“Yes, doctor.” She gave Henry a final pat on the arm and marched out of the room.
“Well, King Henry I. You gave us all quite a scare. We have to get you up on your feet again. You still have work to do in the nineteenth-century. Without your work, there will be no such facility as the one in which we are now.” The doctor stood at the end of the bed, studying the man lying prone. A forced smile marred the doctor’s face as he took a look at the black device he held in his hand. Presumably a chart, some sort of record of Henry’s progress. “The nurse spoke too freely. But she’s right. It won’t matter. Not after we inject the memory block.”
“No. I want to remember.” Henry struggled to sit up, but the restraints kept him immobile. “I want to understand, to appreciate what is going on here and what I need to do in my time.”
“Too much information of the future can be a dangerous tool, King Henry. Especially for someone in your position of power and authority.” The doctor walked around to the side of the bed and started poking and prodding the patient. “Yet, in spite of all our advances in science and medicine, we still have to poke and prod our patients to get a clearer sense of what’s going on underneath.”
Henry grimaced as he endured the examination. The doctor undid the restricting straps binding Henry to the bed. He stretched the king’s arms, then his legs, bending and pulling. He prodded the abdomen and listened, presumably, to his heart.
“It’s a stethoscope, isn’t it?” Henry asked, pointing at the device. He knew they existed. They had been around for most of his era. He’d never seen one being used, since he’d never been deathly ill before. Nor injured.
“Yes.” The doctor pulled the ends from his ears and then noted something on his black box. “I guess they were still relatively new in your timeline. They have improved considerably over the centuries, but never replaced. A valuable tool for listening to a person’s heart and lungs.”
“What are you holding in your hand?” Henry was full of questions. So much of what he was seeing was foreign to him.
“An electronic device which monitors and records your vital signs.” The doctor held it so Henry could see a screen full of numbers, codes and comments. “In your era, the doctor would write this information on a paper chart that was kept in the room, usually at the end of the patient’s bed. Paper is a precious commodity in the twenty-fifth century as there are very few trees left on our planet to sustain the production of paper.”
“No trees?” Henry was shocked at the prospect. “What about forests? And wildlife?”
The doctor shook his head sadly. “No. I’ve never seen a tree in this era, other than in history books. Everything is all concrete, metal and skyscrapers. Nothing green or colorful to be seen. And what you refer to as wildlife? Gone. Extinct. We don’t even have domesticated animals. And don’t get me going on the idea of farms. All gone.”
“What!” Henry was the one to shake his head this time. In disbelief. “Then what do you eat?”
“Synthetically prepared energy drinks. We all consume the same daily. No hunger. No obesity. No illness. Just overpopulation and long life.”
Henry tried to absorb this information. He couldn’t comprehend a life without nature, animals, trees, farms, and, of course, real food. “What happened? How did humans evolve to this kind of madness?”
It was as if something had snapped in the doctor’s conscious. He suddenly straightened his shoulders. “Enough. This conversation is irrelevant. You need to have your memories erased.” He reached into the cabinet beside the bed and pulled out a long-needled syringe, already loaded with some sort of cocktail.
Henry wanted no part of whatever was in the needle. His arms were still free. The doctor had neglected to refasten his restrains. Or had he forgotten? No time to lose. He reached over and grabbed the doctor’s wrists, wrenching the syringe from his hands. Instead of knocking it to the ground, he took control of it. Before the startled doctor could react in self defense, Henry stuck the needle in the doctor’s arm and pushed the juice into its target. The doctor crumbled to the floor at the side of the bed. Henry replaced the syringe in the doctor’s hands so it would look like the task had been successfully completed.
After a few minutes, Henry called out, “Nurse. Nurse. Help.” He loosely refastened his restraints and lay down as if the doctor had just finished examining him. “Nurse. Help.” He must have called several times before the door opened and the same nurse who had treated him earlier entered the room.
“Oh my!” she gasped, seeing the doctor lying on the floor. “What happened?”
“I don’t know.” Henry was playing the role of a mind-washed idiot. At least, he hoped he was sounding like he’d had his memory wiped. “I just heard a crash and noticed this man lying on the floor next to me. Who is he? Who are you? Do I know you? Where am I?”
The nurse didn’t look entirely convinced with Henry’s acting skills, but she made herself busy. She called into some black device fastened to her shoulder, requesting assistance and then knelt beside the doctor to feel his pulse. “He’s not breathing.”
Henry closed his eyes, focused on his time and vanished.
Twenty-Seven
Stirling Castle, After the Battle, Year of Our Lord 1875
Henry gasped.
“He’s waking.” Ian’s voice. It sounded far away.
The king’s eyes cracked open. The light stunned him and he closed them. He heard voices all around him, some close, some further away.
“Henry.”
“Your Majesty.”
“I think he’s going to be all right.”
It was hard to distinguish who was speaking, but the voices were all male.
He pulled his eyes open a little wider. Blinked. Shut them again.
Another cough. This one deeper, forcing his eyes to open fully. He blinked rapidly as he allowed the fog to clear.
“Where am I?” he croaked. He tried to say more, but another cough interrupted. His mouth was dry. Like sandpaper.
A hand took his and held it firmly. “You’re in your chambers, Your Majesty.” It sounded like his doctor, David Aitken.
“What happened?” His voice was a little stronger this time. His eyes were starting to focus, to make out the figures around him. Dr. Aitken was closest, a finger underneath the wrist, his mouth forming numbers. He was counting. Checking the king’s pulse.
Ian stood just behind the doctor. “You gave us quite a scare, Your Majesty.” He had reverted to the more formal address. “You took a bullet in the shoulder as the enemy stormed the castle. Your fall backwards on the battlements knocked you out cold.”
“But my vest?” Henry sputtered. “It was supposed to stop bullets from penetrating.”
“And it might have done so, but the bullet, or whatever it was, found a weak spot.” The doctor touched Henry’s shoulder, gently, but the king flinched anyway.
“What do you mean by ‘whatever it was’?” Henry glanced around at the mirage of faces who, in turn, were studying him intently.
After a few minutes of stalling, Ian took the initiative to explain. “We don’t know what or who they were that scaled the ramparts, Your Majesty. They were all dressed in black body armor of some description and their weapons were nothing like I’ve ever seen before. Your bulletproof vest was no match for whatever they shot into your body. Even the explosion which breeched the castle walls was done by something otherworldly.”
“It’s like a magical force appeared out of nowhere,” Wallace added. The Scots had their little people and their bits of magic, but they were a sturdy lot, well grounded in reality. They were not ones to have fanciful notions, but this certainly sounded like fanciful thoughts, even for an Ogilvie.
“And they all vanished as soon as they saw you fall.” Bruce snapped his fingers to emphasize his point. “Just like that.” He was shaking his head as if he still didn’t believe what he had seen. Which he didn’t believe. Not at all. Even though he was not alone in witnessing the
onslaught. “We all saw it.” They nodded their heads in unison. “We managed to capture one of the men, if you could call him a man. But even he vanished before we could lock him in the dungeons.”
Silence ensued. The king allowed the words of his most valiant men to sink in. What were they dealing with here? Another force from the future? Finally, “How long have I been out?” He spoke through clenched teeth, barring his frustration at being, once again, at a loss to understand what had just transpired.
“Several hours. All night, actually. We contained the breech and overcame the enemy. All is well. The wretched English lord now festers in the dungeons below.”
Henry wanted to laugh, but it came out as a bark. His mouth was so dry. “Water.” Ian moved around behind the doctor and lifted Henry’s head, helping him sip from a cup. Mouth moistened, he spoke. “I knew there was a reason to maintain those medieval dungeons.”
Ian was the only one to catch Henry’s attempt at wry humor. He chuckled softly. “Aye, Your Majesty.”
The room was coming into better focus. Henry felt the stitch in his shoulder where the bullet had entered. He forced himself into a sitting position. Slowly. The room started to sway. He paused. Breathed deeply. Clenched his eyes. Opened them again and pushed himself up further.
“Are the ships ready?” Henry asked Ian. “Where’s the Admiral?”
“He’s back.” Ian flashed a smile over his shoulder at the others before addressing his king’s questions. “The ships are ready, Your Majesty. Admiral McKay is awaiting orders to proceed.”
“His Majesty needs to rest,” the doctor advised.
“I’ve rested enough. We’re at war, Doctor. There’s no rest for the weary when we have a war to fight. You may leave us.” He waved the doctor away. When the doctor was out of earshot and his chambers were only occupied by himself and his most trusted chiefs, Henry spoke. “Bruce. Wallace.” He motioned for the Murray and the Ogilvie chiefs to step closer. They placed themselves in a semicircle around the king’s bed, Ian on one side, Bruce on the other and Wallace at the foot of the bed.
“Send them.” Henry gave his first command to Ian, who knew what Henry wanted done. They had discussed it at great length before the battle. He explained the tactic to the others. “Send the ships. We need to catch the English at sea. Unawares. Capture their ships and commandeer them for our own use.”
“Do we have enough ships to surround the English?” Bruce asked, a look of concern etching his brow. “The last thing we need is for the English to take what ships we have to use against us.”
“We have enough.” Henry spoke with confidence. “And we have the advantage of surprise on our side. They won’t be expecting us. They know little or nothing of our seafaring readiness. We will capture the English ships as they leave or enter English ports and we’ll cut off their trade routes. The captured English ships will be added to our fleet. We also have our own trading vessels which are due to return from the colonies any day now. We have enough. Admiral McKay is at the ready. Once he receives my orders, our plan will be set in motion.”
“And the wall?” Wallace was asking about Hadrian’s Wall, the historic Roman wall which marked the border between England and Scotland.
“The Lowlanders have already been dispatched to secure its length,” Ian took the initiative to answer. “No one will be allowed access across the Wall for some time to come. The orders are to shoot first, ask questions later. I’ll be joining them as soon as I’ve passed on the orders to Admiral McKay.”
“And us, Your Majesty?” Bruce asked. “What will you have us do?”
“The northern ports need to be strengthened with additional manpower,” Henry continued. “Make sure there is more than adequate fighting men at every possible point of access from the water. But keep the men hidden as best you can. Secure the lookouts and be prepared to ambush whoever dares trying to land on our shores.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” The vote was unanimous. No one would dare challenge their king. Suggestions could be made, but they didn’t appear to be necessary. Henry had everything well planned. In spite of his recent injuries, in spite of his regaining consciousness only a short time ago, Henry was prepared and ready to lay out the next initiative. He was a good strategist.
“And you, Your Majesty? Where will you be?”
“Here and there.” He noticed the looks shooting from one chief to the other. “Well guarded at all times, my friends. So, don’t worry. I’ll keep Ian close at hand. Others too. I want to check on my dear wife and make sure the castle at Loch Leven is impenetrable. All I need at this moment would be for her to escape and wreak more havoc.”
“And your son?”
“Safe.”
“Now. Bruce. Wallace. Before you leave. Assign trusted men to question the prisoners and have the English lord shackled and brought to me at once.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Ian.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Remain here, but hidden. I want you to hear everything. In case I forget or the prisoner gets out of hand.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Knowing the secret hiding places as well as the king, Ian slid into the alcove behind the curtains and settled in to wait and to listen.
Alone at last, Henry continued sitting on the side of his bed. He didn’t want the others to know, but the room was still swimming around him. Between the battle, the injury and the jump to the future, which had ended in yet another confrontation, Henry’s mind was abuzz with ponderings and concerns.
What was his injury? Why did it require a skip to the future to heal? Had he come so perilously close to death? Why were the people of the twenty-fifth century so concerned about keeping him alive? What was his role in all this time travel nonsense? Why did they want to block his memories? What else had he learned from the future? What details had been disturbingly erased from his mind? Or had it been erased? Was there some remnant memory yet to resurface?
Footsteps could be heard approaching, the rattle of chains indicating a prisoner, or at least a person in chains, being escorted to him. The English Lord. Henry stood and grabbed the robe he always draped over a chair near the bed. He had just slipped his feet in his slippers and shrugged on the robe when a knock sounded.
“Enter.” He walked to the window, tying his robe closed before pulling the drapes aside. Knowing Ian was hiding, he was careful not to pull the drapes all the way. It was dawn. He wanted some light. Natural light. The sun was rising, glistening mightily over the ramparts below. He heard the rattle of chains as the door opened and the prisoner was shuffled inside.
Twenty-Eight
“Your Majesty.” The man leading the prisoner bowed his head, the predominantly deep blue tartan with green and red interweaving the plaid, swayed with his movement as he stepped away from his prisoner and stood by the door. It was one of Bruce’s men. A Murray. Henry couldn’t remember the name, but he knew the voice. “Shall I stay, Your Majesty?”
“No. It’s not necessary.” He waved the man off.
“I’ll be just outside the door if you need me, Your Majesty.” The man bowed again and left, closing the door behind him.
“The tables are turned now, aren’t they, Lord Dudley. Or shall I just call you Arthur?”
The man who stood before him was shackled and filthy. His clothes, once fine as befitting an English lord, were torn and dirtied from battle and from the dungeon. Henry wouldn’t be at all surprised to hear some of his men had taken pleasure in giving him a beating on the way to the dungeons. He didn’t like the idea, but these things happened.
Lord Dudley, Arthur, glared at the Scottish king. He didn’t speak. He didn’t pay proper homage to the royal personage standing before him.
“Lost your tongue?” Henry considered pacing, as he usually did when faced with a problem. The room was still spinning and the last thing he needed was to pass out before his prisoner. He simply crossed his arms and returned stare for stare, silently, allowing the pow
er of silence to engulf the man before him, to unsettle his opponent.
“You have no idea what you’re up against.” The words were spoken with sinister undertones.
“Are you threatening me?” Henry raised an eyebrow, mimicking an aura of surprise. “You’re hardly in a position to threaten me.”
“It’s not me you need to worry about.” The sinister intonation remained.
“Oh. Right. My cousin, the Queen of England. I’ll have you know we’ve already chatted. She knows where I stand. And, as for retaliation, we have our own little surprise set in motion. It’s been planned and executed in anticipation since the day my wife was imprisoned.”
“If that’s the case, then how is it that my men and I were able to sneak into the country?” He sneered. “Not only that, we were able to traipse into Edinburgh and Holyrood House with little resistance. And we made it to the walls of Stirling Castle and managed to breech it. Something no one else in history has ever done.”
“We have our flaws, but the error has been addressed. We learn from our mistakes.”
“So, you say. Until you fall for another mistake in judgement.”
“For someone bound in shackles and looking a little worse for wear, you seem pretty sure of yourself and your so-called English cause. Did it ever occur to you, or you countrymen, this simple fact: Scotland doesn’t want anything to do with the English? Not now. Not ever.” The room was steadying, so he started to pace. Around his prisoner, keeping an eye on the man and his features from all angles, looking for a sign of weakness. “I don’t understand why the English think they can rule the Scots. We have fought viciously over the centuries, and often won, long before the Romans walked this continent. Perhaps you can enlighten me on this intense obsession with owning and controlling Scotland. Perhaps you can explain the English people’s desperate need to abduct my son.”
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