Chapter 2

I awoke from the bad nightmare only to find myself lying in tall grass. At first, I didn’t realize that, while the temperature was warm, it was a lot cooler than it should have been for late August, even this early in the morning. I thought that somehow, I had landed clear of the wreckage, and miraculously survived.

Having taken extensive first aid training, rather than trying to get up, I instead tested each appendage for signs of injury. Fingers and toes seemed pain-free, as did wrists, ankles, and feet. Elbows, shoulders, knees, and hips all worked properly. Once my neck and back checked out, I moved around a little, surprised to find no pain, not even a scrape. Finally, I rolled onto my stomach and pushed myself up to hands and knees, then stood carefully, and turned to look for the wreckage and to seek help. My breath caught; there was no wreck anywhere. Nor was there a highway. The only thing nearby was a narrow dirt road.

Even though my brain was screaming that, logically, it couldn’t possibly happen, I now understood the purpose for my training. Mom had stressed world history and geography in my lessons every year, especially for Europe. She made me create comparison tables for every century from 500 BC to 1000 AD. The tables she had me create showed and compared technological advances each century for China, India, the Arab world, Africa, and Europe.

I was surprised to learn that the rest of the ancient world had been far ahead of Europe technologically. Hell, someone from Greece and India proved mathematically that the world was round hundreds of years before Columbus set sail. Yeah, yeah, I know, Greece is part of Europe--now. Still, Europeans didn’t use the Greek information. The Chinese routinely sailed to the east coast of Africa, roughly the same distance as from Turkey to the east coast of North America. They stopped at trade ports along the way, buying and selling their wares the same way Europeans would hundreds of years later. Nearly ten centuries ago, medieval Africa had a huge library in Timbuktu with over 60,000 volumes. Ancient Baghdad had an even larger one until the Mongols conquered and sacked the city in 1258 A.D.

Another part of my lessons was creating what Mother called Fantasy Lessons. “What would you want to know and know how to do if you suddenly found yourself in Britain in 50 AD?” was the first fantasy lesson. Others involved the same question, but at different dates and in different parts of Europe, the mid-east, North Africa, and India. Surprisingly, the answers were remarkably similar. The primary differences were due to local resources and cultures, as well as available technologies for that time and chosen area. The first fantasy took me six months to complete. Each subsequent one took less time since I’d already researched some of the existing technologies, although I made frequent changes and additions to earlier ones as new ideas and problems that I hadn’t considered in previous fantasies occurred to me.

Despite common sense screaming that this was impossible, something made me believe--and accept--that the impossible had just happened. Somehow, I knew I wasn’t hallucinating or unconscious and dreaming. Everything I had learned up to now was to prepare me so I could survive here--wherever and whenever here was. That was what Dad meant when he told me I would take the first step on my journey to becoming a man today, and what the elders meant about my Spirit Quest beginning today. As wild as the theory was, I knew in my heart it was true. I just wish I’d known earlier so I could have spent more time with my parents this morning.

Knowing that my immediate safety was more critical than wondering how and why I arrived here, I put off thinking about it for right now. I set about protecting myself since I had no idea where I was or what I might face in the immediate future. Long-term survival worries could wait until I had more information. When I searched for the bag that I had packed for the tournament I found twelve large duffel-type bags, each made from leather. Somehow, most of my “homemade” belongings were here in those bags. The bags had rawhide ties to hold them closed instead of a zipper. I recognized the one containing most of my smaller weapons, even though I hadn’t taken it with me to the tournament. The smaller weapons were packed amongst my buckskin and homespun clothing.

One tied-up bundle contained the last goatskin tent Dad and I made two years ago. Guess who had to tan the skins we used to make the tent.

Yet another bag held my books. These books were pages I had meticulously hand copied during my years of studies. The pages were vellum and the ink homemade. I have to say, making the vellum was a pain in the ass. The process to make excellent quality vellum was tedious and exacting, something my first few attempts weren’t. I had used an awl to punch holes through each sheet and tied them together to resemble a book. I hoped that several of the cakes of dried ink made it in with my belongings. The books contained maps and brief historical summaries for China, India, the Arab world, Africa, and Europe, as well as rudimentary plans and diagrams for more than a hundred items. Also included was a set of brass weights that I molded, cast, and trimmed until they were precisely accurate. The weights were carefully stored in a wooden box filled with sawdust. I noticed that rawhide ties held it closed, replacing the rubber bands I normally used. I also noted that the loose pages that I’d written each of my fantasy lessons on were included.

One bag held trail rations and a letter from my parents confirming my theory. Knocked unconscious by an exploding booby-trap during the war, Dad had a vivid vision about what lay in store for me. He didn’t know exactly when or where I’d end up, just that it would be in ancient Europe. He told Mom about his vision when the arguments over my training started. That was what helped stop their disputes, especially when the tribal Elders knew something about it, too.

Two more bags each held a hundred arrows, one hundred for the long bow and one hundred for the short bow. Also included were two hundred each of my steel practice tips, broad head tips, and steel war tips. Worried about how I would carry all of my crap, I breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing the handcart Dad and I built. The cart was similar to a garden handcart, just smaller. This one was nothing more than two iron-rimmed, wood-spoked wheels on an axle with brackets attached to a flat, wooden bed. Iron cleats along the edge of the cart provided a place to tie a load down and to tie a sheepskin covering over it to keep off the rain. I could push it, pull it, or even harness it to a horse or large dog.

I tried to check my cell phone, just in case, and discovered that it didn’t make the trip. Even my wallet and the original nylon bag of modern clothes I was taking to change into after the tournament were AWOL. Gratefully, the gi I was wearing was homemade. Otherwise, I’d be standing alongside the road stark naked.

I saw no smoke or other signs of civilization in any direction. To the south, the road headed into the hills and then into the mountains twenty or so miles away. To the north, the road entered the woods about two hundred yards from me. I decided to head into the woods for now; I could look there for shelter and possibly game, or I could use the tent for shelter until finding something better. In the morning, I might hunt. A small stream about halfway to the woods had several game trails leading to it and eventually meandered into the woods.

Not sure where I was or who I would find, I kept my gi on and armed myself for battle. I strung the long bow and carried it with an arrow nocked, carrying a quiver of mixed broad head and war tip arrows on my back. With the draw weight of this bow, war tips would easily penetrate chain mail or a knight’s steel armor, as well as four inches of oak. I put the wagon together and rigged the harness so I could pull it. The harness went around my chest and over my shoulders. A quick tug on the ends of two rawhide ties would release the harness if I needed to defend myself. I slipped the fighting staff under the cart’s tie-downs where I could grab it easily. My sheathed katana was secured in the sash of my gi at my left hip. I secreted shuriken, throwing knives, and other smaller weapons inside the pockets of my gi and in bands around my forearms.

Shortly before the sun reached its zenith, I headed north. Less than an hour after entering the woods, I made a grisly find. Following drag marks and an intermittent trail of blood drops leading away from the road, I found the bodies of twenty soldiers dumped haphazardly behind bushes about a hundred feet from the road. The bodies were warm enough that the men had been dead for no more than a couple of hours. Obviously, there had been an ambush of some sort. A horse nickering nearby scared the shit out of me, and I dove for cover. Bow drawn, I peered around the tree only to find one of the dead soldiers’ horses. I caught it easily, and then two more horses. Gratefully they were still saddled, although the saddles left a lot to be desired compared to the western saddles I was used to. When I had my cart harnessed to one of the horses, I decided to find out more about the ambushers.

I’d seen the tracks of a two-wheeled wagon on the road earlier, along with occasional road apples. The tracks of the cart’s wheels now seemed to be in the middle of the attacker’s horses. The trail was easy to follow, as the attackers were obviously not expecting the discovery of their violent attack so soon. Near sundown, I found where they left the road.

Tethering my horses, I followed their trail quietly on foot, still armed to the teeth. It was starting to get dark when I reached their camp. The sentry I spotted was easy to sneak up on as he’d obviously been drinking. He didn’t make a sound except for a quiet grunt when I knocked him out, gagged him, and hogtied him securely. The rest of the men were laughing boisterously near the center of their camp.

When I saw what they were doing, I regretted every extra second that it had taken me to get here. The bandits had a terrified young woman, about my age, tied to a tree, her clothing having been cut or ripped away. Her companion was on the ground as one of the attackers was raping her while the rest of the men stood around drinking and cheering him on.

Even though my studies included Latin, German, and French, I could barely make out any of the Germanic dialect the rapist was speaking as he taunted his victim. I picked up words I thought meant “noble” and “woman” and “before” and filled in the rest of the sentence as I drew my bow. The girl shrieked when the arrow buried itself in her rapist’s skull. In the seconds it took the rest of the men to comprehend what had just happened, let go of their own cocks that they had been stroking, pull up their pants, and find their weapons, eight more of them fell to my arrows.

The eight closest to me were the ones to fall first, then four more that I considered most dangerous based on size. When the remaining men got close enough, I abandoned my bow in favor of my katana. Thinking they had me right where they wanted me, the men charged, single file, weaving between the trees, weapons waving. Time slowed and I began a much-practiced dance, except this time a dance of death, leaving decapitated and dismembered enemies in my wake. And then suddenly, it was eerily quiet except for my panting and the pounding of my blood in my ears. I was covered in spattered blood as I crouched, ready, listening.

“How many men?” I finally asked the two girls. The one who had been raped had crawled over to her friend and was frantically trying to untie her. They both cowered when I spoke. “How many men?” I asked again, a bit more firmly. I could tell they didn’t understand me. The men’s weapons and armor put the time somewhere in Europe between 200 and 600 AD. The language spoken by the rapist sounded somewhat similar to Latin. That could indicate anywhere in continental Europe west of future Russia. Roman Empire or former Roman Empire meant Latin! “How many men?” I asked in my best Latin.

The girls conferred for several seconds before the one still bound to the tree answered, “Twenty-six,” her Latin infinitely better than mine.

I went back and counted the bodies of the men that had bloodied my sword; there were eleven. Those eleven, plus the original sentry, the rapist, and the twelve men who fell to my bow only equaled twenty-five. One man short. “Stay down, one man is missing,” I called to the girls.

“The sentry,” the rape victim replied, pointing opposite from the way I had come.

“Thank you,” I called back, and then stayed still, watching, and listening. There were four possibilities: he ran away, he was hiding, he was trying to creep closer and get an angle so he could use a bow against me, or he was trying to flank me.

Normal forest sounds were returning behind and to either side of me. That meant he was still on the far side of the camp. Sheathing my katana and regaining my bow, I used my grappling hook to scale a wide pine tree to gain a better vantage point. I climbed the side of the tree facing away from the camp and on the opposite side of the camp from where I expected the sentry to be. The sentry didn’t see what I did and was still intently watching the ground around the camp hoping to spot me. I found a branch that I could brace myself against and drew my bow. The branches and boughs of the pine mostly obscured me from him but left me enough room to see. He never did find me, but my arrow found him, burying itself deep in his right shoulder.

I quickly climbed down the rope attached to my grappling hook and hurried to where he lay gasping in pain. I tossed a sharp knife towards the raped girl on my way by. She was still trying to untie the girl tied to the tree. “Cut your friend free and find clothing and weapons for yourselves. I’ll be back,” I told them, hoping they understood my Latin.

“Do you understand Latin?” I asked the wounded sentry. When he spit at me instead of answering, I pressed an arrow deep into his left shoulder this time. I was surprised that he only grunted and didn’t scream.

“Do you understand Latin?” I asked again.

“Yes,” he replied angrily.

“You know that you will probably die slowly and painfully from your wounds when they become septic?” I asked. He nodded sullenly.

“If you answer each of my questions truthfully, I have herbs to prevent sepsis. If you lie or don’t answer my questions, I will provide you with many more wounds and burns to become septic. The other men are all dead so there is nobody else to help you,” I warned.

“Why did you attack the cart?” I asked. He hesitated for a second until I pulled another arrow from my quiver.

“We were supposed to stop the girl from reaching Noviodunum,” which I remembered was the Roman name for Soissons. “The girl is the sister of King Clovis of the Franks. She was to wed Syagrius, the Roman ruler in Noviodunum, formalizing a treaty with the Franks. Syagrius sent us to kill her before she got to his territory so he could get out of the agreement. The Visigoths offered him a better deal as well as money and troops to help fight Clovis.”

“Is there anything you’re not telling me?” I asked. I could tell by his look that there was. He stalled but finally told me. They only received enough of the promised money to supply themselves. When they delivered the girl’s signet ring, her finger, and gave the password “Aquitania,” Syagrius would pay the remaining five hundred gold aurei.

I’d felt bad about getting involved in something without knowing what was happening. I only attacked the men to stop the rape. Now that I knew why they attacked I wished they had died slower and much more painfully. “Here, bite down on this. I have to push the arrowhead all the way through to get it out,” I warned the man, putting a thick twig between his teeth.

“Aaaaaarrrrrggggg,” he growled as I started pushing the arrow through his body. His muscles all tensed, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

In all fairness, I really had planned to let the man go when I thought he was just a robber. When I found out he was a soldier and part of a political plot I realized there was no way I could let him live. Once his eyes closed, my free hand drew the razor-sharp blade of the tanto from the sash of my gi and ran it from under his chin up into his brain.

I similarly forced a confession from the first sentry I had left bound and gagged. When it matched the information I already had, he too died.

The two girls were wrapped in blankets when I went back through the camp after questioning the first sentry. When I got back to the camp after questioning the second sentry, the girl who had been tied to the tree was clothed in men’s clothing. The rape victim was just pulling a man’s shirt over her head. I quickly turned my back and gave her a few seconds to finish dressing before I entered camp.

When I finally entered the camp, I walked over to the girl who had been tied to the tree. “I need you to do something for me. I realize it is beneath your station, but I need you to check your friend carefully to make sure she was not injured seriously. I don’t want her to pass out in a day or two because she was hurt badly, or is bleeding, and we didn’t check.”

“Why would it be beneath my station to check on her?” she asked tensely.

I lifted the hand with the telltale white skin around the finger that should be covered by the signet ring her friend now wore. “She doesn’t look at you the way a noblewoman looks at a subordinate,” I explained.

Her knife--or rather, my knife--quickly flashed between us. “Do you really think that knife worries me? Did you see what I did to those men? If my intent were to harm you, you would already be dead. I intend to get you safely home to your brother,” I explained.

“How do you know me?” she gasped.

“I don’t. The two sentries who survived the attack told me Syagrius sent them to kill you before you got to Noviodunum, preferably in your own lands. Evidently Syagrius changed his mind about marrying you and decided to form an alliance with the Visigoths instead.”

“Good, I did not want to lie with a Roman pig,” she hissed angrily, spitting on the ground like a pro.

“What do you intend to do with us?” she asked nervously.

“I told you, I intend to take you back to your brother. Then I intend to find Syagrius and kill him for what he tried to do,” I said angrily.

“But how?” she gasped.

“I know their password. If I take a small finger from one of these men, a finger that isn’t calloused, and if your brother allows me the use of your ring, I will present myself claiming to have proof of your death and collect the five hundred gold aurei he offered. Once I have the money, I will find a way to kill him,” I explained.