“Your king needs your army. Do what you must. The invasion is soon.”
Chapter Fourteen
Bryson wanted to depart for Winchester posthaste, but Erik needed his sword. Once Gwyneth was safely awaiting the child’s birth in a nunnery, Bryson would be able to return to Britannia, unless a message could be sent, which for now, was highly unlikely. They were riding fast, leaving both men to their own thoughts. This was the very first time Erik had not placed duty to king and country above duty to one’s family. He found the idea disturbing, trying to assuage the guilt that would hopefully, lessen over time.
The days seemed endless as they rode through the countryside, barely stopping to rest as they made their way to the wide mountain range looming on the horizon. Erik agreed to their rapid pace with the stipulation that Gwyneth would inform him when she was tired and hungry. He was amazed by her stamina, especially since there were days he would have preferred to sleep a little longer or rest beneath a shady tree at midday.
Bryson was also surprised by Gwyneth’s resolve, finding her endurance exceptional for a woman from the future. With the quality of life improving over time, Bryson believed the human race would grow soft, but hopefully not. The sun would soon be setting, and he was tired of riding. Bryson would hunt for the evening meal with gusto, happy to be walking on firm earth.
Gwyneth, on the other hand, was thoroughly enjoying the adventure, even though she was not able to appreciate the scenery. The narrow serpentine road went through the forest periodically, the shady trees making the ride bearable. The dusty trail passed rivers and creeks, and meadows filled with wild flowers. Animals darted into the underbrush once the human scent filled the air while squirrels scurried across low-lying branches. The one thing noticeably missing was people. The Brother Abbot was right. There was not one village or abbey, or even a hermitage along this route. No wonder the region was as God had created it, virgin terrain unspoiled by humanity, a sight rarely seen whatever the century.
“Gwyneth!” Erik shouted as he raced towards her. “There is a creek ahead. I think we should set up camp and rest. An extra hour makes little difference.”
Gwyneth pulled on the reins, slowing down her horse expertly, a feat she had recently mastered. She was glowing as she looked at her husband, laughing softly while considering his request.
“The mountains are one day’s journey,” Bryson interjected, “and I will confess that making camp now, before the sun sets, will improve our chances of catching the evening meal.”
“You use your hands to catch fish?” Gwyneth asked as Bryson nodded. “Truly! Then, I agree, this is a perfect campsite.”
Gwyneth would have tended to the horses, but Erik insisted that she rest since he was concerned about the child growing in her belly. She was tired, but would never admit it, since she did not wish to be coddled. It was imperative they cross the mountain range before it was her time, but there were no guarantees. She had estimated the date, which she did not share with Erik because he would worry. She took comfort in the knowledge that there were villages in the valleys, remembering episodes on The Travel Channel that featured quaint locations in the vicinity of the Swiss Alps. Since she was certain they would find shelter, she did not delve on the matter, having no control over the timing of the birth.
As Erik groomed the horses, Bryson removed his leather boots and most of his clothing before stepping into the unusually warm water. He waded towards the center of the creek, searching the waters for the evening meal.
“There is one!” Gwyneth shouted, pointing to a trout jumping out of the water not far from where Bryson stood.
Bryson reached for the fish, falling forward when he lost his balance, barely missing the jagged rocks. Gwyneth ran to the water’s edge, shouting Bryson’s name.
“I do not remember catching fish to be such a daunting task,” Bryson said, laughing as he walked towards Gwyneth. “I think I should snare a fox!”
“Can we not spear them?” Gwyneth asked, remembering how ancient tribes fished. “Or we can leave a line in the water.”
“I know when to yield,” Bryson replied as he collected his clothing. “Do not be troubled, I shall not be long.”
Gwyneth chose to sit beneath a willow, listening to the soothing sound of the distant waterfall. She breathed deeply, appreciating the clean air, not missing the pollution plaguing her century. She laughed when three fish leaped in front of her as if they were daring her to catch them. Songbirds chirped melodiously atop the trees, and an occasional butterfly fluttered above the nearby flowers. Gwyneth was enjoying the world as God had intended. She closed her eyes, holding her swollen belly and smiling when the child made his presence known.
“Soon, my son,” Gwyneth whispered, knowing it would not be long before she held her precious infant.
It did not matter to Gwyneth that the child would be born in one of the villages along the way. She preferred it, quite honestly, needing to spend more time with her son before he was lost to her forever. She felt a pang of guilt for not being completely truthful with Erik, but she believed the knowledge would only intensify his anxiety. She was used to making her own decisions without consulting anyone, and she found it difficult to be informative.
Twilight had descended as Erik started a fire. Bryson was whistling when he returned to the campsite, carrying their dinner, a red fox he had tracked to its burrow. Bryson prepared the animal skillfully before placing it on the fire. The smell of roasting meat awakened Gwyneth, and with some reluctance, she joined the men. She knew she would never experience such tranquility again, but she thanked the Lord for giving her this day.
***
The riders reached the mountain range at mid-afternoon, and since the sun would not set for many hours, they decided to keep going. They were pleasantly surprised to have reached an abbey almost hidden in the valley just as the sky darkened.
“Probably built to accommodate penitent pilgrims,” Bryson said as they made their way down the sloping hillside. The bells were chiming as they rode through the main gate and made their way towards the stables. The routine was as it had been since they left the seaport. See to the horses, then find the Abbot’s assistant who would take them to their quarters. They were always welcomed warmly, and the holy brothers were always accommodating. Gwyneth was glad that Erik gave offerings for the poor before taking their leave, and the coins were accepted graciously by the Brother Abbot.
While Gwyneth rested in the guest quarters, Erik and Bryson spoke with the Brother Abbot who warned them not only of bandits attacking unsuspecting travelers, but also of packs of wolves preying on human flesh.
“Have no fear, there are huts a day’s ride apart. The simple dwellings provide shelter from the elements, that is all. Your supplies must be procured at the villages or monasteries located in the valleys, but it will take you seven days to reach the next village,” the Brother Abbot said. “Our food is plentiful, thank the Lord, and you will be given what you need.”
“We are headed for the abbey at St. Gall,” Erik confessed. “What can you tell me?”
“The library draws scholars from all of Christendom,” the Brother Abbot replied.
“What of its defenses?” Bryson interjected.”
“The abbey and town are fortified as a precaution. There has not been any fighting. Why do you ask such questions?”
“Forgive my man’s ignorance,” Erik said. “He protects us and is concerned about our safety.”
“Understood, my son,” the Brother Abbot replied. “Let us go to the kitchens. I would have your needs met before the evening meal is served.”
***
Gwyneth, Erik and Bryson left the secluded monastery, pacing themselves so as not to tire the horses, riding the day’s distance unhurriedly. If they arrived at one of the many huts earlier than planned, they stopped, enjoying the break, rather than risking a night sleeping beneath the stars.
Gwyneth found the howling wolves unnerving. Were it not for the planks
of wood, they would be sleeping on the ground exposed to the elements. She pictured the predators’ steely eyes and salivating mouths as they waited to pounce on their unsuspecting quarry. She had known this adventure would be challenging, given the century she was in, but she had never given much thought to the hazards they faced. They had been fortunate that the Brother Abbot had mapped out the region, marking each hut, village and abbey with an accuracy that would have impressed modern cartographers. In reality, a wagon would have proved useful, but then again, the trails were sometimes narrow and treacherous. Fortunately, they had not been accosted by bandits, which might have been due in part, to the local authorities enforcing the laws. Conceivably, she had given too much credence to Divine Intervention, flaunting an erroneous sense of invincibility.
The days seemed never-ending as the weeks wore on, and the days were the same. Starting out at sunrise, stopping at midday to rest for an hour, then riding until they reached the night’s shelter. The weather for the most part was pleasant, but there were days when a morning storm gave way to a sunny afternoon, which delayed their departure. That delay resulted in riding through the early evening hours, and they did not stop until they were safely settled.
As Gwyneth’s belly grew, riding became uncomfortable. The weight of the child she carried was affecting her movements, and she was tiring easily. Erik had noticed the subtle changes, but held his tongue, expressing his concerns to Bryson rather than distress his wife.
“She will not complain,” Bryson told Erik on the night they were housed in one of the abbeys on their route.
Erik nodded as he and Bryson left the stables and went to the kitchens. A cool breeze carried the scent of baking bread, which reminded both men of their hunger.
“I think she is close to her time,” Erik whispered, “and I doubt we shall reach the abbey at St. Gall before the birthing.”
“We are two days’ ride from the abbey,” Bryson reminded him.
“I would rather await the child’s coming here than in one of the huts.”
“I think it is best if we speak to Gwyneth. She might agree to be seen by the healer. If he tells us her time is soon, we shall stay, but if he says she is not yet ready, we can leave tomorrow.”
The men decided to confront Gwyneth, returning to the guest quarters where they found Erik’s wife pacing around the small chambers.
“What is wrong?” Erik asked anxiously.
“It feels good to walk,” Gwyneth replied.
“I think your time is close. We should wait here until the child enters this world.”
“Erik, I am fine, truly I am! I have at least a month.”
“Your belly says differently,” Erik told her while Bryson walked outside.
“I am not ill,” Gwyneth said defiantly. “Carrying a child is normal, and in my time, women have worked until the very day they give birth.”
“You are in my time where healers are not as informed as they are in the future,” Erik said sternly, “and birthing a child could cost a mother her life. Have you forgotten so quickly the woman who died at the village?”
Gwyneth paled at his words, holding back her tears as she glanced upon her husband.
“There is a healer that tends to the sick. I would ask you to see him, let him tell you whether or not your time is upon you. If he agrees that you may travel two more days, then we will leave tomorrow. If not, we will remain here until you are fit to travel. Will you do that for me?”
“I will do as you ask, my love,” Gwyneth replied through tear-rimmed eyes, “and I will abide by the healer’s findings.”
Chapter Fifteen
Bryson and Erik remained outside the sickrooms as Gwyneth was examined by the healer, who was also a Benedictine monk. The full moon cast an eerie glow upon the monastic grounds as man and beast alike settled in for the evening. The bells were quiet once the prayer service ended, the melodic sound instantly fading. Erik was pensive as he stared at the snow-capped mountain peaks. His stoic resolve crumbled as he prayed to the Lord, and he was comforted by Bryson’s presence.
“Words escape me,” Erik told Bryson, his voice choked with emotion.
“Are you certain we are following the right path?” Bryson asked. “To leave your son and heir unprotected in a foreign nation...”
“There is little choice,” Erik interrupted.
“There is always a choice.”
“Why do you cast doubt now, when it is too late?”
“I do not have misgivings about this undertaking. What I question is the ability to adequately shelter your son from the evils of this world. If the barbarians were once a viable threat, could not the pagans terrorize the religious men again? And who would wield a sword against the nomadic tribes? There would be no quarter given.”
“What of Brother Ulrich?”
“We know little of the man,” Bryson interrupted. “Everything we do not understand, we have accepted as Divine Intervention. Faith and trust in the Lord are admirable traits, but we must also remember what man is capable of, and that my friend, is what troubles me.”
“You forget Gwyneth’s knowledge. I trust my wife and wish you would also trust her.”
“Erik, you misunderstand my motives. I wish to remain with your son, not only to oversee his upbringing, but also to shield him from anyone who would take his life. It is not that I do not trust Brother Ulrich, what I distrust is the holy man’s ability to slay a man should the need arise.”
“You would take the cowl?”
“No, but I would wear religious garb, and no one would suspect my true nature. Your son would be housed with me, and I shall see to his education and find a suitable wife when he is of age.”
“You give up much,” Erik replied. “I cannot ask this of you.”
“Have you forgotten this is my plan? I have given this much thought while riding through the mountains. You and Gwyneth share a purpose, and you both must return to the citadel. I have come to believe my purpose is to safeguard your son and to suffer this fate, I need your blessing.”
Erik merely nodded. Words were not needed as their eyes met, and a silent understanding passed between them.
“Gwyneth will be pleased with this news,” Erik said. “She will be distraught when we must leave our son, but knowing he is in your care will ease the pain and the guilt.”
***
There was only one person being treated in the sickrooms when Gwyneth entered. She sat on a bench beneath the window, breathing deeply the brisk night air as she watched the healer bind a wound on a young monk’s leg. She wondered what the ailment might have been responsible for the injury and speculated on a variety of causes, ranging from insect bites to torn flesh. She glanced through the open door that led to a room filled with cots, which reminded her of the hospital ward from Gone with the Wind, one of her favorite period films. She noticed a room whose shelves were filled with a variety of herbs necessary for the healer to practice his craft. Gwyneth suppressed the urge to inspect the various jars and bowls filled with roots and green leaves. She wished she could test her knowledge of the various plants, but doubted that the monk would appreciate being interrupted. The door to the room on her left was partially open, and in that room, surgeries were performed, however antiquated the procedure. She felt a chill when she remembered witnessing the death of the woman in childbirth, crossing herself and saying a quick prayer for the souls of the mother and stillborn child.
“Mix with water and drink before you sleep,” the healer said to the monk as he handed him a small bag filled with crushed roots.
The novice thanked the healer, smiled at Gwyneth and left. She hoped the lad had not been embarrassed by her presence as she watched him hobble out the door.
“How may I be of assistance?” the healer asked.
“My time is near, but we still have two days’ travel ahead.”
“And you would have me tell your husband that you are fit to ride,” the healer interrupted.
“Yes,” Gwyne
th said, blushing.
“Do not be afraid, my child, I lived in the world for many years before taking the cowl. I have also known a woman’s love and have assisted at birthings before arriving at this abbey.”
“Forgive me,” Gwyneth stammered as she followed him into the small room. “I do not question your skills.”
The healer helped Gwyneth onto the table, placing a pillow beneath her head for her comfort.
“Please wash your hands before examining me,” Gwyneth said softly. “I fear contagion.”
The healer looked at Gwyneth sternly, but when he noticed she was truly alarmed, he did as he was told. Once he dried his hands, he removed her clothing, examining her swollen breasts and belly before he gently probed the birthing canal.
“Take deep breaths,” the healer said when Gwyneth winced. “I am almost done.”
The healer shared his findings with Gwyneth before closing the door behind him when he left the room. Gwyneth was visibly shaken as she dressed, but she suppressed her rising anxiety since Erik must not be told, not yet.
While the healer was waiting on Gwyneth, he collected a variety of herbs that would prove useful when her time came. He was engrossed in his task and did not hear Gwyneth’s soft footsteps, nor those of the men who joined her.
“You may speak before my husband and his man,” Gwyneth said.
“As you wish,” the healer replied. “You have a fortnight, maybe less.”
“Can she still ride?” Erik asked.
“Yes, provided you take a break during the day. A wagon would be preferable, but that would add hours if not days.”
“I can still ride,” Gwyneth interjected.
“Remember, there are no other villages or abbeys before reaching St. Gall. There is a wagon you may use if you so choose. Talk amongst yourselves and tell me your decision, but I must warn you, riding might be troublesome for the second child.”
The Briton and the Dane: Timeline Page 10
