Traveller Inceptio
77

Michael sat with Hurley in the predawn. He had arisen one hour earlier and watched the forest as it came to life, the night denizens making way for the creatures of light. A gauzy mist hung between the trees. They had warned those on sentry duty to be alert for any kind of Viking incursion or scouting party. They had killed at least eight of the enemy the night before and wounded more than six others. A wounded warrior was a disadvantage, requiring the assistance of at least one other warrior, depleting their collective morale even further as they suffered. It wasn’t a strategy to which they were strangers.

“God, I could do with a hot cup of tea,” muttered Hurley.

Michael was lost in thoughts of his own. “I could get Tatae to mix you a herbal tea. She’s a wiz at preparing concoctions that taste pretty close to the old cuppa, if you’re interested.”

“Ah, bullshit, Hunter, how would she do that?”

“No, I’m serious. She made me something yesterday that was pretty well the same taste. I just thought you might enjoy it is all,”

“Aye, it probably would give me a stiffy that I wouldn’t get rid of all day. I don’t need that now,” Hurley grunted.

“Aye, you’re probably right.”

They smiled together in an uncomfortable silence. As none of the villagers were in the immediate vicinity, Michael pulled his pistol from his belt. He had worn it all morning, unsure if he should even be wearing it, let alone if it should be used.

“You aren’t serious, are you?” Hurley asked.

Michael knew Hurley also had a pistol in his pack. “I’m not sure, mate. If it came to you defending Helen, what would you do?” asked Michael coolly.

“She’s not here, is she?” muttered Hurley angrily. “I’m not sure, but I don’t think it’ll help. History will say you‘ve already used it, or you haven’t. The decision rests with you,” continued Hurley softly.

Michael grunted. He smoothly removed the clip and handed the clip and pistol to Hurley. “Take it. I’ll only be tempted.”

The Irishman took the pistol gently and placed it in his pack beside him. Nothing was said for some moments. Hurley spoke again, interrupting Michael’s thoughts. “Where are all the Time-Travellers, I wonder?” he said.

“Hmmm? What do you mean?” asked Michael.

“This whole project. We meddle in these people’s affairs and we live with them. We send back our daily reports and help the historians get a better idea of how the Saxons lived. Hell, they must be experts on Saxons by now. But are there Travellers among us?”

Michael smiled at the old line of reasoning. “Well, I thought we’d figured that the one-thousand year thing was the reason. As the technicians so far can’t change the settings for the jump back, the only people we can be visited by are from one thousand years in the future. Maybe we are visited by them, who knows. Maybe you’re one of them.”

Hurley snorted. “Yeah, if I was from one thousand years in our future, I wouldn’t be sitting here with a bastard like you. But what if they sort out this one thousand year thing? What if we can go more than one thousand years into the past?”

“You’re thinking about what McFee suggested, that if we continue meddling in history, then we, or someone like us, could be the God of the Old Testament, or mess with the ancient Egyptians or something like that,” suggested Michael. sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ ꜰindNʘvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“I’m thinking we shouldn’t even be here, my old mate,” said Hurley wearily. “What’s stopping us taking out our firearms and pumping a few rounds into the Vikings at the right moment? We’d look like magicians and they’d turn tail and run. Or what about someone like me inventing the printing press, or electricity, or the wheel, for god’s sake? What right do we have to travel back and interfere?”

“Well, I thought we’d all discussed that. As you implied, we are only to observe and assist, but not direct history. True?” replied Michael.

“Aye, true, but what are we really doing here? Is it chosen by history that we walk away and this village dies, slaughtered by the Viking hordes, or do they survive because historically we’ve always helped them? And excuse me for asking, but what about Tatae? Will you being here help you to preserve your ancestors or do you become one of your own ancestors? Or one of mine, for that matter?”

Hurley spoke in his quietly logical tone to which Michael had no response. The team had often argued similar issues in the comfort of the lounge room at Welbeck, but now the arguments had a particular sting.

“So do you suggest that we change history by being here or does our presence mean we make sure history stays on track?” Michael asked.

“I don’t know, Hunter, old son. I’m not sure at all. I only know that if you and Tatae keep on rooting like rabbits, and I don’t blame you for that as she’s a real peach, then you’ll create yourself a little souvenir of your visit and possibly an ancestor to someone.”

Michael was silent for some moments. The arguments for and against time travel had been discussed by more informed minds than theirs, but as they were the ones actually on the ground, the potential to alter or be history seemed more real. “I don’t know what to think, mate, or even if I should,” he replied with a shrug. “Sometimes I think of what our world has become. We know there’ll always be conflict and death, but here everything seems a little more honest. There are no suicide bombers, food additives, McDonalds, nuclear waste, advertising, tourists, crowds, or 9/11. The pace is slower and it just seems less complicated, even if it is more brutal on a personal level. Here you look into a person’s eyes to kill them, not just launch an air strike that can fuck up or destroy a village of kids.”

Hurley leaned back and watched a small flock of birds fly across the forest. Each of them knew the peace was deceptive and could easily be destroyed by a bloody axe. “How about I run back for a moment and grab you a cup of good coffee and a ham and cheese croissant?” he suggested.

Michael chuckled. “Oh, God, a coffee and a ham and cheese croissant would do me right now. Would you spot me one? I’ll pay you back payday.” He stretched and yawned. “Make it a Turkish coffee with some Turkish delight, or a cappuccino, in fact anything you can get your hands on, even a shitty old Nescafe! Have old Brian the chef do me up some American hot-dogs while you’re at it.” They smiled together.

“Aye,” agreed Hurley, “life is too short for bad sex and bad coffee.”

There was a movement in the trees not twenty paces away and Hurley swore. Even though they were vigilant, the person had managed to creep too close. It was Aeoelhun. He waved a quick signal before moving forward. The villagers had cleared much of the approach to the settlement, cutting away bushes and small trees that would obscure their view as they extended the maze of pointed stakes.

Aeoelhun and a number of other fyrdmen, which is what Godric called his fighting men, crept forward. Godric and the warriors had decided that another small skirmish on the Viking camp would be wise, more to spook the Vikings and deny them sleep, than to expect to kill many more. The idea was to exhaust them and drain their morale, to make them vulnerable.

As Aeoelhun approached, they noted his grim weariness. He threaded his way between the stakes, followed by the others.

“How did you fare, Aeoelhun? Are you all well?” called out Michael.

Aeoelhun smiled wearily as he sat by them and together they watched the other warriors emerge from the forest and thread their way through the hedgehog.

“Ah, the Viking leader is a cunning one,” replied Aeoelhun. “He was awaiting us, knowing our intent. He’d sent out patrols to find us before we attacked and they still seek us. There were a few skirmishes, but nothing of any use. They hope to follow our tracks to find the village.”

“Will they?” asked Hurley. They knew there was no chance in following the tracks of the wily hunter, but some of the others lacked his skills and there was a chance that among the Vikings an adequate tracker existed. It was only a matter of time and Aeoelhun said as much. With their limited resources, they couldn’t maintain the night raids and remain prepared for day attacks as well. Michael and Hurley had discussed this eventuality. They knew the village was doomed if the Vikings attacked in force. They had filed their usual reports in the evening and Hurley knew what he must do.

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