by K T Findlay
He soared high above Wulfstan and had a really good look around. He could see the town spread out on either side of a river, a hodgepodge jumble of houses, cum manufactories, cum shops. A water mill was working away on this side of the stream, with a small boat loading sacks of something from its door. Immediately below him he could see the crowd of people parting as Wulfstan was carried through the marketplace towards the palace. Happily, at this height the stench of body odour was a lot less!
This was all rather terrifying really, if you thought about things too seriously. But after escaping hell itself, what could possibly be thought of as serious? Both of them had been on the way to heaven before the fall, so they must have been doing something right! And if that was the case, all he needed to do was to keep on being himself, and everything would turn out fine. It was a comfortable thought, which left him free to explore his new world.
And seeing as he was avoiding the headache by all this flying around, he just bobbed happily along, taking everything in. Below him, Wulfstan was trying to be stoic through the jostles and jolts of being carried to his room in the Palace.
3 Testing the waters
Wulfstan was carried carefully through the Palace to where the royal family’s private apartments were located. He groaned quietly as his head rocked to and fro with the movement of his bearers, occasionally more loudly when his head smacked against the wooden rods that made up the sides of the stretcher.
Thomas had discovered that for all his new found ability to fly, and go pretty much anywhere he pleased, the one thing he could not do was fly through solid objects. Being able to feel, also it seemed, required the world to be solid. So when Wulfstan was carried through the main door of the Palace, Thomas found that he too had to drop down the wall and follow through the same door.
He floated ahead, just below ceiling height, enjoying looking at the adzed oak beams and the plastered walls in between, comparing what he saw with what the archaeologists had believed in his own time.
The main door into the Palace opened directly into a great hall. In the centre of the room there was a huge pile of wood set up in a hearth for an open fire. People were walking in and out, groaning under the weight of enormous tapestries that were being put up on the walls.
Great tables were being scrubbed clean by the servants. They were using sand to rub firmly and evenly across the table tops, gently smoothing the surface and removing any dirt, before sweeping sand, sawdust and dirt straight onto the rushes on the floor. New rushes were being carried in and stacked in the corners ready to be strewn once the rest of the work was done.
One table was set on a raised platform above the rest, furthest from the outside door, its back protected by a solid wall, and its front set to enjoy the warmth from the huge fire. This table had already been scrubbed clean, and the maids were down on their hands and knees doing the same thing to the wooden floor boards. No rushes here. Another difference was it had individual chairs around three sides, instead of the long benches of all the other tables. Right in the middle, protected from the rear by the wall, and able to see the entire room, was the biggest chair of all. It wasn’t hard to imagine whose that was!
Going past the wall he could see the entrance to the kitchens off to the left. The Wulfstan party however was going to the right instead, down a corridor with beautiful tapestries on the walls, and into a bedroom.
Thomas scooted ahead into the room. A beautiful lady was waiting, shoulders hunched inside a stunning blue dress trimmed with garnets, concern on her face, and hands clasped in front of her. To her right was a small fire, a small cauldron above it, the water roiling away. He was pleased to see that there were some cloths inside it, twisting and turning in the convection currents. Smiling to himself, he turned and looked past the lady to the bed.
Horror filled him as he looked at the filth and squalor on the sheets. Bloodstains, to the extent of actual clots of dried blood, were spattered across it, especially in the middle. Dirt adhered to the edges in places. And oh dear heaven, it actually smelled as bad as it looked. His mind recoiled with revulsion.
Without warning he was back in the body, the pain almost blinding him once more. He writhed in desperation as the men carried him towards the filthy bed.
‘No complaints young man!’ exclaimed the woman. ‘Unbelievable, you demanding clean sheets when all you’re going to do is make them filthy!’ She leaned over him, and smiling, kissed his forehead. ‘You lie down, we’ll clean you up, and once you’ve stopped bleeding, you can have a clean bed.’
Thomas struggled to raise his head from the stretcher. He looked her straight in the face and snapped ‘I am not lying in a bucket of blood and dirt with an open wound! I have no wish to die of gangrene, or some other baleful scourge!!’ He had completely forgotten to speak as a 10 year old boy.
The woman stepped back in shock. ‘What did you say my son? When did you learn to speak so?’
Thomas, aghast at his mistake, hesitated before answering ‘The bed is filthy. I will die if I lie in it, and I do not want to die! Again!’ He winced as another wave of pain washed over him.
‘Well!’ she said. ‘I’ve never heard the like. Your aunt Mathilda gave birth on those sheets only yesterday, with no complaints!’ She placed her hands on her hips, the bright dark blue of her dress highlighting her face, white with annoyance, framed by ash blonde hair.
Doing his best to manage the pain in his head, Thomas struggled out of the cloth of the stretcher, smacking away Hengist’s gently restraining hand and staggered towards a stool close to the fire. He collapsed onto it, holding his head.
The Queen came to him, knelt down, and took him in her arms. ‘My son, you’ve had a bad knock on the head, and don’t know what you’re saying. There’s no harm in good blood, especially royal blood. Come, lie down, and I’ll clean your wound.’
Thomas looked up at her through his tears. ‘Thank you for the hot water and cloths. If it’s all right by you mother, I’d rather you cleaned me up right here, after the cloths have boiled for another ten minutes. And when you think I’m clean enough, please have the sheets changed and I’ll go to sleep in the bed.’
‘That’s my mother you’re being rude to!!!’ Wulfstan’s outraged boyish voice echoed loudly in his skull. Thomas flicked his head up in surprise. ‘Don’t you dare tell her what to do! She’ll give us a thrashing!’ continued Wulfstan.
‘Okay. Okay.’ thought Thomas back at him. ‘I’ll be more polite.’
He turned his face once more to “his” mother, who was looking very worried and confused. ‘I’m sorry mother. I’ve just been to hell itself and back. I mean I really have!’
He looked deep into her eyes. ‘And now I seem to know many strange new things, one of which is that when you have an open wound, it is very important for things to be clean.’
His mother continued to stare.
‘Please believe me mother. Just humour me. Please.’ he pleaded. ‘You’re boiling the cloths as I asked, which you would never normally do. This is just one more step. And it won’t dirty the sheets if you clean me and bind me before I lie down.’
The two looked into each other’s eyes, his desperate, hers confused, frightened, and just a little cross. Finally she nodded, rose, and turned to the bearers. ‘Please find Ravena, and tell her to bring the best and cleanest sheets we have. We’ll change the bed.’ She turned back to Thomas. ‘I’ll go and get some tongs so I can get the cloths out of the water. I don’t know what’s come over me, giving in to such silly demands from a child, even if you are a prince!’
Then she smiled, and went to call some servants to change the bed.
‘You were still very rude!’ Wulfstan hissed, still clearly aggrieved.
‘Sorry,’ grimaced Thomas, ‘The pain isn’t making me very tolerant. By the way, can you feel the pain too?’
‘Of course!’
‘Want to make it stop?’
‘Of course twice over!’ Thomas could feel the boy’s anger.
‘Try and leave the body. You’ll be attached by the thread. All your senses will still work, and you’ll be able to come back when you want to. That’s what I did on the way here, and the pain stopped as soon as I was out of the body.’
‘Then why did you come back and steal it again if it was so great out there?!?!’ snarled the boy.
‘Good question.’ replied Thomas. ‘When I saw the sheets, I was back in control. I didn’t do anything. It just happened!’
‘A likely story!’
Thomas sighed, ‘Why don’t you just try for a few seconds and see what happens?’
‘And what if you won’t let me back in again? Eh?!?’
Thomas sighed even deeper, enough to alarm Hengist such that Thomas had to hold up a hand to indicate he was okay. ‘Look, neither you nor I seem to be able to control who has the body from moment to moment. Maybe we can learn in time, but right now it’s all chance. But I’ll tell you this, we need to make sure the sheets are properly clean, so it would be really good if you could go and check on this Ravena lady to make sure she’s giving us what we need. Otherwise we’ll neither of us have a body to live in, and you can have it while it dies writhing in agony covered in its own pus!’
There was a shocked silence while Wulfstan digested this idea. ‘Alright then,’ he said sullenly, ‘but if you don’t let me back in I’ll haunt you forever!’
Cautiously, Wulfstan imagined one arm going outside the body. That seemed to work okay. He could feel the warmth of the fire on his fingers as he rotated the arm. A little more confident now, he thought the rest of himself out. Immediately the pain in his head stopped, and his focus was entirely on the delicious warming sensations from the flames. A moment of alarm caused him to spin his head, and to look down. Relief washed the panic away as he saw the silver strand tethering him to safety.
Emboldened, he took a few steps away from his real body, and felt the fire’s effect reduce as he did so. He began to relax, and sensed his face begin to smile, truly smile, for the first time since the sword had hit him. Suddenly a huge metallic clash and clatter echoed from the kitchen where someone had dropped an armful of iron spits.
Unable to help himself, he jumped a little in alarm. And stayed there, a few inches off the ground. Entranced, he moved his arms and legs slowly, amazed at the feeling of weightlessness as he moved gently in space. ‘I wonder if I can get to the ceiling?’ he thought to himself. To his delight, that thought was all that was required to cause him to rise gently up until he bumped softly against it.
He rotated carefully, so he was looking down into the room. Two men walked in below him, and lifting the entire palliasse as well as the sheets, stripped the bed down to its frame. A flaxen haired woman set to with scrubbing brush and a stout cloth to remove the congealed blood that had trickled through the straw from yesterday’s birth. She finished just in time for the two men to return with a fresh palliasse of clean sacking stuffed with new straw which they placed on the wooden bed. Two minutes later they were back with another, this one stuffed with feathers, which they put on top.
Then he remembered that he too had a job to do, and he set off out of the room, turned left and floated three rooms down. Inside he could see Ravena sorting through the sheets in the best linen trunk, muttering to herself.
‘… spoilt brat… don’t know what they’re thinking of! … blood over these beautiful things…’
She turned her head to her right and looked at a second trunk, slightly less opulent. Opening it, she took out a table cloth, badly stained, but clean. She nodded her head, closed the two trunks, and with some nice flax linen sheets over her left arm, and the table cloth in her right hand, walked out.
Wulfstan shot ahead, and had just enough time to tell Thomas what she was bringing.
The Queen turned to greet her. ‘Ah, thank you Ravena.’ she smiled.
‘Your Majesty, I thought perhaps we could put this table cloth folded over a few times, between the Prince’s head and the sheets? The table cloth is already badly stained and you were thinking of giving it away. So it won’t matter if the Prince’s wound drips a few marks onto it.’ Ravena’s face managed to mix helpfulness, deference, and a wall of stiff disapproval all at the same time.
Thomas managed a smile despite the pain. ‘That’s a great idea Ravena. I don’t care if the cloth is stained as long as it’s clean.’
She shot him a look, a micro expression of contempt flicking through the deference. Thomas caught it, and laughed, his head flicking slightly with the effort. Immediately he regretted it, unable to suppress another groan.
The Queen knelt down by his side, ‘It’s time we cleaned that head of yours. Ravena,’ she turned towards the door, ‘that’s an excellent idea. Please make the bed, with the table cloth as you suggested.’
Taking the tongs, she took out the first cloth from the cauldron, letting the steaming drips fall back into the bubbles. Once it was cool enough for her to touch, she gently sponged away the blood and dirt from his wound.
It had been fifty years since Thomas had last felt the incomparable feeling of love a child gets when being nursed by a doting mother. The gentle but firm touch of her hands, her face anxious yet strong, broadcasting confidence and certainty whatever she felt inside herself, the soft enveloping scent of her hair, and the velvety brushings of the fabrics of her dress. He relaxed, deeply relaxed, the smile on his face a mirror of the smile in his soul, and drifted happily into a world he had almost forgotten.
Wulfstan on the other hand, was exploring again. He sidled up against the window frame, peered out, and launched himself into space. He soared higher and higher above the ground. At around 100 feet he levelled out and looked at the world in wonder. It took him a while to identify the various landmarks, so different was the view to what he knew, but eventually he got his bearings. About two miles away he could see a party of riders, coming into town on the road from the east. He went to investigate, just for the fun of being able to do it.
There was a goodly wind at that height, but it was no problem to hold whatever course he wanted. He dropped lower as he approached the riders, feeling the wind drop to a breeze, and much to his puzzlement, changing direction. ‘Why is the wind a different direction up there from down here?’ he wondered.
The breeze was still enough to ruffle the horses’ manes as they trotted down the road. Four men, each armed with sword, shield and spear were at the head. One of the four wore a helmet, conical in design, a nose guard, a band of etched designs that went around the helmet at forehead level, and a stylised wolf head above that. He was strongly built, and his eyebrows reflected that. Underneath them, his grey eyes darted keenly ahead, looking both sides of the road for potential trouble. There was a swagger about him, a sense of playful mischief, but those eyes showed steel behind it all. Here was a man used to getting what he wanted.
Behind him came three young women, and behind them another ten armed men. The girl in front was finely dressed, with long flowing auburn hair that cascaded over her shoulders, while her fringe danced across her brow. A lightly made braid from woven strands of copper wire strung with small jewels, sat above the fringe. Wulfstan would have said she sparkled, had it not been for the slight air of resigned melancholy that suffused her face.
The lady behind her had almost luminescent blue eyes, set in a creamy skin lightly dusted with freckles. It was an exquisite face, but it was her hair that truly dazzled. The brightest of reds, her hair sparkled with gold and copper highlights. She needed no braided wire and jewels. Indeed, even the finest of crowns would have seemed dull if placed on her head. Yet that hair was cut short, telling everyone that here was a low woman, a slave despite her mount.
But Wulfstan sensed that had not always been the case. Her bearing was proud, confident, and almost totally lacking in deference. The man in the helmet twisted in his saddle and looked back. The girl with the long hair gave him a weak smile. The redhead simply locked eyes with him, her expression passive
aggressive in its neutrality. He shook his head, smirked, and once more faced the front.
In her mind, the redhead replayed the events of two days ago.
‘Where’s my food Rowena?!!!’
The roar echoed off the walls to the far end of the hall, where she had been wiping down a table. She turned slowly and stared at him, her face set hard and defiant. The silence was chilling, such that the only thing to be heard was the scampering and rustling of the mice fossicking through the rushes on the floor.
Grimketil smiled. ‘You’d best learn and accept that you’re no longer a thegn’s daughter. You’re just a slave now.’ The smile broadened into a grin, the ends of his moustache highlighting his amusement ‘Specifically, you’re my slave, and you’ll learn to do what I tell you to do!’
Rowena simply stood there, and continued to stare into his eyes.
Grimketil’s smile faded into a frown, but he couldn’t match her gaze and was the first to turn away. He shook his head as if in sadness, ‘You can learn, or you can be taught. The choice is yours, but you will serve me, and you will serve me with due respect.’ Recovering himself, he stared at her once more. ‘As I said, the choice is yours. For now.’
‘I would rather die.’ she replied.
Grimketil gave a quiet laugh. ‘I took that choice away two weeks ago when I caught you. You’re mine for life now. Yours or mine, whichever is shortest.’
‘Then there are still choices.’ Her mouth formed a mirthless smile, but it wasn’t reflected in the beautiful blue of her eyes.
Grimketil was silent, then turned to the wall and picked up his staff. He held it lightly in one hand. ‘I am hungry. Go and get my food, right now, or I will give you some encouragement.’
Rowena still didn’t move, waiting a full ten seconds, until his knuckles grew white around the staff, before going to get his food. Between the kitchen fires and Grimketil’s table, and unknown to him, it acquired some extra ingredients. She smiled secretly to herself, and thought ‘One day my friend, one day soon, and we’ll see who is teaching who.’
