-hard bread they had been gifted by Thegn Conrad had long been consumed. Michael thought how nice it would be to have some of the bread to soften in the mushroom stew. Songs were sung and there was much laughter. It was not long before Tatae poured stew into the light, timber bowls they carried with them. Sitting Genovefa into her lap, Tatae then used herb leaves as a spoon and blew on the stew to cool it for the baby to eat. The wee girl knew what was coming and sat with her mouth open.

Llew said something and Tatae laughed. “He says she is like a baby bird,” chuckled the proud mother.

Michael smiled. This was the most relaxed he had felt in months. “Yes, she loves her food.” Though never as chubby as some of the babies he had seen in the 21st century, Genovefa was a wee bundle of energy. She chewed on the mushrooms with delight, though she still took comfort in the nipple.

Llew sighed at the food and he soon gobbled up his generous portion. “Ahh, that was nice. Just like home.”

“Where is home?” asked Wasdewy.

“Afon Glen,” replied Llew with a jerk of his head. “Tis but a trefi in the forest, but it is home.”

Michael saw Tatae’s yellow eyes shine at the news, so he continued to question the archer. Afon Glen was a trefi, or village, similar to Giolgrave in that it was a settlement deep in the forest. With only a dozen or so homes and a population of less than a hundred, the village sat by a river where fishermen and hunters lived and raised their families.

“Afon Glen has remained in the old ways,” continued Llew contentedly. “Because it has been hidden. Some of us, the young and foolish, sought adventure in the wars.”

“Wars? What wars?” asked Michael.

Llew gave a small, humourless chuckle. “Who knows what wars are which?” he continued unenthusiastically. “Lords always war against each other as long as there are fools willing to die for them. Then there were the Danes, of course, as the sea peoples took all too many of our people away. Some say it was to be slaves, but who can say? Then there have been wars against those of Mercia. For a while I fought for Llywelyn ap Seissyll.”

Michael looked blankly and Llew looked aghast at his ignorance, until Wasdewy came to his rescue.

“Llywelyn, son of Seisyll ap Ednowain was the King of Gwynedd, Powys and Deheubarth, my Lord,” advised the scop, expecting recognition. He also conveyed his own frown of disappointment when there was none.

“My brother was killed. Not from a spear or arrow, but by sickness from hunger,” continued Llew sadly. “I’ve decided I’ve had my fill of adventures. I saw too many heads shattered and noses smashed when fighting for someone I did not know, to kill others I did not know. It was time to return to the smell of my own home, to the tongue of my own people.”

“Would Afon Glen welcome visitors?” asked Tatae.

Llew gave a bark of laughter. “Well, that depends. I think they would welcome a healer and priestess of the old ways.”

“Aye, a healer and one who knows the ways of the Goddesses,” confirmed Tatae quietly.

Llew looked to her and then shrugged. “Then, you must visit. Too many times I sought the Goddesses when men fell to my arrows. My home has been without a priestess for too long. My people will welcome good visitors. We have seen a few who are not welcome, leftovers from the wars. Some fled from battle and have been nothing but trouble since.”

“We met some,” added Wasdewy.

“Oh?” replied the archer. “And?”

Michael sat uncomfortably as the scop described the attack and the deaths of Ro and his hound, and of the survivors who were sent on their way.

Llew nodded, impressed, and he cast a glance at Latis as she lay quietly.

Michael also watched Latis as her hears twitched. Tatae looked up suddenly and looked to Michael with a frown.

Llew’s head also came up and he also frowned, shook his head, and then looked to Tatae cautiously. “Well, I’ve eaten and welcomed you as guests, but I had best return to the village and advise them of your coming. They will want to prepare a welcome, no doubt.” He gathered his bow and looked around him, as if suddenly uncertain. “Stay a while, for I’ll be back to guide you to your new home.”

“Oh, so soon?” replied the scop. “I thought we could enjoy more song before we packed and left.”

“No, stay and rest my friends,” replied Llew with a strained smile. “I promise I’ll be back. The time is right that I leave you now.” He gave a small bow and, holding his bow firmly, turned and briskly strode into the forest.

Michael leaned back and sighed as he watched the archer depart. Curiously, it was not in the direction where he thought the village might lie, but there must be hidden paths best known to the locals. Tatae solemnly watched her daughter play, then looked to the forest and frowned again, as if in question. Her hands gripped her amulet a moment, with her eyes closed. She then stooped to pick up Genovefa and crouched as she changed her daughter’s soiled swaddling. His wife looked uncharacteristically tense, especially given the news of their potential home. After their long travels, no news could be better. “Is all well my love?” Michael called questioningly. “You must be happy, surely? We look to have finally found a home.”

Her look was distraught. “No,” was all she could murmur as she quickly dressed Genovefa. Her golden eyes grew wide and terrified.

Michael looked across at her, puzzled.

His wife again looked about the sheltered glade and, as he stood to repack his mandolin, he felt it.

Latis immediately raised her head and sniffed. She gave a quiet, uncertain growl as Tatae looked to her husband. Her big eyes had taken on a look of despair. “My love …” was all she could exclaim before he heard stealthy movement.

The survivors from the attack, thought Michael in panic as he turned to confront. They could have tracked the slowly travelling family group after making contact with any of their companions and, in a group, obviously decided to exact retribution. They must have been very good to have escaped detection by Latis. They were downwind, but incredibly silent. His spear rested on the log and was too far away, so he immediately drew his sword and spun to face them.

But what stood there were not those previous attackers. The sight froze his blood. They did not even look human. Wasdewy gave a gasp of and wail of horror and Latis flew into a rage, but Michael was compelled to hold her back with grasp at the fur on the back of her neck and a stern command. Thankfully, she dropped back to the ground, but was tense and watchful.

Two giants stood before him. They were men, of course, for he immediately identified them as modern soldiers. To those who had never seen exoskeletons and the comms mask, they would appear evil and otherworldly. Though about ten feet tall, his main concern was their weapons systems, for they looked to possess the latest in rail-gun technology, where the magnetic system could fire pellets at an astonishing rate, literally shredding anything that stood in their path.

He looked up in despair, the sudden departure of the Welsh archer forgotten.

One of the figures gave a bark of laughter.

“Michael Hunter, I presume!” uttered the other with an amplified, American voice.