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Playlist: Track 14-17

Chapter V: East

Edward learned that the two other men to accompany Ser Carlisle were Ser Godefroy Dubois and Ser Robert Vimont. They had all grown up together, trained as pages and squires and sworn the knightly oath.

The first few days Edward was kept to the front so that they could keep an eye on him. But he didn't mind. The equipage the three knights had was more than impressive, telling Edward that they hailed from good families—otherwise they would never have been able to afford such exquisite things.

Robert, Godefroy, and Carlisle had two horses each, one was meant as a warhorse, a destrier, and the other their traveling steed, a palfrey. The destrier was more agile, bred and raised from foalhood specifically for the needs of war. The palfrey was a highly valued riding horse of lighter weight, smooth gaited and thus suitable for long distances. Between the three knights, they also had two pack horses to carry their luggage and equipment.

Carlisle had a page and his own squire while Robert and Godefroy shared a squire and page. The pages and squires did not speak with Edward and it thus rendered him the outcast of the group. There was one final horse bearing a cart that no doubt held all the extra armor, supplies, and food needed for their journey.

On the second day near mid-afternoon close to a running spring, sitting and listening to the three men laugh and share stories from their youths with each other, Carlisle's interest in Edward prompted him to speak to the shy stranger.

"What is thy profession?" Carlisle asked, taking another bite of the grilled fish. Behind him were the sounds of the pooling water and rustling leaves of the tree he sat beneath. The horses snorted further behind and the squires could be seen in a lively conversation as one was fixing some broken chainmail while the other was mending a tunic. The pages were rinsing their hands after having prepared the fish.

Godefroy elbowed Carlisle and whispered something to him.

"Come come, Godefroy, thy suspicion tires me," Carlisle muttered.

Godefroy squinted his small brown eyes at Edward as his lips turned downward.

Edward itched his armpit through the thick tunic he wore. He was in need of a wash but there hadn't been time to stop for such a thing ever since having joined these men. When he had traveled alone or lived at Edric's farm, it had been easy to maintain his hygiene. But with the scarce stops along the road, there hadn't even been time to rinse his face in the mornings.

"Who… uh…who s-says I've a p-profession?" Edward stammered back.

Carlisle raised an eyebrow. "Robert and I made a wager. He believeth thee some craftsman that hath decided to break free from his town in search of something more."

Edward's green eyes wandered to Robert who cast a grin his way and shook his shoulders. "Tis an interesting notion, Ser Robert," Edward said with a respectful bow of his head. "And ye?" he asked, turning to Carlisle, making sure he always spoke with the formal pronouns when addressing them.

Carlisle finished the rest of his fish, the corner of his lips tugging upward. "A most wondrous many possibilities ran through mine own mind," he blinked and then pointed at Edward. "When I first saw thee, I bethought thee one of those bandits. Then an escaped serf …"

Edward's heartbeat increased rapidly as he waited for Carlisle to continue. Godefroy crossed his arms—no doubt that was what he believed.

"Thy French is too good for a common serf," Carlisle reasoned. "Thy tunic suggests otherwise…I believe thee a minstrel… or perhaps a troubadour, left by thy lord in nothing but these rags."

Edward couldn't help a chuckle rise in his throat as he shook his head.

Carlisle snapped his fingers. "Was I right?" he demanded, his eyes glittering like those of a young boy and for an instant, the imposing and wise warrior gave way to nothing but a giddy child.

"I…I am…afraid not, sir. I know very little of song or poetry."

"Then what art thou?" Godefroy snapped. "If it be true thou art not a serf, not a nobleman or craftsman or minstrel…what art thou?" He squinted at him. "Run here from some monastery?"

Edward grew flustered, the last thing he needed was for these men to think he was of the cloth. He had no wish to be taken to the closest congregation and lashed for suspicion that he had escaped the habit.

"A scholar!" he blurted out in a squeaky voice.

Godefroy got up and pointed an accusing finger at him. "Thou? A scholar?"

"And what is the subject of thy studies?" Robert asked with a frown.

Edward sighed. "I uhm…I study the past."

Carlisle patted the empty space next to him. "And what is a scholar such as thyself bethinking of doing in London?"

Edward neared them hesitantly, unaware of what it meant sitting down next to them. It was evident they did not believe him to be of the same station or rank by the informal way they spoke with him and how they treated him. Yet Carlisle Hardouin had offered him a seat next to him. Edward sat down with the knights and pondered the question, his eyes drifting to the road as if carried away by it, seeing it slither further away, into the horizon, a never-ending journey that he felt had only just begun.

"I know not."

The other three watched him, sensing an underlying conflict within the stranger. While they had been suspicious of him before, now they grew curious. He did not speak like them, nor did he give off an impression of thinking himself less than them. Edward instilled the sense that he had been born into privilege, or at least knew the meaning of it. He was not a serf; despite his timid appearance and the way he bore himself. No, he did not bear himself either like a lord or a peasant. Carlisle could thus believe him to be what he said.

Carlisle handed Edward a piece of dried bread and a cup of broth to soften it up in. "The past is a mysterious thing, indeed."

"Not very much," Edward said, his lips pulling gently upward. He took a bite of the stale bread and looked at the three knights. "Not anymore," he whispered, mostly to himself.

Godefroy scoffed. "Wherefore bother with things that have passed?"

Edward looked away sheepishly, nodding at Godefroy's words but not agreeing with them.

"Wherefore waste thy time with learning the tales of better or worse men than thyself when thou can write thine own?" Robert asked. He had a pensive look on his face as if he had been thinking of those words for a long time.

"The past…" Edward began. "Tis a way to learn about our present and our future."

"Dedicating thyself to such an ideal is something I find noble…but it appears it doth not bear thee much fruit," Robert continued, pointing at Edward's poor clothing.

Edward didn't get the impression that they were mocking him, for there was no such tone to their voices. "It appears I find myself in a situation where mine own knowledge is of nay use to me …" he trailed off. He could orient himself in the past and communicate with the people, but that was about it. He had no extensive knowledge that he could make use of either as an advisor to some lord, craftsman or otherwise. He looked down into the bowl of broth feeling their eyes rest on him.

"May I inquire as to your journey, then?" Edward asked, quickly shifting the subject away from himself.

Godefroy had finished the rest of his meal and was lounging against the trunk of the tree they all sat under contently. Robert stirred the fire they had used to grill the fish, letting the last of the dying embers run their course as Carlisle took another sip of the broth.

He stared up at the cloudless sky. While the September weather kept worsening and getting colder, the day still felt reminiscent of a summer's day in July. A proud look swept over Carlisle's chiseled features as his blue eyes glittered.

"To answer the call," he said and then turned to look at Edward. "To join King Richard in the Holy Land and fend off the infidels, just as mine own most wondrous grandfather did with King Stephen forty years ago."

Edward's mouth dropped, his face turning a shade lighter.

"Y-Ye are going on the Crusades?" he burst out with wide eyes. His exclamation caused a burst of brilliant laughter in Carlisle.

"For God, for glory!" he answered with a blink. "As our ancestors did." Carlisle leaned forward with eyes bright and glittering. "When word reached us some months ago that His Majesty and King Philip* set out together at Vézelay we did as many other knights and vassals and answered the call."

"We have been preparing our equipage during the summer season and set out not even a fortnight ago," Robert filled in.

Edward was in disbelief—not only had he managed to bump into three real and breathing knights, but it appeared he was sitting and sharing drink and food with crusaders. The thought alone had his mind spinning. His skin turned to gooseflesh at the prospect, faced with the most renowned and notorious knights of history no doubt.

"H-How shall ye arrive there?" Edward asked, still trying to process everything.

"By way of Marseille. We shall take a ship from there and continue east, past Sicily," Godefroy said.

The rest of the afternoon, Edward kept asking them whatever question popped into his mind. He found that Carlisle was the easiest one to speak to within the group, willing to answer his every question. When night fell and they huddled close to the fire, Edward was still in awe, asking, wondering, questioning. He stood before the chance of a lifetime; to interview a warrior of old who was about to set out into a conflict that would be remembered a thousand years later.

Edward knew of the horrible deeds the Christian knights had committed during the Crusades. But the more he asked of Carlisle, the more he realized that the man embodied a true chivalric knight of old, truly believing the oath he had sworn.

A few days later—arriving on the outskirts of London—and after many deep and inspiring conversations together, Edward and Carlisle sat together next to a small spring, alone and away from the rest of the group.

Edward was mending part of his tunic while Carlisle stared at the rolling fields ahead. The grass swayed like a sea in the wind. Edward shifted on the edge of the spring, his feet dipped into the water, a soothing touch after a hard day's walk.

"Wherefrom hailest thou, Edward?" Carlisle suddenly asked.

Edward stopped mending his tunic, placing it down and shivering as the wind kissed his bare chest. His eyes wandered for a moment, stuck on the far horizon to the west. "From a place far… far way."

"And does this place have a name?"

"Seattle."

"I have never heard of such a place."

"Few have…in these lands," Edward mumbled.

Carlisle turned to face him, clear blue eyes digging into his in a way that made Edward feel naked. Carlisle saw through him, of that he was certain. "Thy business in London is thine own, as is thine own past."

Edward's eyes shifted to and from Carlisle nervously. "I have nay business in London, sir."

"Thou art a lacking liar."

"I take that as a compliment."

"A man who cannot lie is true in spirit, tis not in his nature to be deceitful." Carlisle smiled at him. "Thou hast not known me long and I not thee, but I sense in thee a kindred spirit, Edward."

He could feel Edward's hesitation, as if whatever he wished to say was right beneath the surface, waiting to break free.

"Perhaps…" Edward paused, his eyes scouring over the landscape before them, a massive sky dotted with cotton candy clouds as the sun had started to set over barren fields, bathing them in a growingly orange light. "Perhaps…" Edward bit his lip. "Perhaps I am searching for something—for someone."

Carlisle stared straight at him as if he could read every minuscule part of him. "Tomorrow we shall part ways, but if it be true thou dost not find what thou art looking for…thou may search for us by nightfall at the eastern side of the Thames where we shall settle some accounts before leaving the city by the river."

"Ye…Ye are inviting me to join ye?" Edward was baffled. They had scarcely traveled together for less than a week and Carlisle was openly inviting him on a journey that would last many months.

"All have been invited to fight the Saracens in the east," Carlisle said as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "If it be that thou dost not find what thou searchest for in London, perhaps thou shalt during the way to the Holy Land."

"I know not how to fight, sir nor have I ever left these shores."

"There are other ways to fight than by the sword and there is a first time for everything."

Nestling by the river Thames, London could be spotted from far away in the distance by the tallest building. The Tower, erected by William the Conqueror, overlooked the rest of the town. While by modern standards it did not compare to the high skyscrapers that seemingly touched the clouds of 21st century London, it did indeed achieve the same effect in the 12th century. The white tower stood out as a strong contrast against the straw and wooden houses, breaking through the grayish-brown canopy of the city.

Narrow and twisting street acted like a maze and the muck on the ground was enough to make him bend over twice. But Edward didn't care. To see the city as it had once been, nestling in its cradle, before it stretched across the river and engulfed the other side, was enough to last him a lifetime.

The group journeyed up Fleet Street parallel with the Thames, passing by Bridewell palace and the Fleet river, running out into the Thames. They made their way up to Newgate, one of the seven gates of London wall which Edward hadn't recognized at first. There was a point of entry, past Newgate prison, which housed debtors and felons.

Here, they parted ways.

"We take a boat by Blynesgate at dusk and travel down the river," Carlisle turned to Edward to say. "If thou hast not found what thou art looking for…consider joining us."

The day was gray, and the air grew more frigid as summer came to a close. In the absence of the sun, the cold could be sensed even more. The streets rank of putrid waste, both human and animal. The main road was only for carts or riders. Pedestrians kept to the sides, hugging the houses in hopes to avoid walking too much in the filth and mud.

Edward nodded hesitantly and then watched as the three knights entered the town. He waited until they had disappeared. Edward, having spent months in 1190, should have gotten used to the past. But finding himself here, in London of all places, once more managed to stir awe in him.

Before him stretched narrow streets with tall, irregular-looking houses. Thatched roofs mixed with clay were certain to be a fire hazard, something Edward knew was a recurring problem. This city would burn many times throughout the centuries, one of the most famed being the Great Fire of London of 1665.

He looked forward, the road bending at the end—as if whispering for him to come. Edward took a deep breath, immediately regretting it as the stench further violated his nose and lungs, causing a violent cough to rock him. He understood how such a city could cause people to become sick. Edward started walking, enveloped by the town, the people that he passed by no idea of who he was, and little care they seemed to hold as well. All walks of life appeared to graze the streets, from the wealthiest noblemen to the poorest beggar. The rift between rich and poor was stark and visible to the naked eye on the very street he walked.

Edward pulled down the hood of his cape and let his feet take him where they wished. He walked without purpose, finding it strangely freeing. He headed down Watling Street, an area he had frequented over 800 years in the future. Strange how different a city could be and how much change it could go through in such an amount of time. He broke off the street and headed somewhere he knew he'd wish to see, regardless of if he remained in the town or not. Eastcheap soon greeted him, the dampness in the air already penetrating the thick textiles of his clothes and he could feel his boots growing soggy, his mind fervently trying to ignore the substance of the liquid penetrating them. Tower Street was the straightest road he had happened upon thus far and at the end of it he perceived the white tower.

Many things would be written about this structure, and that it would stand the test of time for nigh a millennium was already enough to make his jaw drop. A strange sense of homesickness etched its way into the back of his mind. After having spent so much time in a place foreign and strange to him, the Tower was the only thing that he could find from home. It was true that components were missing, but it didn't matter. To be able to see something from his own time in 1190 was already strange to him.

He sat down near the bank, staring at it, letting time pass without a real notion as to what he was supposed to do next.

…

He had never left the states before. It was the first time he stepped on foreign soil and as the taxi took him from Heathrow, Edward's eyes were glued to the window, watching the gray skies shift in the October weather. His breath fogged up part of the glass and the driver talked on, met by a comfortable silence. Edward had asked for "the tour", he wished to get a quick view of the city before being driven to his new apartment which their family friend had gotten for him.

The pace of the city was so different from what he had been used to in Portland. There was a different sensation, a whisper from the past that dotted the architecture which thrilled him. They drove along the Thames and Edward spotted the famed Tower of London. He had read much about it and seen many photographs, but never in person.

It was smaller than he had expected, dwarfed by the backdrop of the London skyline. Skyscrapers making themselves known, encroaching upon the past.

He tore himself away from the window, staring straight ahead as a strange weight lifted from his heart. Despite the new city, despite whatever he may face, it felt good to be away from Portland… from Mike…

He looked down, ignoring their last conversation, the "final" conversation, as Mike had called it. Here he would be able to prove Mike wrong, he would be able to prove that he was a Masen and that he could live up to the family name. Edward would make his own name, would take the city by storm. He would make Mike proud and make him take back what had been said.

…

During the past few weeks, Edward had pondered over the way he and Jacob had been stranded. He knew Mike to be severe and tough, but he had never expected his uncle to leave him—his only remaining relative—alone and defenseless in this harsh new reality. It had affected Edward, making him toss and turn before going to sleep, the feeling of abandonment ever-growing in the back of his mind and the betrayal eating him alive. He strived to push the thoughts away, knowing he would never see Mike again. Edward would never again sit on a plane and stare out the window as they cruised over the clouds or walk down a street and hear the passing cars, smell the metallic scent of the rain hitting the wet pavement, neon lights flickering in the night, or the shadow cast by the yellow light of the streetlights.

He hadn't realized how much he would miss it.

The bells of a distant church rang in the mid-afternoon as he turned back, wondering if he might find employment within the city walls. Either he could hope to establish himself as a scribe for some lord or, if it came to it, work for a guild. He had it clear for himself that he would never become a serf, despite the pleasant time he had spent with Edric and Ardith.

The hours passed as Edward went from guild to guild, hoping to find some apprenticeship or try to see if his talents were of use. To think he had spent over twelve years at colleges and universities, dedicating his life to the academic world, only to have it all be utterly useless in 1190. Not a single craftsman or trader wanted anything to do with him and as the clock rang at nones, Edward pondered what would happen if he went with Ser Carlisle and his entourage.

In Jerusalem he would only find war—if they even made it that far. The group had appeared prepared enough, but the journey was hard and tedious, with a great many dangers along the way. Leaving the shores of the British Isles was another factor speaking against him. Edward could only communicate in variations of English and French, but once they left the borders of Western Europe, he would be as inept in communication as any other. He knew some basic Latin, both classical and medieval, but not enough to get by and have an in-depth conversation. He had studied German in high school, but he had a feeling it would do him no good here.

Edward turned East, his eyes narrowing at the horizon. Indeed, what could he possibly hope to gain by going there? And, still, something about it captivated him, the sense that something lay beyond the horizon. The push and pull of an unknown force that had been with him constantly ever since he had jumped through the wormhole. Was it the effects of time traveling or was it something else? For years he had been withdrawn, shut himself in from the rest of the world and lived in his own bubble. And now he was able to form part of something larger, explore something vaster. The shell was breaking, and Edward welcomed it. He pushed past the fears of war, famine, and disease, thinking only of what lay beyond the horizon. It was better to travel with Carlisle to a warmer climate. He didn't think the winter would be too harsh here, but Edward knew that if he remained, he wouldn't survive long. Going to the Mediterranean coast was an option for him.

He clenched his fists and his heartrate stirred as he understood he had already decided. It made him at ease with everything else—as if the pieces would eventually fall into place now that he had taken a first step in the right direction.

Edward turned back west, looking at the city he was about to leave behind, the gray skies pressing down on them, rain threatening to fall soon, he could smell the metal in the air, past the scent of burning wood, muck, and rotten food.

He turned around, almost bumping into someone.

"Forgive me," Edward mumbled as he looked up, his emerald greens interlocking with two pitch-black eyes that widened.

"Masen?"

Jacob Black looked worse for wear. He had grown a beard since Edward had last seen him. He appeared more rugged, his bearing stiff and on guard, his lips that had previously been turned down in a permanent scowl now relaxed as his eyes widened. A flood of relief passed through Jacob at the sight of the man before him.

"J-Jacob?" Edward managed to croak out as his mouth dropped at the sight of him.

Without a word, Jacob placed a hand on Edward's shoulder, his lips quivering as he squeezed it. "Fuck, man…I…I didn't think I'd ever see you again." Despite his best efforts, Jacob's voice was raw with emotion.

Edward remembered their last encounter, the words that had been exchanged. He didn't care what Jacob had spewed his way—the way he now looked at him was enough to earn his forgiveness. Edward placed his own hand on Jacob's shoulder, timidly at first. "It's…uhm…it's good to see thee—you too, man," he smiled. His face lit up, genuinely happy to see him.

It took them a while to come over the initial shock of stumbling upon each other. Edward brought Jacob to a secluded part of town, telling him of his time at Edric and Ardith's farm, of the journey there and of his time on the road with Carlisle.

Jacob's story wasn't as eventful. He had remained in the forest outside of York for months in search of the bag that had disappeared when they had first arrived. He had eventually found it, but the charger was gone. Thus, after that, he had set out on finding Edward. Without being able to communicate with the locals and them being wary of him, Jacob had lived in the woods, occasionally stealing when he had to. He told Edward how he had tried to decipher where he would go next and arrived at the conclusion that Edward might eventually venture to London. Thus, Jacob had been in the city for the past three weeks, waiting for him.

"Where have you been staying?" Edward asked in shock.

"The Jewish quarter…" He trailed off. Jacob looked down. "It's been lonely, man."

Edward couldn't imagine. His lips pressed together harshly. "I didn't know my uncle would strand us." Jacob noticed the hollow look in Edward's eyes as he mentioned his uncle. He couldn't imagine how it had to feel to be left behind by his own family.

"I shouldn't have let him take the RHD like that," Jacob said. He glanced at Edward. "Masen," he began awkwardly. "Listen, I… I… shouldn't have taken out my anger on you either."

Edward Masen looked as haggard as Jacob felt. His face, which had been slightly bloated before was now thinner, his jaw more defined, a healthy beard also growing on his chin. His dark copper hair was clumsily sheared close to his scalp. The clothes he wore did not fit his body well and bunched up around him like a tent. Eyeing Edward's hands, Jacob noted how worn they were, as if he had been working with them constantly ever since parting ways.

But the biggest change in Edward wasn't his appearance, it was the expression in his eyes. In a way, the subdued timid nature that he had noted there before seemed to slowly wane away. Echoes of it were still present, but not as strong as before. Jacob even noticed the absence of the stammering that would otherwise make itself known.

"I also tried to look for the charger in York," Jacob sighed.

Jacob noted, to his surprise, that Edward didn't seem too subdued by the news. A look of acceptance claimed his face. "I think I've given up on going back."

Jacob frowned, looking at the muddy ground, shivering as a gust of wind pushed through his damp tunic and cloak.

"I hate this place," he growled.

Edward looked around them, taking in the worn facades of the houses and huts, the Tower in the distance, the stench ever-present. Jacob was truly a complete outsider here—not able to communicate, his appearance different enough to make the locals suspicious of him.

Edward rubbed his hands together, leaning forward as if in deep thought. "Maybe we should leave then."

Jacob sighed and ran a lazy hand through his growing hair, it reached past his ears now. "We don't have anywhere else to go, Masen."

"We can go wherever we want," Edward countered. "North, south, east."

"West…what about west? No, we can't go there. They won't discover our country for another three hundred years and even then it won't be anything like… like it's supposed to be," Jacob trailed off, a pained expression slowly etching its way onto his face.

"I'm not staying in England," Edward whispered after an abrupt pause.

"Where do you suppose we go?" Jacob asked.

"Ser Carlisle and his entourage are taking a ship from the harbor in a few hours and invited me to join them."

Jacob frowned. "To where?"

Edward shrugged. "I don't know…east, away from the Isles. They are going to Jerusalem…the Crusades."

Jacob paled as his eyes widened. "C-Crusades?" He looked at Edward as if he were crazy. "I don't know much about the Crusades, but I know enough to understand that we don't want to go there!"

"I can't find employment here. I refuse to become a serf and sell myself into what can practically be considered slavery. I'd rather take my chances with these three men. They were noble and treated me better than most have…I," Edward paused. His eyes glittered expectantly with a fire Jacob had never before noticed in him. It lit up his whole person, pushed past the gray and subdued façade that he associated with Edward. "We have a bigger chance of surviving this winter if we follow them south. And if we follow these men, we will at least have a safe place to sleep and food in our stomachs for part of the way."

"Is it wise to leave England?"

"You won't survive in the woods during winter, that much I know. There won't be enough food to sustain either of us or clothes to keep the cold out."

Jacob grew a pensive look. Leaving England, a place he had grown to at least know for the uncertainty of the Mediterranean didn't sound better to him. They didn't know what could await them.

"What if we are made to travel the entire way to Jerusalem? I don't know much of this period in history, but I know enough to understand that I would never wish to take part in the Crusades." He shook his head, a shiver running through him. "I'm sorry, but I don't know if I can come with you... that part of the world… I don't have fond memories from there… returning, even now… I-I can't."

"I understand." Edward heard the clock ring once more; it was time to head to the river. "If you change your mind, they leave in one hour from Blynesgate…"

Jacob turned toward the sound of the clocks, the rain denser now, both men drenched already to the bone. He turned to Edward once more, imagining what he must have gone through the past months. The Edward Masen who had first stepped through the portal with him would never have had the courage to go on such a journey. It was Jacob who hesitated now, the lack of knowledge, the fear of the unknown enough to make him fidgety.

"Shit, Masen…" Jacob trailed off, gritting his teeth, the rain soaking into his skin, his eyes narrowing, droplets dripping from his eyelashes.

Edward nodded and pulled up the hood of his tunic.

"We were never prepared for any of this, Jacob." He sighed. "It is a lot to ask of you. If you want to stay, there is nothing I can say that will change your mind."

"But you going there… going alone."

"I'll be going with Ser Carlisle."

Despite their precarious situation, Jacob couldn't help but smile. "Seems an interesting guy, this Carlisle."

Edward lit up at Jacob's words. "He is…" They had spoken little on their journey to London, yet it had been enough for Edward to get an idea of the man Carlisle was. He wanted to know more about him, learn more of his story. Every time they spoke, Carlisle always gave Edward some wise piece of advice that he took to heart.

The wind picked up speed. It was time to part once again. For having reunited so abruptly, their departure was even more abrupt. With little ceremony, they parted ways, with little else to say—indeed what was there to say? Edward wouldn't beg Jacob to come with him and Jacob couldn't make Edward stay. Thus, Edward turned around, leaving Jacob behind as he headed for Blynesgate.

He waited there for the next hour as the rain let up and the clouds parted. The water stilled on the Thames as a pinkish and orange tone touched the sky, reflected over the water. Some men were loading a ship with supplies. Behind him, he heard hooves through the mud and recognized Carlisle's, Godefroy's, and Robert's horses, led toward the boat by the pages. One of the squires coaxed the horse and cart down the slope and started removing the fastenings to free the horse from the cart. Edward continued watching as they loaded the boat. It was at least thirteen feet at its wider point. At one end was a small roof and beams to keep the horses.

Edward stood up when the sound of footsteps through the sloppy mud alerted him once more. The knights looked as if they had gotten a chance to freshen up and change clothes. Their faces were cleanly shaven and their tunics, peeking through woolen cloaks, appeared unspoiled from travel.

When Carlisle saw Edward next to their ship, his face lit up—as if he had hoped he would come. He pushed back the hood, the afternoon wind tearing at wet golden tresses.

"Thou didst not find what thou sought?" Carlisle asked as he neared him.

Edward looked beyond him, at the city itself, his eyes searching for something. "Nay…" he trailed off. Then he turned toward the river. "But perhaps I shall by following ye, if ye will allow me?" He hesitated as he continued. "I have little to offer but mine own company, I am afraid."

A heavy hand came to squeeze his shoulder and a twinkle sparkled in Carlisle's eyes. "That is enough, Edward."

Godefroy and Robert came up to him as well. Godefroy arched his brow at him and squinted his eyes. "Thou shalt not last a fortnight," he mused as he pushed past him while Robert shook his head in disapproval as he cast an apologetic look Edward's way.

They loaded the rest of the ship, almost ready to leave the shores of London. Edward did whatever task they asked of him, a sense of purpose fulfilling him—a purpose he hadn't felt since Edric's farm. He straightened up, the anchor about to be drawn in when he heard the shouts.

"Wait!"

The sun was setting, only remnants of orange light illuminating the river. Stark pale yet giddy with excitement, Edward turned around in recognition of the voice.

He rushed to the end of the ship, stopping the sailor from pulling in the anchor.

Jacob ran through the mud, screaming atop his lungs, hoping they would see him.

Carlisle walked up next to Edward. "What a peculiar sight."

"That man is mine own friend, Ser Carlisle. Someone I would dearly wish to accompany us."

Jacob jumped into the water, wading through it toward the boat.

"Thou dost ask permission too much and act too little, Edward." He turned to face Edward. "Thou art not my servant, nor indebted to me. Thou dost not need my permission."

Jacob, without hesitating, hauled himself over the side of the ship with an exclamation of triumph.

"Thou shouldst learn from thy friend," Carlisle said as he nodded at Jacob.

Edward rushed to his friend who coughed up some water he had managed to swallow. "Are you crazy?" Edward hissed, unable to stop the wry smile splitting his face in half.

Jacob met him with a cocky grin. "Shit, man…I couldn't let my translator run away like that."

Edward snorted.

Jacob directed his gaze to the three knights eyeing them, the pages tending to the horses and the squires sitting by the corner speaking in hushed voices.

"East," he said as the sun dipped below the horizon, the sky turning darker by the minute.

"East," Edward nodded as the boatmen lit some torches to guide them through the night.

A/N:

*After Richard became king, he and Philip II of France agreed to go on the Third Crusade. Richard and Philip met in France at Vézelay and set out together on 4 July 1190 as far as Lyon where they parted after agreeing to meet in Sicily (Source: Wikipedia).

Another week, another chapter. Hope you enjoyed it!

Cheers,

Isabelle