Garnet And Gold

Chapter 9

Lord Werian brought them to a halt outside a large wooden building. At once Rick noticed that the construction was different from the others. Beams dug into the ground at forty-five degrees supported the walls. The reason for this arrangement was the many windows. Lord Werian waved a hand toward the edifice, “The Writing House,” he said, “or as the chief pen-smith calls it, the Scriptorium.”

“Is it part of a monastery?”

“Nay, this is a thriving business – no time for prayers. More than half of the pen pushers are former monks, mind you. Others are young lads schooled here in the village to do the work. Come, I’ll present you to Master Alric, he’s in charge here.”

The master pen-smith, as the thegn had called him, was a grey-haired, hook-nosed fellow, who had formerly been responsible for a woodland priory. Illness and infirmity had reduced the number of his charges to the point where he decided to abandon his calling and return to his first love, the production of illustrated volumes. Lord Werian, a man with an eye for a business opportunity, gathered together a group formed of vagrant monks and eager youngsters who now served Master Alric. There were many religious houses, lords and ladies and others both here and on the Continent willing to spend considerable sums for well-made Biblical works and other volumes, he explained.

Lord Werian pushed open the door and what a sight met Rick’s eyes! Rows of men at desks under the windows were dipping pens into ink to produce colourful scrolls or images of creatures to illustrate flowing initials. It looked like a scene he imagined from the days of cottage industries. On the other side of the room, men were stretching and scraping vellum on frames.

At the sight of the thegn, Master Alric hastened over and gazed at Rick with curiosity.

“I bring you a friend who knows how to read and write. Can you make use of him here?”

“Indeed we can! Anyone who can read is welcome. Half of these illiterate wastrels make costly mistakes and our work goes to ruin! Where did you learn to read?”

Rick smiled and decided on a half-truth, “In a church school in Cambridge, master. I can understand Latin too.”

The master showed Rick round the scriptorium, beginning with the creation of black ink from soot and egg white, red ink from crushed insects, through other rarer, more prized colours. Rick’s eye sought the stylus Gary had unearthed but without success. The pens here were more rudimentary, either made from reeds or goat bones. The procedures of vellum production and chalk crushing to de-grease the skin for writing all fascinated Rick, who had so many questions. His curiosity pleased the master and so, over the following days, Rick became a firm favourite. The master entrusted him the task of reading incoming documents and selecting among them the most suitable for transcription. Rick’s ability to interpret illegible words and phrases gladdened the former prior because it aided their work, making it proceed more smoothly.

There was time during the day for him to wander so he was able to sketch a map of the settlement. He found the quay to the south. From there, he discovered, the villagers rowed along the marshland waterways to the coast, especially to the creek known as the Salt Fleet. He took this to be modern-day Saltfleetby. From this small trading centre the village received most of its goods, and whatever produce they could spare they sold there. Volumes packed carefully in their scriptorium left the port for Frankia or boatmen took them to London.

Walking around one day, Rick came face to face with Rinc.

“Greetings, friend,” Rick approached the ceorl.

The other man glowered at him, “Ain’t no friend of yours! An’ you stay away from me and my wife and babe.”

“You don’t understand,” Rick tried to make his voice as gentle as possible, “I mean you and your family no harm. Indeed, I come to make sure that nothing ill befalls the people of this place. Did they tell you I am a seer?”

“So they say. But I’m telling you, I want nought to do with you. No good can come of a man made to look like another. You even fooled my wife last time you was here.”

“I’m sorry about that misunderstanding. I’ll stay well away from her, have no fear.”

He saw the man visibly relax. “And take this,” Rick said, drawing the seax. “I took this fearing you meant to use it on me. But I am no thief. You are the rightful owner. Please.”

He handed the weapon hilt-first to Rinc and held his breath while the fellow grasped it and stared Rick in the eye. An eternity passed before he nodded and slipped it into his belt.

“No hard feelings, then?”

“Nay, but you keep your word and stay away from my family.”

“I will,” said Rick and at that moment intended to keep the promise.

As the weeks turned into months, Rick made every effort to hide his diary from prying eyes. This was necessary because he did not want anyone to spot his modern paper and ballpoint pen. The problem was finding the solitude and time to write and sketch. As he did so, he began to realise how useful his mapping and measurements would be to archaeologists when he returned – if ever he told people about his presence here.

Rick had learnt to use a reed pen for delicate drawing by the time summer slipped into autumn. The men were carrying wheat sheaves to the barn when Lord Werian came to find him.

“Rick, a messenger has brought splendid news! As you predicted, the heathen army met with its undoing at the hands of the Aetheling Alfred at Ashdown where their leader Jarl Bagsecg was slain. It is all exactly as you foretold, my friend. How are you faring with Master Alric?”

“Well, I think. You ought to ask him.”

“No need, he often speaks well of you, Rick. But when word gets around about how you have foretold events, the people will hold you in great esteem.”

“I have little care for esteem, lord, I must ensure your safety. These are perilous times.”

“Indeed they are, but what is it you intend to do?”

“I must go away for a while, but I will come back. There are matters I have to attend to.”

Rick meant to return to his own era for he needed more information. How long did the settlement have before the Viking scourge descended upon it?

He decided not to depart with stealth but went to Master Alric.

“I have spoken to Lord Werian and explained that I must leave you for a time. There are affairs I have to deal with.”

“How long will it take, Rick?”

“I cannot say. But weeks rather than months.”

“Then, God speed. We shall miss you.”

Rick strode out of the village to where the land began to drop down to the marsh. Ensuring that nobody was within sight, he put his hand into his tunic and grasped the pendant. Would it work? The fear of remaining here forever was one that rarely left him. Every man belongs in a time and place, he believed, and his were not here and now. With time only to formulate these considerations, the air began to ripple as before and in the swirling mist, the by now familiar tear opened for him to plunge through.

When he sat up and looked dizzily around, he wondered why he lost consciousness every time. Maybe a hundred paces up the hill the recognisable figure of Gary was pacing with a metal detector held out in front of him like a vacuum cleaner hose. It must be the weekend. Why was his friend wearing Saxon clothing?

“Gary!”

“Hey! Rick!” The detectorist switched off his machine and, laying it on the ground, hurried over.

“I’m glad you’re back!”

“Why are you dressed as a Saxon?”

“Don’t you remember? We decided on it this morning.”

“This morning? How long have I been away?”

ThisGary glanced at his watch, “About three hours.”

“Three hours! Gary, I’ve been in the Saxon settlement from February through to October.”

“Nine months! You’re out of your mind! I tell you it’s been three hours and I haven’t found a blessed thing.”

“Nor will you, searching there. I’ve made a map of the settlement for you to look at but why don’t we pack up and go home? I’m dying for an Indian takeaway!”

In the car, Rick ran his hand over the dashboard. It felt like the first time he’d ever appreciated plastic. “I met your double in the village, you know, he’s called Garr.”

Gary, about to turn the ignition key, froze.

“Let me say, it’s the first time I’ve believed you. I saw the air open like a doorway and I wanted to follow you, but something, I don’t know, like an invisible force, held me back.”

“Come on,” Rick said, “out the car! You’re coming with me.”

Gary, as if mesmerised, followed instructions. They walked back to the field boundary and Rick outlined his plan.

“I have something of Garr’s that I think will bring you through with me. We won’t stay. I just want you to witness it for yourself. No-one will hurt us. They hold me in great esteem. I’ll explain later. Here, put this on your left wrist.”

When they reached Rick’s usual spot for the transit, he said, “Start to fiddle with the bracelet.” He thrust his hand inside his tunic and everything grew weird as before, except that this time both he and Gary plunged through the gap.

“Wake up, Gary,” Rick bent over his friend, concerned at the pallor of his complexion, but to his relief the eyelids flickered open. Rick offered his hand and hauled Gary to his feet. “It looks like you made it, this time. Come on, over the rise and there’s the village.”

“Do you think it’s wise?”

“Why not? Come on!”

Rick led Gary straight to the scriptorium.

“This is where I work. Take a peek through the window. Do you see the tall man bent over the desk in the far corner? Yeah? That’s Master Alric, he’s my boss. He’s an ex-prior and they’re making books for sale – it’s like a small factory.”

“You’re joking!”

“I couldn’t be more serious. Do you want to see some more?”

“No. I’d rather get back.”

Gary was understandably edgy and not being a historian, hardly felt compelled to observe as much as possible. They hurried back down toward the marsh.

“I hope we’re not stuck in the ninth century,” said Gary, echoing Rick’s thoughts on the previous occasions he’d sought to return.

“Touch your bracelet and come with me!”

Once again, Rick was first to regain consciousness and when Gary came round, he asked, “Are you going to be all right to drive?”

“Let’s get over to the ox-cart!”

Rick grinned but stared hard at his friend.

“Do you realise you looked at people alive more than a thousand years ago?”

“You know how you do!”

Gary drove silently to Louth. Gone was his usual flippancy as they sat at his kitchen table drinking a cool lager from the fridge. It was understandable he should be suffering from shock.

“What are you going to do about this, Rick? You’ve probably made the greatest discovery of this or any other century. You can’t just ignore it.”

“I can’t stand before a conference and make a fool of myself, either. There’s work to be done, lad, to explain what’s happened. I need to study and think. Anyway, look, as a matter of urgency I’m probably going to need your help with Esme.” He looked earnestly into his friend’s eyes, “She has to believe me, Gary.”

“You got it, pal.”

“Good, now I want you to study the notes I took while I was there. He tossed his notepad on the table, “Oh, and tell me all the information you have on the site.”

They pored over the respective documents until Gary looked up. “Judging by your sketch I’ve been wasting my time lately.” He stabbed a finger at the map, “I should be searching farther to the north.”

Rick looked up, “Maybe you could persuade the people from Sheffield to dig in that area.”

“Don’t worry, Rick, they use modern techniques that can measure earth disturbance. They won’t waste their time.”

“Neither must I. Tomorrow I’ll go back to Cambridge. Will you come down when I decide to tell Esme?”

“When do you think that will be?”

“As soon as I can put together a convincing theory about these amazing events.”