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Playlist: Track 10-13*
Chapter IV: Farmer
A week had passed since Edward and Jacob's run-in with Mike Masen. A week of trying to survive in the middle ages with nothing but the clothes on their back, the knowledge Edward had, and the combative and survivalist skills of Jacob.
At first, as Mike had disappeared into thin air, both stood dumbfounded with wide eyes and gaping mouths. While the realization hit them that they were now stuck in the past, Edward also thought his heart might give out as Jacob rushed to him, arguing heftily at his stupidity for letting his uncle get away.
Edward took the insults Jacob hurled at him as he stared at his dirty shoes, the sound around him growing increasingly distorted. They realized they had no place to sleep, no money, no food—nothing. Thus, they wandered around Leeds aimlessly as the summer days progressed. First, they strived to find work, realizing it was no use for none would employ them—they had no trade nor were they associated with any guild. After a few days, Edward and Jacob settled for begging but were quickly rushed out of the village.
At the entrance to Leeds, Jacob hurled yet another wave of insults at Edward, enough passion and anger behind his words to make Edward's eyes water.
"You have been completely useless this entire time, Masen, and it is because of you and your fucking insane uncle that we're stuck here!" Jacob screamed.
...
"You can do better than this," Mike muttered Edward's way as he looked at his school reports. His first year in High School had been tough. Edward wasn't as naturally gifted at studying as his father or uncle had been. Every subject had been a struggle, every class he fought to pay attention. Yet, Mike wanted him to succeed, to continue in his father's footsteps. Because of that, Edward did nothing but study, sleep, eat and repeat. The days mingled together. When he got home from school, the first thing he did was prepare for his tutoring session. Mike didn't check in anymore, as if he had given up on Edward. But he would make himself known at times, like now.
"I g-got 85 p-p-percent t-that's h-higher t-t-than—"
Mike glared at him. "It's not good enough."
Edward's lips trembled but he held back the stinging tears. He hated the stuffy studio, the stacked books, the drapes that would never let any sunlight in, the sense of imprisonment.
Mike held up the report card. "You are going to do better on the next test…" he paused, frowning at Edward as he looked him up and down, disappointed. "I don't even know why I bother," he muttered as he cast away the paper. It floated slowly to the ground; Edward mesmerized by it for a second. The paper looked like a bird, clipped of its wings.
"I-I'll t-t-try harder n-next t-time, Uncle M-Mike, I s-swear."
Mike arched an eyebrow without looking up. He didn't need to say anything else, he was done with Edward. Without much else to say, Edward collected himself, the nauseating sense of uselessness overwhelming. Mike was right, although he didn't say it.
Edward was pathetic.
Pathetic.
...
Edward's shoulders sank low to the ground, he tried to speak, but the words got stuck in his throat. He had only eaten scraps for the past week and hesitantly been drinking from the nearby stream, despite knowing the water could most likely be contaminated from the nearby village. He had yet not been able to process the betrayal of Mike, but it was there, nagging at the back of his mind.
"I-I'm s-sorry," Edward stammered for the hundredth time with a hollow voice.
Jacob shook his head in anger. "I'm sure you are!" he growled. "But you know what? You take those amazing skills of yours and see if you can't get some help somewhere else. I'm done. I'm so fucking done with you!" Jacob spat.
Jacob turned around to leave, Edward instinctively following him as he always did.
"No!" Jacob screamed, the veins in his neck and forehead ever prominent. "You go somewhere where I won't have to ever see your face again!" He turned once more to leave, Edward standing behind on the dirt road completely at loss for what to do, the realization that Jacob was abandoning him inducing a panicked reaction in him.
"W-Where w-will you go?" Edward begged. "We s-should stick t-together!"
Jacob turned once more and rushed up to Edward. "I know how to survive, I'll manage…I just don't think I can handle seeing your face, Masen."
"J-Jacob… d-don't leave!" Edward's voice was laced with tears as he blurted out an almost pathetic cry. But Jacob had already turned his back on him, trailing up the road and soon disappearing past the bend of the road. "Please," Edward whispered.
Seconds turned to minutes. Edward sank to his knees as a terror claimed him for he was a stranger in a strange land, now utterly alone and uncertain of how to proceed. He couldn't return to Leeds, for he was now known as a beggar there. He couldn't return to York, that was where Jacob had gone. Edward gripped the mud with his hands and let the tears and snot run down his face as he cried with panic, feeling like a lost child.
After what felt like hours, the sun now lowering on the sky, Edward did the only thing he could think of—he headed in the other direction.
His feet took him south as he commenced a long journey to an unknown destination. For days he toiled on, passing small hamlets and villages, begging for any scraps of food they could spare. Some were kind enough to give him a small piece of bread and some water from their well, others chased him off. If he was fast enough, he managed to get away unscathed.
One day, however, Edward who had been more than ten days without a decent meal and on the road since arriving in 1190, was once more being chased by some local youngsters. He was not fast enough, weak already from the lack of food and from not having kept in shape back in the 21st century. Edward didn't get far until they caught up with him and beat him down with sticks, hurling insults at him, screaming at him to leave. When he fell, they started kicking him and as Edward caught glimpses of their faces, he saw anger and fear. They bruised and bloodied him until he stopped moving.
Edward lay on the side of the road for hours, the sun sinking on the sky as he wondered if this was how he would die. The scent of wet earth and grass filled his nostrils. The tears of self-pity had long since dried up and Edward grew strangely acceptant of his fate once he understood what it would be. The world around him eventually darkened in unison with the night as his vision faded, and he lost consciousness.
Jacob tore into the small fish, happy with yet another successful catch of the day. He had migrated back to the forest near York and settled within it. Years of training had rendered him prepared for surviving within the deep woods. Thankfully, it was summer, and he would be able to remain here. But once the warmer months came to an end, he knew he would have to change tactics. His anger with Edward had subsided once he calmed down. It wasn't until now that he realized his mistake at having lashed out at him. Jacob was prideful, he had always been. And that pride had now cost him an important ally. Jacob didn't speak the local language and his training had taught him to always stick with the translator in unknown territories. He had been on several tours to Iraq and Afghanistan, yet this would prove to be his most dangerous one yet.
A week had gone since he had split from Edward and not a day passed where he didn't feel remorse for how they had parted. Jacob often sat up at night, going over their confrontation with Mike Masen, wondering what he could have done differently, how he could have foreseen that they would be betrayed. Jacob remembered the strange interaction between Edward and Mike, how Edward had been so distant, as if not wishing to be near his uncle.
The pooling water mixed with birdsong and the crackling of his fire as Jacob took another steaming hot piece of fish from it, inspecting to see if it was done. He wondered if Edward was still alive, wondered where he was—if he had followed him to York. Something deep within Jacob prompted him to go look for him, but there was still something else he wished to do before searching for Edward.
Jacob had tried to find the area they had landed in more than a week ago. He knew that if he searched the slope, he might find his bag. He had not been successful yet, for he was mindful in keeping away from the main roads as not to attract any unwanted suspicion. But he would keep looking until he found it and maybe, with that bag, he could power his remaining RHD with the broken interface. It was wishful thinking, but Jacob was a desperate man. He bit into his second fish; the thought of finding his bag the only thing truly keeping him going.
His eyelids fluttered open as a stray sunbeam flashed over them. He quickly closed them again. Somewhere, in the distance, he discerned the cockle of a rooster and raised voices. They sounded happy, he thought.
Edward stirred, immediately regretting his decision. His eyelids opened and he was met with a small space. He found himself on a bed of hay, with a flimsy blanket beneath him and another one covering him. He appeared to be in what looked like a small barn, next to some stables that were empty. There was an open hatch next to him that let in the morning sunlight which had awoken him.
The pain in his left side was significantly worse than anywhere else in his body. Edward removed the blanket and gasped as he was met by a blue and black body. His left ribs had to be bruised, if not at least broken. His right shoulder was sore, and he had some more bruises covering the rest of his body. Edward settled back in his bed with utmost care and once more closed his eyes, drifting back to sleep. The next time he awoke he noticed that someone was supporting his head and pushing something to his lips. Edward instinctively took a sip as his eyelids shot open.
A haggard face met him, yet in the middle of it, he saw two big and kind brown eyes stare down, a smile slowly tugging at the corner of the person's lips.
"There, drink up," she whispered. Edward drank the liquid, ignoring the foul taste, realizing it to be some kind of nourishment.
Once he was done, she slowly lowered his head into the bed once more. Edward had many questions but was unable to ask them as his eyelids once more turned heavy. She stood up, leaving him to rest before he could ask anything.
It wasn't until the next morning that she returned, together with the sun. Her clothes were shabby and torn, and the lines in her face suggested that she had to be at least over sixty. Her hands were gnarly and thin, showing that she had used them to work her entire life. Strands of gray hair peeked out under her cap. As soon as she saw him, her oval face split into a grin once more and Edward noted she was missing a canine tooth.
"How be we t'day?" she asked. Her voice was softer than Edward would have expected.
"Side hurts," Edward managed to rasp in something akin to her accent.
She sighed and shook her head. "Those folk, Barnaby boys been at it 'gain." She wrinkled her nose. "They bethought ye a leper."
"I am not."
"I can see," she chuckled heartily. Edward already liked her. "Mine own husband hath found ye on the edge of our farmstead. I know not what inspired him to take ye in, lad, mayhap an act of God did indicate ye should be hither."
"I am in your…" Edward searched for the word. "Debt," he finally said.
The older woman eyed him curiously. "Yer not Saxon, lad. Nor from these parts. Ye speak strange."
A faint sigh escaped Edward, which he quickly regretted as the pain in his side flared up. He bit back a hiss.
"And from what I see ye have been well fed," she said, pointing at his stomach. "A Norman, ye are," she said, her eyes narrowing slightly. "At least, that is what mine own husband thinks…"
"Whatever I was, I am not anymore," Edward whispered, struggling to find the adequate words. He had no idea what impact him being a Norman would have on these people, confirming or denying wasn't an option, thus he decided to be vague. The Normans were still considered invaders in these lands, William the Conqueror's line had scarcely been in power for 150 years.
Her nostrils flared as she shook her head. "Whatever ye are, son, best keep it to yerself. The Barnabys bethought ye a leper, better not allow those folk bethink ye a Norman."
Edward pinched his eyes shut, too weak to argue against her.
Her expression softened. "Rest." It sounded more like a motherly reprimand than an order. Edward's eyelids were once more shut as he drifted off to sleep.
Two more days passed in the same fashion before Edward was able to sit up and drink his vile broth by himself. He learned that the woman's name was Ardith and that he had ended up on a farm near a village north of Sheffield. She and her husband, Edric, were serfs under the local feudal lord whose name she hadn't bothered mentioning. In fact, the mere mention of him had her wrinkling her nose in such a way that Edward believed she didn't take kindly to him, maybe not even Normans in general.
Every day he noted a pattern. Edric would come each morning and feed the oxen and get his tools for the weeding—long-handed sticks, one with a Y-fork at the end and the other with a small sickle blade. They would be used to crop the stem of the weeds at the end—thistles were particularly bothersome this time of year as well as dock, charlock, and corncockle.
Edric would be out until dusk when he no longer had any natural light to work under. The summer days stretched long and as he hung up the tools, he looked haggard after such a long day's work. Sometimes Ardith would go with her husband and help whenever she could. Sometimes, they would return with smiles on their faces despite the hardships they faced. There were no children or people Edward's age. He wondered if they had been married off or sent away to other farms.
Edric—short of stature and with an equally haggard look on his silver-bearded face—sometimes stared Edward down silently as he hung up the tools he and his wife used.
Another week passed and Edward was well enough to walk around. He was not allowed out of the barn yet, Ardith wishing to make sure he had all his strength. There was still some discomfort in his left side, however, the bruising had gone down considerably. His once clean-shaven face was now dotted by the shadow of a beard that grew each day.
It wasn't until a full ten days after first having arrived at the farmstead that Edward was strong enough to leave the barn. His eyes squinted as he walked past the doors and he placed his hand over his eyes to protect them from the sun. A small house was next to the barn, probably the living space. It had, like the barn, a thatched roof and a small shed next to it. Some chickens were walking around freely and an opening in the roof where some smoke was coming out suggested Ardith was making more pottage and broth over the hearth. The façade of the farmhouse was made of cob, some timber making up the main structure of the main house.
Edward hesitated before heading for the main house. "Ardith?" he called out, not wishing to enter without her permission. He looked around to find fields bursting with ripened wheat. It was almost harvesting season, which meant it was almost August.
The old woman stepped outside with a frown. "What are ye doing out of bed, lad?" she exclaimed as he gave her a confused frown.
Their house was not far from the road and further down it, Edward spotted more farms lining it, clumped together in a minuscule community, he supposed it had to be one of the many making up the Lord's Manor.
"I am well now to move, thus to walk…" Edward looked around. It was evident they had little, that they were poor. Yet, even so, Ardith and Edric had shared what little they had with him—a stranger. "And I…uhm…I wish to help."
Ardith rose an eyebrow. "Help?"
Edward looked back at her. "With anything ye need." He had nothing else to do, nowhere else to go. The least he could do was pay these people back.
Ardith shook her head and motioned for him to follow her inside. That night, Edward sat with them by the hearth and had his evening broth. Now that he was out of bed, he was able to get something stronger into him; a piece of dried bread, nothing else was to be had. Later, when Edric thought he wouldn't hear, he argued with his wife that they didn't have enough to feed a third mouth. Edward stood in the darkness outside of the house and looked up at the starry sky, still amazed that such a thing could exist. He ignored the squabble of the couple and took in the serenity, the calm tranquility his old home couldn't have offered. It was so peaceful it was almost eerie. The July night sighed, a wind brushing past the wheat, making it dance. His lungs felt clean with every breath he took.
The following morning, when Edric came to fetch his tools, he found an awaiting Edward next to them, already holding a pair in his hands. Without a word, Edric got himself a pair and walked; Edward trailing behind. They walked the short distance to Edric's field and started on their task. Edric was expecting the young stranger—who clearly had never done a hard day's work in his life—to give up after the first few hours. But Edward kept going even past lunch, never once complaining. Without sustenance in his belly, he still scoured the fields for weeds as Edric sat with the other farmers, eating in silence as they watched him. It wasn't until the late afternoon, when Edward was down on his knees, sweat soaking through every layer of his clothes, that a hand came to rest on his shoulder.
"We be done fer t'day."
It was the first time Edric had spoken to Edward in the two weeks he had been there. That night, Edward slept like the dead, his hands blistered from the hard work, his back killing him, yet a smile plastered on his lips as he was content for the first time in a long time.
The weeding season eventually turned to harvest season. Edward, who had naturally integrated himself into Ardith and Edric's farm, was now part of the men who started harvesting the wheat. No one spoke to him as he toiled the fields, the Barnaby boys mostly left him alone, but would sometimes sit close, a silent warning to Edward, or maybe simple curiosity over the man they had beaten.
Days turned to weeks and Edward found a strange habit of waking up with the sun, working the field with Edric, and returning to a meal prepared by Ardith. It took his mind off how he had gotten to this place, to begin with. The feeling of betrayal both from Jacob and Mike would eat him up at night, but working on the fields had him so tired that his nights started to become dreamless, which would allow him some form of sleep. There wasn't time to ponder on the strong feeling of abandonment and betrayal Mike's actions had awoken in him, the sickening thought that his own flesh and blood had essentially left him to waste away in a foreign time and land without little consideration. Mike was many things, but Edward had never expected this from him.
Now that a youngling helped out on the farm, it allowed Ardith to rest and Edric to take it easier. They started becoming attached to Edward. One day, as he swung the scythe across the wheat to take it down, he ripped part of the arm of his soiled tunic. That night, returning to the main house, Ardith took the tunic and mended it for him, lamenting that he should still be dressing in worn clothes that had started becoming a bit too big for him in certain areas and tighter in others.
Working long and hard hours in the field had not only made Edward's mind slowly emerge from the cloudy state it had been in before his trip—it had started making changes to him physically as well. Edward found himself getting stronger, his arms slowly unburdened by the weight of the heavy scythe, his stomach and back tensing from the long swings. Edric, too old to man the scythe anymore, used a simple sickle instead. Between the two of them, however, they were quick in harvesting the fields. They worked with the other farmers in teams of five, making their way through the fields as the days progressed. By early September, they were mostly done.
Edward stood near the barn, the warm weather forcing him to forego his tunic and shirt, not that they were much intact anymore, they were basically rags at this point. He stood with a bare torso, gulping down some cool water from the well that was behind the house, giving them fresh and clean water, hard to come by during these times. Edward dried the sweat from his brow as Edric came up to him.
An approving smile touched his face as he walked past Edward.
"What's so amusing?" asked Edward with a frown. When he received perplexed looks at his choice of words, he quickly corrected himself. "Comical! What's so comical?"
Edric turned around and shrugged. "Now ye be like one of us," he said with a raised eyebrow as he cast a glance at Edward's body and rough hands.
Edward looked down on himself and pressed his lips together uncomfortably as Edric released a laugh.
A few days later, they started processing the gathered crops one morning when they were paid an impromptu visit by the reeve**. He rode up to them with an ensemble of men trailing behind. The moment he entered the small courtyard of Edric's farmstead, everyone stopped in their tracks and cast their eyes to the ground submissively.
Edward looked at the man in confusion. He was a well-built fellow, probably in his mid-forties with his hair cut close to his scalp. His features were soft, a sign that he didn't toil much outside. His face was clean-shaven, and his clothes well kept.
"Good day to thee, Edric," the man said with a smile.
"And to ye Wilbur," Edric answered with a respectful nod. Many more did so as well.
Wilbur dismounted his horse, the men behind him doing the same. One of them was the notary, there to take note of this season's crop yielding before it was processed and then again after, to make certain Edric did not hide away any of it before it was divided and sent to the Manor.
"Thou knowest the proceedings, 'twill nay be long," Wilbur announced. He had a straight-on take on the whole affair.
"Aye," Edric answered with his eyes still glued to the ground. Thus, the rest of Wilbur's group started going through the crops while the farmers waited patiently.
As the notary dotted everything down, Wilbur's eyes trailed over the serfs until they stopped on Edward. He frowned as he walked up to him.
"Thee I hast not seen before," he said. Edward stuttered as he took a step back, uncertain of what to say or do. Whenever the reeve had come to the farm before, Edward had been sent away into the barn or told to remain inside the house—almost as if Ardith and Edric were hiding him. Wilbur's sudden appearance suggested the couple were as surprised by it as Edward.
"What is thy name?" Wilbur asked. There was no malice or suspicion to him. He spoke to Edward as he had to Edric, with a calm and professional tone.
"E-Edward," he responded with a stutter.
Wilbur glanced at Edric. "I gather this is not one of thy sons."
"He helps on the farm."
"All new hands on the farm have to be reported to the Manor, thou knowest as well as I, Edric."
Edric took a hesitant step forward. He had spoken more in the past five minutes than he had for the past month. "He helps on the farm," Edric stated again, more forcefully. The tone in his voice caused Wilbur's eyes to darken.
"If thou wisheth to remain a hand at this farm, thou wilt journey to lord de Guyenne's Manor to be registered as a serf —"
"I uh…I uhm d-do not wish to become a serf," Edward whispered, keeping his gaze away from Edric. Serfdom formed part of the feudalistic system and held nothing for him. He would basically tie himself down to the farm for the rest of his life, selling himself into a sort of slavery. Edward had no plans to remain there forever. And should he ever wish to leave, he would cast away that chance, becoming a run-away and chased forever by the lord and his servants.
Wilbur frowned at him. "Then I am afraid thee cannot remain." He looked at Edric and then back at Edward. "That thou hast had a third mouth living on thy farm, eating from lord de Guyenne's supplies, shall incur an increase in thy dues…to make up for the lost food thou hast been providing this man with." Wilbur turned to Edward. "Thou art not from this place, sir, that much is clear. This time I shall not report thee to his lordship and allow thee leave with thy skin intact. If I ever see thee grazing these lands without having properly registered, I shall be forced to drag thee to the manse myself and allow his lordship's steward deal out a fitting punishment."
Edward stared at Wilbur and his entourage with disbelief. The notary and his men finished counting and they left as quickly as they arrived.
Once they were left alone, the group remained in a stifled silence as they glanced at Edward, some fleeting whispers passing along the Barnaby boys while Ardith's face twisted into a sorrowful frown.
Edric walked up to Edward and guided him back to the house without a word.
That night, Edward couldn't sleep. Ardith and Edric's farmstead had provided him with a safe bubble, making him believe that maybe he could have made a life here, or at least found his footing. Now, entering September, summer behind them and more frigid temperatures on its way, Edward was once more about to face the daunting medieval past alone.
He sat on the doorstep to the main house, staring at the stars in silence. The chill pushed up against him and he tugged at the hem of his tunic—now falling apart. Despite her best efforts, Ardith hadn't managed to keep it in one piece.
Somewhere an owl hooted through the crickets and howling wind. Edward could hear a dog barking in the distance. The wheat not yet gathered danced like a silver sea under the stars, catching their reflection. He had no idea of where to go, the thought more alarming than being stuck in a time that was not his own.
There was a sound behind him as Edric emerged from the house and sat down next to him. Edward hugged his legs closer to him and both remained silent as they watched the stars. After a while, something dropped into Edward's lap.
It was a new tunic, made out of a coarser fabric than Edward's old one. He couldn't discern its color in the dark. His thumb glided along the seams as a small smile split his face. Nestled within the tunic was a wrapped loaf of bread, some dried fish and a wooden canteen filled with what Edward supposed was water from the well.
"Take the road south," Edric said. He didn't offer any more words of explanation. Edward gripped the canteen hard in his hand.
"At which hour?"
"Before sunrise…say not yer goodbyes to Ardith…she is not good with goodbyes," Edric murmured.
Edward looked at the gift they had given him. They were poor, yet they had shared what little they had with him.
"I thank ye."
Edric stood up without a word, leaving Edward once more to the night. The last thing Edward heard of him was the sound of the door as it shut behind him. Once more the owl hooted as Edward looked south, something pulling him there.
He remained seated on the doorstep, taking in the peaceful night as it continued. The crickets' song slowly waned away, replaced with the symphony of the late summer's breeze floating through the grass, wheat, and the reeds in the distance.
Edward walked over to the barn, where the oxen were half asleep, barely paying him any notice as he entered. He remained a while near the corner where he had first been brought, where his wounds had healed after the Barnaby boys had struck him down, thinking him a leper. Edward removed his old and worn tunic and hoses, putting on the new ones Edric had given him. They were tight across the chest and the tunic was too short. Edward tied a piece of rope around his waist to keep it gathered. He tied the bag of food across his body and swung the canteen over his left shoulder.
The sky was just changing, dawn slowly creeping upon him as he left the farmstead for what was possibly the last time. Edward didn't turn around to take a final look at it. Instead, he kept his eyes glued to the road. Once he came to the first crossroad, leading him away from the small village, he stopped. He could either head north, back to Leeds and further on to York—maybe he would stumble upon Jacob…if Jacob was still alive.
He turned the other way, south. There lay Chesterfield, Nottingham, Leicester, and…eventually, London.
His feet decided before his mind could. Edward followed the road south, gripping the strings of his bag tightly, trying to push away the feeling that he was leaving something behind.
It had been raining for the past few days. The bliss Edward had known during summer was washed away. On the road, he saw how the farmers started preparing their fields for new crops, toiling with oxen and plows, working hard from sunrise until sunset.
He followed the road south as Edric had suggested, stopping only to find shelter during the nights. There weren't many travelers on the roads—mostly carts, some pilgrims, and riders. Edward spent three days traveling, living off the food Edric and Ardith had provided him with.
The journey from Edric's farm had been lonely but given him time to think and ponder over many things. As he lay on the bare ground at night, nestled by some ditch or under a tree, listening to the sounds of the night as the September wind caressed his bare face, he had time to ponder on his past. While having lost bare necessities here—such as access to fresh water, hygienic standards of living, and basic medical care—Edward felt a peace and serenity he hadn't before. It was as if the time with Edric and Ardith had slowly removed a barrier within his mind, like time filling an emptiness that had been there for years. It wasn't a sense of purpose, it was something else, something inexplicable that calmed him in such a precarious situation. The dark depression, a black hole always present in the back of his mind, seemed to have diminished. But Edward reasoned that it was due to him having more prominent problems to deal with.
There were also other thoughts that would flare up as he tried to sleep. Edward recalled vividly the look on his uncle's face as he had left him and Jacob—stranding them in a foreign country and a foreign time. The betrayal might have been unbearable to Edward, had he allowed himself to think about it more. Whenever the thoughts flared up, he did everything in his might to push them away, trying to keep himself occupied as he had at Ardith and Edric's farm. He knew it wasn't healthy, but he didn't have the strength to deal with it.
Nightfall neared as he kept to the road, still southbound. Edward's eyes were glued to the west, watching the rolling fields, now growing empty as people headed to their huts and sheds to shut in for the night. He stumbled on a fork in the road, uncertain of which way to go. Left appeared to lead him further into a sea of open fields while the right was headed for a forest. He had no wish to venture into any woodland road so close to the night, but something about it was telling him to pick that road. Edward, who had never really followed his intuition before, pressed his lips together and decided he would start for the woods and settle in for the night.
It turned darker as the canopy of the tree-crowns engulfed him. The forest stilled, the birdsong having settled for the day, only the wind howling through the crowns was his companion.
The hairs on his arms stood up in anticipation for something and Edward stopped as he discerned something from deep within the trees. His heart sped up and he froze, his eyes widened as he hunched down, trying to listen for the sound once more. Edward flared his nostrils and gritted his teeth, his hands clenching and unclenching several times as his legs shook, a flight response slowly kindling within him.
Again, he heard it, in the distance, from within the canopy of the forest.
The sound of a battle.
Despite his every fiber telling him to run—and maybe, back in 2019, he would have—Edward didn't. Maybe his time in 1190 had turned his mind mushy, made him unaware of the threats that lurked within this world. But something, an indescribable urge to go forth, was enough for him to slowly head in the direction of the sound.
The strange thrill of the unknown had Edward hurry in his step, not even able to anticipate what he might stumble across. The sounds of a struggle increased the closer he got, his eyes adjusting in the darkness. Ahead he perceived the flickering light of several torches.
Shadows danced past the warm light of the flashing fire and Edward almost fell from the scare. He scurried to hide behind the trunk of a fallen tree and watched awestruck at something he never thought he would be fortunate enough to see.
Three men were fending off attacks from eight others—from what Edward could count. The attackers were dressed in shabby clothes, armed with nothing but butcher's knives and some bows.
Bandits, Edward thought.
The three men, however, were on an entirely different level. Their every move was graceful and calculated and they fought in a practiced manner, taking help from each other, fighting as a unit when the moment required it. They all brandished longswords and from the looks of it had already cut down a couple of bandits.
The most agile swordsman cut down yet another bandit and under his dark green tunic, Edward spotted some chainmail. His friends blocked more attacks.
The remaining six bandits suddenly decided to run away, heading back into the woods, right toward Edward. He threw himself under the trunk and pinched his eyes shut, hoping the bandits wouldn't notice him. He could hear one of them jump over the trunk, mere inches from landing on him and Edward hoped the ground would swallow him as he trembled.
A few seconds passed and the skirmish settled as the three men let out strangled laughs after surely having evaded their own slaughter. Edward dared not move, fearing the men might think him one of the bandits.
"…the rest of the way shall not be as trying …" one of them said. Edward only caught fragments of the sentence, his ears perking up considerably when he heard that they were not speaking Middle English.
These men were speaking a variation of French.***
They were Norman.
"…long journey, Godefroy," another answered. After having spent months speaking in Middle English, Edward found his French rusty. He perked up, trying once more to get a glimpse of them. It was now entirely dark, only the golden light of the torches illuminating the clearing in the woods, coupled with the silver starlight from above.
He couldn't see much from where he was, and Edward hauled himself over the trunk, to get closer, his eyes wide and a big smile growing on his lips.
He managed to get close enough—to the edge of the clearing—to see the three of them in their full splendor. Their tunics were fine, albeit in need of a wash. The one Edward believed to be the best fighter, a fair-haired man appearing to be around his late thirties, dressed in a dark green tunic, with an insignia on his chest.**** He was cleaning his sword. Another man, his hair a shade darker, stockier in build than the first, bore a similar insignia on his chest. The third—the tallest, with raven hair and a thick beard—bore a tunic the shade of his hair.
The first, the fair-haired man, gave a pat on the taller man's shoulder and shook his head. He said something Edward didn't understand.
Something in the corner of his eye made him turn in time to see a man aim an arrow at the man in the green tunic. Without thinking, Edward sprung from his hiding place.
"Careful!" he shouted in French as he went to push the man out of the way. His friends had quick reflexes and reacted as Edward came running, one brandishing his sword once more. Edward jumped into the first and pushed him to the ground just in time.
The arrow swooshed by and landed inches from their heads. Now the other two turned to the source, the tallest running into the woods in chase of the bandit.
Edward's breath hitched in his throat as he shook uncontrollably. His hands were as if bolted to the ground and he sensed the bile at the back of his mouth.
Two striking blue eyes found his, friendly, calming.
"Get off him!" Edward could hear behind him.
"Take a deep breath," the owner of the blue eyes said. Edward quickly removed himself from the man, taking several deep breaths as he struggled to calm himself. He looked up once more, his eyes stopping on the sigil, realizing it was a coat of arms.
These men, Edward then realized, were knights. Real knights. He gulped as he looked at the one he had brutally tackled to the ground.
"I am…not…with them!" Edward said in defense, struggling to find the right words.
The stockier man eyed Edward up and down. "Thou dost look like them for thou dressest in the same garments." His language was refined, suggesting he had been raised within the nobility. The same could be said for the other man.
"Appearances can be deceiving, Godefroy," the other responded. He eyed Edward from where he stood; Edward still on the ground, his face a white mask of uncertainty and fear. It was evident Edward was not prone to confrontation. "This man did save mine own life, at the risk of his own."
He stretched out a hand for Edward to clasp on to. When Edward had first landed in 1190, the language had been difficult to comprehend, but now, even if it was Norman French, he caught on to it much faster. He accepted the hand, clasping onto it as he was pulled up, the world around him spinning momentarily.
The tall dark-haired man was making his way back, the steel of his sword dripping with fresh blood as his raven eyes cut into Edward. "I shall go see where the squires and pages hid our horses," he muttered as he headed off into another direction after having taken a torch.
The other two knights now turned their full attention once more to Edward.
"Wherefore dost thou travel alone, unarmed, in the thick of these bandit-infested woods with nothing save a tunic and sac to accompany thee?" the stockier man—Godefroy—asked.
Here, Edward had a choice. What he said now would determine their attitude toward him and it could mean life and death under certain circumstances. One of these men was already suspicious of him.
Edward couldn't say he was a serf for it would imply he had run away from his lord's lands and these knights would most likely take him prisoner and dump him at the next manor to be dealt with. He couldn't say he was a pilgrim or a merchant for he didn't look the part. And, under any circumstance, he could absolutely not say he was nobility, even of the lower kind, for as knights, these men were probably well acquainted with that part of society.
"I did not always travel alone, sir," Edward said, careful in matching their pronunciation.
"And where is thy companion?" the other knight asked.
Edward looked down. It was true, he had traveled with Jacob, who had cast him away after their mishap with his uncle. "He abandoned me…" Edward trailed off, revealing whatever truth he could. He looked up at both men. "I have been heading south alone since York."
Godefroy still looked at him suspiciously. The other knight was more inclined to believe him. "What business had thee in York?"
"I am in search of mine uncle," Edward confessed.
"From what I can perceive, thou didst not find him."
"We did sir…but it was not the encounter I had desired it would be."
"Why?" asked Godefroy. At the same time, movement in the bushes caused them all to turn toward it, the last knight turning up with a group of younger men leading horses. It had to be the pages and squires who had been hiding during the battle.
Edward pressed his lips together once Godefroy turned to him again.
"We shan't dive further into family matters, Godefroy," the other knight said as the third came up to them. He turned once more to Edward. "But what I shall not accept, is thee spending the night alone after thou so valiantly didst save mine own life. Thus, I offer thee shelter for this night. We are also heading south, if thou will be our travel companion for part of the journey. Help the pages with the horses and I will keep thee protected and fed."
Edward thought he would tumble to the ground in gratitude and he only managed a faint nod of appreciation.
"What, pray, is thy name?" the knight asked.
"Edward, sir," he responded. "E-Edward Masen… May I ask yours?"
The knight smiled back at him, a charming smile that lit up his eyes.
"Ser Carlisle Hardouin, third son to Baron Cullen of Rotherham."
A/N:
Some background to this chapter:
* I have made a playlist to this fic which can be found on my youtube. A the start of every chapter I will also write the tracks that go with the chapter (if you are interested in having music accompanying it). You can also go to my profile and copy part of the link there. Or, you can search on google "Isabelle Sumner Fanfic Inspiration: The Masen Odyssey".
** Reeve = an office held by a man of lower rank, appointed as manager of a manor and overseer of the peasants. (Source: Wikipedia)
*** Norman French: The Anglo-Norman dialect of Norman served as a language of administration in England following the Norman conquest of England in 1066. (Source: Wikipedia)
**** "Coats of arms could be repeated on other paraphernalia of warfare such as on the front and back of surcoats (a long sleeveless gown tied at the waist and worn over armour) (...). (Source: World History Encyclopedia). I would like to point out that I haven't found more specific information if traveling knights would wear their coat of arms at all times, however.
I hope you enjoyed this chapter, things have been taking their time but start picking up as we go along and Edward gets thrown into more and more interesting situations. Very excited for you to read the following chapters! I also hope you all had a good Easter... it's April here in Sweden yet the other day it was snowing in Stockholm... :(
Thanks very much for all the reviews!
Cheers,
Isabelle