January 1636, Dover, England
Four large bay mares walked quietly down the gangplank and on to the quay. Their heads lifted, nostrils widened, and ears swiveled taking in the new sights, odors, and sounds but they showed no signs of distress. Wilfram Jones smiled in relief. The mares were his gift to his family and the last of his group's horses to be off-loaded. The English Channel had been choppy and not all of the horses had been as phlegmatic.
"That's it, Wilf," Reichard Blucher said, coming up behind him. "All our gear and animals are off that miserable excuse for a ship."
"It got us here without charging a king's ransom," Wilf answered, "and the captain didn't overcharge us for what your horse did to his ship." He glanced up at the clouds and frowned. "We need to get on our way. It's a long ride to our destination and yon clouds look like they hold snow."
Wilf directed Christian du Champ, Dieter Wiesskamp, and Reichard to manage the packsaddles and packs. Mike Tyler joined him in saddling the riding animals. In less than an hour all five men were mounted and each held the lead of a packhorse.
"Okay, let's go," Wilf called out and started his horses off through Dover.
"You should say 'Move 'em out,' Wilf," Christian said with a wicked grin.
"No, no!" Dieter chimed in. "It's 'Head 'em up! Move 'em Out!' but only if you're leading a cattle drive or a wagon train. Ask Mike."
"Don't look at me," Mike Tyler replied. "Westerns never were my favorites. You guys are the ones who spend all your spare time watching Rob's old tapes."
Wilf ignored the banter and concentrated on winding through the crowded streets. Once clear of the town he led them off the Dover to London road and onto a smaller lane leading west. He kept them moving for half an hour before calling a halt to check cinches and give the horses a rest.
Dismounting, Wilf drew in a deep breath of cold, damp air.
"Ah, the smell of England. As we're upwind of the town, the worst stink is cow dung."
"How long has it been," Christian asked, "since you've had a lungful of English air?"
"Years. I came back once, but never made it past the docks." Wilf frowned at the memory. "I was just turned twenty and thought to show my father and grandfather that I'd survived and even had money in my pockets." His memories of that aborted visit stirred up a number of other unpleasant memories.
"What happened to stop you?" Christian asked softly
"At a dockside inn a whore reminded me that mercenaries are the scum of the earth. She did find my money as good as any other's, though." Wilf faced his old friend and lifted an eyebrow. "No doubt, someone similarly informed you."
"None so kind as a whore. My grandfather ordered me out. Ordered that my name be removed from family records. He told me that I wasn't even fit to beg on the streets so that left becoming a mercenary."
The quick smile that crossed Christian's lips didn't fool Wilf. His own memories still festered and he suspected that Christian's did so, also. Movement among the horses drew his attention.
Reichard's gelding had his head up, a clump of grass hanging forgotten from his mouth. The horse's attention focused on the road behind them. One by one the other horses lifted their heads and subtly tensed.
"Get mounted," Wilf ordered, "someone's coming." Before he was fully settled in his saddle his right hand had moved his up-time pistol from its holster to his coat pocket. "Michael, take the packhorses and stay behind us. If a fight starts, ride off down the road as fast as you can manage. We'll catch up."
"Are you expecting a fight?" Tyler asked calmly. Wilf smiled at the sight of the pistol ready in Michael's hand. The young man had come a long way from the shy, nervous boy he'd first met. Briefly Wilf wished that Rob Parker was with them. Rob had several times proved capable of handling a pitched battle. Michael was still green when it came to a life-or-death fight.
"No, but I picked this road because there shouldn't be much traffic." He paused, listening. "Our visitors are mounted. That could mean soldiers or an organized band of thieves. Not that there's always a difference between the two." When Tyler nodded thoughtfully Wilf turned away and moved to the front of his little band. He noted that Christian held an up-time style shotgun instead of his usual blade. Dieter had his pistol out, but held it down along his leg, hidden from a casual glance. Reichard's pistol looked like a toy in his big hand and it, too, was held out of sight.
Satisfied, Wilf reined his horse to a spot ahead and to the right of Reichard. The first of the approaching group came around a bend in the road and Wilf allowed himself a smile. They were soldiers and he recognized the man in the lead.
"Ho, there!" the leader called out. His eyes went wide when he saw Reichard and he broke into a grin. "God's Blood! If it isn't Wilfram Jones! I should have known when the city guard reported a giant and a dwarf rode through." The soldier turned to the man beside him. "Sergeant, hold the men here. These villains are old friends of mine, dangerous only to beer and wine kegs." He rode forward and shook hands with Wilf.
"Robert Masters, you pox-ridden, out of luck whoreson! What are you doing here and who is the idiot that put you in charge of more than a pike?"
"Good to see you, too, Wilf," Masters replied genially. "And it's Lieutenant Masters now. Captain Bryce put together a company and, being a man with vast military knowledge, he begged me to join him."
"Your Captain Bryce wouldn't be Thomas Bryce, would he?" Wilf asked innocently. When Masters nodded, he added, "Then your band is lead by a drunken fool who's named the village idiot as his second. What are you doing in England?"
"Aye," Masters sighed dramatically, "that sums us up. Now that jobs are scarce on the Continent we'd have been more fools to not take the King's coin." Masters paused and looked back at his troopers. Lowering his voice he continued. "It's said that King Charles is pissing himself in fear over those supposed histories from the future. He's hired a number of mercenary companies, our amongst them, to keep what happened-what is going to happen…"
"What happened in another universe," Wilf finished for him. "We all get tangled dealing with four hundred years of future history." Scratching his chin, Wilf regarded Masters. "Hasn't anyone explained that just because it happened in that other universe doesn't mean that it will happen in this one?"
Masters shrugged. "There are those who say that speaking sweet reason to the king is a waste of one's breath. Such talk may be moot. Rumors have the king at death's door. Whoever it is giving orders, be it the king or some other, he's as vicious as Satan. I've seen people gaoled on the slightest suspicion. God's Blood! What were we to think when Archbishop Laud ended up in the Tower?" Shaking his head, Masters smiled and gave Wilf a speculative look.
"Still, a job is a job. We're waiting for the last of our company to come across before heading up to London next week. Most of the company is green as grass. Thomas and I could use some dependable old hands."
"Sorry, Robert," Wilf said, returning the smile, "but we aren't mercenaries anymore. No, now we're respectable horse traders. Christian's become so respectable that he's married and has children. Dieter and I are courting a pair of widows. He's made more progress with his suit than I, but I have hopes."
"So that rumor is true," Masters mused. "You are living in the town from the future. Do they know that you were mercenaries?"
"Aye, we live in Grantville. They know very well that we were mercenaries considering that they captured us on the field of battle. Among their strange ideas is that a man's past shouldn't be held against him if he wants to change. When you tire of the mercenary life come look us up."
"I may do that. What, pray tell, brings you to England in these troublesome times?"
"I've a client who thinks that a certain stud farm has some interesting stock. The client is paying for us to come and fetch a few choice animals. As the stud is near my family's village, I intend to see if any of my family still lives."
"Walk softly, Wilf, and keep your thoughts to yourself," Masters counseled. "Especially if they are about the king. Stay well clear of London, too. It sounds like your new friends made a right mess of the Tower. Some of the rumors have Satan sending the Angel of Death to strike men down with an invisible sword and then five hundred fiery demons emerging from the very gates of Hell to pull down the walls. Impossible, of course, but how else could they bring down even part of the walls without siege cannon?"
"Ah, yes." Wilf grinned wolfishly. "But then, you've never met Harry Lefferts and his wrecking crew." He hesitated for a moment. Considering all the talk and wild tales he'd heard across Europe, it was certain that Robert had heard about Julie Sims. Wilf didn't know where Julie was but, should she be in England, it wouldn't hurt to polish up her reputation. He lowered his voice and, in a solemn tone, cautioned the mercenary. "The 'Angel' is a slip of a girl with the eyes of an eagle and a rifle from the future. Her targets never see her. Pray that you never, ever give her cause to hunt you. I helped bury eighty Croats she killed when they attacked the school at Grantville."
Robert Masters blanched. "May God preserve us! I'd thought those tales were wild exaggerations."
Wilf shook his head. "When you come to Grantville you can see the grave for yourself." He waved a hand at the rest of his group. "Neither you nor the king have any reason to worry about us. Our destination lies well away from London. We're no more than a company of simple horse traders."
"That should do for anyone who doesn't know you." Masters nodded and smiled grimly. He glanced back at his men. The sergeant was haranguing a pair of troopers over loose girths. Judging from their faces neither man understood what the sergeant was saying. "Given what I've seen and heard, you may find me at your doorstep within the year."
"You'll be welcome, Robert." Wilf said.
"I'll be off, then. That is, if Sergeant Donaldson can get yonder whoresons mounted and whip them into some kind of order." He motioned to the sergeant and turned his mount back down the road.
The horse traders waited in silence until the soldiers disappeared.
"What now, Wilf?" Reichard asked mildly.
"We change roads. I hadn't planned on going by the London road." He shrugged. "But now I think that we'll join it for a bit and swing west north of where I'd planned."
"Why change roads?" Michael asked, his face showing nothing more than curiosity.
"Ah, well, not to put it too nicely, I don't completely trust our old friends Robert and Thomas. They may feel the need to prove themselves to their new paymaster. It could cross their minds that an easy way to do so is by arresting us. We'll change roads to avoid them. By the time we return to Dover they'll be in London." Wilf sighed. England was the land of his birth, his home. Perhaps it was just the perspective of his years as a mercenary, or perhaps because he'd left England at sixteen, but England now felt like a foreign land.
"The regular Dover authorities shouldn't be a problem. We landed legally and carry all the right papers. From the look on the customs clerk's face, we are probably the only people ever to pay our fees without arguing." He stared down the road before continuing. "When chaos stalks the land, strangers are easy targets. We might appear suspicious to those who don't know us."
"Actually," Michael replied with a wide grin, "those who know you guys best have no trouble considering you suspicious."
"Ah, Young Michael," Wilf replied lightly, "You wound me! Come on, daylight is burning." He ran a critical eye over the group as they started up the road. God help anyone fool enough to tangle with them, even young Tyler.
"Nine days, given our detour, the state of the roads, and the weather, isn't bad time for the distance we've come." He peered at the map in front of them. "Wylye lies here. Stonehenge lies there, north and a bit east of it. Avebury is another twenty, twenty-five miles from Stonehenge. The stud farm we want is just north of Avebury." Wilf traced the route on the map. " We're twenty miles or so from Wylye tonight, about here. My family's farm is just outside a village about here." His forefinger thumped the map. "Too small to appear on Rob's map. Or, mayhap, long gone to plague or war by the time this map was drawn." He settled back and lit his pipe. Reichard and Christian looked at the map and nodded. Michael leaned forward, peering closely at it in the dim light the inn's candles offered.
After a moment Wilf took pity on the young man. "You'll get to see Stonehenge and Avebury, Michael. While neither are presently a tourist destination, people do visit them to gawk at the stones. One more band of awestruck yokels won't stand out. Unfortunately, the same doesn't hold for these other piles of stones we've passed. Dolmens, I think you called them. Many consider such stones cursed or the Devil's altars, and poking about them would draw the kind of attention you don't want. "
Things had indeed changed since he'd left England. The villagers had been always been a bit wary of strangers but now suspicions ran dark and deep. Even the innkeepers greeted travelers warily. Foreigners were watched closely.
Since they'd left the Dover-London road Wilf had insisted that everyone speak only English. People were used to travelers from elsewhere in England having odd accents. After four years in Grantville even Dieter's English could pass for "not from around here but not foreign."
Wild statements about the king's health and mental state floated on every breeze. Each new rumor seemed to bring a spasm of activity by military patrols. The group had been stopped and questioned half a dozen times.
After knocking the dottle out of his pipe Wilf reached out and carefully folded the up-time map. He got up from the table and pointed to the stairs. "Enjoy your sleep tonight. There's no inn where we're going so tomorrow night we may end up sleeping in my grandfather's barn."
"Who be ye?" the voice trickled out from behind a solid oak door.
"Wilfram Jones. Second son of William Jones, grandson of Paul Jones, the horse breaker."
"Wilfram Jones be long dead," the voice muttered. "Dead and gone in some foreign land."
"I've been a long time in foreign lands but I'm most certainly not dead." Wilf stated firmly. He couldn't puzzle out if it was a man or woman behind the door. The voice and phrasing sounded elderly. It had been too many years since he'd heard his family's voices and he had no idea if the voice was family or a servant.
"Be ye Wilfram, ye must be a foul specter." The sound of the door's bar dropping into place signaled the end of the conversation.
Wilf looked around in frustration. The day had started out cold and dark and damp. By midmorning a light snow began falling. Now, with dusk upon them, they found his family's house shut tightly against them.
"That barn you spoke of last night," Christian's voice broke the silence. "Perhaps your grandfather's cattle will give us a kinder greeting. It'll get us out of this wind."
"Aye, though we'll need to watch out if he's got a stallion or two in there." After a last look at his family's front door Wilf led the group to the barn. He was dismayed to find it empty save for a single cow and half a dozen sheep. Snow sifted through a hole in the roof. What had happened here? Grandpa never allowed repairs to go undone. Da was swift with a cuff and words when Wilf or his brothers skimped on their chores. Were all his family dead?
"It appears that hard times have overtaken your family." Christian remarked. "That might explain the barred door."
"Someone's kept the stalls in good repair." Reichard's tenor came out of the dimness. "There are enough for our animals and, if we double up, for us, too."
"There's fresh hay in the loft. Straw, too." Michael's voice came from overhead. Wilf could see the beam of his up-time flashlight sweeping the loft. "I'd guess that there's enough hay to see a dozen cows or horses through until spring. There's a tin grain bin up here. It's only about a third full and the grain's musty. Jo Ann would not approve."
Dieter joined in, slapping Wilf on the shoulder. "It's fine, Wilf. We've slept in far worse places."
A flash of shame surprised Wilf. He'd come home at last and his family barred the door in his face. That was bad enough, but to have it happen in front of his friends… What was the quote Rob Clark had tossed off before they left? Something about never really being able to go home again?
"Are you a ghost?" a child's voice woke Wilf. A boy of five or six squatted beside him, peering intently at his face. "You look like Papa."
"Is Papa's name Andrew?"
"No," the little boy shook his head, "his name is Papa."
"Ah, is your Papa is called Robert or Robin?"
The boy stared at him and nodded solemnly. This boy was the son of his youngest brother, then. It didn't seem possible. Robin had been scarcely older when Wilf had last seen him. There was the look of hunger in the boy's face.
"Reichard, is that bacon I smell?" Wilf called softly, not wishing to wake any of the others that might still be asleep.
"Bacon, a bit of salt pork, and the bread we bought yesterday. There's also half a wheel of cheese and a few onions."
"Do you think that there might be enough to spare for my nephew, here?" Wilf watched joy spread across the boy's face when Reichard agreed that there was enough for their visitor, too.
"Don't eat too fast," Wilf cautioned the boy a few minutes later. "Or you'll get sick."
"You have a lot of horses. Are you very, very, very rich men?" The question was mumbled around the cheese and bacon sandwich Michael had handed the boy.
"Nope, not rich at all." Michael answered. He flipped open his folding knife and sliced an onion to add to his own cheese and bacon sandwich. The boy watched closely, reaching out to touch the knife. Michael pulled out his flashlight and showed him how to crank the handle. A squeal of delight greeted its illumination in the dim barn.
"No, nephew." Wilf added. "We're not poor, but we aren't rich. We've so many horses because we're horse traders. When we find good horses we buy them and then sell them to other people."
"You aren't a ghost." The boy made it not quit a question.
"I'm not a ghost." Wilf agreed. "Ghosts don't break their fast by eating bacon, cheese and bread." He took several big bites and chewed vigorously to prove the point.
"Your Papa is Robert Jones, youngest son of William Jones," Wilf stated after taking a sip of beer.
The boy nodded. "Momma calls him Robin. Granny Digby calls him Robert."
Relief washed over Wilf. From the way that the boy spoke of him, Robin was alive.
"Robin is my brother. That makes you my nephew and me your Uncle Wilfram."
"Uncle Wilfram is dead." The boy's voice wavered a bit and he looked uncertain.
"Touch my hand." Wilf extended his right hand toward the boy. Hesitating, the child finally reached out and poked Wilf's hand with a finger.
"Now, put your hand on top of mine. I'm no ghost, but solid flesh."
The boy inched closer and placed his small, grubby hand on top of Wilf's.
"See? Flesh and bone."
"Will? Where are you, boy? You better have watered the cow…" A woman slid the barn's door open and stepped in. She halted, taking in the presence of the five men. Her eyes widened when Wilf stood up.
"Andrew? It was you at the door last night. Your drunken jokes go too far. What have brought upon us now?"
"No, mistress, I'm Wilfram, Robin and Andrew's brother."
"He's not a ghost, Mamma." Little Will piped up. He reached up and poked Wilf's arm. "We're having a feast."
"Will, come here, now." Cold or fear made her voice tremble but she held her ground. No one moved and she took a few steps toward the men. She faced Wilf and looked him over carefully.
"You have the look. Enough like Andrew to be him when he's sober." Her eyes swept the interior of the barn, taking in the filled stalls and the cooking fire. That last held her attention. "I suppose I should thank you for cleaning out the old forge instead of burning down the barn."
"Give us a day," Dieter gave her his most charming smile, "and we'll set the roof right, ma'am."
"Why bother?" She said bitterly. "It won't be ours much longer."
"Because the Hampfords have demanded that it be fixed." A man's voice answered. A younger, taller version of Wilf maneuvered through the door. He leaned on a crutch, his free hand holding a pistol. His left leg was heavily bandaged and his face lined with pain. "Blessed Lord, this has to be Wilf!"
"Robin! Grown a bit haven't you, boy?" Wilf embraced his brother gingerly. "What's happened to you?"
"That thrice damned roof." Robin winced. "I fear that my attempts at repair only enlarged it and put the seal of death of me."
This close, Wilf could smell the infection in his brother's leg and his heart sank. He'd seen more soldiers die from infected wounds than in battle. By the time you could smell the wound there was nothing to be done save start digging a grave. Except… He glanced at Dieter. Dieter had medical skills and he'd taken some additional training in Grantville. The group's first aid kit held several up-time style medicines, too. Together they might be enough.
"Mayhap not, little brother. Dieter?"
"I'll do my best," Dieter agreed. "As long as he's still alive there's hope. The kitchen is probably the best place. I'll want boiled cloths for bandages and he'll need to be kept warm. Michael, you've had the advanced first aid course?"
"Yup. Should I break out my first aid kit?"
"Yes, and I'll need your assistance, too." Dieter turned back to Wilf. "Don't just stand there. Get your brother to the house."
Wilf picked Robin up, dismayed to find how thin and light he was. When Robin protested, Wilf scolded him.
"Save your strength. You'll need it to curse Dieter while he cleans up your leg."
"What happened here, Robin?" Wilf asked. He was pleased to see the change in his brother this morning. The pain in the younger man's face was less, the fever flush replaced by a healthy pink.
"Do you remember how it was when you left? Grandpa and Da constantly yelling at each other?"
"Aye, and at everyone else. It's one reason I left."
"The fighting continued until Grandpa died two or three years later. Then everything started to go to pieces." Robin's eyes lost focus and his voice sounded very young. "Why did they fight? I was too young to understand why they fought so."
Sighing, Wilf stared at the fire. He'd been old enough to understand and the memories were painful.
"Our great grandfather trained horses for battle and tournament. He was very good at it. So good that he had a reputation throughout England. People paid him well to have him train their warhorses."
Wilf paused, gathering his thoughts. "He was the one who built this farm. Grandpa told stories of it needing ten stable hands to care for the barn when Great Grandpa was alive."
"I remember some of those stories." Robin said. "What happened to change things? Da never told the old stories after Grandpa died."
"What happened was that war and fashions changed. Muskets put an end to armored knights on the battlefield. Tourneys went out of fashion. A fully trained destrier no longer has a place on the battlefield. Some officers still ride warhorses but few of those are fully trained in the old style. It's too expensive and takes too long. Our great grandfather was a trainer of destriers. He couldn't bring himself to train lesser breeds."
"But Grandpa trained all kinds of horses."
"Aye, Grandpa did indeed. He would train any horse for any man who had the coin. He had the reputation for succeeding with horses others deemed impossible. The income wasn't as great but it was enough." Several memories surfaced and Wilf continued. "Great Grandfather taught Grandpa his training methods. Before I left, Grandpa hadn't passed his knowledge on to Da. Said Da wasn't ready yet. That was one of the things they fought about."
"I think I remember that part. When Grandpa died Da didn't have Grandpa's secrets. He tried so hard to do what Grandpa had done but it never worked for him. It was a horse that killed him."
Robin paused and Wilf offered him a sip of broth. The hand that grasped the mug didn't shake today and there was some strength in its grip.
"How did Da come to die?"
"Geoffrey Hampford had a vicious mare. She'd killed three men. Because she was out of the king's stud, gifted to the Hampfords, they dared not put her down. Pa boasted that he could train her." His eyes closed and tears leaked out from under the lids.
"Andrew and I got ropes on her and pulled her away from Da but it was too late." Robin's eyes opened and he stared up at his brother. "If Andrew had just slit her throat and been done with it, things might not have gone so wrong. He went mad and tortured that horse for hours."
"I think I can guess the rest. The Hampfords demanded recompense." Wilf dredged up what he could remember about them. Some service to Queen Elizabeth had made their fortunes. There'd never been a title, but some of the family took on noble airs. Geoffrey, he vaguely remembered, was one such.
"Yes. Jane and I were newly married." Robin picked at his blanket, sadness filling his face. "Mamma took sick and died that fall. Andrew lost himself in drink. What could be sold was, but each time we thought to have paid in full, Geoffrey's added another charge. Come next month's end the farm will be his."
"Vindictive, is he?"
"Oh, yes. He's told us that we must indenture Will to him. Others have heard him brag that he'll make my son a stable drudge. He says that it's all any of our family is fit for. I'd rather see Will dead than in his hands."
"Nay, that'll not happen. I will see to that. You rest now. Let me worry about things."
Wilf left his brother's side and sought out Dieter. He found him in what had been his grandfather's room. The room was bare, stripped of the furniture that Wilf remembered. Robin's wife, Jane and Granny Digby were making up pallets along the walls.
"The wound is clean," Dieter smiled confidently, "and we got all of the splinters out. He's responded well to the antibiotic. It should be just a matter of time and care. If I could find the right kind of maggots it might help keep the wound clean and let it heal a bit faster."
"How long before he can be moved?"
"A couple of weeks would be best, but if need presses he'll be able to bear riding in a cart or on a quiet horse in a couple of days. Given the state of the roads we've seen, I'd suggest a horse."
"Good. I'm thinking we can spare a few days for him to heal."
Jane came over and grasped Wilf's hands. "Thank God that you came when you did. If Robert died…" She looked away, tears flowing. "Granny Digby-" She looked over at the ancient woman fussing with a blanket. "-has a grandson in the village. He's offered her a place. I know not where we will go. My mother is dead and my father remarried. His new wife has made clear that we aren't welcome under her roof. If Robin lives he will be able to find work on one of the farms."
"I've an idea to take you back to Grantville with us. My present home isn't palatial but you'd all be safe there." Wilf watched hope flood his sister-in-law's face.
"There's plenty of room at Herr Parker's." Dieter suggested. "Or we can build ourselves new homes along with proper stables on that land below New Hope. Rob's gotten the land leases to the last of it. That's were he's intending to build his riding school and Michael's museum. Strelow's been dickering to use some of the land to extend New Hope. He figures it will become a good sized town someday."
"Aye, that's a thought. Marta has hinted that a converted milking shed isn't her idea of a proper house." Wilf grinned at the thought.
Jane stood silently, her eyes large and an expression of wonderment on her face. "You must be angels sent by Our Lord in answer to my prayers. You've brought healing for Robin and hope for our future."
Both ex-mercenaries broke out in laughter. In the far corner Granny Digby muttered about foul specters sent by Satan.
"So, what's the plan?" Michael asked at dinner that night.
"Tomorrow Christian and I will go into the village and look for Andrew. We'll go on to Wylye, too, if needs be." Wilf mopped the last of the stew in his bowl with an end of bread. "We need to buy more supplies in any case. Past that, Dieter stays here to keep an eye on Robin's leg and Reichard to watch over the place."
Wilf paused, calculating distances and travel times. "The day after, you, Christian, and I will find this horse breeder and see what stock he has. I rather we not stop in Avebury." He saw the disappointment on the young man's face and added, "You will get to spend time at Stonehenge, that I'll promise."
"Just the chance to take some pictures for my lectures will be fine." Michael agreed. "I didn't expect to do any archaeology."
"We should be back here in four or five days. Then we pack up everyone and head back home. If the weather holds we could be in Grantville by mid-March. How soon you get back to the University depends on your family and Jo Ann." Wilf grinned at the young man's blush. He gave Michael a bland look.
"I'd considered buying a cart but we've no harness and Robin would do better on a soft-gaited horse."
"Okay!" Michael smiled and held up his hands in surrender. "Macho's the softest gaited horse we've got. I'm assuming that the mares will go back with us, so I'd be willing to trade his services in return for Sasha." He smirked before adding, "Jo Ann was really upset when you wouldn't sell Sasha to her. Will we have enough horses and saddles?"
"Ah! We'll make a horse trader out of you, yet! Agreed. Sasha goes back to Grantville and Jo Ann. Between the horses we have and what we pick up for Rob, we should do fine. If not, we can pick up extras along the way. There are three or four saddles in the barn. Dieter and Reichard can check them over while we're gone. I would like to find another couple of packsaddles-maybe in Wylye or at the stud farm."
Wilf leaned back in his chair. He'd walked around the farm earlier in the day. There had never been enough land to support the family by farming. The fields were small and enclosed. They'd been laid out as paddocks for horses, not for crops. That hadn't stopped his great grandfather and grandfather from hiring men to harvest hay from any paddock not being used as pastures. In his own youth, with money tight, he'd scythed and forked hay alongside the hired laborers.
The barn was ridiculously big. His great grandfather had built it to withstand temperamental warhorses and impress their owners. The house been built to impress, too. Thinking back he realized that half the rooms had stood unused and empty when he'd lived there. The servants' rooms up under the rafters had been filled with odds and ends of broken furniture when he was Will's age. The two house servants had slept in a room used by family during his great grandfather's time.
He did know Granny Digby, but as Mistress Digby. She'd run the household and served as his mother's maid. A large room at the end of the second floor hall had been hers. Now, she and what remained of the family huddled in the three rooms nearest the kitchen.
It took a lot of wood to heat those rooms and that went far to explain why so few trees still stood on the farm's land. After looking at the woodpile he and Christian had cut one of those remaining down that afternoon.
"I'd not thought to ever set eyes on you again." Toby Beresford rumbled thoughtfully. "Heard tell you'd died someplace foreign."
"Fortunately, the rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated." Wilf smiled, carefully keeping his voice neutral. There was no point in arguing with the man. After the Hampfords, Toby Beresford was probably the richest and most influential man in the area. Wilf vaguely remembered that Toby Beresford and his father had not been friendly. Some long past dispute had put the men at odds. The only reasons Wilf had come to the Beresford farm were the four hams and three slabs of bacon Christian was loading on his horse. In Wylye they'd come across Toby's oldest son, John, who had offered the hams for sale.
"Heard tell that you went for a soldier."
"Aye, I did so for a bit. I trade in horses now." What did the man want? The dispute should have died with his father but there was an odd edge to the man's voice.
"They say that there's a town filled with witches that appeared somewhere in German lands. Know ye about it?" Beresford looked Wilf in the eyes.
"Aye, if you mean Grantville. It isn't full of witches, though, just ordinary people."
"No witches, you say." Beresford looked doubtful. "Mayhap the Devil has deceived you. Vicar Wheatly has information directly from. .." He paused and an odd look came across his face. He shut his mouth firmly and looked away.
Wilf shook his head. No doubt that Vicar Wheatly's informant had been Archbishop Laud. Given that Laud was now an enemy of the king, Beresford was afraid to say his name.
"I've been in the town and spoken to a number the people. Up-timers they're called," Wilf said quietly. "They are ordinary people. The extra centuries of knowledge they brought back with them allows them to craft things we've not learned to yet. They openly share the knowledge behind their work."
"Mayhap you've been deceived by Satan's minions," Toby Beresford replied. "We are good Christians. Best you not tarry hereabout, least some of Satan's taint clings to you."
"I came to England to buy horses and to see my family. I found my family in distress." When Beresford started to speak Wilf held up a hand to stop him. "I hold no one to blame for their state and pass no judgment on the level of Christian charity shown them. Robin, his wife, and son are under my care now. They will go with me when I leave England."
"You've another brother. What do you intend for him?"
"Can I find him, he goes, too. So far none I've spoken with know his whereabouts."
The elder Beresford turned away and walked off stiffly. Wilf watched him go, wondering what to make of the strange conversation.
"Best your family leaves quickly, Wilf," John Beresford spoke. He didn't speak again until his father walked around the corner of the house and out of sight. "There's been much talk of magic and witches from the vicar." He paused and looked around. In a low voice he asked, "Have you really been in Grantville? Do they have carts pulled by magic?"
"Aye, I've been there. The carts are called cars or automobiles and there's no magic to the way that they work. No more magic than there is in the way water, a wheel, and the gears of a mill move its millstones."
John looked doubtful and Wilf pulled out his folding knife. "This was made four hundred years in the future. Or so the man I got it from said. It could have been made last year to an up-time pattern. The only magic in it is good steel. Once a blacksmith has one to use as a pattern he can make copies as good as the original."
"Is the town as strange as rumors paint it?"
"Yes and no. Some of the houses look strange at first. Some customs seem strange. Perhaps the strangest is that each man is free to worship as he wishes be he Catholic, Lutheran, Calvinist, or Jew."
"I would that I could see such a place."
"Mayhap someday you will." Wilf took the reins Christian handed him and mounted his horse. Remembering some long ago conversations, he added, "Grantville has a library with more books than you can imagine in it. Anyone is free to come and read them. S'truth, John."
Christian remained silent until they were well away from the farm.
"I saw the look on his face. Your last shot was tossing a bone in front of a starving dog."
"I liked John when we were boys. Then he wanted nothing greater than to go to a university. All he could talk of was the great libraries at Cambridge and Oxford. His father forbade it, wanting John to run the farm."
"The talk of witches and witchcraft bothers me. Such can make the best of men do things…"
"Aye," Wilf agreed grimly. "We leave at first light tomorrow. I'll not begrudge Michael time at Stonehenge but we can't tarry in Avebury. If the stud has them, I'm of a mind to buy two or three extra animals."
Michael ran his hands along the massive stone. Above him a capstone connected the one he touched to its neighbor. Stonehenge had seemed awesome as they approached. Here, touching the stones, he understood the fascination people had with them.
Stepping back, he took out Rob's camera and started taking pictures. For an hour he stalked about, trying to capture details as well as the over-all scene, stopping only to change the memory chip in the camera.
Christian, sitting on one of the fallen stones, watched their horses graze. Wilf fussed fitting a newly bought packsaddle to one of the new horses. Both men covertly watched the area around them.
"The camera still works, then." Christian commented as Michael approached.
"Yeah, it works great. I really owe Rob for letting me use it." Michael sighed contentedly and brushed snow off a corner of Christian's stone before sitting beside him.
"Don't you need a computer? When I've seen Rob and Lannie use that camera they've always had it fastened to a computer."
"Sure, that's when they're taking pictures of horses. Rob's got it rigged to dump the pictures directly to his breeding database. He's also got it rigged to a converter so he doesn't need batteries." Michael checked the camera's display. "When we get back, Rob will download these pictures for me." He snapped off a shot. When the flash went off he frowned. "I didn't realize how dark it was getting."
Christian tapped the hand holding the camera and pointed. "The clouds are lowering. We'll have snow by nightfall."
Michael glanced up. "Looks like it. Think we can make it to Wilf's home by tomorrow?"
"We'll need to leave soon."
Wilf stalked up, frowning. "Can you keep from making that flash of light?" His voice was low and he sounded worried.
"Ah, I think that there is a way. I just don't know if I can figure it out. Is there a problem?"
"Out there, just behind those two bushes, there are men watching us. I've spotted at least two more creeping along behind us. If they are horse thieves, we can handle them. What I fear is that they might be witch hunters. A witch hunt is the last thing my family needs."
"There are two or three or more to our right," Christian said casually. "Do you think that your neighbor Beresford set them on us?"
"I don't know, not after so many years away. When I was a boy Beresford was known for taking time to study a problem before coming to a decision. Unless he's changed greatly he'd not have made up his mind this soon. Yon men are more likely to be thieves attracted to our horses." Wilf sighed. "Or they may be local men watching us simply because we're strangers. The horses are ready. We'll leave now and if they are thieves we'll know shortly." He looked around and turned back to Michael. "Should we be attacked, don't bother aiming, just point your gun at anyone close and shoot."
"Ah, why not aim? I'm a pretty good shot."
"No one is atop a moving horse. With luck you might hit one. The fact that we're better armed than we should be might give them pause. The new horses may spook at gunfire, so be ready for that."
Michael turned the camera off and stowed it in his pack. His pulse began to race as their situation sank in. He walked to his horse and carefully tied his pack behind his saddle. Wilf had already tied the extra animals into strings of three. He quickly tied the lead rope Wilf handed him to his saddle horn, then mounted and reached under his coat for his pistol.
Wilf and Christian mounted quickly.
"We ride out quietly," Wilf said in a low voice. "Christian first. Michael, you stay close behind him. Whatever happens, keep moving. Should they be honest men and want to talk, I'll do the talking. If an attack comes, Christian targets anyone in front. Michael, shoot only at those to your right. I'll handle any on the left or behind us."
They started off and Michael didn't see any signs that they weren't alone. That lasted until Christian's horses slowed to pass over a trickle of water. Two men rose from the ground and stood. Three more appeared to Michael's right. None of the watchers said a word.
Christian shifted his shotgun subtly as he passed the first two men. Michael's back and shoulders tensed. His own hand and the pistol in it rested openly on his thigh.
Once past the men, Christian set a fast pace. Michael found himself profoundly thankful for both Rob and Jo Ann's riding lessons. Jo Ann's especially, as hell-bent-for-leather was her favorite way of riding. Finally Christian slowed his horses to a walk. Relieved, Michael slowed his and looked around.
"Thieves, I think," Wilf answered his unasked question. "Honest men don't walk about armed with clubs. When they saw we had guns and were ready for a fight they decided not to attack."
Michael nodded thoughtfully and holstered his pistol. He hoped that Wilf would think that the tremor in his hand was from the cold.
Late the following day the three approached Wilf's family home. Wilf stiffened and cursed. A horse blanket fluttered on the tree near the barn.
"Arm yourselves. Something's not right down there. Reichard's left us a signal."
Christian pulled his shotgun from its scabbard and Michael drew his pistol.
When they entered the stable yard, Reichard stepped out of the barn and waved them to him.
"What's happened?" Wilf asked, trying to keep the worry out of his voice.
"We've had a couple of visitors. Nothing Dieter and I couldn't handle, but one of them did threaten to return with help. I thought it prudent to give you some warning in case we were busy when you arrived."
"Who where they?"
"First was your neighbor, Beresford. He came with his son. They questioned your brother, his wife, and the servant woman at length about us. Beresford seems troubled by rumors of witchcraft."
"Aye, such he addressed to me."
"You'll be glad to hear that he heard nothing to support such rumors from your brother and his wife. The old woman did keep calling you a 'foul specter from Hell.' Once it became clear that she refuses to believe that you aren't years dead and thus you and the rest of us must be ghosts, Beresford ignored her. He and his son were much taken by Dieter's explanation of the proper cleaning and care of an infected wound. He cleaned and redressed Robin's leg in front of them and afterwards bored them with descriptions of the best ways to make and use willow bark tea. They seemed satisfied that there was nothing and no one unnatural here."
"That's a relief. Toby Beresford has always been influential around here. If he turned the authorities against us we might well be hard pressed to get to Dover." Wilf drew in a deep breath. "Who were the other visitors?"
"Ah, they arrived this morning and were a bit less open-minded. Five men, led by a man who fancies himself a noble."
"Geoffrey Hampford, then."
"So he informed us." Reichard grinned wryly. "I fear that we failed to show the proper deference toward his most august personage. We also refused to hand the boy over to him and handled his four stout men a bit roughly when they attempted to seize the boy."
"Good for you. I take it he's the one threatening to return?"
"We had help. Your sister-in-law swings a mean milking stool. The man she hit was carried off by two of his friends. Little Will did his share. The lad can bite something fierce." Reichard's grin widened. "Our gentleman visitor was rude enough to draw first a pistol and, when I relieved him of that, a sword." The big man pointed to the roof of the barn.
"If he wants them back he'll have to find a ladder."
"That must have put him in a foul mood." They entered the kitchen. Robin was dressed and sitting in a chair beside the fire. Jane tended a pot hanging over the fire and Will kept watch on the doorway, fire poker in hand. Dieter was tending a man stretched out on Robin's pallet.
"If you are speaking of Geoffrey Hampford, then yes, he was cursing wildly when he rode off," Robin Jones replied to his brother's statement. "I've never seen him so furious. Not even when Andrew killed his horse." Robin's eyes were focused on the man on the pallet.
Wilf walked across the kitchen and found himself looking at his older brother. His breath hissed between his lips and he felt the hair on his neck rising. The man on the pallet had been severely beaten. Welts crossed his chest and arms and one lay across where his left eye had been. There was barely an inch of flesh without a welt or bruise or abraded patch. His ears had been cropped and his lips were cut and battered.
"Dieter?" it was all Wilf could manage between his rage and fears.
Dieter shook his head. "I've given him some opiates to ease the pain. They must have dragged him after beating him. Half of his ribs are cracked or broken and he's got internal injuries. He was both pissing and coughing blood. Dr. Nichols couldn't save him were we in the hospital in Grantville."
"Why now? Was it because I came back?"
"No, from the state of the bruising I'd say that most of this was done well before we arrived."
"How long does he have?"
Shrugging, Dieter looked at his patient. "Not long. He was awake enough to know he was with his family and safe."
"Geoffrey brought him," Robin spit out. "He said he'd exchange Andrew for Will."
Red rage rose in Wilf. He stood still, forcing it back down. Now was not the time for blind rage.
Dieter placed a hand on his shoulder. "This had nothing to do with your decision to come here. It would have happened without our presence. Something else provoked it."
From the hearth Jane spoke. "It's not just revenge for the mare. James Hampford is the oldest brother. When the father dies it will be James who inherits, leaving Geoffrey with all his ambitions and no land. He's a bride in mind but 'tis said that her father won't agree to the marriage without Geoffrey having his own property. This farm borders on Hampford lands. The land may not be much but this house is as large and once was as fine as any in the county. So it could be again, given money." She sighed and looked Wilf in the eye. "Envy is indeed a sin. This house, this farm, stirs envy in the breasts of others than the Hampfords. Your da turned down half a dozen offers. Offers that could have bought a place better suited to farming."
"Jane has the right of it, Wilf." Robin said. "Da and Andrew talked about selling. Andrew even had a place picked out, one where Da could still train horses and Andrew and I could farm. Then Da was killed and everything went bad."
Wilf nodded, acknowledging their words. He didn't trust himself to speak. The fires of his rage died back a bit and his mind began to work again. He dragged a chair next to Andrew's pallet and sat down heavily. He took his brother's hand and stared at his smashed face. Memories churned in his head.
Reichard, Christian, and Michael came in, knocking snow from their coats. Dieter took them aside and brought them up to date with events. Jane offered the men stew and bread.
An hour or so later, Wilf gently placed his brother's hand back on the blanket and stood up.
"Where's Mistress Digby?" he asked.
"Gone," Jane replied. "Her grandson came and fetched her the day before yesterday." She hesitated and Wilf saw a flash of fear cross her face as she glanced at Robin. "We… I, I gave her your grandfather's bed."
"As payment for the grandson taking her? No," Wilf half laughed. "That bed always fascinated her. I suspect that she'd often shared it with Grandpa."
Robin laughed. "Surely not such a crone as her?"
"She's younger than our mother would be. And, from comments I heard, was as good looking in her youth. Nay, Jane, I've no objection to her having it. We've no cart to haul such away." He looked around the kitchen and noticed the neatly tied bundles stacked in a corner.
"We packed what we want," Robin said, "and are ready. Dieter said that you would want to leave quickly."
"Aye, Robin. I've a mind to get you and yours out of harm's way at first light. How early might we expect Geoffrey and his helpers?"
Dieter and Reichard exchanged looks. It was Dieter that spoke.
"He arrived just before noon today. The four men he had with him seemed farm laborers, not bully boys. Your brother may have a better idea who his help could be."
"I'm not certain. Those with him today I've not seen before. It's possible he found them in Wylye. I know of four indentured male servants, three stable hands, and five farm laborers on the Hampford farm. If James comes along there could be eighteen here in the morning."
"The one your brave wife struck won't be in any shape to go visiting." Dieter smiled and bowed to Jane. "The other three may not be inclined to come back, either. They seemed rather scared when Reichard tossed them bodily out of the barn. So we're left with fourteen to seventeen men. I'd not expect them until an hour or so after daybreak."
"Take Jane and Will and ride out tonight. Get them safely away. I'll stay with Andrew." Robin said.
"Nay, brother, I'll not leave you to face them alone." Wilf smiled. "There's no need." His smile and his tone gained an edge. "Four mercenaries and an archaeologist can handle five to one odds. Especially when none of our foes have experience beyond a few drunken brawls. Get some sleep now. Tomorrow will be tiring."
Reichard tapped Michael's shoulder. "Christian says that you handled yourself well. As your reward you can help me watch the barn."
"Thanks, I think." Michael answered, gathering up his coat and gloves.
"Thank him you will, Young Michael." Wilf rumbled. "If you ask politely maybe he'll teach you some of his tricks. Someday, one or more of them might save your life. We'll start saddling and packing two hours before dawn." With that he sat down beside his dying brother.
Jane handed him a bowl of stew and a hunk of bread. He thanked her absently. Dieter waited until the rest had left. He checked his patient before seating himself at the table.
"You should sleep, Dieter."
"Keep watch over your brother. Christian and I will watch the house."
"Thank you."
The hearth fire flickered and popped as silence settled on the house. Wilf watched Andrew, listening with a soldier's ear for death's approach. Some time later his head jerked up and his eyes opened. Christian was kneeling in front of the hearth, adding a log. Ashamed to have dozed off, Wilf peered down at Andrew. His breathing was shallow but he still lived.
Christian stood beside them, crossed himself and muttered a prayer. Wilf looked up in surprise.
"Some habits never die. On Sundays I go to church with my wife and children."
"I'm not sure that I still believe God exists. Besides, I've forgotten how to pray."
"I'll say one for you."
A rattling sound brought Wilf's attention fully back to his brother. After a half-gasp and a last sighing breath there was silence. Wilf found himself crying.
"He's at peace now."
Wilf nodded, unable to speak. Christian pulled the blanket over Andrew's battered face.
"You should get some sleep, Wilf."
"What time is it?"
"Just after midnight."
"I'll sit here with him a bit longer. It's been so long since we last were together."
Christian patted him awkwardly on the shoulder and left him alone in the kitchen.
Lanterns hung about the open space in the barn, illuminating an assembly line of horses, saddles, and packs. Little Will bounced about, asking questions. His mother, exasperated, sent him to join his father in watching for the Hampfords.
"This is the last one," Reichard said. "Rob is getting some nice stock."
"Aye," Wilf answered. "Here about they're known as good packhorses, being both steady and sure-footed."
"But why did you buy the mule?"
"I couldn't resist." Wilf's mood lightened at the thought of the look on Ev Parker's face when presented with a sixteen-hand-high mule. "According to Herr Parker mules this size don't exist at this time. It takes a big jack donkey and a big mare to produce them. That's why he wants a couple more of those French donkeys and a Spanish jack or two."
Jane passed around bread and cheese. Reichard took some for himself and left the barn to relieve Robin and Will. When the father and son joined those in the barn, Wilf called everyone together.
"Dieter, Christian, and Michael-you'll take Robin, Jane, Will, and all of the horses save Reichard's and mine. Make for that inn we stayed at. Reichard and I will hang back and take care of anyone inclined to follow us. Once we're sure no one is following we'll catch up with you. If, by some chance, we aren't at the inn by sunrise tomorrow, ride on toward Dover."
Christian stirred. "It would be better if I remained with you, Wilf. Reichard's size makes him easily identified if a hunt gets up."
Wilf shook his head. "You are the best to get everyone across France without delays. Dieter." He held up a hand, stopping Dieter's comment. "Robin's leg still needs care. And Michael needs to be back at Jena, or, at least to Jo Ann." That last brought a blush from Michael and grins from the others.
Robin limped forward and confronted Wilf. "What about Andrew? Where will you bury him?"
"I won't. For now this land, house, and barn still belong to our family. The papers you showed me say nothing about their condition."
"What do you mean to do, Wilf?"
"I'm going to give Andrew a magnificent funeral pyre. The Hampfords can have the land but the house and barn will be naught but piles of ashes."
Robin stared at him and then nodded grimly. "Andrew would appreciate that, I think. Be careful, Wilf. I don't want to lose you again."
"Reichard is a master at field and woodcraft. We'll not be seen except when we want to be."
The horses were led from the barn and everyone mounted. Jane, Wilf was glad to see, made no fuss about riding astride. Little Will sat behind his father on a pad Reichard had made for him. It had hooded stirrups and a strap for his waist. Gray lightened the eastern horizon as the train of horses started off.
Wilf and Reichard busied themselves in the house. They worked in silence, piling wood and tinder in strategic places. Finishing up, Wilf took a candle and lit the tinder under his brother's body.
"Fare thee well, Andrew. I know not if we'll meet again in Heaven or Hell." He watched until satisfied that the fire was well established. When the trail of tinder leading out of the kitchen lit, he went to the barn.
Reichard had turned the cow and sheep out into the farthest paddock. The horses stood patiently in the yard while the men lit hay and straw in the barn.
By the time the sun had risen above the horizon the house was engulfed in flames. The barn roof, burning fiercely, collapsed suddenly, sending sparks and embers flying. A section of house wall wavered, and fell outward. With the added oxygen the fire intensified.
Well upwind and hidden by some trees, Wilf and Reichard watched.
"Michael was right." Reichard mused. "We should have opened all the windows and doors to give it air."
"Aye, but no matter. The fire's done it for us now. Ho! What have we here?" Wilf pointed to several men coming down the lane at a trot. "That's Toby Beresford leading them."
"They've come to fight the fire. They're carrying buckets." Reichard passed over his binoculars.
The two watched as the newcomers stopped well away from the burning structures. Beresford set his men to searching around the yard.
"Looking for your family, I'd wager" Reichard muttered.
Just then, a large piece of the kitchen wall fell and the flames parted. Through the binoculars Wilf could make out the outline of his brother's burning body before the flames roared up again. From the stir amongst the men in the yard, they'd seen it, too.
"More men coming." Wilf handed the binoculars back to Reichard. "And from the direction, it's Hampford."
"Yes, Geoffrey is the one on the horse. He's only got eight men with him. Two of them were here before. The rest are new. They don't look happy."
They watched as Toby Beresford approached Geoffrey Hampford, every stride telegraphing anger. Beresford reached up and hauled Hampford off his horse. Between gestures and the occasional shouted word that they could hear, Beresford was accusing Geoffrey of murder and arson.
"Well, that's interesting." Wilf mused. "I think we'll not have to worry about pursuers now."
"Your neighbor has given you a better revenge than you'd planned." Reichard chuckled.
Wilf leaned against the stable wall, watching his brother and Lannie Clark in the round pen. A smile threatened to split Robin's face. The horse circling them had stopped and turned back to run the opposite way when Robin stepped toward him. Lannie was grinning, too. Robin stepped forward and the horse switched directions again. A minute later the horse stopped and faced Robin and Lannie. Joy radiated from Robin.
"He's a natural, Wilf." Rob Clark spoke quietly. "Lannie's already got him doing stuff it took me months to catch onto. I'm going to have to change his job description."
Wilf glanced at the up-timer, uncertain about what he meant.
"I'll bump him up to assistant trainer in a couple of weeks. By summer he'll be ready to take over training the young stock. His riding needs polishing but he's quick there, too, and we're working on it. When the riding school opens he'll be my senior instructor."
"His future's settled, then."
"As long as he wants. Heck, Wilf, in four or five years he could set up his own riding school."
"I don't think that he's likely to. Jane loves this place and so does Little Will."
"I hear that your new house and stables are well under way. What does Marta have to say about it?"
"A great deal." Wilf smiled gently. "She's fussing over the plans."
"Ah, and do I now get to tease you about your upcoming wedding?"
Wilf turned his attention back to his brother, ignoring the grinning young man beside him.