by Zack Mason
Mark ordered him to shut up, at which point, the wretch switched to a muffled whimpering.
"I am not kidding, Sir Geoff. The next time we meet won't be as pleasant. Do we understand each other?"
Geoff feebly nodded. Anything to get rid of the stranger.
Mark turned and called over his shoulder as he walked away, "Don't think the coast is clear just because you don't hear from us. We're always watching, be it a year, or twenty years from now."
Mark moved his finger toward his shifter, but then paused, stopping short of pushing the button.
"Know what?" he said, looking back up. "I changed my mind. You're coming with me."
***
Mark never thought the sight of a half naked man would make him happy, but to see Lord Geoff shivering and miserable in the moonlight brought a smile to his face for the humiliation Mark knew he was about to endure.
Mark forced the earl to accompany him on a shift to the far side of a nearby village in the middle of the night. He'd torn the bottom half of his robes completely off and thrown them into a darkened copse of trees nearby, leaving the man exposed to the cold night air.
"Home is that way." Mark pointed to the path leading right through the center of the village.
"You can't be serious."
"Oh, but I am."
"But why? Why would you...?" John's eyes flitted back and forth, searching the darker ways which skirted the village.
"Why would I purposefully embarrass you this way?"
"Yes."
"It'll be good for you. Heck, it'll do us all a good turn to see you put in your place for just a little while. Don't bother trying to go around the village. I'll just bring you back here and make you do it again."
The man gulped. His life, he could risk, but his pride? Losing that was the only thing that truly scared him.
Smacking his backside with a stinging slap from the flat of his sword, Mark let out a whoop that would be sure to stir most of the sleeping residents of this small community. The serfs that Lord Geoff drove so mercilessly were about to get a little levity at their master's expense.
Geoff yelped from the pain and jerked as he began a desperate scramble to get through the village before anyone could see him.
He didn’t make it. Lanterns were lit and their glows spilled onto the street as puzzled denizens opened their doors one by one to see what was going on.
As they came to recognize the crazed, midnight rooster rushing down their street as fast as his naked feet would carry him, their initial stunned silence was broken by a female’s cackle, and that quickly erupted into vociferous whistles and catcalls from all.
Mark looked on with true satisfaction. The Earl of Essex would have trouble garnering sufficient respect for a while.
"And now I'm glad I didn't know
the way it all would end, the way it all would go...
I could have missed the pain, but I'd of had to miss the dance@
"The Dance"
~ Garth Brooks
August 25th 1100, Essex, England
The summer evening was pleasantly cool. They enjoyed the tremendous feast Mrs. Smith had prepared in gratitude for all they'd done. Now, sitting behind the Smith home around a warm cooking fire, they relaxed with the family. One couldn't help but be taken by the clarity and beauty of the stars twinkling in the dark expanse overhead as they chatted and cut up. The table at which they'd dined looked like a rustic picnic table. Around the fire, they sat upon horizontal logs and crude wooden stools. If it weren't for the clothing, the language, and a few other details, it could have been a scene from a modern camping trip.
Mark hadn't thought it possible, but with this meal, Elisa Smith had outdone even herself. The spread she'd laid out for them tonight had them licking their chops even more than the first breakfast she'd prepared. He had half a mind to return to this time more often just for the cooking.
Three weeks had passed since Mark's little visit with Lord Geoff, and the earl hadn't ventured outside his castle since that night. A lot of the villagers had witnessed the man in his full embarrassment, streaking naked at a mad dash through their town. Chuckles and mockery were still circulating throughout Essex. It would be a while before Geoffrey de Mandeville lived down the jokes and rumors.
Tonight, they celebrated, for it appeared Mark's ploy had worked. Perhaps Lord Geoff would leave them alone after all.
Robert Smith approached bearing two large wooden cups of mead. He gave Mark one, kept the other for himself, and sat down on the log next to him. Hardy, Ty, and Abbie had all been similarly supplied. Hardy and Ty were clearly enjoying their drinks. Abbie only sipped at hers, but she was having as good a time as anyone.
The taste of the mead was surprising. Mark had expected a beer-like ale, yet this golden drink tasted more like a sweet wine. Robert explained it was made from honey.
"I cannot express our gratitude for all you've done, Mark."
"No need." Mark waved dismissively.
"Of course there is! You've all put your lives on the line for my family. You fought Lord Geoff, and for the life of me, I've no idea how, but you won. He's left us alone for nigh three weeks now."
"We'll see if it lasts."
"We pray an' hope it will. Regardless, always we shall be grateful. I don't know what I did to merit such favor from the good Lord that He sent you to us, but I do praise Him for it."
Mark blushed, thankful the darkness hid the heat rising in his cheeks. He was uncomfortable receiving such thanks and probably always would be. He didn't do what he did to get thanked. There was just an overwhelming sense of duty built into his very nature which would not let him act to the contrary. He couldn't stand to see injustice go unchallenged. Hardy and Ty were cut from the same cloth, even if they feigned protest at times. He believed Abbie was too. Hadn't she secretly defended her village against the Wampanoag? Still, Mark hadn't completely figured her out yet.
One of the teenage Smith boys took up a musical instrument that looked like a pearshaped fiddle. The boy launched into some lively tunes and in spite of the fact it only had three strings, it sounded pretty good. Mark didn't recognize any of the songs, but the cheerfulness infused in their notes was infectious.
Elisa cut in. "Darling, do you mind if I ask Sir Mark to dance?" She asked her husband.
"Uh...I'm no knight, Elisa," Mark corrected.
Robert shook his head, grinning. Grabbing Mark's hand, Elisa hefted him up. The strength imbued in her petite arms surprised him. She placed his hand on her waist, resting her own on his shoulder, and they began a lively dance, circling and bouncing to the rhythm of the fiddle. The rest of the family cheered and clapped as they twirled.
Soon, Hardy and Ty were up and dancing round and round with the two smaller Smith girls. Everyone laughed at the sight of these huge men trying to not overstep the small gait of the little ones.
After a time, Elisa excused herself and switched to dance with Hardy and then Ty. Mark went to Abbie. He extended his hand to her.
"Care to dance?"
She blushed, but rose, taking his hand with no comment.
They began a dance that moved at a much slower pace than that of the others, moving not in time to the music, but like slow ripples on a calm body of water. Abbie turned her gaze to Mark, letting him search her eyes as she searched his.
He was stupid for letting himself be so obvious. Why did he have such little control over his heart? He fell head over heels so easily for these women that came into his life. Too easily. He'd fallen for Abbie the first time he'd seen her in that dream.
Tonight, she was as beautiful as ever. Her fair skin was the color of light cream, cool like porcelain. She was pure, and he loved her spirit. He loved the way she was comfortable with a weapon, yet would not permit war to strip her of tenderness. She didn't let the horrors of battle harden her heart with bitter memories. In his experience, it was rare person who could do that.
Questions of what she was thinking sped through h
is own thoughts. In her eyes glowed an affection, a warmth. For just a moment, that warmth shone for him, and he was glad. But then it was gone, as if an invisible door had swung shut.
Attempting to regain the moment, he reached up to stroke a lock of hair from her forehead and tucked it behind her ear. She started ever so slightly at his touch, not from excitement, but from the unexpectedness of it.
They danced a little longer, even for a few moments after the music had stopped, for they hadn't been keeping time to it anyway. She thanked him for the dance and politely excused herself, entering the house to sleep.
Mark watched her go, ignorant of the others watching him. His heart ached. Something within was unsatisfied.
It was loneliness unabated.
***
Their plan hadn't worked after all.
Mark shifted forward a couple of years to verify Lord Geoff was continuing to cower in his castle, but he wasn't.
The earl had bidden his time for the first year or so and, during that time, had left the Smiths alone. Mark had apparently instilled enough of the fear of God in the noble to last that long, but when Geoff hadn't seen or heard anything from Mark and friends for a while, he'd grown bold again.
One year later, in the black of night, Geoffrey sent a group of armed soldiers to the Smith home. They torched it while the Smiths slept and blocked the doorways so none could escape. Their friends, Robert, Elisa, Robyn, and all the other Smith children, had been burned alive.
The earl hadn't waited even a year to exact his revenge on the villagers who'd mocked his nakedness. Within a month after Mark's departure, the man had begun exacting his price from all those he connected with any rumor or gossip about him. His soldiers rounded up hundreds of women from families indiscriminately and brought them to his castle where he systematically violated them over a series of weeks. Men, he killed in front of their families. He cut out the tongues of several women and one man. He even hanged a twelve-year old boy, just like he'd almost done to Robyn that first day in the barn.
Fury and guilt raged in Mark at the news. Fleetingly, the promise he'd made to Abbie about avoiding killing when possible ran through his mind, but just as quickly he pushed it out. She would not expect him to keep that promise, not under these circumstances. Heck, she'd want justice as badly as he did.
Warning the earl a second time wouldn't last. Lord Geoff was an evil man and he needed to go. Had he hesitated because the man was a "noble"? They certainly hadn't hesitated with the knights and other soldiers they'd killed. The difference was they'd engaged those men in a battle begun by them, not by Mark. Over the years, the others Mark took out had been murderers and rapists who were about to commit their crimes.
This would be the first time Mark "assassinated" somebody for bloodstains which had not yet appeared on his hands. What was the difference, really? What was the difference if Mark killed a murderer who would kill one minute later, versus one who did so a month later? The only difference was time, and Mark knew what a fleeting illusion time could be.
It still felt like playing God in some respects though.
Yet, Mark could not stand by and let this man victimize anyone else. He just prayed this would not turn out to be one of those events fate would prohibit him from undoing. Ty offered his help, but this was something Mark wanted to do by himself.
September 2nd 1100, Colchester Castle, England
It was night. The nobleman's chambers appeared just as they had the first night Mark had threatened him. Darkened, but with a few candles lighting the room. The earl lay in bed, snoring peacefully. Tomorrow morning, the first act of revenge would be taken against the villagers by this sleeping monster.
Mark took a few steps toward the figure. Suddenly, there was movement behind and on both sides of him. Three men-at-arms had been standing vigil, hiding behind tapestries. It was a trap for an intruder, an intruder like Mark. Each man held a broadsword pointed in the direction of his neck. One of the men called out, and they slowly advanced.
Lord Geoff sat up swiftly. He'd been awakened by the noise.
"Ha! You thought you would surprise me, thief! Tis I who have you." The earl grinned from ear to ear. He looked ready to lick his chops, like a cat ogling a mouse whose tail is caught in its paw.
Nonchalantly, Mark pulled a silenced pistol from a hidden holster. Taking his time, he aimed and fired at the soldiers in turn, striking each between the eyes. A soft psst was the only sound between the thuds of their falling bodies on the stone floor.
Geoff stared wide-eyed at the sudden death of what must have been some of his top soldiers, his face whiter than ash. Fear had truly entered him this time, and a bit of drool showed at the corner of his mouth.
He stammered, "Uh...I...uh...why? This is not right...I've left them alone. I have! I have not touched those people!"
"But you will."
"No. No, I won't. I swear it!"
"Yes, you will. Tomorrow, you will begin torturing and killing the villagers for laughing at you. A year from now, you'll have the Smiths burned alive in their home."
If the man's face could get any paler, it did as the rest of the blood drained from it.
"How...you can't know that!"
"Oh, but I do. I told you, we know everything."
"But, it's not true. I haven't done it. I won't do it. I promise!"
"You are an evil man, and there is only one thing to do with a man like you." Mark raised his pistol.
The earl screamed like a woman and thrust his arms in front of his face. Mark remembered Abbie. He remembered her words, her spirit. His flesh wanted to take pleasure in removing this garbage from the world, but his heart wanted to obey the spirit of what Abbie had asked. When he pulled the trigger, he felt true sorrow for the act, as necessary as it was. He felt sorrow that the nobleman had brought this on himself, and that he'd put Mark in this position, but there was no choice. Mark felt sorrow, but not remorse...and certainly not guilt.
The door burst open and sudden light outlined the large form of Randolph DeCleary, Geoff's newly appointed chief knight. He'd heard the scream and come running.
The knight surveyed the scene in the candle-lit bedroom. He saw his three fallen comrades and the bloody form of his master lying crumpled on the bed. Instantly, he charged Mark, sword drawn.
But Mark was tired of killing.
So, he just shifted out.
He was back at the Smith cottage once more. Abbie, Hardy, and Ty were with him, as well as the entire Smith family. Instead of warmth and joy filling the cottage as before, stress and fear now permeated the cold air of the early winter morning.
Cloth bundles and leather saddlebags lay scattered around the feet of the former serfs. They were moving out. Their problems had not ended with the slaying of Lord Geoff. The earl's son, William was now ruling Essex in his father's place. William laid the blame for his father's murder directly at the feet of the blacksmith, his family and the mysterious bandits after hearing Randolph DeCleary's report. The new, young earl hesitated to strike, however.
He was afraid to attack without more support after what had happened to his father. Many of the townspeople were spooked, having heard reports of magic men who could vanish at will. Lord William had appealed to King Henry himself for aid, and it was probable the king would give it, considering one of his noblemen had been murdered in his bedroom.
The dreary morning reflected all their spirits.
"I'm sorry to have brought this on you, Robert," Mark said wistfully.
Smith shook his head. "You saved my son's life and put yourselves at great risk to help us. Were it not for you, we'd all be dead or slaves. There was no other way this could turn out."
"We can still fight. Your family doesn't have to go," Mark offered.
"Would you even fight the king?"
"If need be."
"He'll bring thousands of men, Mark."
Mark pressed his lips together, saying nothing.
"It's enough killing, Mark.
Why should any more die? Just so we can keep this land? If these men want the land so badly, let them have it, I say."
"It's not about the land any more."
"I know, I know, but if we can just disappear somehow, change our names, we'll be okay."
"What will you do? Where will you go?" Mark was genuinely concerned for this family. He felt responsible, as if their troubles were somehow his fault, though he knew they weren't. Lord Geoff would have murdered the man's children one by one until he'd enslaved the rest. At least, Mark had ensured the children were still alive for the time being. And he'd removed a tyrant. Perhaps his son would at least be a bit more timid.
Robert sighed and looked out the window.
"We shall become hoode. We'll go where no one knows us. We'll change our names. If we're careful, we should be safe."
That was a word Mark hadn't heard before. "I'm sorry, I don't know that word. What does hoode mean?"
Robert looked to the ground, searching for synonyms. "Uh...criminal...someone who is outside the law."
"You're going to be outlaws? That's no life for your family."
"There are communities of hoode in some of the forests. We shall live with them. It will not be too bad a life. They aren't all bad, many are just fugitives like us. We shall be free again. I might even pick up some smith work from the other hoode."
"You'll always be looking over your shoulder."
"Life does not always give us a choice."
The man's mind was made up. Mark didn't blame him, it was the only decision left to him in a feudal system like this. Mark was just frustrated by his own impotence to fix the problem.
Abbie hoisted a couple of the bundles onto her shoulder. Hardy and Ty followed suit, grabbing saddle packs to help Robert load them onto his mule.
