“Augustine’s tomb?” Erik asked. “I have heard the tales about strange happenings that cannot be explained. The holy brothers still speak of the sightings, but they are long past! Tell me, what message did the Lord send?”
Wynstan filled cups with ale while Gwyneth described her vision. She was still somewhat shaken by the experience as she awaited Erik’s response. She thanked Wynstan for the soothing beverage, sipping the drink since she needed her wits about her. Wynstan, on the other hand, emptied his cup in one swallow and poured himself a refill.
“What do you think it means?” Gwyneth said.
“The Lord is protecting you,” Erik replied.
“I do not understand.”
“Do not be afraid, Abram, I am your shield, your very great reward,” Erik told her.
“You are quoting scripture?” Gwyneth asked.
“Genesis,” Wynstan answered.
Once more, Gwyneth failed to comprehend the depth of their religious beliefs, which gave credence to the superstitious mindset prevalent in the eleventh century. Erik’s faith and trust were commendable but misplaced, in Gwyneth’s mind. The Lord did not win wars, men did. Yet she could not deny the truth. The vision corroborated her theory that it was indeed, Divine Intervention that had transported her back in time. Everything was the Lord’s doing. He had chosen the men and women, which explained everything. It was nerve-racking just the same, given her lack of faith.
“If I am not needed, I would join the men,” Wynstan interrupted.
“The pilgrims leave at sunrise, and we will travel with them. I have arranged for passage for the three of us. Return to the citadel once you are rested; your swords are not needed,” Erik replied.
Wynstan finished his drink, bowed to Gwyneth and closed the door when he left. Erik sat beside his wife as she brushed the palm of his hand over her ashen cheek. She looking lovingly into his eyes as she spoke the long awaited words.
“I carry your son, my love.”
Erik was overcome with emotion, embracing his wife as tears swelled. He was overjoyed, but he could not speak, not just yet. He remembered dreaming of this day, seeing Gwyneth clearly, long before they had met. That was how the Lord spoke to those He chose to favor, in their dreams. There was no need to fear their enemies. They were the Lord’s chosen.
***
Bryson had hired one of the village lads to accompany them to the ship. The boy would return the horses to the abbey stables once their possessions were on board. He had procured warm clothing to wear during the winter months as well. There were ample blankets and hooded cloaks, and herbal remedies consisting of crushed roots and powders, and wineskins filled with water. Erik’s first officer had also acquired a map of the Frankish empire and had selected the roads they would follow, avoiding the trade routes, which attracted robbers. Even though the abbey stores had provided food and drink for the group of pilgrims, Bryson had filled a rucksack with loaves of bread, nuts and dried fish. He carried only a few coins in his pouch, just enough for two days’ expense. The remaining coinage had been sewn into their clothing.
As the pilgrims assembled, the holy brothers drove the wagon to the front of the caravan, choosing to follow the main road. The village lad waved to Bryson from the back of the wagon, smiling widely because of his good fortune. The men and women followed, walking two abreast as the church bells chimed.
“I cannot believe you let me sleep,” Gwyneth told Erik as they joined Bryson. “Why did you not wake me?”
“You needed the rest. I am sorry that I did not arrange to meet up with the pilgrims after we shared the morning meal. You forget that we are on horseback while they walk.”
Gwyneth was slightly out of breath by the time they joined Bryson who was already seated on his horse. Erik helped Gwyneth mount her animal before getting on his steed. They trotted along the main road, slowing down once they reached the caravan. Gwyneth rode ahead of Erik and Bryson so their words would not be guarded, and glanced back at the abbey bell tower, admiring the massive structure rising above the trees, which had yet to be despoiled. She noticed the squirrels running through the leafy branches, frightening the song birds flying towards the sky. Daytime creatures scurried about, searching for prey.
The pilgrims and Gwyneth were cheerful, despite the hazardous undertaking. The prospect of saving one’s soul was exhilarating, a spiritual aphrodisiac, which was highly coveted. Gwyneth was fascinated by their way of thinking, and she hoped to spend some time speaking with the men and women while at sea. She wondered if paid mercenaries would meet the group when they docked at Calais. Despite their numbers, they were not warrior trained, and they could be set upon by brigands en route. Her journey was just as hazardous, yet she was not overly concerned. She breathed in the wonderful fresh air, enjoying the faint flowery fragrance carried by the gentle wind. She refused to think of anything other than savoring the moment because the tranquility would not last. It did not matter that it would take hours to reach the docks, Gwyneth was not wearing a watch!
Unbeknownst to Gwyneth, a hooded figure was following the small group, walking through the trees lining the road. He remained hidden within the brush whenever the men and women stopped to rest. He ate stale bread while they fed on apples and cheese, but he was not concerned. He had agreed to this undertaking willingly, answering to no one but his master. Besides, the gold filling his coffers was worth any discomfort.
Chapter Ten
The seafarers raised the sail, cheering when the fabric billowed in the wind as the ship left the harbor. The Captain walked the deck, speaking with the passengers standing at the rail. He reassured the women that the crossing would be uneventful given the cloudless sky. Most of the pilgrims had never traveled beyond their villages, which made a sea voyage exciting, but also frightening. The experience would be recounted to their families provided they were not set upon by slave traders or contracted a fatal disease. Bandits also posed a problem, which is why the pilgrims paid for their passage home before disembarking. They would not be stranded on foreign soil, if they were robbed of their possessions. The first officer recorded not only the names in a ledger, but the departure and expected return dates as well.
There were a few passengers that had made multiple journeys dressed in the pilgrim’s garb. The Captain remembered faces even though the names given had changed with each voyage. Payment guaranteed discretion. He had no interest in power, but he did want to acquire wealth, and transporting pilgrims was a lucrative business. He also had a keen eye and was not easily deceived.
While many of the pilgrims spoke to one another, there were some penitent sinners that segregated themselves from the crowd. The Captain came upon Erik, Bryson and Gwyneth at the stern rail. Even though they were dressed appropriately, he was aware that they were of the privileged class. He also speculated that they were not traveling to Rome, but their final destination was of no concern.
The Captain nodded his head, acknowledging the three of them as he walked towards his first officer who was standing near the mast. He recognized the hooded figure sitting on the deck, his eyes closed, his hands traversing his chest. He wondered what name he had used this time as he skirted the man’s feet.
As the ship sliced through the wind-swept waves, the Captain noticed that the hooded man was not sleeping, but was in effect, watching Erik, Bryson and Gwyneth.
“It is as I suspected, he is a spy,” the Captain thought, “but should I apprise them of my suspicions?”
“With these winds, we should arrive at Calais in record time,” the first officer said as the Captain nodded.
“There is something I must do below deck,” the Captain replied. “I will not be long.”
The Captain slid down the ladder and headed towards the stacked chests. He opened the carton that contained his ledger, turning the pages as he read the names. It did not take long to establish the identity of the hooded stranger. His name was Hugh, and it was as the Captain had suspected, this was not his first voyag
e. He threw the book into the trunk and returned above deck, glancing in Hugh’s direction, but the man was gone, having blended in with his fellow travelers.
As the Captain searched for Hugh amid the pilgrims, he noticed Gwyneth’s pallid look as he reached for a bucket and rushed to her aid. She heaved into the pail, sputtering and gagging as the rough waters added to her discomfiture.
“It is sea sickness,” the Captain told them.
Erik was about to tell the Captain that Gwyneth was with child, but he held his tongue. His enemies were far-reaching, and he could trust no one. He was sorry he had not had the foresight to have Gwyneth drink a potion before boarding. There was nothing he could do until they disembarked.
***
The moon was high in the night sky by the time Erik, Bryson and Gwyneth were taken to their rooms in one of the abbeys that faced the busy seaport. Gwyneth was exhausted, not because of the long days, but because of the new life she carried. She was close to tears, feeling quite wretched as Erik mixed a powder with water. She drank the foul-tasting liquid, hoping the herbal remedy would ease her symptoms.
“You need to rest; two or three days,” Erik said, brushing the loose strands of hair away from her face.
“We leave tomorrow as planned,” Gwyneth told him.
“Gwyneth, do not be foolish,” Bryson interjected. “I need at least one day to obtain our provisions.”
“Remember, we need to procure the horses,” Erik said. “And we must not bring attention to ourselves.”
“Forgive me, you are right,” Gwyneth whispered, closing her eyes as she succumbed to the effects of the calming mixture.
Erik covered Gwyneth with a blanket and joined Bryson who was sitting before the blazing fire. The room was unusually warm on such a cold night, and both men were grateful not to be sleeping beneath the stars.
“Do you think the Captain suspected our intent?” Bryson asked.
“I do not know, but I did notice a man who appeared to be watching us. I was going to point him out to you, but he had moved, and I could not find him in the crowd.”
“Would you recognize him?”
“Yes,” Erik said. “We must remain attentive, or we will die by the assassin’s hand.”
***
Once the passengers had disembarked, and the ship was moored, the Captain went home. The dwelling was small, with two rooms, which was ample for a man living alone. He opened the chest that had been delivered earlier, retrieving the ledger and flung it on the table. He filled a cup with his favorite wine and sat before the fire. For some unexplainable reason, he wanted to know more of Hugh and of the privileged people he was following. He had not expected his passengers to list their true names and had been quite surprised when he read the entry. Bryson, Erik and Gwyneth of Wareham. He planned to discover the truth once he returned to Britannia, hoping to find answers to his questions. Information about Hugh, on the other hand, would not be easily obtained. The man had a malevolent demeanor, and he would have to tread lightly, fearing the outcome should Hugh discover his meddling.
The Captain finished a flask of wine, drinking the alcoholic brew over the course of the evening. He was falling asleep before the fire as he did most nights, preferring the solitude. He did not hear the door open in his inebriated state, nor did his drooping eyes notice the wind-whipped flames dancing in the hearth. His assailant crept towards him, dagger in hand, and swiftly slit the Captain’s throat. The dead man slumped over, his bloodied body falling upon the floor. Hugh sheathed his wet blade as he glanced about the room searching for the ledger, which was still upon the table. He looked at the open page, which is where he had signed his name. He placed the damning evidence into the fire and waited until the book was devoured by the raging inferno before disappearing into the night.
***
Gwyneth did not wish to leave the seaport without having explored any of its treasures. She was annoyed at having spent most of the days in bed, recovering from her bouts of nausea and vomiting. During that time, Erik never left her side, ministering to her needs long after the symptoms had abated. She had slept for most of the first day, but on the second day, she managed to retain a meal of bread and soup. By nightfall, she was able to sit by the window, watching the ships sailing the harbor. A wave of nostalgia flooded over her as she remembered looking through the window while her plane was leaving the airfield. Their trip would have taken hours, not months if she were at home, and she vowed that she would never again complain about flight delays and cancellations.
Erik and Bryson welcomed the unexpected delay. The men could readily procure the provisions, and even the horses, from the holy brothers. They paid more than a fair price since the extra money would be well spent in the Lord’s service. With a day to do as one pleased, Bryson ventured into the city while Erik remained with Gwyneth.
Bryson visited the merchant stalls, looking for something unique for Gwyneth as a remembrance of her time spent in Calais. The goldsmith’s stand was at the far end of the street, close to his dwelling where he practiced his craft in solitude. His wife looked after the precious gems, tempting passersby with the ornate trinkets. She held up a delicate chain made of pure gold just as Bryson walked by. He stopped, admiring the exquisite ornament that was too costly for his means.
“It is a fine piece of work,” Bryson told the woman, “but have you any pieces made of silver?”
“Have you something in mind?” she asked as she fumbled beneath the stand, searching for a tray filled with elegant objects.
A silver brooch caught Bryson’s eye. He had never seen such intricate detail as he admired the craftsmanship of the talented artist.
“Is this your husband’s work?”
“Yes, and is well worth four coins.”
“I can only offer two.”
“Three, then?”
“Two,” Bryson said, somewhat disappointed as he started to walk away.
“Wait!” the woman cried. “Let me speak with my husband.”
Bryson thanked the kind woman as he completed his purchase, promising to keep her and her husband in his prayer intentions when he next attended Mass. And even though he was alert, he never noticed he was being followed as he returned to the abbey.
“How is Gwyneth?” Bryson asked upon entering the room.
“Mended,” Erik grinned as he handed his trusted friend a cup of ale. “How was the market?”
“Flourishing, but I did find something for your wife.”
Gwyneth was overwhelmed by Bryson’s generosity as she opened the velvet cloth. She ran her fingers over the elegant design before affixing the brooch to her tunic.
“I thank you for your kindness,” Gwyneth whispered.
“It is I who must thank you, my lady,” Bryson said. “Erik is blessed to have such a loving wife.”
Gwyneth felt the heat in her cheeks, embarrassed by the compliment, but she laughed when she noticed Erik’s flushed face. It seemed neither one of them were comfortable with admiring comments, much to her surprise.
They shared the evening meal in their chamber, preserving Gwyneth’s strength. They would set out at daybreak, traveling all day and not resting until the sun had set.
As the pealing bells called the faithful to Compline, Gwyneth stepped outside since she wanted one final look of the seaport. A full moon cast a glowing light over the waterfront, and moonbeams danced upon the soft rippling waves lapping the shoreline.
“You must take care in the night air,” Erik said as he placed a cloak about her shoulders.
Gwyneth put her arm around Erik’s waist as she listened to the sound of merriment emanating from the many alehouses lining the streets near the docks. She would have loved to partake in the revelry, even if just for an hour, but being seen in such a communal place was too risky. She was aware that Erik had reservations about one of the pilgrims on their ship, but she had not seen the man’s face. She wanted to believe that her husband was being paranoid, yet she could not shake the ominous
feeling, knowing they would not relax until they reached their destination, a fact that Gwyneth found disheartening. What should have been a joyous time, was marred by mistrust. Every stranger was now suspect, guilty until proven innocent. At least the holy brothers were above reproach, which was why they would only rest in the Lord’s house.
Fortunately, Bryson questioned the holy brothers while at the abbey. The number of miles traveled each day would depend upon how close or far was the next monastery on their route. Some days would prove long, but on those days when the sun had yet to set, the tired travelers would enjoy a leisurely rest.
Gwyneth noticed the holy brothers leaving the chapel just as Erik closed the door. She peered out the window, watching the Benedictine monks with interest. She felt a sense of foreboding as Hugh walked in the midst of the hooded figures, dressed in religious garb while approaching the stables. She saw his face in the moonlight as he passed beneath her window. If she had recognized him as a fellow pilgrim traveler, Erik and Bryson would have challenged the man. Unfortunately, Gwyneth just saw a religious monk returning to his cell. Yet she could not explain why she was shivering, and blamed the night air as she sought her bed.
Chapter Eleven
The days seemed endless as the weary travelers crossed the Frankish Empire, heading towards the mountain range separating a myriad of kingdoms. As Gwyneth’s belly swelled, the early morning nausea ended, but she found herself craving unusual foods. While she enjoyed the simple dishes served on the voyage, the selections were limited, and she wistfully thought of the various ethnic restaurants lining High Street. She had forgotten how much she loved fish and chips, but she also missed her favorite Italian bistro, which served the best pizza outside of Rome. She visualized glass cases filled with tubs of gelato, remembering the last time she devoured a double-scooped cone after having eaten a five-course dinner. She smiled as she recalled being teased about her voracious appetite, which did not affect her weight. She was physically fit, and she even had a personal trainer, Bob, whom she needed to call once she returned home.
The Briton and the Dane: Timeline Page 7