Viking Love Beyond Time (Time Travel Romance) (9 page)

             
Soon Luke was clambering back.  He was dressed in a yellow knee length embroidered tunic, a semicircular cloak, blue trousers or
braeis
, soft leather knee boots and a Phrygian cap.  “Well?” he asked.

             
“Very nice, you look like Noddy” said Alodie. laughing.

             
             
“Who?”

             
“You know, Noddy, the twentieth century English children’s character - he returned to popularity about fifteen years ago when they found all those old books, you must have heard of him”

             
He shook his head “I grew up in a poor part of Arizona Alodie, I never read children’s books”

             
She smiled sweetly “Liar, your father was a millionaire arms dealer, who was sent to jail for running psi guns to the third planet of the Laofland system”

             
He grinned “Jeez, I thought they covered that up, how did you find out?”

             
Alodie smiled again “Let’s just say I check up on all my crews and I’m good at digging things out from computers - look, I’ll be ready in five minutes, see you outside”

             
“Let me stay in, its cold” he whimpered.

             
Alodie shook her head and smiled.  “Out Luke” she said.  He blew her a kiss and opened the hatch.  A rush of cool air swept into the cabin, it was chillier than they were used to but somehow more real.  They had grown up in a controlled environment where the temperature was kept at a steady twenty degrees.  He climbed out of the hatch and stood, breathing deeply, at the top of the steps.

             
“God, the air’s incredible, it’s like wine” he called back, stretching.

             
“No atmospheric pollution” replied Alodie as she discarded her boiler suit and briefs.

             
“Listen” whispered Luke.  A cow lowed in the distance and the sound of birdsong filled the air “Beautiful” he continued “I’m going to like it here - hurry up Mrs. Owen”
             

             
Alodie tried to ignore him and examined her attire.  Her only underwear seemed to be a white cambric chemise or shift which laced over the bosom.  Over this went an apple green gown with long sleeves, somewhat threadbare to give credence to the story that they had been wandering on foot for a few weeks, and fitting snugly round her slim hips was a belt or girdle.  This was all topped by an embroidered wool cloak, again much the worse for wear.   After plaiting her hair into two thick braids tied with two small leather thongs (Mindbank had thought of everything) she turned to the headrail.  This consisted of a long piece of cloth, one end of which, according to Mindbank’s printed instructions, was put over the left shoulder in front, the other end taken from the right side under the chin and round the head and neck then taken loosely over the chest and over the left shoulder.  The outfit was finished off with fine wool hose and leather shoes.

             
“What a performance” she muttered, then looking at herself critically in the mirror she shrugged, and making her way to the hatch, she gingerly climbed out, trying not to trip over her hem.  She descended the metal steps and reached the ground, the grass felt springy beneath her feet and damp with dew.  The sky, growing lighter by the second, was blue and the clouds fluffy.  Luke was right, the air did taste like wine.  She drew in deep lungfuls of it and felt instantly refreshed

             
Looking round her she drank in the view.  They were in a beautiful little glade, surrounded by huge green leafy trees, and somewhere near at hand was the gurgle of a stream.  The pearly dawn light was filled with birdsong.

             
Alodie walked over to the edge of the cliff and looked down.  What she saw almost brought tears to her eyes.  About fifty feet below the sea rushed in and slapped against the cliff, the white wave caps hissing against the chalk.  Seagulls cried their mournful song and to the left and right the coastline continued, undulating in green waves, contrasting with the whiteness of the chalk cliffs.

             
She turned, Luke was standing next to her, looking very handsome and, for some bizarre reason, she felt almost happy.  She slipped on her bracelet then handed Luke his.  They both felt a tiny jab as it inoculated them against germs and viruses it sensed in the area.

             
Luke gestured toward the forest behind them.  “Come, milady” he said “shall we go find Uncle Oswy or would you prefer a roll in the grass first?”

             
Alodie linked his arm and picked up one corner of her dress delicately between thumb and forefinger “Cut the crap Lieutenant Commander” she replied “and let’s go.”

Oswy, Thegn of Bredond, was a worried man.   It was all very well the king and his witan saying that the Danes had withdrawn and would leave them in peace.  They had sworn, said the frightened old greybeards who advised the young king.  Oswy guffawed out loud in derision and standing up he lifted his tunic, warming his backside in front of the fire - it was still cold this early in the morning.  The Danes were known oathbreakers and heathens to boot - what was the point of making them swear on the bones of Christian saints?  It was madness - it was safer to trust a serpent!

They held all England, apart from Wessex, in thrall, and reports had recently come in that at least half of the great army had trekked to Cambridge under the command of four heathen ‘kings’, Guthrum, Osketyl, Herger and Amund.  Halfdan himself, the leader of the heathen, had disappeared, some said he was snugged down in the depths of Northumbria with a new young wife, trying to get  yet another brood of grandsons for that old viper Ragnor Lodbrok, old Ragnor Hairybreeks, who had scourged the shores of this island until he was captured by the Northumbrian King Aelle and thrown screaming into a pit of wolves.

No, the heathen were not to be trusted but it was pissing into the wind to try and din this into the frightened old heads of the witan.  If he, Oswy, were king he would have the army, the
fyrd,
ready.  The Danes were looters, pillagers, kings of the surprise attack.  The only way to deal with them was by stiff resistance - witness Ashdown! Oswy sniffed, tears rushing unbidden into his eyes, Ashdown, where the rich red Christian blood of his beloved sons lay mingling in the dirt with that of the pagan Vikings they had killed.

He closed his eyes and saw again that hill near
Oxford
.  The hoards and hoards of heathen, the mysterious banner with its emblem of the bird of Odin, the raven, woven by Ragnor’s daughters, reputed to flutter its wings when the gods promised victory!  The byrnies of the Viking warriors,
rank upon rank of them, gleaming in the sun.  They had shouted, had the heathen, to put terror into the hearts of the fyrd “
Antananantananantantan - Thor! Thor!”
the force of it shook the ground for they had outnumbered King Ethelred’s forces five to one, there was not a warrior in the fyrd, not a
house ceorl
surrounding the king, whose heart did not sink to his boots at the very sound of them.    And yet we beat them! Oswy’s heart thumped with pride in his breast.

And it had been Alfred, the twenty two year old atheling, pride of
Wessex
, brother of King Ethelred, who led the fyrd up the hill into the face of the heathen army, and miraculously routed them!  Oswy could still smell the blood, hear the screams as swords jarred against bone -  tears trickled down his cheek.  What good had it been?  All but a few loyal thegns (himself amongst them) had gone home to tend to their estates, taking their men with them.  They wished to brag to their families, to show them the spear, the armlet, they had taken from the Viking they had killed.  Time and again Oswy and his like minded thegns had petitioned the king about this matter - leakage of this kind was the fundamental difficulty which beset the
Wessex
fyrd - the Danes, being professional warriors in an enemy country, were free from such leakage.  Also, being in the happy position of seeming to breed only sons, they soon received reinforcements from overseas -reinforcements in such numbers that now rumours had reached Wessex that a  ‘
summer army innumerable’
was gathering, eager to fight the fyrd of the West Saxons.  So Ashdown, great victory though it was, was inconclusive.  Oswy had lost his two sons for nothing.  The Danes were stronger than ever.

Glumly he walked over to the wall where his armour and sword were kept and lovingly ran his finger along the blade.  It did not cut his flesh, it was dull and blunt, he would never have the heart to use it again. Without his sons to inherit Bredond the Danes were welcome to it.

A gust of fresh air broke him from his reverie as his wife, Godgyth, came into the hall with a basket of vegetables. “Oh there you are old man!” she snapped “toasting your bones by the fire as usual - a swift ride would do neither you nor the horse any harm and whilst you’re out you may as well take your spear, we need meat”

Oswy sighed and looked up at her.  Could this fat forty eight year old shrew be the same lovely maid he had married twenty eight years ago?  She had been beautiful then had Godgyth, a widow though only twenty, and the mother of a year old girl, Emma.

He had fallen in love with her and had taken Emma as his own.  Godgyth had done her duty by him and within a year of their marriage had given him healthy twin sons, Cerdic and Aldred.  Golden boys who had died on that field at Ashdown, standing back to back surrounded by the bodies of their foes.  Oswy shook his head violently, fighting down the treacherous bitterness he felt against his king.  Ethelred had died soon after the battle and Alfred had spent the next five years paying off the Danes in gold!

Godgyth placed her hand on his arm.  “Oswy” she said kindly “stop woolgathering, come my man, we need meat!”.   She took his hunting spear from the wall and handed it to him “hunt for some”

Oswy looked up at her, she was smiling “Yes, my love” he answered, “I suppose I could do with the exercise”

“Oh, and Oswy” she called as he headed for the door, he turned just in time to catch the cloak she flung at him “It’s still cold in the mornings” he smiled, she must still care about him - but nay, she just would not want him in bed, an invalid to be nursed.

He walked slowly out into the courtyard, closely followed by his hunting dogs, Beowulf and Asher.  The morning air had a nip in it and Oswy sneezed.  He headed toward the stables, astutely avoiding the pools of animal urine and excrement that lay, mingled with the straw, under his feet, and entering called out for his servant, Edwin, who slept in the stables.   There was no answer to his summons, Oswy looked around, puzzled, then, guided by the sound of heavy snoring, aimed a kick at the red clad backside of the unfortunate lackey who was asleep in a corner.

Yawning and stretching, Edwin got slowly to his feet, saddled Martin, Oswy’s horse and, after helping his master mount, climbed on an old mare and clicking to her, followed him out of Bredond toward the forest.

***********

After riding through the woods for the best part of an hour without sighting anything but a hare which Edwin had brought down with a well flung stone, a movement in the trees caught the servant’s eye.  Quietly he leaned over and grabbed Oswy’s arm.  “Sire, over there!” he whispered.  A huge stag, a beautiful creature, was disappearing through the trees.  Oswy spurred his horse to follow but as the beast plunged into the stream his hoof slipped on a stone and he almost tipped his rider over his head.  Luckily the old gelding regained his footing and clambered up the other side.  As he reached the top of the embankment, however, an otter, frightened by the splashing,  ran out directly under his hooves.  That was the last straw for the old horse, he reared up and then staggered sideways.  Oswy grabbed at the reins in an effort to save himself but somehow his foot became entangled in the trappings and the next thing he knew he was being dragged, hanging down from the saddle, as Martin bolted.

Oswy’s life would have ended then but for the intervention of a tall blond young man who, seeming to spring from nowhere, threw himself at Martin’s head, almost under his hooves, grabbed the bridle and stopped the terrified animal.  Oswy was badly shaken, almost unconscious, but alive. He felt his foot being untangled then he was laid on soft grass.  He opened his eyes, blinked, blinked again and then stared.

Standing in front of him were the two most beautiful people he had ever seen.  The man was two yards tall if he was an inch with blond hair and bulging muscles.  A warrior, he had to be, in fact he looked like a young god, Oswy turned his eyes to the woman then and gasped aloud.  She was beautiful too, heart stoppingly so.  Thick golden hair, huge sapphire blue eyes, perfect skin, a body to tempt a saint, glowing with health and beauty.  He had never seen a woman with such looks, not even in his wildest dreams.  He shook his head.  She was speaking to him, he had never seen teeth so white and even   “I said are you alright?” she spoke in perfect Saxon, a little too perfect, it had a foreign quality about it.

“Er, yes, hrmmph, can you help me up?”  The tall young man pulled him to his feet as though he were a feather.

They were obviously people of quality, where
did
they come from?  Oswy put his hand to his head and, feeling slightly dizzy, held out his other hand to a nearby tree for support.  A look of concern flashed across the lady’s beautiful face.  “You are hurt, you’re cut” she cried concernedly, and running gracefully to the stream dipped a kerchief in the water and returning, dabbed his head.  Oswy winced.

“Thank you maiden” he said “and thank you sir, you saved my life without a doubt.  I am indebted to you.  Tell me, who do I have the pleasure of addressing?”

The young man bowed “I am Luke of Trenslo in
Bohemia
, son of Edmund of Bredond.  I am journeying to that place to search for my uncle, Oswy of Bredond, and unfortunately seem to have lost my way in this forest”

Oswy’s jaw dropped and he sat down with a thump on a nearby bank of bracken, disturbing a family of voles which scattered into the forest, much to Alodie’s delight “WHO did you say you were?” he spluttered after a few seconds.  The young man smiled and held out his hand.

“Luke, son of Edmund of Bredond.  I have come from
Bohemia
to find my only kin, Thegn Oswy of Bredond.  Could you perhaps set us on the road to that  village?  We are lost”

Oswy clambered to his feet, sweating profusely “You’re here, er, you have found him – I am Oswy! -  Jesu.....” he sat down and pulling out a grubby cloth began to mop his perspiring bald head “...Jesu, why I haven’t seen my brother Edmund in over thirty years!”  The young man whooped with delight and threw his arms around the astonished thegn.

“Then you must be my uncle! This is miraculous!  Oh, well met sir, you have no idea how relieved I am - er - we are to see you!”

Oswy placed his hands on Luke’s shoulders and looked at him, his face beaming.  “I - I do not understand.  What are you doing wandering around in the forest, miles from the main track?  Mother Mary, I cannot believe it, I never knew Edmund had a son, I assumed he had been dead these many years past......how is he?”

Luke sighed deeply “Uncle, I am sorry to have to tell you he
is
dead, killed twelve months past by the ...............” they were interrupted by a thoroughly frightened Edwin who came crashing through the undergrowth with Asher and Beowulf in tow, quite resigned to the fact that this master had been battered to death.  Alodie gasped and took a step back.  She had never seen such huge dogs in her life, in fact she had only ever seen one, in a zoo in
Cleveland
,
Ohio
.  Edwin went down on one knee and taking Oswy’s hand, kissed it.  Alodie and Luke exchanged looks of pure astonishment.

“Sire - you are unhurt” he panted “Praise be to Mary and all the Angels!”

Oswy cuffed him.  “Tcha - no thanks to you, you scurvy knave.....” he snapped.  Edwin winced then glanced up and catching sight of Alodie and Luke, his mouth fell open revealing a set of discoloured and missing teeth which made Alodie feel quite sick.  Oswy coughed and drawing himself up to his full height snapped his fingers, thunderstruck the serf handed over the reins of the old mare he had been riding to Oswy who, in turn, passed them to Luke, he then turned back to his servant “I shall send Rhys and Thomas out to you” he announced imperiously “you can continue the hunt on foot, and I hope you are lucky Edwin, we are having a feast tonight, my nephew has come to stay” Edwin’s eyes swung back to Luke and his mouth dropped open even further “Master Edmund’s boy” continued Oswy “lately come from Bohemia” the peasant bowed, knuckling his forehead.

“Honoured to meet ‘ee Master Luke sur, I remember your da when we both was liddle boys - why I................”

Oswy snorted in impatience “That will do Edwin” he cut in “I apologise for the poor quality of the mount, Luke but t’is all we have, I have let the stables run down since I lost my sons”.  He cleared his throat noisily “Well now, my poor brother, although I have mourned him as dead for so many years that news that he has actually died comes as no surprise.  We’ll repair back to the hall and you can tell me whilst we ride how it happens that my long lost nephew and his beautiful companion, who seems to have no name, are wandering in the forest, miles from anywhere”

Luke clapped his hand to his head “Uncle, where are my manners, forgive me do!  This is the lady Alodie, my betrothed”

Oswy turned to Alodie and bowing took her hand and kissed it.  She returned a bob which she hoped would pass for a curtsey.  He smiled, showing a dental display only slightly less revolting than Edwins.

“Milady Alodie” he said “if you would have the goodness to climb up behind me we will be home as soon as may be.  I would let you ride behind your betrothed but that old mare is not able to carry a double load, and Martin will obey only me”

Alodie smiled wanly, she had never seen a horse let alone ridden one.  Taking the thegn’s proffered hand she gripped the saddle and heaved herself, she hoped with decorum, onto the horse’s back.  Oswy climbed on after her and she put her hands, self-consciously, round his waist, or what passed for his waist - he was quite fat.  Brought up in a time when everyone took in carefully regulated diets and obesity, though not unheard of, was uncommon, Oswy came as rather a shock.  
Very well
she thought to herself, 
it will be interesting to see how well clever ‘Sir’ Luke manages to ride a horse, a creature I’m sure he has never even seen before
.  Luke looked up at her and, as if reading her thoughts, and with a smirk on his face, vaulted up into the saddle as though he had been born to it.