Borrowed Time- the Force Majeure

by E W Barnes

  Miranda leaned toward Jonas and Sharon.

  “Last time I sat here hoping to hear more about… things. That’s when I saw him.” Miranda nodded to a man who had pulled his chair close to Eustace, leaning toward him as if he were drunk. He was not the one Sharon had guessed was the thief.

  As Sharon watched, his arm slipped towards the purse hanging from Eustace’s belt. Then it continued, stretching further as the man leaned back laughing at a joke. He had a small knife in his hand with which he neatly sliced the leather straps holding the purse on Caelen’s belt.

  “My lord!” Miranda shouted as she stood up.

  In two steps she was across the room, grabbing the thief’s wrist and pinching tendons and nerves so that he dropped to his knees, still holding the knife. Caelen and the other men leapt up in surprise, knocking over a chair.

  The thief pulled out of Miranda’s grip and staggered toward the door. Sharon grabbed at him, hanging on to Caelen’s purse, but losing hold of the thief as he pulled away.

  With a cry Jonas flung himself on the thief’s legs, dragging him to the ground at the threshold of the door. In a moment the other men tackled the thief, holding him down until he stopped fighting.

  Sharon staggered back, holding the purse close to her chest panting. Jonas got himself up, rubbing his elbow while the other men slapped him on the back for his heroic tackle. Miranda guided Sharon to the bench.

  “Are you all right?” Miranda asked her.

  “Yes, just a little bruised, I think.”

  Miranda opened her mouth to speak again but stopped, frowning.

  “You’re bleeding.”

  A thin trail of blood was running down her arm from a puncture in her palm.

  “Oh, I didn’t even feel it,” she said as Miranda tore cloth from inside her skirt to wrap Sharon’s hand. The bleeding was slowing and with some pressure would soon stop.

  “What about the pickpocket?” Sharon asked in a shaky voice. They had stopped the theft, but for the wrong victim. How was this going to change things?

  ◆◆◆

  As it turned out, Miranda and Jonas’ actions to stop the pickpocket made Caelen a celebrity with the guests at the inn. Lord FitzHerbert and the de Whitneys were now more enthusiastic about including them on the journey back to London.

  Master Bannon and some of his neighbors had restrained the pickpocket - a man who called himself John Brighton - removing him to a locked shed at a neighboring inn. He would remain there until he endured trial by ordeal, they assured the travelers. As there were many available witnesses to the crime, there was no need for Caelen or the rest of the group to remain for the trial.

  “Aren’t there any police?” Sharon whispered to Miranda as Mistress Bannon shrieked at the would-be thief that she and her husband ran an honest establishment and he brought evil into their house.

  “No, the community handles crime. I suspect they will bring in a priest to guide the ordeal, but that’s as much oversight as the matter will probably receive.”

  “What about a trial with a jury and all that?” Miranda shook her head at the question, but she was smiling at Sharon.

  “What?” Sharon asked, not knowing what pleased her companion.

  “In a few short weeks, trial by jury will replace trial by ordeal as the rule of law,” Miranda answered.

  “Because of the Magna Carta,” Sharon said in dawning understanding.

  Thirty-six hours later in the early morning, Sharon, Miranda, Jonas, and Caelen stood outside the inn waiting to leave. The bed had not been full of fleas and lice as Jonas suspected, much to his relief. They wrapped themselves in their cloaks and Sharon was wearing both pairs of shoes for added padding. The injury on her palm had scabbed over. It was sore, but not bothersome.

  A rooster crowed in the courtyard as they said their goodbyes to Master and Mistress Bannon, who gave them each a fresh loaf of bread and a chunk of cheese. They clasped everyone's hands, grateful that the group had not held them responsible for the crime that almost happened in their inn.

  Jonas carried the four loaves and cheese in the now-bulging bag he opted to hang over his shoulder rather than from his belt. He walked behind Caelen, who was next to Eustace. Eustace’s father Sir Robert and Lord FitzHerbert led the way, and Miranda and Sharon followed.

  They retraced their steps from two days earlier, coming soon to the towered gate through the wall. The gate was already open, and the guards halted the flow of pilgrims to allow their noble party to depart first. As they passed through the gate to the open lands beyond, Sharon was surprised at how good the air smelled. She had grown used to the fetid smells of medieval Canterbury and the clean air was like waking up.

  Once outside the city, they were on the main thoroughfare between London and Canterbury. The road was busier than when they shifted in a few days before. Now there were pilgrims, farmers hauling foodstuffs, and men on horseback who were likely messengers, Miranda explained. Sharon learned from Miranda that the road they were on was called Watling Street and that it had been used since before the Romans came to Britain.

  “It’s still used even in my century,” Miranda said. “Of course, it’s changed in how it looks and forms of transportation, but not where it goes.”

  They walking steadily, stopping only once at a stream that crossed the road. They nibbled on Mistress Bannon’s bread while soaking their feet and drinking from a pump set up for travelers (after adding their decontamination tablets).

  They traveled over 20 miles before the sun started setting ahead of them. With night coming on Sir Robert and Lord FitzHerbert looked for a place to camp. When Jonas realized they would not be staying in another inn, he looked back at Miranda in panic.

  “You’ll sleep in your cloak,” Miranda mouthed to him, wrapping the cloak around her as she walked so he could see what she meant. He did not look happy.

  During the day they passed a few small villages clustered along the road and Sharon assumed they would stop for the night at a similar location. Like Jonas, she had not expected to sleep on the ground outside. Miranda, on the other hand, didn't seem surprised at all.

  What Caelen thought, Sharon didn’t know. Eustace had not left his side since the journey began and there had been no opportunity for the four to come together for conversation.

  They veered right off the main road to a clearing that showed signs of previous use by travelers. There was a level space under a small stand of trees, cleared of rocks and growth, and in the center was a fire pit circled by stones. Someone had left wood in a stack to one side of the cleared area and they could hear the gurgle of flowing water a few yards away under the trees.

  “We will gather more wood while there is still light,” Sir Robert said.

  “There’s already wood here, why do we need to find more?” Jonas grumbled to Miranda and Sharon as they combed the ground under the trees.

  “Because it’s the polite thing to do as travelers,” Miranda answered.

  Lord FitzHerbert and Sir Robert were deeply pious, viewing everything they did through the lens of Christian teachings, humility, and faith. Sharon knew that they would use as little wood as possible, leaving a larger stack behind than they’d found because the men would deem it the Christian thing to do.

  After they amassed a large pile of new wood, Eustace started a fire while the others washed in the cold stream.

  There was a comforting blaze going when they returned. Miranda found four strong sticks and whittled them to a point with her knife. After Lord FitzHerbert led them in prayer, Miranda gave Caelen, Jonas, and Sharon each a sharpened stick, and then skewered a slice of bread with a chunk of cheese on her own and held it over the fire. The others followed suit, and they enjoyed the toasted bread and melted cheese as the night grew dark.

  “Tonight, we bed on hard ground, but tomorrow we will rest in a goodly home,” Sir Robert said to the group.

  “Where do you expect we will stop, milord?” Caelen asked.

  “We will
rest at Rochester Castle on the Medway,” Lord FitzHerbert answered. “It is kept by Archbishop Langton on behalf of the crown and he has said we will be welcome there on our return journey.”

  “Will the Archbishop be there as well?” Caelen asked.

  “I think yes,” Lord FitzHerbert answered. “If so, it will be my pleasure to introduce you.”

  Sharon saw Miranda sigh with relief. This news would make things a lot easier. Jonas looked more relaxed at the news they would sleep under a roof the next day.

  After they finished eating, Eustace entertained them by singing songs of errantry and telling stories of tournaments in Picardy in France.

  As the evening grew quiet, Lord FitzHerbert laid himself down next to the fire, using his fine leather bag as a pillow and composed himself for prayer before sleep. Sir Robert did the same.

  “Milord,” Miranda said to Caelen. “I should like to wash in the stream before I retire.”

  “Yes,” Caelen said, cottoning on. “Perhaps we could all do with a wash before rest.” He stood and Jonas, Sharon, and Miranda followed him to the stream edge. They could still see the fire of their camp, but they were far enough away to talk without being overheard.

  “How’re you doing?” Miranda asked Caelen.

  “Fine so far,” he answered. “Eustace does all the talking and there has been little opportunity for me to say anything about myself.”

  “This stop at Rochester Castle is opportune,” Miranda said. “I didn’t choose to stay there the last time I was here. If Archbishop Langton is there, you can make your argument for the change in the Magna Carta to him and to Lord FitzHerbert at the same time.”

  “I still need to know what to say,” Caelen said.

  “The original terms protected a debtor’s land and rent from seizure. You need to advocate for an additional term that the holder of the debt cannot take life, liberty, or property of the debtor.”

  “Sounds simple enough,” Sharon said. She stooped and put her hands in the stream. Her palm had been throbbing since the afternoon and the cold water felt good.

  “Easy for you to say, you’re not the one who has to convince them,” Caelen said.

  “Remember, the terms of the Magna Carta were based on complaints and concerns by the nobility and free men,” Miranda offered. “I think it would be best for you to create a hypothetical story to make your case.”

  “How do I get them to talk about it?”

  Miranda crossed her arms and paced along the stream bank, going over the details of her previous experience in that time frame.

  “Both Lord FitzHerbert and Sir Robert were in Canterbury on pilgrimage. They had to cut their time short to return to London for the finalization and signing of the document. I suspect that if you ask about their pilgrimages, they may confide in you their reasons for returning so soon. That may give you a natural opening.”

  Caelen nodded and then looked back toward the fire.

  “We should return,” he said.

  Sharon walked next to Jonas as they returned to their campsite. He’d said little all day and seemed glum.

  “It’s going to be fine,” she said.

  “It’s going to be cold,” he answered.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Jonas' prediction was right - it was cold. When they returned from washing at the stream, they wrapped themselves in their traveling cloaks, lying close to the fire to absorb the last of the warmth. Jonas used the bag he was carrying as a pillow, but Miranda, Caelen, and Sharon only had their arms to cushion their heads.

  The ground was hard and as the night wore on and the fire died, Sharon shivered in the chill. On the other side of the fire ring Eustace, Sir Robert, and Lord FitzHerbert whiffed and snored in deep sleep. She envied them. When she finally slept, her dreams were filled with images of clashing knights on horses bleeding in the mud.

  The birds announced the coming of the dawn when the sky was barely growing light. A layer of dew had collected overnight, and Sharon’s cloak was damp with it. Miranda stoked the fire, adding tinder to the cool coals until flames licked upward again. Sharon crept close, warming her hands and the inside of her cloak until she stopped shivering.

  “Here, it will help warm you,” Caelen said, as he handed her his wooden cup. It was hot water. She suppressed a gasp as she took it in her wounded hand without thinking. Her palm was more painful today and her body was sore from sleeping on the ground. She gulped the water down, feeling the warmth spreading through her easing the stiffness.

  “Thank you, milord,” she said. He winked as he offered hot water to Miranda and Jonas.

  After another meal of bread and cheese, they got back on the road. Sir Robert said that if they kept a good pace, they would arrive at Rochester Castle by supper time.

  The closer they got to London, the more traffic they saw on the road. Some were riders on horseback who wore fine clothes. When these riders passed, Lord FitzHerbert and Sir Robert would bring their right arms across their chests, while nodding their heads in respect. The riders would do the same for them.

  A little past midday, a rider came up behind them and as he passed, he recognized Sir Robert and Lord FitzHerbert. He brought his horse to a stop and dismounted, taking their hands in his, obviously pleased to see them. Sharon overheard Eustace explaining the conversation to Caelen.

  “He’s a knight from Northumberland,” Eustace was saying. “He’s talking about the great convening of barons and noblemen that is to take place two days hence.”

  “I've heard something of it,” Caelen said diplomatically.

  “My father is a pious and well-respected man, as is Lord FitzHerbert and many of the others. The king must agree,” Eustace said passionately, though not loud enough to be heard by his father.

  The rider finished talking. He clasped arms with Sir Robert and Lord FitzHerbert and mounted his horse. Within moments he was gone, riding ahead of them in a swift trot.

  “Word of our arrival at Rochester Castle has gone ahead,” Sir Robert said to the group. Nothing else was said of the knight from Northumberland.

  There was little conversation for the rest of the afternoon. Even Eustace was no longer chatting with Caelen. The visit from the nameless knight from Northumberland had put Eustace in a thoughtful mood.

  Sir Robert and Lord FitzHerbert both now turned their heads to look behind them when they heard hoof beats. They closely scanned the passersby going in both directions, and once or twice put their heads together to comment privately to each other. They shared nothing else with their fellow travelers, though.

  Sharon was too tired to listen anyway. Her palm was throbbing again, and she felt dizzy. She trudged on, looking forward to a good meal and sleeping in a bed.

  It wasn’t until they reached Rochester Castle, gray stones tinted gold by the setting sun, that Sharon realized Jonas hadn’t spoken all day, either.

  ◆◆◆

  The first thing Sharon noticed as they entered the castle was the strong smell of wood smoke. For an instant she flashed back to a memory of her home in ashes in another timeline. She shook her head, blinking away the recollection.

  Sir Robert had been correct that word of their approach had arrived ahead of them. There were several servants waiting to welcome them with bowls of water and linen towels to wash off the dust of the road. Then they were shown to their rooms. Sharon and Miranda were to share a cozy room with no window. Jonas had his own small room which also did not have a window, but which had a fireplace.

  Sharon and Miranda had just taken off their cloaks when there was a knock on the door.

  “Lord de Winters requests your presence in his lodgings,” a woman’s voice said.

  Jonas was standing next to the woman when Sharon opened the door.

  “I am Gillian. I will guide you,” the woman said. She turned away without giving them a chance to respond. Jonas rolled his eyes.

  Caelen's room was in a different part of the castle. It was spacious with a roaring fire and a lar
ge window offering a beautiful view of the Medway river.

  As soon as Gillian closed the door leaving them alone, Jonas dropped onto the bed.

  “I'm exhausted,” he breathed.

  Sharon sat down on the hearth and leaned against the stone. The warmth of the fire relaxed her muscles. She expected to be more excited about spending the night in a genuine castle, but she was too tired. Miranda joined her in front of the fire, though she sat in one of the two ornate chairs that flanked the hearth.

  “I thought you guys might enjoy relaxing here for a while,” Caelen said, grinning as he lounged in the other chair looking all the world like the lord he was supposed to be.

  No one answered his lordship. For a moment Sharon wondered if the others had fallen asleep. She was on the edge of dozing off herself.

  “We should talk about this evening,” Miranda said, rousing herself.

  “I think I know what to do,” Caelen said. “I came up with a plausible hypothetical example to explain why adding the terms about debtors is important.” He recited his proposed story to Miranda. She was impressed.

  “I feel better about this now,” he added. “The hypothetical story should make the point. But if I get stuck, you’ll be there to help me out.”

  “No, I don’t think I will,” Miranda said.

  “What do you mean?” Caelen said, sitting up.

  “I believe they will expect your retinue to eat in the kitchen with the other servants,” she said. “I’m afraid you'll be on your own at dinner.”

  Caelen stared at her aghast.

  “I can’t see any way around it,” she shrugged, and Sharon could see exhaustion in the lines around her eyes.

  Caelen straightened his tunic.

  “Ok then,” he said. “I guess it’s up to me.”

  He stared into the fire. In the silence Sharon thought she could hear Jonas snoring on the bed.