“Where did ye get such a map?” Alfred asked. He had seen many maps, of many lands, but none of such clarity and detail as this one, though even still some things were wrong. Some towns left out, others added, and nearly all contained strange spelling, and still others had nonsensical names.
“We printed it from our computer,” Peebles said and Alfred looked at his helmet. “The Humvee’s computer. It’s a map of England about the time of 1000 A.D. It may not be entirely accurate for this time period. Alfred looked at the man, still hidden behind his faceplate then down at the map once more. He hadn’t understood much of what was said, but he did understand the word map...and the year 1000, which was over a hundred years into the future. As a historian he balked from asking the obvious question.
“Tis a good map,” he finally said. “Wot’s a Bot?” he asked instead of what was truly on his mind.
Peebles nodded, and pointed to the large bird thing that flew high over their position. “It’s called an airplane. It’s a machine, like this hummer,” the General explained and patted the beast they rode in. “It allows men to fly through the air, go places faster, and with these,” he added touching his helmet, “see things farther away. The men up there have been keeping tabs on the Danes for us.”
Alfred’s eyes went wide, and he slipped his helmet back on wondering just how far he could see from that high in the sky.
“They may seem magical to you, but they are just machines,” he heard in his helmet the multitude of voices gone, and he knew instinctively that the person speaking was the General.
“Macheens?” he asked thinking of the siege machines he’d built in his time. There was little comparison.
“Machines,” Peebles said wondering how to explain. “Tools, like a plow. We build them to work for us.”
King Alfred understood what the man was trying to get across, but it still was beyond him. A plowing shear was a piece of strong metal, pulled by a horse, and even the most sophisticated machines of the times did not move by themselves, let alone fly across the earth or air. For a long time Alfred remained quiet while Flæd chatted amiably with the General asking him this question or that. Alfred listened with great interest, but remained thoughtful for the rest of the trip, which was taking longer than usual because they were moving across open fields and not following any roads. Finally they topped a ridge which looked down into the large valley carved out by the river Exe. The river was wide and slow this far south, and Halfdan and his Vikings were already beginning to cross the shallow ford to the far side in the hopes of escaping the Americans. When the enemy finally spotted the hummers high on the hill, their efforts increased dramatically.
“Compewter...magnify 10,” Alfred said and was pleased to see the Danes directly before him. He could even make out an individual face now and then. He was curious about just what the Americans would do but refrained from making any comments. He was very surprised that the Genaral and his men did not immediately pursue the Vikings and destroy them before they could cross the river. It was what he would have done, had he caught them so vulnerable, but instead the Americans waited, talked with one another, and set up a couple of odd, short contraptions, which seemed to have no purpose at all.
“We’re going to lob a few mortars their way,” Peebles explained, easily switching back and forth between the GBF and the officer’s frequency. “Don’t be alarmed. It’s just meant to scare the Danes and hurry them on their way.”
“On their way!” Alfred answered very excited. “Na…ye must kill Halfdan, if na he just be back like his brothers and his father Ragnar before them. They be a curse for fifty years or more.”
Peebles paused a moment. “We were just going to scare them from these lands. They won’t be a problem any longer,” he promised, but Alfred was having none of it.
“Na…if’n ye be wot ye say, and swear fealty to me and help me rule all of Angland, then ye must kill Halfdan!” He answered so loudly that Peebles and Lemay were forced to lower the volume.
Peebles only hesitated for a split second. “Can you identify him?”
Alfred leaned back satisfied. “Yah…I know him,” Alfred answered but did not explain further. He did not want the strangers knowing that he’d once paid Ivarr and his brothers a great deal of silver to leave his land in peace. It was a tactic he learned from Charles the Bald and it worked…for a few years.
“If you can point him out he dies,” Peebles promised and then magnified his view. He saw thousands of heavily bearded, dirty men, all scrambling to get across a wide slow river. He heard Alfred increase the magnification in his own helmet, so Peebles made a quick decision and threw open the hummer door.
“Come, step outside,” he said. “It will make searching easier.”
Alfred did as he suggested, nearly falling in the process, unaccustomed to moving about under magnification.
“Careful,” Lemay said and steadied the King with a strong hand.
“I thank ye,” Alfred said softly, feeling better now that he was on good firm Anglish soil.
“Compewter magnify twenty,” he said and the Danes in the distance leaped immediately closer. He moved his gaze systematically over those nearest, back and forth, back and forth.
“Sergeant Moore, Jefferies, I’m going to need a sniper team set up immediately,” Peebles announced through the helmet.
“Aye.”
Alfred searched quietly for another ten minutes, saying nothing and Peebles found that he was impressed by the King’s calm manner as his enemy rapidly slipped away.
“Hah! Tis him!” Alfred suddenly exclaimed, pointing with an outstretched hand though it did no real good.
“Where?” Peebles asked calmly.
“Just there…at the river,” Alfred said again. “Wearing the black wolf cloak.”
Peebles did his own search for a brief minute before spotting a large man with gray hair on the northern end of the fleeing army, right down on the riverbank. He wore a black cloak and carried an enormous double-headed axe.
“With the axe?”
“That be he; that be Halfdan,” Alfred confirmed anxious for the Americans to swoop down and destroy the enemy, but the man at his side did not move.
“Sergeant Moore?”
“Target acquired,” the Sergeant replied almost immediately.
Peebles paused a moment then. “Take him out,” he ordered and King Alfred frowned. Halfdan was far below their position, nearly half a mile away. Alfred was tempted to take off his helmet but resisted.
A loud pop rang out across the hillside; a single shot, and a second later Alfred watched as Halfdan’s head jerked to the side and then he went down without taking another step.
“Target down,” Moore reported and Peebles sighed.
“Scatter the rest,” he ordered and almost instantly the strange tubular contraptions erupted around them with great “whoooomps” of noise. The sky screamed and thunder fell around the Danes, tossing some into the air and causing the rest to run full out into the river. More “whooomps;” more screams and more thunder followed until the entire enemy was across the Exe.
King Alfred and his daughter became interested spectators as the Americans continued to harass the Vikings throughout the rest of the day. They herded the army to the coast and anyone that strayed from the group was killed immediately. The Danes soon learned that it was suicide to attempt to melt away into the countryside. When they finally reached the shore of the Atlantic, Peebles and his men harried the Vikings east up the coast until it was too dark to see. At least it was too dark for the Danes to see, for Æthelflæd told her father a magic word “infrared” and inside his helmet night became almost as day. Different from day it was, eerily green, but he could see very clearly, and it was easy to get around. Still the strangers would not attack during the night, though they did kill a number of Danes that attempted to use the cover of darkness to slip away from the main group.
Much to the King’s surprise, the Americans made camp. Alfred s
hared a tent with the Sir Siberht, while Æthelflæd had one all to herself. Just before dawn the next morning they started out on the Vikings once more, killing but a few, but chasing them all the way to Weymouth, where their longboats were moored and waiting. When the Danes were finally at sea, the flying beasts swooped very close to the Viking ships and shouted down in very powerful, very loud voices. They told the Danes in their own language to leave these lands and never return or die they would, horrible, terrible deaths. And so the Vikings sailed off, slowly, but steadily, until they were lost from view.
King Alfred was reticent the second day, silently contemplating all that had happened, and would offer up little to the General’s questioning. Lady Æthelflæd chided him when they were alone, but he was King and would not be moved by her arguments until he’d thought through the problem on his own. He had spent too much time and energy binding the different factions of Angland into one semi-cohesive people. There were Saxons, Celts, Welsh, Pikes and Anglish all across this land, different peoples, different ways, and as long as they stood apart they were easy prey for whoever wished to invade.
It wasn’t that the routing of his enemies displeased him, for that he was truly thankful, but he’d learned over the years that no man did anything but for his own gain. As they sped across the countryside, he wondered just what it was the Americans hoped to gain. And he realized his good fortune that whatever they hoped to gain, they did so with him alive rather than dead. He had no illusions whatsoever that if the Americans wanted him dead, dead he would be. He was King however, and would remain King and not some puppet in a box performing for the whim of others. That Æthelflæd could not see this, surprised him since she was normally so very clearheaded. He took great pride in the fact that she was a solid thinker, smart and clever, not easily swayed by emotions, but now he feared she was bewitched and thinking with her loins.
The people of Weymouth, what few remained in the town after the arrival of the Viking raiders, celebrated the coming of their King, and the defeat of their enemies with equal vigor. Much of the town had been looted the week prior but only a few buildings had been put to fire. The Danes liked the Anglish to live close to the shore and took great pains not to discourage the practice too much. Most of the people of the town fled safely to the buhr at Axminster, once they’d spotted the Viking ships on the horizon. Living on the coast as they did, the people adjusted to a life of frequent raids, and seldom were caught by surprise anymore. They adapted and hid their valuables and stocks of foodstuffs well. The people of Weymouth were resilient, and had grown strong and wise through hardship. They would repair the damage to their town quickly, as they had done countless times over the centuries.
“You must be proud that your people can endure such hardship with such strength and perseverance,” the General said as they prepared to move on to Winchester.
“Proud?” Alfred asked growing perturbed. “Na, proud tis na the word. We Anglish are shamed by the fact that we can live with defeat so easily. A strong people would rise up against it, but we, we take it like rabbits, and hide in our holes until the danger passes, and only then do we emerge to sniff about the remains.”
Peebles remained silent for a time as the convoy got underway. “Don’t be so hard on them,” he finally said into his helmet, without turning around. “A strong people will find a way to survive. Even when the very world is coming to an end, they find a way,” he added his voice full of sorrow.
“Hmmph,” Alfred retorted, but said nothing, silent and thinking. He had to admit to a growing admiration for this American warrior. He seemed an upfront and honest man, but he still remained wary. If he was not careful he could lose the whole of Wessex to them. Alfred made a silent vow that he would find out all he could about these strange men before he made any decision, or came to any alliance.
It was on the road home that King Alfred began to understand the true magic of the strangers and their moving, mechanical beasts. These past days, while chasing the Danes down the Lizard, they moved slowly, just keeping pace with an enemy on foot as they fled across the open fields, but now on the roads to Shaftesbury, they moved at an astonishing speed, which the humming beasts maintained effortlessly. All through the trip the King waved to his subjects, at least those who stood by the road too stunned or simpleminded to run away as the parade of noisy vehicles sped past. Alfred was disappointed to see that most peasants opted to race from the immediate area, most screamed warnings at the top of their lungs even though the King’s banner was flying from the lead vehicle. Alfred knew his people to be brave, if not well organized, but he could hardly blame them from showing fear before a large caravan of roaring metal beasts. On the way, they passed through many towns, only stopping briefly in Christchurch, so Alfred could consult with the Sheriff of Lower Hampshire and ask him to spread the word about a great conference to be held one month from the day, on June 19th, 893. It was time he introduced these Americans to his people. It would allow his leaders to become familiar with these strangers since they were apparently here to stay. Such a meeting would also give General Peebles a true picture of King Alfred’s strength and popularity. The Sheriff, though wary of the strange manner of transportation, was eager to do his King’s bidding and within the hour they were back on the road. The way to Shaftesbury was nearly sixty miles, yet they reached it before noontime, in less than three hours.
At Shaftesbury the reception was quite different, since the Americans and Lady Æthelflæd had traveled through just a few days prior. People, noblemen and peasants alike, lined the streets and cheered King Alfred, the Lady Æthelflæd and the Americans, all with equal enthusiasm. They stopped to lunch and Æthelflæd took a moment alone to search out her reserved father. She was afraid his silence would offend the Americans, which caused her stomach to heave with dread.
“Wot be yor thoughts father?” She asked after they’d eaten in the largest tavern in the town, much to the satisfaction of the proprietor. They were now resting on the lawn of the Magistrate’s house, since the day was clear and warm. The meal went well, though the King continued to remain distant and terse, much to the dismay of Peebles and Lemay.
“Methinks, much must be learned of these...Ammericaans and their strange ways, before our trust should be given,” he replied, his voice carrying just a hint of scorn for his daughter. But Flæd was now a strong, independent leader, nearly a queen in her own right. She ruled a vast land and an army of her own and though Alfred was her father, and she loved him, she realized that like any man, he could err. She remembered how shocked she’d been as a young girl the first time she truly realized her father was not all wise and powerful. The revelation had shaken her worldview to its core. She hadn’t liked it, but she’d come to accept it.
‘He’s just a man, trying to find his way,’ she thought and gave her father a smile of exasperation. Alfred knew his daughter well and he was well familiar with the look on her face and was irritated by it.
“Bygods woman! Wold ye hand them the entire country? Wot do we know of these men who destroy such armies with ease? Ye wold turn yor back on them with trust, but not I. Vikings, Anglish, could be all the same to these men.”
But the Lady Æthelflæd would have none of it. “Front or back, ye really think it wold matter,” she answered, growing angry. “This land be theirs for the taking, and depends na on us handing it to them. Ye be bringin’ danger to us father. The Ammericaans already destroyed Lord Eadwulf. Killed him in his vary castle...in one day, and without the loss of a single man. How many Danes faced ye on the fields at Exeter…six, seven thousand? Ye wold be just so much fertilizer without these men ye hold so suspiciously.”
Alfred fumed. ‘More likely ten thousand,’ he thought. ‘God’s blood, wot an army!’ Yet he did not reveal such thoughts to his overly trusting daughter. “Na Flæd, tis na a lowly way I be holdin’ these men, but I whilst know something of any man I wold call friend. It may be as ye say, and friends they be, but if na I will fight them, though they k
ill me and all in a day.”
Æthelflæd smiled at her father’s pragmatism and bravery. “Ye h’ve always been cautious and sure, but da’, be na too cautious or callous with these men...they be good men,” she added passionately. She knew her father would come around soon enough. He was wise, and wise to the ways of the world. She just hoped it wouldn’t be too late.
“Come we go to Cheltenham, and then home to Winchester,” she said, taking his hand in hers. She led him back to the waiting humming beast. Three hours later they were home.
§
“We may have been better off with Lord Eadwulf,” Colonel Lemay grudgingly admitted from the General’s private room.
“Bite your tongue,” Peebles replied. He stood, back straight, before a large fire which the servants faithfully built every morning and every evening since he’d moved in. It was the middle of May, but there was still a chill to the air that the large rooms of Maiden Castle did little to dispel on their own. Colonel Lemay occupied the room next door and Dr. Rice, who was now famous throughout the land, was across the hall. Once Sir Ordmere was stable enough to travel, Peebles ordered Rice to bring him and Leoforic out to Winchester. It was his hope that their two staunchest allies would help sway the King in their favor. In fact, Alfred had assigned this entire wing of the castle to the Americans, including a barracks large enough to house fifty men. The barracks, really just a large room filled with cots and trunks, was located at the end of the hall, just inside the great stairway that led down to the courtyard.
“Alfred’s ignored us for five days now,” Lemay responded. “Tyrant though he was, at least we knew what Eadwulf was about.”
“Yes, he was about death and deceit,” Rice replied, coming to the cautious monarch’s defense, “and he’s not exactly ignoring us. Sir Wulfhere has come to us twice to beg our pardon while the King brings in people from around the land to testify for us. Alfred must be given time. He’s the ruler of this land, and must be given a little leeway to make decisions. Remember things move a little slower in the ninth century than we’re accustomed to. The Ealdorman Æthelnoth and the Lady Æthelflæd are clearly on our side, and I think in the end Flæd may be able to sway her reluctant father. We have strong allies among the English.”
The Temporal Knights Page 55