Traveller Probo

Michael woke to a gentle rustle of paper and foil and he immediately smiled. “What’re you doing?” he asked as he rolled over. The heavily packed straw which was their mattress didn’t rustle but he felt the wool they had placed over the top move slightly. Much as he loved his life in Saxon Aengland, he was compelled to admit that there were some things the 21st Century had over this culture and one was definitely the bedding.

Tatae sat beside him. She looked to her husband and smiled as she chewed a square of chocolate. “Nothing,” she replied innocently.

Michael chuckled and gently placed his hand onto her pregnant tummy. Tatae smiled mischievously as she placed her hand over his. “Well at least you’re no longer feeling unwell,” he murmured as he snuggled into the woollen blanket that was so thick they only needed one to keep out the frosty chill. Sharing body heat under the natural insulation made sure that the winter was not only survivable but also delightfully intimate and comfortable. His hand slid gently over her tummy’s taut skin. The 21st Century doctors believed Tatae was about twenty-five weeks, so the flutter of baby kicks had begun and he was deliriously happy to feel the gentle movement of his daughter. Tatae said it was a daughter, though the results of the scan he had sent was as yet uncertain. The doctors had learned not to argue with Tatae, having found at their peril that when she insisted she was correct, she usually was. Michael still never understood how she knew. She was in possession of an ocean of knowledge barely plumbed by modern researchers who hoped to profit from her ancient wisdom. While they had been successful in many ways, they had by no means come close to knowing all that Tatae had hidden up her healer’s sleeve.

Tatae wrapped the remainder of the chocolate into its foil and placed it back in the leather pouch with the rest of her private stash. While they made a point of not bringing too many supplies from Michael’s world, Tatae’s visit had instilled a love of dark chocolate. In exchange for her knowledge and the plant and mineral samples they regularly sent, she was happy to trade for essentials that helped the villagers in their hard lives. A few medicines, sewing needles, and hand-held medical equipment were the most commonly accepted. But what she insisted upon was chocolate.

Michael’s hand slid lower and felt her golden curls and she smiled and snuggled back into bed with her man. She struggled out of her shift and turned her back to him as he held her warmly. Michael stared in fascination at the familiar wonder of her back and shoulders and kissed her silky skin.

Living in the weather took its toll on Saxons of early 11th Century but he had also learned that the forest was a pharmacopeia to those with ancient knowledge. While faces wrinkled, the peace that infused the life he had found here added many more positive health benefits. This was a most incredible home. Even now, after having lived here for years, the wonder barely left him.

But his pondering was interrupted by the consequences of his wandering hand. Tatae snuggled her bottom into his groin and wriggled in invitation. Typical of Tatae, her pregnancy had left her ardour unaffected.

As the morning light slowly filled their home, in the warmth of their humble abode, they made love to welcome in another day.

***

Yffi yelled, “Ye moving too fast, ye young twerp, the bloody sheep knows what ye’re doin’ and ye’ll never get them that way.”

The young lad hesitated while the black, horned sheep gave a brief bleat and, with a clatter of hooves, shot off in the one direction they did not want it to go.

Yffi swore in the ancient hunter’s language and Michael laughed. There they were, three grown men and four lads all found to be inadequate at rounding up half a dozen sheep. The canny creatures had made their escape when one of the lads, a close friend of Wuffa, Godric’s youngest son, had been inattentive enough for the ram to rush and force open the unlatched gate. The penned sheep were off like a shot and dashed to visit one of the forest clearings where they had grazed over the summer. Since the gradual restoration of Giolgrave, the sheep had been allowed to range a little more freely than usual because the gates in the hedges had not been repaired. In the end, the silly creatures had almost become wild and the lads had let them wander where they would. Now, as the icy weather closed in, the sheep were certain to fall prey to wolves or lynx and it was vital they were protected, no matter what their tiny, useless brains decided.

Wuffa, now a skinny lad of eight, made a dive and the sheep jagged out of the way and then ran back over the boy to leave hoof-marks on his tunic and face. The lad yelped and stood angrily. Michael knew Wuffa’s mother, Hilda, would likely give him a hiding for the mess he was in and, by the look on Wuffa’s face, he knew it too. If the lads had been more attentive, none would blame them but it was their desire to raid a newly found bee-hive that was their undoing. “No use chasin’ them,” yelled Yffi. “We’ll stand in the way to the clearing and you open the gates and place some feed there. They’ll have nowhere to go but to where the feed is.”

One of the boys placed an arm-load of dried feed into the pen and then stood in there, waiting. Yffi yelled at him to get out of the way, a phrase littered with old curses that had Michael laugh more. Yffi turned to him with a smile, “Don’t ye laugh Lord Michael. Ye didn’t catch any o’ them stupid creatures I see.”

They both laughed, as did Eadric, Wuffa’s eldest brother. Eadric was now a capable young man. His mauled ear and the scar that ran along his cheek made him look harder than he really was. Without the scar, Michael often teased that he would look too pretty to be a warrior.

Finally, the last of the sheep were herded into the pen, the ram being the last as it only grudgingly gave quarter. “Ye better watch that ram, Wuffa,” called Eadric. “That bastard will run as soon as ye let him!” Wuffa smiled. He was essentially a good boy but like many of the children his age had run a little wild. They had been required to do so many things that only an adult should. They helped hunt small creatures to supplement the village food, gathered herbs and mushrooms, and on occasion even robbed a bee-hive or two. Wuffa had only been young when he helped tend the funeral pyre of the Vikings. It was not a task for children. The sight of so many burning bodies would scar anyone.

The boys looked relieved when the sheep were all latched into the pen. Michael called out, “Lads, get a wash in before your mother’s catch you or your arses will be kicked, I’m betting.”

The boys scarpered off, relieved to be left to themselves. Michael doubted they would wash. The lads had become almost as wild as the sheep and would no doubt be back into the forest as soon as they could.

Yffi nodded to the other pen, “C’mon then, Michael me lad, let’s fix that gate or more of those furry shits will get away. I don’t want us to lose any more sheep to those damned wolves.”

As they wandered to the other pen, a young woman came running. Godric and Hilda’s second daughter, Achae, ran as if the wolves were after her. Now a stunningly pretty lass of about sixteen, she had the exquisite looks of her older sister. She wore her long, light auburn hair bound in a green ribbon that matched her striking eyes but those eyes looked worried and the men stopped. None in the village ever ran but for children. Adults only ran if there was danger.

“Lord Michael!” she cried. “Come! Quickly!”

“It’s Tatae!” was all she said.

Michael rushed to the hut to find Tatae seated outside with a huddle of women around her. When she looked up, Michael had never seen her look so desolate. The women all silently parted and he dropped to his knees in front of her.

“Tatae?” he asked. She said nothing but she parted her knees a little and he realised she held a cloth between her legs.

And the cloth was saturated with bright blood.