by Jane Stain
Table of Contents
Also by Jane Stain
Preface
Photographs of Hadrian’s Wall
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Time of the Celts
A Time Travel Romance
Jane Stain
janestain.com
Contents
Also by Jane Stain
Preface
Photographs of Hadrian’s Wall
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Also by Jane Stain
Tavish
Seumas
Tomas
Renaissance Faire
Renaissance Festival
Renaissance Man
Time of the Celts
Time of the Picts
See them all on Jane’s Amazon Bio Page
As Cherise Kelley:
Dog Aliens 1: Raffle’s Name
Dog Aliens 2: Oreo
Dog Aliens 3: She Wolf Neya
My Dog Understands English!
How I Got Him to Marry Me
High School Substitute Teacher’s Guide
Time of the Celts
Copyright 2017 Cherise Kelley writing as Jane Stain
All rights reserved
ISBN: 9781521753682
Created with Vellum
To Mr. Levin
Thank you for telling me about the druids
and the blue-painted Picts
all those years ago.
Preface
I was surprised to learn from my mom that not everyone was taught in school about how the Pictish Celts of ancient Scotland were driven north by the Romans and contained first behind one wall
— which didn’t hold them —
and then farther north behind
Hadrian’s Wall.
It’s true.
This happened in the first century AD. Much of the base of the wall is still there, as you can see in the following photographs.
Photographs of Hadrian’s Wall
One
Jaelle turned the page, fascinated by historian Elizabeth Wayland Barber's account of unearthing three-thousand-year-old Celtic mummies dressed in plaid.
“More coffee, hun?” said her favorite waitress at the diner across the street from work.
Jaelle put in her dragon bookmark and pushed her library book to the side with one hand while her other hand combed back her mass of curly light brown hair so she could smile up at Vivian.
“Yeah, thank you. How long were you standing there this time?"
About the same age as Jaelle’s mom and just as quick to dye her grey hair red, Vivian popped her gum and winked.
“Not too long, and it’s sort of funny watching you stare at that book so hard. Like your beady brown eyes are trying to tunnel into the pages and be wherever it is they're talking about. What is it you're reading, anyway?”
Jumping Jehoshaphat!
Jaelle only felt shy about one thing: people knowing what she was reading. Ever since John broke off their engagement six months ago and ran off with another woman he met during his time travel escapades, she caught herself wishing she were more exciting and reading something racy or even illegal. Maybe if she were more exciting, he wouldn’t have left her.
But alas.
Aside from John, she was the only person she knew who read straight-up history for fun. She would probably never run out of reading material, because history was the biggest section in her city’s library. She had been trying to put a dent in it for ten years now, since she first discovered the history section when she was thirteen, but she had only scratched the surface.
She put the book in her bag and pulled her coffee close to her, along with the sugar. And then a bit of mischief took hold of her, and she gave Vivian a big wink back.
“Oh, nothing you would be interested in.”
Vivian laughed her hearty laugh that filled the room the whole time she walked over and got Jaelle's omelet and set it down in front of her.
“Need anything else, hun?”
“I don't think so, but I'll be sure and let you know.”
Vivian smiled and clicked her tongue and put the check down with a friendly wink.
“Okay. See ya tomorrow.”
Every day she worked, the bus got Jaelle here forty-five minutes before she started, so now that John was no longer giving her rides, she was in here for breakfast all the time. Vivian was good company, and it didn't hurt that she’d gone along with Jaelle's proposal that she be given what she called a ‘frequent flyer plan’ for breakfasts, seeing how she got twenty of them here every month.
She read the rest of the chapter while she ate, and then she hurried across the street to the museum, wondering for the thousandth time what she could have done differently so that John didn’t leave her.
In the locker room, she thanked her lucky stars she didn’t have to live in the ancient world. Her tour-guide outfit was a long dress, of course. Dresses made her feel so exposed, let alone the fact she needed to hold up the long skirt on the stairs. She had enjoyed playing dress-up at the Renaissance faire in her teens with John and his five brothers and all their girlfriends, but at twenty-three she much preferred pants. At least her uniform was a nice green that went well with her dark hair and eyes.
After she fastened her dragon brooch ― the one piece of fantasy her employer allowed her to wear ― Jaelle picked up her first tour group at the front entrance to the museum. It was a whole busload of older people, which made her smile. They were generally more appreciative of the historical artifacts. And more forgiving when she shot off her mouth, as she was wont to do. She knew her mouth was a problem, but she just couldn’t seem to help herself. She honestly didn’t notice she was saying most of the stuff her mouth came up with until it was too late. It mostly took off on a rant when she got anxious about something, so she tried to avoid those situations.
But life happens whether you want it to or not.
“Welcome to the Museum of Ancient History. I’m Jaelle Penzag, and I’ll be your guide today. The museum has enough exhibits for a week of tours, so give me some ideas. Is there anything you especially want to see?”
A white-haired chubby grandpa came up.
“I especially want to see the Scottish exhibit, but Penzag is a Jewish name, isn’t it? What would you know about the Celts?”
Jaelle saw red. Did the old man really think that way in this day and age?
At this point, Jaelle realized she was running her mouth again and shut up. She led the group toward the Celtic section first, calling out to the janitor as she passed him by.
“Cinnead! Come with us. We need to do a demonstration for these folks.”
Older himself — probably fifty or so — Cinnead got a big grin on his face and put down his mop as he followed them into the big room with all the weapons on the walls. He donned his helmet and padded jerkin ― similar to the lead apron the dentist had you wear when he took x-rays, but covering front and back ― and took down their two padded demonstration swords and held hers out to her by the handle. This was why both of them had kept their jobs through the recent reorganization of the museum: they were both fighting members of the Society for Creative Anachronism, and the museum patrons loved to watch them practice.
Hitching up her long skirt into her belt so that it was only knee-length, she donned her own helmet and padded jerkin ― a Chinese one with dragons on it ― then looked up at the tour group and gestured back behind the ropes.
“Please move to the perimeter of the room behind those ropes and then we’ll give you a demonstration of some of these weapons, okay?”
The museum patrons always loved the sword demonstrations, and the older patrons more than the rest. Some of them whistled and clapped, and everyone cheered.
Except chubby grandpa. He stood over in the corner by himself, looking ticked off.
Meanwhile, in the center of the room, Cinnead came at Jaelle with his huge practice sword over his head, ready to hack down on top of her.
Jaelle raised up her own practice sword, parrying his attack and then hitting his padded stomach with her sword’s handle.
They went back and forth like that a dozen times to cheers and applause from most of the tour group. But chubby grandpa just stood there in the corner with a sour face.
Jaelle held up her hand, and Cinnead stopped. Then she went over to chubby grandpa and put the sword down tip first and leaned on the handle toward him.
“You mean to tell me not even this demonstration has impressed you?”
He looked cross at her.
“Oh, you obviously rehearsed this ahead of time. You wouldn’t stand a chance in a real fight, a skinny little Jewish girl like you.”
Seeing red again but hanging on to her composure by a thread, Jaelle motioned Cinnead over and took his sword and padded jerkin from him, then held them out to chubby grandpa.
“Are you saying you could do better?”
Chubby got an evil look in his eyes as he shook his head and waved the sword away.
“Naw, you don’t want to mess with a man in a real fight.”
Jaelle crossed her arms, lifting the sword up beside her with one hand.
“Oh, it won’t be a real fight. We’ll just fight to touch, not harm. Right?”
Chubby got that evil look in his eyes again.
“Right.”
Jaelle held the rope up for Chubby and motioned him into the center of the room. As she did so, all the side conversations quieted down and a hush came over the room. Jaelle found Cinnead’s eyes and motioned with her own over to a net on the wall. Cinnead nodded his understanding and quietly went over and got it and stood ready. She was glad he was there, just in case.
A kind-faced grandma spoke up with the commanding air of a teacher.
“This is too dangerous, dear. This gentleman should just be shown out. You need to call whatever security you have here.” She looked around at the men around her. “Or perhaps some of these gentlemen could help us out and escort him downstairs to the bus, where he can wait for the rest of us without causing any further trouble.”
The men around her nodded, and she and they started to go under the ropes toward chubby grandpa.
Jaelle stepped in front of them and held her sword out to block their way.
“It’s really no trouble at all.” She turned to chubby, who had donned Cinnead’s helmet and padded jerkin. “You’ll need to sign this liability waiver.”
He grabbed it, gave it a quick read and scribble, then held it out for her to take.
She motioned to Cinnead, who strode up with the net in his hand, perused the waiver, and nodded in affirmation that it was signed before he went back to the sidelines.
She raised her chin up at chubby grandpa.
“Ready?”
The evil glint in Chubby’s eyes showed even from all the way across the room as he readied his battle stance and took his sword up in both hands and held it like a baseball bat.
Jaelle did her best not to smile on the outside as much as she was smiling on the inside. Chubby’s stance was all wrong. This was going to be even easier than she thought. Taking her own battle stance, she nodded at chubby.
“Come at me whenever you’re ready.”
Chubby didn’t waste any time. He ran at her like Cinnead had — only his form was all wrong.
Instead of parrying his attack, Jaelle lowered her sword, ducked under his sword, and mimed a slice along his midsection as she ran past him, then quickly pivoted so that she was facing him again. They ran past each other four times in this manner, and each time he didn’t even get a hit in, while she mimed slicing him in both arms and his left leg. After just those four times, he was panting.
She was still calm, cool, and collected.
“My turn.”
The faces of everyone around the perimeter of the room opened up in shock at the prospect of her charging an exhausted defenseless man.
Jaelle ran in with her sword raised high, but at the last moment she sideswiped straight at chubby grandpa’s sword, knocking it out of his hands so that it slid across the floor straight into Cinnead’s reach. Cinnead picked it up with a flourish, which made everyone clap and laugh.
So Cinnead took a bow.
After the tourists were done clapping for him, they turned to Jaelle and clapped some more for her before they quieted down again and looked at her expectantly.
Jaelle opened the rope into the next room and smiled at everyone as they went by. Except for Chubby.
She stood in his way and gave Chubby a serious face as she spoke quietly, for his ears only.
“We’re everywhere.”
Two
Breth mac Eddarrnonn pulled back the branches of the bush on either side of his pale woad-coated face and brushed back his short ash-blond hair. He wanted to see down the hill toward the Roman fort. It lay just on the other side of the long Roman wall that would soon span all the way across the land, the way construction was going, from the Norse Sea to the Gaelic Sea. Confident that the blue clay designs all over his naked body would camouflage him in the darkness, he laughed to himself as he watched a dozen Roman soldiers march up and down the other side of the wall in formation.
Not only were the barbarians’ movements against nature and thus inadvisable on principle, but also they were foolish strategically. When they came to the end of their march and all turned around at the same time, they made it too easy for Breth to creep through the next break in the bushes down the hill without being seen even if he hadn’t been
camouflaged. And on to the next gap between bushes. And the next.
He had to suppress his laugh lest they hear him. The savages were asking to be raided. He was just one man this night, here only to scout, but soon he would come back with every fighter in his clan, who would all have time to creep down this hill undetected, so stupid were the invaders and their wall. It could not be allowed to be finished. Even though it was easily climbed by people, it would block the natural migrations of many animals and make game dangerously scarce.
When at last Breth reached the barbarians’ wall, he easily climbed the ten feet to the top using the wall’s own stones as hand and footholds. Hidden up there by the branches of a nearby tree, he scouted out the fort to his satisfaction, reckoning how many soldiers were inside, where they slept, and where the fat leader sat talking and eating with his team leaders.
These savages were so confident in the power of this flat square fortress they had made that they even had music at supper time. They felt safe and secure enough to broadcast their location to everyone for miles around through the music of their bagpipes.
Oh, to be sure, Breth’s people had bagpipes too. As did the Angles and the Saxons. Everybody did — except the Gaels. But the Picts seldom were able to play their pipes, relying on stealth warfare as they did.
These so-called Romans, however, flaunted their bagpipes. They played their strange tunes long and often, as if to declare to the rest of the island ‘We Romans are here to stay! You shall not be rid of us!’ These cocky invaders even piped their signals in battle, undaunted by the prospect of their enemies also hearing their signals. Sheer arrogance.