Borrowed Time- the Force Majeure

by E W Barnes

  “The bread is fresh this morning, and here is the last of the honey left from autumn past,” she said as the girl set the tray down on the table by the window.

  The bread was on a wooden platter with a small knife next to a clay pot with butter and a matching pot with honey. There were no plates, but there was a pitcher and four cups.

  “Thank you, Mistress Bannon,” Miranda said as their hostess and the girl backed out of the room.

  Even though they had eaten before they left 2023, Jonas moved toward the food, cutting a slice of bread and adding butter and honey before sitting in a chair with a sigh.

  “Is this the longest shift you’ve made?” Miranda asked him as she sliced bread for the others. He nodded.

  “I’ve only ever shifted to the 20th century,” he said around a mouthful. “This shift was different, harder, than I expected.”

  Miranda handed a slice of bread to Sharon. It had a wonderful aroma, though it was darker, denser, and grittier than she was used to. The butter and honey helped soften it up. Caelen handed her a cup.

  “Beer?” she asked as she sniffed the contents. Caelen grinned at her as he leaned against the wall next to the window looking like a prince from a fairy tale.

  “Ale,” he said and then dropped a white tablet into it.

  “Those are the pills that stop us from getting drunk, right?” Sharon peered into her cup to watch the tablet dissolve in the liquid.

  “They also protect us from contaminants since its unlikely anyone is sterilizing anything in this century,” Jonas added.

  “Well, then. When in Rome,” Sharon said as she took a sip.

  “If everyone is ready, we can talk about our next steps,” Miranda said walking over to the door and opening then closing it to ensure they were not overheard.

  “Our next step will be to contact Eustace,” she said. “I picked this date because today was the day we met.”

  “Doesn’t that mean that another you is here, too?” Caelen asked.

  “Yes,” Miranda said. “I’ll have to meet with myself this morning so I can be the one who meets Eustace today instead of my previous self.”

  “How can you do that, have two of yourself in the same place?” Sharon asked. “Won’t the universe implode or something?”

  Miranda cocked her head. “Why would the universe implode?”

  “That’s what all the stories say, you can’t meet yourself as a time traveler because bad things will happen.”

  “The temporal amplifier protects against paradox,” Caelen reminder her.

  Sharon sighed. “Ok. But what stops someone from traveling in time and meeting multiples of themselves?”

  “Why would someone do that?” Jonas asked.

  “I dunno, for fun or something…” she trailed off as they stared at her. She looked down at the table and took another bite of her bread.

  “Right,” said Miranda getting things back on track. "Eustace and his father will arrive at this inn this afternoon. Last time I stopped a pickpocket from stealing from Eustace and that’s how we became friends.”

  “Where are you now, the other you?” Caelen asked.

  “When I arrived last time, I joined a group of pilgrims to visit the tomb of Thomas Becket. That’s where we can find me this morning.”

  “Two Mirandas,” Jonas muttered with a smile. “Yorga Zintel would never stand a chance.”

  ◆◆◆

  They finished the loaf of bread and all the butter and honey before they left the inn.

  “My compliments to you, Mistress Bannon,” Caelen said as they returned to the kitchen common area. Mistress Bannon beamed at him until Master Bannon, a burly man with a beard to rival that on the inn’s signage, came into the kitchen from the courtyard.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet the lord of the house, good Master Bannon,” Caelen said. “We look forward to enjoying more of your gracious accommodations when we return later today after our pilgrimage to the cathedral.”

  Master Bannon dipped his head several times as Caelen spoke, making the sign of the cross when Caelen mentioned going to the cathedral.

  “Thank you kindly, milord,” he said as they left through the front entrance, Mistress Bannon whispering rapidly to Master Bannon. Probably talking about the lord’s finely made tunic and the payment with a pretty knife, Sharon thought as the door closed.

  The street outside the inn was more active than it had been in the early morning. Jonas took a hasty step back as two men on horseback trotted close by. Most of the traffic was headed toward the cathedral, and it was easy to join the flow. In a few minutes they reached the cathedral grounds.

  The entrance to the cathedral was on the southwest side of the building, a massive porch that towered above their heads with gravity-defying architecture and intricate detailing that took Sharon’s breath away. She was not the only one. Around them were pilgrims on a solemn journey to pray at the tomb of Saint Thomas Becket and, from their expressions, they too were awed by the grandeur of the great cathedral.

  But the entrance was nothing compared to what greeted them as they entered the nave. Sharon had never seen anything like it. The columns seemed to reach up forever, the ceiling so high over their heads it might not have been there at all.

  On every side were windows soaring up and letting in so much light that she gasped out loud. She always imagined the Middle Ages as grim, dark and dirty. She had not realized there was also such light and beauty.

  Miranda guided them to one side of the nave, out of the way of the steady stream of pilgrims.

  “The tomb is at the far end of the cathedral,” she murmured, motioning with her head toward the line of pilgrims down the length of the nave. “Pilgrims also visit the site in the northwest transept where Thomas Becket was murdered, which is up the first set of stairs and to the left.”

  “Where will you be? I mean, where will you find yourself?” Jonas asked.

  “I first visited the tomb and then went to the site of the murder,” Miranda said. “Most pilgrims visit only the tomb, so I’ll wait for myself at the site of the murder because there will be fewer people. I suggest you join the line of pilgrims and then wait here for my return. I shouldn’t be long.”

  “I don’t think you should go alone,” Caelen whispered.

  “It will be easier that way,” Miranda answered. Caelen stood taller and looked down his nose at Miranda.

  “No, I want you to take Sharon with you,” Caelen said peremptorily. Miranda stared at him. Her eyes were a dark brown black. Sharon wondered if Miranda had turned off her lenses.

  “As you wish, milord,” Miranda said, and Sharon thought she could see the hint of a smile.

  “Would you please accompany me Sharon?” Miranda said, heading up the nave toward the stairs. This time Sharon was sure she saw a smile.

  The sounds of shuffling feet and murmured prayers echoed in the vastness as Sharon followed Miranda to the northwest transept. Up two short flights of steps, left, up once more, and they were in the small space where the terrible murder had taken place.

  Sharon previously had only a vague recollection of the significance of Thomas Becket. She was glad when Miranda told them the story while they were making their plans in the dining room of her home in 2023:

  “Thomas Becket was the Archbishop of Canterbury in the mid-1100s. He was a strong and opinionated man who frequently butted heads with King Henry II, including over whether the king or the church had jurisdiction over clergy in English courts.

  “At one point the king said something which was interpreted by some of his knights that he wanted the archbishop killed. They brutally murdered Thomas Becket in the cathedral at Canterbury. Soon after, Pope Alexander III canonized him as a saint. The king was forced to do public penance for the crime at Becket’s tomb, which became a pilgrimage site.”

  In Sharon’s dining room, it had been a story from history, one of many she’d learned about. Here where it happened, Sharon’s blood ran cold thinking of the
violence and death this place remembered.

  On their left was a door beyond which Sharon could make out graceful arches and open green space of the cloisters. At the site of the murder, vases of flowers had been placed on the floor and there were tiers of candles everywhere. Several people were kneeling on the stone, praying, and two men lay flat on the floor in prostration.

  Miranda nudged them toward the wall, and they stood in a shadow with their heads down as if they too were praying. The perfume of flowers and melting wax mixed with the smell of incense and body odor, but it was not as harsh and unpleasant as Sharon would have assumed. After several minutes Sharon got restless, though. Her thin leather shoes were not made for comfort or standing on hard stone and she swayed slightly, lifting one foot, then another, to ease the ache.

  Miranda leaned close. “I am here,” she whispered.

  Sharon looked up and saw the other Miranda enter next to them and head toward the candles. The two Mirandas were identical, except for their clothes. The other Miranda’s tunic was less well-made and was dark red instead of light brown. The other Miranda lit a candle with a taper and bowed her head as if in prayer before the shrine. She finished quickly and turned to leave the way she came.

  Sharon stepped in front of the other Miranda as she neared the door and she stopped in surprise. Sharon tilted her head toward her Miranda still standing in the shadows. The other Miranda’s eyes widened slightly. “Her” Miranda then walked out the door. Sharon and the other Miranda followed a few paces behind her through the nave until “her” Miranda stopped behind a column not far from the entrance.

  “Keep watch,” her Miranda whispered to Sharon. Sharon turned her back to the column and scanned the area in what she hoped was a reverent way. Behind her she could hear the two Mirandas whispering to each other. The whispering stopped and the other Miranda came around the column.

  “Thank you,” she murmured to Sharon and then walked out of the cathedral.

  A few seconds later her Miranda came around the column and stood next to her, gazing up the nave looking for Jonas and Caelen’s return.

  “All is well,” Miranda whispered.

  After another 10 minutes Jonas and Caelen joined them and together they left the cathedral.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Caelen and Jonas were reserved as they left the cathedral. Miranda radiated energy, as if she were analyzing their next steps, which she probably was, while Sharon pondered the strange miracle of seeing two Mirandas.

  Neither Master nor Mistress Bannon were present when they returned to the inn. The young maid was stirring something in a pot hanging in the huge fireplace. She offered them refreshment, but they declined, wanting to plan their next steps in private.

  Once in Caelen and Jonas’ room, Miranda confirmed the meeting with her other self had been a success.

  “I explained everything. She planned to get a room at this inn today. Now she will find a pilgrim group and head back to London as soon as she can. She will wait in London until the Magna Carta sealing ceremony in Runnymede.”

  “What do we do now?” Jonas asked in a subdued voice.

  Sharon wondered what was on his mind. Walking back to the inn, Sharon had asked him what the tomb was like and all he said was “It was quiet,” refusing to elaborate further.

  “Now we join the rest of the guests of the inn for supper in the common room this evening,” Miranda answered. “After the meal, we will sit and enjoy ale and songs and a pickpocket will try to relieve Eustace de Whitney of his purse. I’ll stop him as I did before, and he’ll invite me to share an ale with him. That’s when I will introduce my liege lord, Caelen de Winters.”

  “And when do I offer Lord FitzHerbert and Archbishop Langton advice on the terms of the Magna Carta?” Caelen asked.

  “After Eustace and Robert de Whitney make their pilgrimage to the shrine tomorrow, they will head back to London the following day, along with Lord FitzHerbert. The journey should take two or three days. There will be plenty of time for discussions.”

  “Two or three days!” Jonas exclaimed. Sharon shared his dismay. Her feet were going to be very sore before this shift was over.

  “That’s how long it will take to walk. We’re lucky the days are long this time of year. We should make good time,” she said, ignoring or not seeing the look of horror on Jonas’ face.

  “What about Archbishop Langton? Don’t I need to talk with him, too?” Caelen asked.

  “I don’t know if you will get a chance to talk with him or not,” Miranda said.

  “Wait a minute,” Jonas said, his face reddening. “I thought you said the archbishop would be here, that he was friends with Lord Fitz-whatever, and that Caelen would get to talk with him.”

  “I said that we might get an audience with the archbishop or get Lord FitzHerbert to share our idea with the archbishop,” Miranda said. “That’s what we’ll try to achieve on the road to London.”

  Sharon’s heart sank realizing how slim the chances were that they would convince Lord FitzHerbert to recommend the changes they needed. The stress of the last several days caught up with her and suddenly she was exhausted.

  A short while later, Miranda and Jonas left the inn to purchase clothes and other items they needed for the rest of their stay in 1215.

  Sharon returned to the smaller room she shared with Miranda and sat on the bed. She lay on one side to test its comfort and discovered it was surprisingly soft. Within moments she was asleep.

  ◆◆◆

  There was a gentle knock on the door, followed by the sound of the latch being opened.

  “Sharon?” It was Miranda. As Sharon sat up Miranda set a small cloth parcel on the bed in the late afternoon light.

  “I thought you might like to see the things we bought,” she said, unwrapping the cloth to reveal several items.

  Miranda explained that she and Jonas had traded the skeins of wool for cloaks and new tunics. Along with a dark red tunic for Sharon, very similar to the one the other Miranda had worn, there was a small knife and wooden cup, and a bag to attach to her belt to hold them. There were also shoes, ankle boots padded with wool.

  “They are beautiful,” Sharon said as she tried on the new boots.

  “They should be more comfortable on the walk to London than the ones you have,” Miranda said.

  “Thank you. That was thoughtful.”

  “It was Caelen’s idea,” Miranda said, hanging her new tunic and both cloaks on the hooks on the wall.

  Sharon tried on her new red tunic. The fabric was rough though it fit well considering it was a very loose garment. With the belt and new shoes, she felt almost as if she belonged in 1215.

  Caelen and Jonas were waiting for them, eager for supper in the common room. They were all sporting new boots and the small hip pouches. The knives, Miranda explained, served as both tools and eating utensils.

  “Cut your food and then, if no fork is available, eat from the knife. We will keep them with us for every meal.”

  “How will we clean them?” Jonas asked.

  “Soap and water of course,” Miranda answered. “But if we don’t have access to water, we may need to make do with wiping them clean on the inside of our clothes.”

  "That’s not very sanitary,” Jonas muttered.

  “C’mon,” Caelen said, halting the discussion.

  As they followed Caelen down the stairs, the scent of roasting meat was strong, along with the smell of fresh bread and cooked potatoes.

  A group was already seated at a large trestle table that had been pulled away from a wall into the center of the room. The men had just arrived and their cloaks hanging on hooks near the fire were stained with perspiration and dirt. They stood as Caelen and his retinue arrived, clasping Caelen by the arm as they introduced themselves, and ignoring Jonas, Miranda, and Sharon after greeting them with polite nods. Caelen sat in the center of the long bench, closest to the newcomers while Jonas, Sharon, and Miranda sat at the far end of the table.

>   Mistress Bannon and the young maid set wooden trenchers in front of each of them, followed by a huge platter of meat in the middle of the table next to a bowl of boiled potatoes. Then came a block of cheese, a large loaf of bread with butter, and a huge pitcher of what Sharon assumed was more ale. Master Bannon served generous portions of meat from the platter.

  Mistress Bannon set a smaller block of cheese in front of them. Following Miranda’s lead, their trenchers were soon full of helpings of meat— “Mutton,” Miranda said—a chunk of cheese, a thick slice of bread, several boiled potatoes, and a glob of butter.

  “Save the bread to soak up the juices,” Miranda instructed under her breath.

  There were five men sitting at the table, not counting Caelen and Jonas. Two were Eustace and his father Sir Robert, along with Lord FitzHerbert. The other two were traveling companions the de Whitneys had met on the way to Canterbury. Neither looked untrustworthy nor shifty, thought Sharon as she tried to identify which one was the pickpocket.

  Mistress Bannon set down another pitcher of ale and the volume of the conversation increased. The group that had just arrived talked much about the road they had taken from London, asking Caelen about his pilgrimage earlier that day, and alluding to the events leading to the signing of the Magna Carta in a few days.

  “We'd hoped to stay in Canterbury longer, but events require my father’s attendance in London as soon as possible,” Eustace de Whitney was saying to Caelen. “We’ll be leaving for London the day after tomorrow.”

  “We, too, are bound for London,” Caelen said. “Perhaps we can travel together.”

  “An excellent suggestion!” Eustace boomed, slapping Caelen on the arm. “Then it will be a good journey, indeed. Well met!”

  Caelen smiled at the others as Eustace turned to explain to his father that Lord de Winters and his retinue would join them on the return journey to London.

  Almost all the food was eaten by the time the men were ready to leave the table. Mistress Bannon set chairs around the fire after quickly clearing away the remains of the meal. Master Bannon pushed the trestle table back against the wall and set the bench across from the fireplace. Sharon, Jonas, and Miranda sat on the bench, listening to the conversation.