The whole table burst into laughter. Medoc smiled as if he was enjoying the joke too, though his eyes revealed otherwise.
“In answer to your question, young Arthur,” their leader began again, “the attackers could have been local brigands, or members of a hostile tribe like the Iceni or the Trinovantes. Perhaps they were marauders from across the sea. These are dangerous times. More foes than friends live out there.” He waved an arm toward the facing wall.
“The Romans did one good thing,” said Hector. He was a great shaggy bear of a man, with shoulder-length red hair and a full beard. “They knocked the fight out of most of the hostiles.”
Everyone nodded in agreement.
“All the troubles began again when they left these shores.”
“When was that?” asked AP, figuring that someone who lived north of Hadrian’s Wall wouldn’t be expected to know when the Romans left Britain.
“About the time my grandfather was born,” replied Arthur, adding, “he died last spring. He’d seen seventy-eight summers.”
“So the Romans left around the year 400,” AP concluded.
“400?” Arthur looked confused. “What is the year 400?”
AP had forgotten that it was only after Christianity came to Britain, over a century later, that people started numbering the years.
Kate came to her brother’s rescue. “What AP—um—Arthur meant to say was that the Romans invaded England about 400 years ago.”
“Yes, that’s it,” agreed AP, surprised his sister knew the date of the Roman Conquest.
“You must be getting tired,” Arthur told AP. “Time for sleep.”
One side of the longhouse was partitioned into several open cubicles that served as bedrooms. There was little privacy, but the open planning made sure sleepers stayed warm in their beds on winter nights. Arthur and Gwendolyn’s cubicle was opposite one of the fireplaces, with Medoc’s next door. AP and Kate were given a cubicle close by, used only for special guests.
“AP—are you awake?” Kate whispered into the darkness. No reply came from the bed beside her. She nudged his shoulder and tried again.
“Huh? What?”
“I just wondered if you were awake.”
“Well, I am now! Why?”
“What do you make of Medoc?” she asked.
“He’s alright—a bit weird, but that’s probably because he’s so old.”
“Do you think he’s the wizard, Merlin?” she continued. “Medoc and Merlin sound alike don’t they? Like Gwendolyn and Guinevere.”
“Yes. Like Hector and Ector. Or Gavin and Gawain—they were both Knights of the Round Table.”
“So that old guy could be Merlin?”
“Maybe. Dad says the whole story of King Arthur and his knights could be based on truth. Some people think there was a real Arthur, but that he was a local chief rather than a full-blown king. This Arthur’s no king, but he seems important around here.”
“He certainly does,” agreed Kate.
“You seemed to be getting along well with Gwendolyn.”
“She’s nice. We’re going down to the river tomorrow, to bathe. My hair feels gross—I’d give anything for a hot shower.”
“A comfortable bed would be nice too,” said her brother. “A sheepskin rug’s too thin for these hard wooden boards.” Yawning, he was about to nod off, when suddenly he remembered something. “How did you know when the Romans invaded Britain?”
“One of the guys on my baseball team,” she began casually. “He was doing a project and I helped with the Web search.”
“Sounds like a special friend.”
“I’m tired. Go to sleep.”
* * *
The villagers who had traveled to the lake to meet Arthur were spending their second night around a campfire, on their way back home. Just before stopping for the day they’d come upon a tall thin stranger. He was thirsty, hungry and lost.
“I’m not from these parts,” he’d explained between gulps of water. “I was—uh— traveling with a friend who knows his way around here, but we got separated.” The cloaked stranger spoke their language without any accent.
The others nodded. Getting lost in the forest was easy.
“Where were you going?” asked one of the men.
“To his village in the south, near the sea.” The words came easily—he’d had two days to work out a cover story.
“That’s a long way,” said the villager, “you’d never find it alone. Come back with us. Perhaps a guide can take you there.”
“Thank you,” said the stranger gratefully. Although anxious to secure the abacus, he was more concerned for his survival.
The villagers’ conversation turned to yesterday’s excitement.
“That boy’s enchanted,” said one of the men, “the way he took to the water. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
There was a chorus of agreement.
“Imagine a person being able to swim, like a fish.” said another. “Who would have thought such a thing possible?”
“Do you think his sister can swim too?” asked one woman.
“Two sorcerers in the same family? That’d be too much to expect!”
The thin man was now listening intently. “Who are these children?” he asked.
“Strangers. We met them yesterday. They were hungry and thirsty, like you.”
“Where are they now?”
“They went with Arthur,” the villager replied, thinking no further explanation was necessary. “They’ll be there by now.”
The stranger looked bewildered. He’d been surprised enough to discover that the abacus had been used to visit medieval England. But why was the organization allowing children to time travel?
Chapter 4: The Young Warrior
Tip up!” roared Arthur. “Never let your sword dip. Come on, try again!”
AP tightened both hands on the hilt and focused his energy on keeping the blade vertical. The heavy sword, almost as long as he was tall, made his arms and shoulders ache. He lunged at Arthur’s sword with all his might.
“That’s good!” encouraged his instructor as the two blades clashed. Kate could hear the clang all the way down at the river.
AP and Kate had been in Arthur’s Camelot for almost a week and swordplay was now part of the daily routine.
“Keep going! You must maintain the pressure.”
When AP swung again, the two swords met in a bone-jarring crash. Then, summoning all his strength, he got in one more lunge.
“Well done, young Arthur! We’ll make a swordsman out of you yet. Practice is all that’s needed.”
Many boys of AP’s age were already skilled with the sword and bow—some had been in battle—so he had lots of catching up to do. His fighting spirit compensated for his small size. Indeed, AP’s stubborn determination was one of the reasons Arthur had so taken to him—that and the fact that he had no children of his own.
“Are you ready?” asked Arthur, holding up his sword again.
AP nodded, gripped the sword firmly, and lunged into action. This time Arthur returned AP’s swings to see how well his pupil could defend himself. He was delighted with the result. After half an hour of thrusting and clashing, Arthur called a halt.
“Come, my fine warrior,” said Arthur, laying down his sword. “We’ll take a rod down to the river and catch some fish [1].” [1]
AP was panting to catch his breath.
As they strode downhill, Arthur pointed out the defensive features of his fortress.
“See how it’s built on the highest point, young Arthur? That way nobody can approach without being seen. Even more important is the steep gradient.”
“So it’s harder to climb?”
“Yes. And harder to bring things up to the top,” Arthur explained.
“Like the giant catapults the Romans used for knocking down walls?” AP suggested. “Exactly!”
When they reached the river, Gwendolyn and Kate were getting ready to return to the fort. Th
e two had become good friends, which pleased Arthur.
The river was knee-deep, with a stony bottom that made the water gurgle and churn. “We’ll walk downstream—the water’s deeper there. That’s where we hook the biggest fish.”
The two Arthurs spent a lazy afternoon lying on the riverbank, under the dappled shade of a willow. Fish were plentiful, and while some were big, none reached AP’s heightened expectations.
“How far does the river go?” asked AP.
“A long way. A three-day march brings you to the sea.”
“Have you been there?”
“A few times. Raiders from other lands come that way.” Arthur explained how the river widened and became deeper toward the sea. “So boats can sail far up the river, bringing marauders with them.”
“Ever seen any?”
“I’ve seen many—and what they can do. But enemies are all the same. They’ll stop at nothing to get what they want. That’s why a warrior must always be at his best. You get no second chances in battle.”
When AP asked him what battles were like, Arthur replied they were the most horrific and terrifying things you could possibly imagine.
“But you don’t get scared,” marveled AP. “Your men say you’re fearless in battle.”
“Ah, young man, you have much to learn.” He absentmindedly picked a leaf from an overhanging branch. “Being scared is normal. The trick is not letting your fear control you. Men follow others into battle because the leader shows no fear.”
AP sat in silence, thinking about what Arthur had just said.
“Enough talk.” Arthur leaped to his feet. “Let’s get back and do some work with your bow. You’ve got the makings of a good marksman.”
* * *
AP and Kate were adjusting to life in ancient Britain, but Kate, missing home more than her brother, was increasingly anxious about their chances of returning. Every day they’d tried activating the abacus, to no avail.
“It’s no use,” she said in despair. “We’ll never see anyone again.”
“Yes we will.” AP wanted to comfort Kate, but he was beginning to wonder whether the device was broken.
Kate became quarrelsome. “Don’t you miss Mum and Dad?” she cried.
“Yeah—I just don’t show it.” He paused, wondering what to say. “Maybe I’m being scientific about things. We can’t make the abacus work. So while we’re waiting, we might as well get involved in the past. That’s what I’ve been doing.”
Kate was quiet.
“The abacus might need more time to recharge. We could be draining the battery by trying to activate it every day. Let’s give it a rest for a while.”
* * *
One morning Kate caught her brother kneeling beside the cold fire pit, scooping ashes into an iron pot that was half-filled with muddy water. He was working on a secret project to help Kate cope with the discomforts of medieval England. “What are you doing down there?” she asked as she stepped into the longhouse. “I thought you’d grown out of making mud pies!”
When AP carried on in silence, Kate eventually left to find Gwendolyn.
After boiling the pot for over an hour on the other fireplace, AP lifted it off to cool. Then he went outside to practice his swordsmanship with Arthur.
When he returned, the liquid in the pot was only lukewarm, so he could test it with his fingers. “Success!” he exclaimed. “It’s nice and oily! This stuff’s as strong as the liquid Mum uses to unblock drains.”
He rinsed off his fingers. Then, taking care not to disturb the thick sludge at the bottom, he poured off the clear liquid into another pot.
Suddenly a man started shouting outside. He was obviously excited about something. Soon other voices joined in and people began running. AP peered around the door to see what was happening.
He was surprised to see the gate had been opened and a dozen villagers had crowded inside. They were all talking at once. Some had terrible sword wounds. Two of them were wailing uncontrollably. Then he saw Kate, hurrying toward him.
“One of the villages was attacked during the night,” she burst. “The raiders were well-armed and surprised everyone. Arthur is organizing a troop to track them down.”
Arthur chose his men carefully. Meanwhile, Medoc prepared a special healing potion of herbs and tree bark. Some of the women dressed the injured villagers’ wounds.
“Well, my young warrior,” Arthur said to AP as he was about to leave with his men. “Are you ready for your first battle?”
AP was speechless.
“Um…yes.”
“Let’s go then.”
“W—what about a sword?” stammered AP.
“Not yet my young friend. It’s too soon for you to carry a blade. You’d be cut down in no time.”
“Then what am I going to do?”
“You’re going to watch, young Arthur—and learn.”
* * *
First aid courses did not adequately prepare Kate for dealing with sword wounds. She could feel herself becoming faint. However, the sight of the other women working calmly steadied her, and she put her first-aid training into practice.
They had no disinfectants to clean the wounds, not even soap. Kate, knowing salt killed germs, wondered how she might persuade these women to use it. If she could convince Gwendolyn, the others would likely follow.
“Where I come from, we clean wounds with salt water,” she began casually.
“With water from the sea?” Gwendolyn asked in disbelief.
“Sometimes,” said Kate, recalling how her parents never worried when she or AP cut themselves on rocks when playing on the coast. “If we’re far from the sea we just use salt dissolved in water.”
“You northern people have strange ways,” said Gwendolyn, shaking her head. “You were never conquered by the Romans though, so you must have something to teach us.” Then, turning to the other women she said, “We will clean the wounds with salt water.”
Kate had been so absorbed in helping the injured that she was unaware her brother was missing. When she discovered where he’d gone she was distraught.
“Have no fear,” reassured Gwendolyn, “Arthur will take good care of him. He’ll be safe.”
Gwendolyn was shorter than Kate and more slightly built, yet like her husband, she had a strong presence.
When the warriors failed to return that evening, Kate became frantic. Gwendolyn spent the night with her, recollecting all the times she’d lain awake in the dark waiting for Arthur’s safe return. “Chances are the raiders escaped and there was no fighting,” Gwendolyn reasoned. “They’ll be back tomorrow, you’ll see.”
“I suppose you’re right,” said Kate hopefully. “The raiders had time to get away before the villagers reported the attack.”
“Exactly,” Gwendolyn echoed. “And now we should get some sleep.”
Kate nodded and closed her eyes.
When morning came, there was still no sign of Arthur and his men. Afternoon slipped into night without any news.
By the end of the third day Kate was convinced something terrible had happened, and Gwendolyn’s fading confidence only reinforced her fears. How could she face her parents
without her brother? But AP had the abacus, so there was no going back without him anyway. She was alone and marooned in the fifth century.
Just before midnight on day four a lookout shouted, “Warriors approaching!”
“Friend or foe?” bellowed the watch commander.
“Too dark and too far away to see!”
The standing order was to assume everyone was a foe until proven otherwise and the alarm was sounded. Men burst into the compound, carrying weapons and donning their clothes. The bowmen took their positions at the fence top, while the swordsmen lined up before the gate.
Within minutes, everyone in the fortress was awake and desperate for news.
“This could be dangerous,” Gwendolyn warned Kate. “Most raiders attack at night.”
Burning torches cast
long dancing shadows across the compound. All the men, except those too old to fight, took up their positions. Meanwhile the women, children and elderly were ushered into the longhouse. Kate, hoping her brother might be among the approaching men, pleaded with the warriors to let her stay outside. Regardless, they herded her inside with the others, and the door was bolted. Medoc, whose life was considered too important to risk, had been one of the first inside.
Gwendolyn tried to comfort Kate, unsuccessfully. Medoc was no help either, as far as Kate was concerned. He was standing in the middle of the longhouse performing an ancient ritual to ward off enemies. Waving a hawthorn branch above his head, he began chanting:
“Galoo ban tithero!
Dag bunn venero
Speen tull fron
Havud! Havud! Havud!”
Medoc’s warbling seemed to go on forever. Then there was a loud banging on the door.
“Open up!” shouted a voice. “It’s Arthur and his men.”
Kate pushed her way to the front of the crowd. Where was AP? Then she saw him, standing behind Hector.
“You’re safe!” she screamed above all the noise. “I thought I’d lost you.” She grabbed him in a rib-cracking hug. “I was so scared.”
Everyone was anxious to know what had happened. The returning warriors were exhausted and ravenous. So the longhouse fire was stoked, food was prepared, and someone opened a cask of wine.
Once the small band had eaten their fill, Arthur began recounting the events of the last few days. Over one hundred people sat in silence, listening.
After attacking the village, the raiders had escaped. There were ten of them, to Arthur’s dozen men.
“They had half a day’s start,” Arthur continued, “but I thought they were hiding somewhere, biding their time to make a night raid on another village. So we began hunting for them.” He took another swig from his goblet.
Gwendolyn stayed by her husband’s side throughout, one hand resting on his arm. A wizened old man—the scribe—sat on Arthur’s other side, scratching notes on parchment with a quill pen. [2] AP, feeling grown-up after his adventure, sat among the warriors.
“We searched in vain for two days. We thought we might never avenge the death and destruction at the village.” Arthur paused, for effect. “And then we found them! A small band, skulking in a thicket of trees. We skirted around to the other side, using the trees for cover. They never knew we were there—until they felt the thrust of our swords. Their time had come.”
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