/playlist?list=PLDC3fGwnsmBlou3gprPV-t984bmHR8MqR
Playlist: Track 18-19
Chapter VI: Oath
After having taken the boat along the Thames, they continued out onto the English Channel and ended up in Calais where they took a break for a fortnight.
They were housed in a small monastery just outside the city. Each morning, before the sun rose, Carlisle, Godefroy, and Robert would rise to pray and then train. Sometimes Edward would follow them into the chapel, keeping to the back as they listened to the soft Latin chant of the monks. Edward had never been religious, but the early mornings in the chapel were some of the more peaceful to him. Soft light filtered in through dirty windows and he would stand at the back of the chapel, listening to the sounds, taking in the serenity. Strangely, it was similar to the peace he had known at Edric and Ardith's farm, a serene place in a small corner of the world that managed to calm his soul.
September pushed into October and the weather worsened. After having rested from the small journey across the channel, it was time to set out once more.
The group commenced on their journey to cross what was still considered England in 1190 but would one day become France. The coming weeks were hard, arduous, with tough rains and frostbitten October and November nights around campfires that were too small to provide any heat. Whatever high spirits Edward and Jacob had held at first had started to dwindle. Ser Carlisle pushed through with a calm and collected countenance. Ser Robert was mostly quiet, keeping to himself. His presence with them on the road was enough to frighten away any potential bandits and muggers. The sheer size of him had travelers turning around and running back to the way they came from. The only one in their group who spoke was Ser Godefroy, and he made his state of mind rather clear through all hours of the day. The pages and squires kept to their own, simply following their masters' orders.
While the knights rode their horses, Edward and Jacob were sent to alternate caring for the warhorses and palfreys with the pages. They did so willingly and with little complaint, happy to have the protection of the group and food in their bellies. Their travels took them further inland, past Rouen and further toward the southwest, heading into Aquitaine. About three weeks into their journey in France, they passed Bordeaux and started heading East, toward Marseille. It was the final days of November and while the temperatures were milder in the south, it was still cold enough to see snow on certain days.
Some nights, after the campfire had long since died out, Edward would jerk awake from the cold, shivering up and down. While Jacob had managed to steal some thicker tunics on his road to London, Edward still only had his thin linen shirt and rough woolen tunic on, with a flimsy woolen blanket thrown over which did little to keep the cold out. Thus, each night, as not to freeze to death, he would alternate between jogging and walking around the camp in order to build up some warmth, but not enough to start sweating.
One particular night, he stumbled upon a figure in the dark on the outskirts of the camp. Edward realized he had run into Carlisle as he was relieving his bladder.
They were on the outskirts of Carcassonne, in the midst of a sparse forest. The night sky was, as always, lit up with brilliantly twinkling stars and a full moon that felt almost as bright as the sun. The ground was frozen, with some light dusting of snow that was sure to melt away in the morning.
"Ser Carlisle," Edward exclaimed, not expecting to find anyone of the knights awake or this far from the camp. Usually, the squires took turns guarding them as they slept.
Edward's breath escaped him like a cloud, appearing more like a puff of smoke.
Carlisle put his tunic back into place and turned to face Edward. "Leisurely strolls at night are said to cure any ailment."
"I doubt moonlight would cure the creeping cold."
Carlisle nodded toward the camp. "Thou hast been more withdrawn from us since the arrival of thy friend," he said.
"We have little to speak of."
Carlisle tilted his head to the side.
"Yet when thou dost, it is by removing yourselves from us and conversing in hushed voices?" He folded his arms and eyed Edward up and down. "Robert and Godefroy ask many questions about Jacob…," Carlisle continued, the statement causing Edward's mouth to turn dry.
If the group began questioning them, they would eventually have to remove themselves from it. Edward didn't wish to leave, not yet. He still had questions for Carlisle, he still sought answers in their conversations… answers about his own doubts and fears—answers he somehow believed Carlisle could give him.
When Carlisle noted Edward paling, he remained silent, his features neutral as if expecting him to explain himself.
"Jacob's father was from Navarre." Edward licked his chapped lips, speaking slowly in order to buy himself time to think. "But his mother…" he continued, searching for the words. "His mother was Byzantine." Edward fiddled with his tunic. "It is not something we readily share for such knowledge does not sit well with everyone."
The time Edward waited for Carlisle to answer—feeling his eyes drill holes into his being—a sickness crept up his throat as nausea convulsed through him, the seconds ticking by as slowly as the lazy night clouds now covering the moon.
"Do not let Godefroy know."
While Byzantium was a Christian kingdom, it was orthodox and had had conflicts with the west in the past. It wasn't as much that the knowledge of Jacob's parentage stemming from Byzantium that was the problem, it was that it differed mostly from the standard. And different in the 12th century was not a good thing.
"Y-Ye are strangely acceptant of this information," Edward mumbled. He knew Carlisle had seen right through his lie.
Carlisle walked up to him with a severe look etched into his face as he poised himself beneath the brilliant silver gleams of the moon as the clouds dispersed. For the first time since his arrival, Edward questioned the legitimacy of his current situation. His surroundings appeared blurry; as if he found himself in a strange dream.
"I swore an oath."
The night enveloped them as Edward kept silent in confusion. Carlisle's eyes drilled further into him, a silent conversation passing between them until he eventually spoke.
"…by no mean to be cruel, but to give mercy unto him that asketh mercy, upon pain of forfeiture; and always to do ladies, damsels, and gentlewomen succor upon pain of death. Also, that no man take no battles in a wrongful quarrel for no law, ne for no world's goods," Carlisle quoted. It eventually dawned on Edward that he had read something similar during his first years at the university.
"That is the oath I swore when I was knighted, Edward. That is the oath I shall keep until the day I die."
Edward got goosebumps as he realized where he had read Carlisle's quote before. It had come from Le Mortre d'Arthur, the Arthurian legend. It was the Pentecostal Oath the knights swore around the round table. Speculation about the oath was wide and far spread in the academic community. Some argued it was partially passed from oaths sworn by real knights, others that it was a complete fabrication by the authors of chivalric tales.
And here, before him, Edward had gotten his answer. The chivalric code was real; alive and well in Carlisle who appeared the very embodiment of it. He was telling Edward that he would protect Jacob. But something else told Edward that Carlisle did not care what background Jacob—or he himself—hailed from, for that matter.
"I find that inspiring indeed, Ser Carlisle," Edward said. "Not many people would react as ye have."
Edward had expected a smile, instead, he received a subdued frown. Carlisle did not voice what he was thinking, but it was evident that he was aware that not all followed the oath as well as he, and such knowledge appeared to frustrate him. Edward knew what awaited the group in the Holy Land, but he worried what Carlisle's reaction would be once he saw the true face of war.
They started heading back for camp. Despite the apparent subdued disappointment Edward now sensed within Carlisle toward his situation, there was still the same driving force. Carlisle still had a goal he sought, a goal that dominated him. The goal to do good, it seemed; to do good as Carlisle believed he could.
"Thou and Jacob form part of our group now, Edward. Have no fear when speaking before us," Carlisle said distantly, his eyes glued to the road ahead, the diminishing campfire a distant glow that attracted them like flies.
"Our dialect is a distinct one and not often received well."
"All Saxon dialects are," Carlisle laughed. Of course, Edward thought, Carlisle would think they were speaking a Saxon language and not give it a second thought.
The next morning, they gathered their gear and witnessed the dusting of snow thaw in unison with the rising sun. Edward turned to Jacob.
"Jacob…" Edward started, not certain on how to best put it. "I uh…think…uhm…um…I—"
"No, please, take your time," Jacob deadpanned as he folded the woolen blanket.
"I think Ser Carlisle is on to us."
Jacob turned around discreetly, watching the rest of the group further down between the trees. He turned back to Edward with a raised eyebrow and a mocking expression in his eyes.
"You think little knight-dude suspects we're actually travelers from the future? Come on!" he exclaimed.
"Jacob, tonight he cornered me," Edward leaned in and whispered hoarsely. "That man…he-he can read people. It's like he saw right…right through me."
Jacob licked his lips and cast a glance Carlisle's way. "I know a guy, he works for…" Jacob paused and shook his head. "Anyway, real cool dude. When he gets drunk, he tends to overshare. And he says that one of the oldest tricks in the book is to make your target think you know more than you actually do... that way, whatever secret they may be keeping could potentially reveal itself." Jacob rubbed his hands together as a pensive expression extended over his face. "Don't let him read you, man."
Edward sat back on the ground. "Do you realize who you're talking to?" he muttered. "The goddamn living doormat," he whispered to himself, unaware that Jacob caught his last sentence.
Jacob stood up and extended a hand to Edward who looked at it surprised.
"I think you're overreacting. I might not know much French—in this century or ours—but I don't see suspicion in Carlisle's eyes whenever he speaks with you."
Edward took the hand and was pulled off the ground.
"I see curiosity and respect," Jacob said and patted Edward on the shoulder. "Come on, let's get going before Godefroy has another yelling spout with me." He shook his head. "I fucking hate that douche."
The pressing rains had let up for the past few days and the sun on their skins did them good. Alas, now in the first days of December, it did not warm as much as it had in summer. They were hiking up a raised road, a strip of grass cutting through the middle, wilted now in the winter. They rounded a corner past a large hill, met with a sight Edward thought he would never be able to describe with words.
From their higher point, they could discern a bustling city in the distance, the shores of the Mediterranean and large harbor revealing to Edward which French city it was.
Marseille.
A cloudless sky with a bright sun directed its beams over the city, reflecting off the waves of the sea as it rolled and crashed against the shores of the city. Seagulls screamed in the distance, flying around the harbor in search of whatever food they could steal or claim. The bustling noise of people, carts, carriages, and animals mixed into an intangible background noise reminiscent of the London they had just left. But what caught their eyes more wasn't the city itself, rather the many vessels docked near or around the harbor, flying many flags—flags Edward was familiar with, flags he had seen many times in history books.
"Reckon that's Marseille?" Jacob asked as he walked up to him.
"That's Marseille," Edward said breathlessly.
"Now what?"
Indeed, now what? They had arrived at their first destination, the Mediterranean. Edward and Jacob could remain here, hoping Edward might find some work in the larger town or at least wait out the winter in the woods. But despite the climate being milder, it was still cold. If just the two of them remained, they knew the cold would eventually get to them. Right now, they had the protection of the group and food for barely any work.
"Carlisle said in London that the ships sailing from here stop in Sicily before continuing."
"Sicily," Jacob mimicked pensively. "But you don't speak the language, right? So, getting any type of employment there would be difficult."
"In this era, Sicily is under Norman rule, we can still communicate in French. The climate is also more favorable there. We could wait out the winter in a wooded area and then try to catch a ship back here and try again for employment in spring."
"Hurry up!" one of the pages shouted to them, their group had already managed to get ahead of them by at least a couple of yards.
Edward and Jacob quickened their paces, hurrying to catch up.
"King Richard the first, or the Lionheart, set out from this very harbor a few months ago, followed by the French king Philip. But many more Crusaders will follow in their footsteps. The English fleet arrived here in August to set out after Richard who was headed for Messina…pardon…is headed, I think he is already there by now, however."
"As long as we don't travel with them the entire way…" Jacob trailed off, looking toward the Eastern horizon.
Edward followed his gaze. "We wouldn't last long… even if we kept close to Ser Carlisle. However, …if he survived, we could have entered into his employment…" Edward turned to Jacob.
"And betting all my life savings at Blackjack in Vegas might seem like a good idea at the time, it doesn't mean that I'm stupid enough to take that bet," Jacob mumbled.
"It's just a thought," Edward sighed.
They continued following the dirt road until entering Marseille. The city was filled to the brim. More people than usual pushed elbows on the narrow streets, trying to make their way through to and from the harbor. Edward who was walking alongside a mounted Carlisle noticed the gleam in his eyes and the smile on his lips as he looked at the harbor—at the ships that would carry them across the sea.
They eventually found out that most ships would set sail within four days, rendering their arrival lucky as they would make it on this tide. Finding a room in an inn would be impossible the group realized and thus did like so many others, they took to camping outside of the city after having secured a place on one of the many boats.
For three nights and three days, they essentially remained by camp, finding that exploring the city would be difficult with so many people. Jacob had his hood down now, finding that he didn't stand out as much here as he had in England. Most people mistook him as coming from south of the Pyrenees, most didn't seem to care. But Edward still observed the glares Godefroy would cast their way, noting the tension rising beneath the surface. Had Carlisle told Godefroy of Jacob's supposed parentage? Or maybe he had shared his concerns that Edward was lying about something.
On the fourth morning, they awoke as early as they could, finding that most people around their camp were already getting a head start. Long queues into the city foretold of the number of people wishing to sail east.
The chatter buzzed in unison with the screaming seagulls. Edward heard more languages than just French and English. He discerned Germanic languages, other Romance languages such as Occitan, an early variant of Catalan, and even Aragonese.
With widening eyes as they approached the harbor, Edward squeezed the little woolen blanket that was his only possession as he watched the great ships sway on the sea, a stark contrast against the horizon, the sun rising now. Past them suddenly, rode a large ensemble of knights wearing white robes with red crosses on them—Templars. Edward had never expected he would see them so soon and kept ogling as they marched further ahead to a dock of their own where their possessions and servants were being taken to their own ship sporting their flag.
"Joyful is the day when one sees the Templars," Edward could hear someone say behind him. His heart thumped loudly in his chest as he watched them row toward their ships.
Edward was pushed forward in the line until eventually arriving at the dock where they had registered. Carlisle, Robert, and Godefroy took the first rowing boat to the ship while Edward, Jacob, the squires, and pages remained behind to load another rowing boat with essentials. The horses had been loaded onto the ship the evening before, as the ship had docked next to the harbor.
When they eventually sat in the rowing boats, Edward dug his fingernails into the soft wood, his eyes fixed solely on the great vessel they were rowing toward. It was a Cog, a medieval sea craft commonly used during the period they found themselves in. The ship was round with a flush-laid flat bottom. It had a full clinker—the edges of the hull had planks overlapping each other. The stem and sternpost were straight and long. There were no decks on Cogs and there wouldn't be until the 13th century. It was a sturdy ship that hopefully would safely take them across the sea. There was only one pole for the sail, central in the structure of the ship. A red cross was drawn on the white sail and on top, some flags flapped in the wind that Edward did not recognize.
He turned to Jacob who stared gaping at the structure. "You can't seriously mean that we travel across the Mediterranean in…this?" he whispered in Edward's direction as they arrived next to the hull of the ship, waiting for the rope ladder to drop.
"Uhm…we should be fine," Edward whispered back as one of the pages started securing their sacs and crates to ropes thrown down the side of the hull as the squires started climbing the flimsy rope ladder.
Jacob paled. "What if we run into a storm?" he hissed.
"I'm sure we won't."
"Dude, it's the middle of winter, isn't it high season for storms?" Jacob snapped back as the pages now started climbing the ladder.
Edward rubbed his hands together as the rowers eyed them with raised eyebrows. "Hasten yer steps, get up so we may turn 'round!" one of them growled at them, yellowed teeth bearing themselves in a malignant and irritated scowl.
Edward stood up in the swaying boat, his legs not used to the sea as he scurried to reach the ladder. "We'll be fine," he told Jacob as he started climbing it, rather not wishing to think too much about what could happen should they encounter a storm.
He pulled himself over the side, met by a hectic crew as they were placing livestock at one end of the ship and provisions and personal belongings at the other. The knights and warriors that had already arrived before them were standing near the sails in conversation. Amongst that group, Edward saw Carlisle, Robert, and Godefroy. It appeared they were the last to board the ship.
The sun was already past the horizon, its golden sheen getting into their eyes as the sailors started lifting the anchor.
"All hands on deck!" someone shouted in French as the open deck became mayhem with people running to their stations.
Edward and Jacob kept to the side, watching as the sail caught wind and the ship being steered out of the bay of the harbor, following the vast ensemble of vessels heading toward the rising sun.
"How will we ever get used to any of this?" Jacob mumbled next to him, his eyes still fixed on the horizon, his hands gripping the hull hard and his legs fighting not to lose balance.
"I…I don't know," Edward murmured back, staring in the same direction as Jacob. The wind of the sea felt good on his skin, the splashing of saltwater even better. To the music of the creaking ship, breaking waves and seagulls, Edward closed his eyes and let his face be kissed by the sun, feeling the vessel underneath him ride the waves as it took them forth. A strange thrill emerged within his body as his legs got used to the sea.
He had never found such joy in such a simple thing before, a large grin spreading on his face. The grin remained until he heard Jacob turn and hurl his breakfast over the side of the ship.
"Fuck," Jacob growled.
"It'll be a long trip for you—"
"Shut up. Just, shut up," Jacob muttered, his face paling and a greenish tint settling over it as he hoisted himself over the side and threw up again.
The crew of the ship settled into a practiced rhythm within a week. Edward, discovering that he was one of the few not getting too sick on the rocking vessel, got to help around deck whenever possible. From cleaning out the animal's quarters to swabbing the deck to securing the sails, he did everything. Jacob migrated to the middle of the ship together with another handful of passengers—it was the part that moved the least. Carlisle, Robert and Godefroy spent their time preparing mentally for what was to come. Each morning they would rise with the sun and pray with the other knights. Then they would practice with their swords until midday, where they would pray again and have their first meal of the day. The afternoon would be spent in self-reflection although Carlisle took the time to speak with Edward.
In one another they found a strangely enjoyable conversation. Edward was knowledgeable in matters Carlisle had not expected; theology, literature, culture, and much more. However, Carlisle noticed a sort of hesitance in the younger man, a reservation and shyness. The knowledge Edward held was not something a simple peasant could learn. Carlisle kept his tongue, but he knew Edward must be more than he let on, much more. But the way he acted, letting most people step over him and talk down to him was not proper of anyone hailing from the nobility—where Carlisle suspected Edward came from. He took it upon himself, as discreetly as he could, to make Edward regain the confidence he so obviously lacked.
"Hast thou ever doubted in thyself?" Carlisle asked one calm evening as he and Edward had supper alone at the stern of the ship.
Edward chewed the hard tack he'd been given and then took a bite of some salted fish. The evening breeze stirred the rigging, making the fabric flutter and the wood creak pleasantly.
"Who doth not, Ser Carlisle?"
Carlisle turned to Edward. "Indeed, a very good point."
Edward hesitated, as he always did. "Sometimes," he said slowly. "Sometimes I perceive in myself a doubt that may be stronger than what should be normal."
Carlisle found a pair of wide eyes locked on him—as if wishing an answer; a solution. They were slowly touching on a subject he'd wished to speak with Edward for a long while, but it had been difficult getting the younger man to open up.
"What doubt doth thee perceive in thyself?" Carlisle asked.
Edward looked out over the sea. "I… I do not have a calling as you, no commitment that I can devote my life to."
"Thy studies—"
"I have devoted my life to become the man my family wished me to be and failed."
Carlisle laughed. "Failed? How?" He spread his arms. "Thou lackest not in wit nor in brains. Thou knowest more than many scholars I have met—and they be many, Edward. Thou speakest in a way I have not perceived in many thine age. Thou… thou hast a way of seeing the world that fascinates me and many more, should they care to listen. Thou art blind to thine own abilities and I ignore how that came to be. Tell me, how hast thou failed?"
Edward lacked any response at first, trying to find the adequate words. No one had praised him as Carlisle had and the compliments threw him off. He had gone through most of his adult life believing himself not good enough for the work he was doing or lacking when trying to live up to the family name. But how could he ever explain that to Carlisle? Yet, Edward got the strange sensation that Carlisle didn't need all the information to truly understand.
"Measure not a man by the words he speaks but by the feats he commits," Edward finally retorted. "What feats have I to speak of?"
"What feats indeed," Carlisle agreed. "Then thou must be a good man, Edward Masen for thou didst save mine own life at the risk of thine own… every man must decide the course of his life—not be guided by others to decide them for him. That is when thou wouldst see thy path clear." Carlisle shook his head. "Thou art blind, Edward. I hope someday the veil will be lifted from thine eyes and thou shalt see thyself for what thou truly art."
"I am just a scholar," Edward chuckled nervously with a hesitant undertone.
"Just," Carlisle said with a smile. "Only just?" He was met with confusion; Edward didn't understand and Carlisle couldn't force him to either. "One day, Edward, it shall be clear."
Days turned to weeks and as they arrived further east, it got warmer on the ship.
One afternoon, as they drifted by lazily on the Mediterranean, Edward and Carlisle sat sweating under the sails, trying to get away from the pressing sun.
"I hear we shall arrive at Syracuse soon," Carlisle said, his eyes closed as he leaned against the mast. Edward's eyes were stuck on the flat horizon.
Gone were the cold nights of northwestern Europe. Edward did not freeze anymore during the nights, even if they could get frisky. He knew what awaited them. They would embark on the shores of Sicily. The warmer weather would make it possible for them to live off the land the entire year. If work was still not to be had, they would be able to fend for themselves. Edward surmised it to be the only viable option.
"Art thou certain thou dost wish to embark there?" Carlisle asked, his eyes trained now on Edward.
"There is nothing for Jacob and me back in England." Edward looked forward. "There is even less anywhere else. But Sicily is under Norman rule and of good climate and rich land. There we can fend for ourselves."
The screams of seagulls above them revealed them to be closer to land than they initially had thought. Carlisle squinted at the birds, flying high above the white sails.
"Is it impertinent of me to ask ye a question, Ser Carlisle?" Edward suddenly asked after a prolonged pause.
The fairheaded man rose an eyebrow and turned to face him. "Nay, indeed not."
"Have ye…Have ye always been this committed to this quest of joining King Richard?" Edward asked.
"Wherefore dost thou ask?"
Edward stared down with a frown. "I… I wish to understand your commitment, sir."
Carlisle smiled. "Aye mine friend, I see it as my obligation to go where my father and his father before him went… to fight besides His Grace," Carlisle said, growing more serious.
The breeze whistled past them as Edward turned to look at the sea, sweat dripping from his temples. "Do ye—"
"I addressed thee as mine own friend, Edward… there is no need for thee to address me so formally now," Carlisle smiled.
Their eyes met and Edward's lips twitched upward, even though he grew slightly uncomfortable by the blatant remark. "Doth thou … question that obligation?" Edward fidgeted with his fingers, avoiding Carlisle's eyes. "Sometimes?"
"There is nothing to question, this is my path, bestowed upon me by my own design."
"Aye, but if ye—thou didst wish to travel down another path, a path that thine own family had not foreseen for thee… wouldst thou have done it?"
A heavy hand came on Edward's left shoulder. "We all respect and serve our family in different ways. This is my way. Thine own will be different from mine, but it does not make thine any less…"
Edward pressed his lips together.
"Whatever my father had planned for me, be it at the king's court or at some monastery, I would have eventually landed here, understand?" Carlisle paused and frowned. "Strive to do what thou knowest to be true in thine own heart, not what may please others."
Edward looked down at his crossed legs and remained silent. "But if thou dost see this as thine obligation, doth it also fill thee with joy?"
"I would not be here if it did not give me a sense of purpose… a sense of merriment as well. Fleeing to Syracuse will not solve thy problems with thy family, Edward," Carlisle said, pushing aside the vagueness of their conversation. He rose to stand. "The sooner thou dost realize that, the easier it will be for thee to return."
Carlisle gave him a sad smile as he stepped aside. Edward stared after him with a frown; if it only could be that easy.
He felt a pair of eyes on his back and turned around, finding Jacob staring at him, his face pale, his right hand clenching a small bag.
Edward walked up to him. "You look as if you've seen a ghost, what's the matter?"
Jacob looked ready to spill tears as he brought Edward to a secluded part of the ship where they wouldn't be disturbed. His hands shook, the canvas bag in his hand shaking with it.
"Has the sun and seasickness finally gotten to you?" Edward asked. But he grew more worried as the expression on Jacob's face twisted, changing between a trembling grin to a confused frown.
Unable to produce any words, Jacob finally handed Edward the bag and motioned him to open it. With a confused frown, Edward untied the knot and looked inside, fishing out a small square tablet, looking eerily familiar yet very out of place.
It was slightly larger than his hand. At first glance, he thought it was black. The edges were indeed black, but the front face was of a different color. Edward felt the sides, hard and polished metal painted black. But the front was what threw him off entirely.
It was plastic.
And as he looked closer, he recognized the strange dark bluish tint as it shifted in the sun.
A solar panel.
Without a word, Edward looked up at Jacob who nodded wordlessly, retrieving from his pocket the RHD that had cracked during their arrival.
The screen, which had always been black and lifeless, was now partially lit, showing the date from which they had arrived in big lettering, February 4th, 2019. Edward stared at it, noting his airways tighten as tears pooled in his eyes.
"I didn't want to tell you until I was sure it'd work," Jacob whispered. "I…I didn't think it would!"
"W-W-Where?" Edward stammered.
"The damn thing was in Godefroy's belongings!" Jacob said in a shaking voice. "I only found it earlier this morning when I was washing his chemises."
The cracked interface extended over the display like a spider's web. Edward took the device out of Jacob's hands to feel it and see that it truly was real.
"W-We can return home?" he asked as his voice cracked further. The Mediterranean breeze pushed against them. He shifted his gaze, looking at Carlisle laughing alongside Robert and some other crew members. "We can return home," he whispered to himself in disbelief, a frightening feeling tightening in his chest.
What would it mean, to return home?
Jacob followed Edward's gaze and then looked back at him. "We will return home."
"My uncle—"
…
It was the day that Edward was to leave for England. He had packed his belongings and made sure all was in order. As always, he had to perform it all by himself. The apartment was ready, he was now officially enrolled in Oxford and some family friends would meet him up later after his arrival to make certain he had gotten settled.
Edward was ecstatic, he had gotten accepted to the university his father had attended. This was to be his second degree. It was one further step towards attaining the diploma, toward working in the field his father had always worked in. He had hoped that it would make Uncle Mike proud of him—that he would finally say something to his nephew after the hard work he had put in, the many hours of studying. But there was nothing.
Only silence.
Edward had placed most of his packed belongings near the door, Mike watching as the boy he had raised was about to leave the nest.
Edward turned around at the door, hesitant as always yet a small smile revealing he was excited to leave.
"The c-cab s-should b-b-be here a-at any m-m-moment," he smiled.
Mike folded his arms tightly across his chest without a word.
Edward hesitated before speaking again. "I h-hope y-you w-will come v-visit?"
"I've too much work, Edward. Besides, you'll do fine by yourself."
"O-Of c-c-course," Edward mouthed back.
Mike looked at his lanky nephew for a long while, something in his eyes speaking of a deep-seething emotion that he wouldn't reveal. Edward noted it but remained silent—as he always had. Strangely, he was reminded of the day at Laura's house, when Mike had picked him up and removed him from his old life back in Bainbridge in Seattle. Now, however, Edward had something to look forward to and nothing to be afraid of. He reluctantly admitted to himself that leaving Mike might be a good thing.
"This is for the best, Edward," Mike suddenly said.
"G-Going t-to E-England?"
Two cold gay-green eyes stared at him, lacking any emotion. "It's what your father would have wanted."
Edward's stomach dropped suddenly at the coldness in Mike's voice and the mention of his father—once more cementing that Edward had something to live up to him, great expectations that needed to be met. And it dawned on him that maybe his uncle was glad to finally be rid of him. Had Edward truly been such a burden? He shook, a pang of sudden guilt overcoming him—guilt he had been carrying with him since the day his parents died.
"Portland has little left to offer you—"
They heard a car pull up into the driveway and Mike stopped himself abruptly. It was Edward's cue to leave.
Edward, on the other hand, wasn't as stoic as Mike. The man he'd so desperately tried to please had just insinuated that he was severing any ties he had with him. He didn't know how to process it. Mike was the only living family Edward had left and to be left completely alone in the world frightened him more than anything else ever could. He strived to keep it together, at least until he got to the car.
When the cab driver backed out of the driveway Edward didn't turn around.
"Airport then?" the driver said merrily.
Edward stared emptily ahead. "Yeah."
"Goin' anywhere exciting?"
The car started moving and Edward leaned against the window. He felt tired all of a sudden, tired and broken down. "I hope so," he said in a broken voice.
…
"Fuck your uncle, he was the one who stranded us here…he was the one that almost had us killed… I'm not sticking around here another second. He probably returned with the other RHD."
Jacob took the RHD again and placed it around his wrist. He pushed something on the interface and a small green circle appeared. "All we have to do is push this."
Edward had always thought that remaining stranded in the past had been a horrible twist of fate. But, as the months had passed, the anxiety and pressure he had felt back in his own time had slowly waned away. The problems of his past had not haunted him here. Maybe it was because there were so many other things occupying his mind. The daily struggle to survive did not allow him to think of much else. And while the betrayal of his uncle was still hauntingly present, Edward hadn't pondered on it as much lately.
Edward licked his lips, he knew that there was nothing for him here, and the strange pull he felt to stay was merely a whim.
He nodded at Jacob, telling him that it was time. Jacob hovered over the green button, the seconds ticking by eerily slow. There was no time to think, to say their goodbyes. They just wanted to leave. And for a brief moment, the joy and hope that had extended within them lulled them into a sense of security. It would all be alright; it was finally over they thought as Jacob neared the display. His finger was millimeters from it when he was suddenly yanked back by a rough set of hands.
Edward's eyes widened as his hands were dragged behind him and he too was yanked back toward the center of the ship.
"I told ye he did it!" they heard a voice call out.
Edward looked up to see Godefroy frowning at Jacob and pointing at him. The squires were holding him down while two of the shipmates had Edward restrained.
Carlisle joined the commotion as more drifted to them. Edward's mouth dried as he locked eyes with Jacob.
They had been so close.
Godefroy tore the solar panel away from Jacob and held it up high to see. "He stole this from me!"
"The fuck is he saying?" Jacob growled as he looked at the tablet.
"That you stole it," Edward said in a thin voice.
"Tell him he stole it first; tell him it's fucking ours!" Jacob swore, fighting against the squires.
"What is the barbarian shouting now?" Godefroy chuckled maliciously as he glanced at Jacob.
"That the tablet was in his possession from the start," Edward translated.
Godefroy's small and beady eyes crossed with Edward's and he felt a cold shiver run through him. Godefroy had no good intentions toward them.
"His? Indeed, it cannot be."
"Did ye find this tablet near York?" Edward countered. The entire ship watched in silence as they bickered.
Godefroy frowned at him, Ser Robert leaning to whisper something in his ear.
"Ye did and thus ye know it must be Jacob's for he lost it near York, on the southern road," Edward tried. He looked around with pleading eyes. "Please, we have not stolen anything." He was met with nothing but reprimand. The people on the boat were not on their side.
Edward struggled against the hands holding him down. Had they been quicker, they would be home now.
Carlisle pushed his way through to the front. "Whatever is the matter, Godefroy?"
Edward stared up at Carlisle as he was being brought to speed.
"We cannot steal what was rightfully ours, Ser Carlisle," Edward countered. For the first time, Jacob heard him raise his voice and put some strength behind it. It surprised him enough to falter, staring strangely at Edward; where had this courage come from?
"Godefroy tells me it was in his possession."
"Aye, but Jacob lost it outside of York. Ser Carlisle, thou knowest I would not lie to thee," Edward said, gaining traction. He knew Carlisle would see the truth in his words.
Carlisle and Edward looked at each other, Godefroy's muttering words of malice or the hushed whispers ignored by them.
"What is it thou wishest to do with this tablet?" Carlisle asked.
"That we may not answer," he answered. "But we need it."
Carlisle looked at the tablet and then back at Edward. Strange, he thought, that he should feel this amount of faith in someone he knew so little.
"Give him the tablet, Godefroy."
Godefroy's eyes widened as he protested loudly. "Thou cannot be serious, Carlisle!"
"This tablet dost not belong to thee."
Godefroy gripped the tablet harder. There were some among the ship who agreed with Godefroy, others agreed with Carlisle. While Godefroy kept protesting, Edward gave Jacob a slight nudge.
"Be ready to push it," he whispered. Jacob noted how Edward's hands were shaking as his eyes settled on the tablet.
They could leave nothing from the future in the past.
"On three."
Edward licked his lips.
"On my count."
Jacob nodded slowly.
Ser Robert was now involved in the dispute, more jumping in to argue on Carlisle's or Godefroy's behalf.
"One."
Edward's eyes locked on the tablet resting in Godefroy's lax hand.
"Two."
Both he and Jacob started preparing. Jacob gripped Edward's shirt, feeling the sweat pearl at his temples.
"Three!" Edward whispered.
He threw himself forward, aiming at the tablet, roughly gripping it out of Godefroy's hands as Jacob pushed past the spectators, aiming for the side of the ship while holding onto Edward's tunic. Edward felt like he was running through water as they closed in on the side. He saw Jacob's index finger reach for the green button as they jumped over the side, hearing the cries of anger and surprise behind them as they haplessly fell to the sea.
Jacob pressed the button and they were swallowed into the invisible vortex of time and space.
When Carlisle, Godefroy, and the rest reached the edge they only saw the sea, with no trace of the strangers in it.
A/N: Excuse me for having taken a bit longer with updating this chapter. I am currently finishing up my course while working simultaneously so fanfiction had to wait. The next chapter might also not be uploaded next weekend depending on how the final classes of my course are sheduled.
Thank you all for your reviews!
Cheers,
Isabelle