Traveller Manifesto
88. Aengland - 11th Century

Aengland – 11th Century.

Their first impression on the villagers must have been momentous.

Llew led them into the tiny community and the sight of the warrior, the healer, the baby, the hobbling scop and the hound was enough to have the people gossip excitedly for many a day.

The Welsh archer had pleaded their case, that they had been attacked by former combatants from the wars that had surged and flowed around the region. Had not they all heard of such wars? Had not each of them heard of someone who knew someone who had fought or died? He and Michael agreed not to speak of the monstrous warriors they had killed. Not yet anyway.

The villagers had been cautiously welcoming until it was known that Tatae was not only a healer but also a keeper of the Old Ways. The oldest among them called out in delight, for they followed the ways of before the Christian monks. Besides, the monks had not visited the village for many seasons and children had been born. So Genovefa was soon passed around between the older women who cooed and kissed the babe with their whiskery chins while Tatae went to work.

The one requiring the most serious attention was Wasdewy, who had three toes removed by the blast of fire from the super-soldiers. His dressings needed to be changed regularly. He had Michael to thank that he was even alive, for he had been knocked by the warrior to fall backwards over the log. As the vicious tear of the weapon gouged a thick channel into the solid timber of the log, the scop’s legs must have remained in the air long enough for one of his feet to be struck by some of the projectiles, deftly removing some of his toes. He was fortunate the wounds were not worse. If one of those projectiles had struck a major artery or a bone, he might not have survived. If Michael had been any slower, the scop might have been left in bloody chunks.

Michael and Tatae treated the bloody injury with swift efficiency. The injections that so intrigued Llew meant they could carefully carve off the tattered remnants of the three toes and part of the pad of his left foot. The archer had been most impressed with the lack of screaming, as if the scop had not felt a thing.

Following the treatment of the scop’s wounds, had been the onerous task of the disposal of the soldiers. The dead men were carefully removed from their equipment and anything useful from their packs, especially knives and first aid kits, were kept. Their uniforms were of a new fabric that was resistant to tearing, so was useless for bandages.

Llew helped Michael pile timber into a bonfire and then place the bodies of the slain soldiers onto the pyre. They would have been chipped, of course, so the grisly task of cremation was the only way he could guarantee the bodies would not be easily found. As the bonfire roared, they tossed on their equipment, one piece at a time. While plastic components smouldered and the computer components, including the latest in Solid State Drives, burst into bright blue and green flames, the carbon fibre would never truly burn. Command would have noted their location, of course, but Michael was determined to make any future pursuit as difficult for them as he could.

While the bodies and equipment burned, Tatae gently took his seax. Once they knew the approximate location of the offending chip it was soon identified as an easily overlooked lump under the skin. The sharp blade and Tatae’s nimble fingers deftly removed the offending technology. Michael purposely denied himself pain relief. He deserved the pain. After all, he had unwittingly carried the tool that had almost cost his family their lives. It was a very tender place, so he was grateful when the chip was finally thrown into the coals with a hiss and sizzle as it melted and burst into a tiny flash. The operation left him soaked, the seax sheath he had gripped in his teeth left with a semi-circle of distinct tooth marks.

They continued to burn the remnants until late into the afternoon. By the time the fire was done, all that remained lay twisted and scorched, remnants of ruined electronics mixed with shattered bone and weapons. Though they risked detection, they were compelled to stay the night. Llew deftly shot a few squirrels which they roasted and ate quietly.

Their sleep was uneasy. Wasdewy moaned in pain and Michael’s small but significant cut hurt enough to keep him aware. Latis was the perfect, silent sentinel.

The next morning, Michael insisted that they bury what they could. Wasdewy could do little but watch and hobble painfully on a crutch they had fashioned.

Afon Glen was a dream and the villagers were eager to adopt a warrior of renown, a healer priestess and a scop whose name was known throughout the land. As Wasdewy healed, there was many a grand time. Two musicians brought more fun than any remembered and the nights rang with song. Michael soon found that the modern military’s joke about the Welsh, that you had to have them singing or they will soon end up fighting, rang true for many around Afon Glen.

Michael sat and watched the village as he pondered on their blessings. Genovefa struggled to her feet and gave a few toddled steps. All too soon their second child would be born and Genovefa would no doubt be scarpering about the village with the other urchins or swimming in the river by the small boats the villagers used as water-taxis.

Tatae emerged from one of the huts and, surrounded as she was by a gaggle of adoring women, wandered to another hut. She looked to her husband who was minding Genovefa and gave him a warm smile. At that, his heart sang. He smiled in reply as she moved on, like a doctor in her rounds of village babies and children.

Latis wandered over, accompanied by her lively litter of four puppies. One had died and one looked suspiciously out of place. The village hunters agreed that the small male had the blood of a wolf in it. How had Latis managed that? She had obviously been pregnant during part of the time they fled Giolgrave, which explained in part the reason for her uncharacteristic savagery.

The pups had roly-poly little fat tummies, for Latis was an excellent mother. She lay by Michael and the bundles launched at her bulbous nipples and continued to feed, paddling their front paws as they did so.

Michael gave a fond smile as Latis looked up with her eyes half-closed in contentment. She was such a good mother. He reached to her and ruffled her scruffy head.

Yes, food was plentiful and life was good.

And as far as he knew, with the eyes of the Generals and modern researchers no longer upon them, as far as the modern world was concerned, they were gone.