Traveller Probo
13. 11th Century England

Hurley loved the forest in summer. The abundance of wild beauty and proliferation of life dazzled his senses. He doubted that he would ever get used to the feeling of this place. A little too much home-life and work that could only be described as dull and frustrating had left him feeling jaded.

Hitching his pack, he walked silently through the forest, pausing now and then to gaze at the bluebells that carpeted a glade or to dabble his fingers in an icy brook. In one sun-dappled glen, a stag pranced off with a huff of steamy breath and thunder of hooves, antlers held arrogantly high. As it paused to gaze fearlessly at the interloper, Hurley’s heart soared.

While he hiked, Hurley pondered on the past years, how Traveller had changed his life. Not only had living in the Saxon past been an incredible experience but the project was where he had met Murdoch and fallen in love. Now they had their own wee bundle of trouble in their infant daughter, Cynthia. What constantly amused Hurley and Murdoch was how Tatae had detected Murdoch’s pregnancy long before it was realised by either of them.

There is something uncanny about that girl, that’s for sure.

Lost in his thoughts, he hiked for about an hour, his eyes constantly scanning the forest. On the more exposed hillsides, groves of gigantic oaks gave way to almost civilised stands of beech.

He paused at a brook and spied, with a jolt of surprise, a man sitting silently on a log, watching him. It was as if he had materialised out of nowhere and he looked almost invisible, his face hidden by a voluminous hood that blended with the forest. Hurley stopped, his hand to his sword hilt in reflex, though the man raised a hand in greeting and the hint of a hidden smile.

Hurley nodded and had barely taken a step when a huge, shaggy dog appeared silently at his side. Without a sound, she snuffled about him as he raised his arms to let her sniff to her heart’s content. Despite himself, Hurley chuckled and the dog, trained to attack anyone or anything that threatened her human pack, immediately jumped up. In a show of deplorable doggy manners, her front paws were placed onto his shoulders and she gave his face a joyous, thorough licking. Hurley struggled and laughed out loud and the man on the log chuckled quietly as he removed the hood.

It was only after Hurley had been covered in dog saliva that Michael Hunter ordered the dog away. “Latis. Here!” he called quietly and the giant immediately scampered to his side, quivering in alert anticipation, her homely face split with a mischievous grin.

Hurley wiped his face with his sleeves as he laughed and strolled over. “Gods Hunter, she’s grown. Last time I saw her she was half that size. What are you feeding her?” he exclaimed as he pinched his nose and gave a snort. Somehow, that big tongue had even gone up his nostrils. From a shaggy pup, Latis had been carefully trained and disciplined to make her a valued hunting dog. If needed, Hurley knew, she could have just as easily torn his face off.

He had seen her parents do just that and, at the memory, gave an involuntarily shudder.

Hunter stood as Hurley strode forward and the men clasped forearms in the traditional Saxon greeting and then embraced. Latis waited eagerly, ever watchful. After shoulder pounding and smiles of genuine affection, they parted and took a seat together on the log where Michael had been sitting. “How long have you been tracking me?” asked Hurley. He enjoyed his meetings with his old Traveller comrade. Not only was it an escape from the pressures of modern life but it was also a chance to really relax as Latis was the perfect sentry. With her on watch, Hurley knew they were safe.

“Oh only a little while,” smiled Hunter. “Seems you took a scenic route today and were quite relaxed. I thought you would’ve spotted me sooner.”

Hurley nodded and shrugged. He had felt something for the minutes prior to seeing his friend but, he had to concede, he was out of practice. “How’s the village?” he asked. They conversed in the local Saxon dialect but he was getting rusty. Speaking with Hunter brought back old language skills, though the Traveller was naturally more fluent and sometimes used terms of which Hurley was ignorant. To his amusement, he noted that whenever Hunter spoke in modern English, his Australian accent was still present.

“Ahh well, you would know as much as I,” his friend replied. “After all, cameras have been set up just about everywhere. We’ve a few more homes built and the hall is now planned, which will make everyone feel a lot better I think.” The fate of the village of Giolgrave had been actively followed by the world’s TV audiences for the past years. They had re-established themselves at the old location, minus the famous Monastery. A small timber and stone church was now being constructed and the few remaining monks had established their own private enclave, though tiny compared to the original religious complex.

“How are the monks?” asked Hurley with concern. The monks had been hit particularly hard by the Vikings and the winter. Only a few remained.

“Aye, well the monks have been a strength of course but the death of poor Oeric in the winter seems to have left a bit of a spiritual vacuum. Brother Horsa is a good leader, and strong but he’s not an Aldfrid or Oeric,” Hunter explained quietly. Hurley knew the death of Oeric had been particularly hard on Hunter, having been the first Saxon his friend had met. They had shared many experiences, good and bad.

Hurley knew there were a number of issues Michael Hunter would never discuss. Scholars had documented the progression of Tatae’s influence in the community. As village healer and spiritual leader in the old ways, she had been seen to be in increasing spiritual conflict with the monks and their Christian beliefs. After accompanying the wounded Hunter back to the 21st Century, Tatae returned to find many of the villagers now preferred her assistance in spiritual matters to that offered by the few remaining Benedictine brothers. Some suggested the sacred relic and psalters had a polarising effect. Some villagers grew in their Christian faith while others, without the stabilising influence of Abbott Aldfrid, returned to the comfort of the more familiar, old ways championed by Hunter’s lovely wife.

Professor Taylor and his team believed the small community of Giolgrave would never return to as it was before the Viking attacks. Even Hunter admitted it was unlikely that a monastery would be rebuilt. Hurley understood the likelihood the village might be destroyed in the Norman conquests fifty odd years in the future, something that was never discussed with Hunter. With Murdoch, Hurley had visited the modern village of Youlgreave, which in the dim past had been called Giolgrave. Located in the Derbyshire Peak District by the River Bradford it had, predictably, become a tourist destination. Yet it was far from the location of Hunter’s Giolgrave and there was no history of the village beyond a brief mention in the Normans’ Domesday Book. All of which was known to avid followers of the TV programme, ‘Hunter in Saxon England’.

The show about Hunter’s life in Giolgrave had been rated as one of Television’s most influential programmes, as modern take-up of the Saxon culture had more impact than merely the development of clothing, toy lines, or the adoption of Saxon style moustaches in men’s fashion. The growth of popular herbal remedies using locally grown plants, many previously considered weeds, had seen an explosion of natural medicine. Despite his role as the star of the show, Hunter never knew what was happening at his 21st Century home and, Hurley knew, he didn’t care.

As they talked, they switched between modern English and Saxon to cover when Hunter used words Hurley didn’t understand, or when modern English was inadequate. To Hurley, the conversation was polite, as if both recognised they were becoming more distant as their life paths diverged. There was a twinge of guilt that his was now a life of modern comfort and marital bliss, while his friend opted for the more challenging path in the forests of 11th Century England.

Hurley set up the camera to record and transmit their conversation. Hunter chuckled. “Always, the bloody cameras,” was his comment.

Hurley nodded in apology. “Aye, you know I have to.”

“Oh aye,” conceded Hunter. “Sometimes I just forget to set them up and sometimes I choose not to. Taylor’s crew want to even film us having a shag or a shit. I made up my mind long ago that they have to be happy with what they get.”

Hurley grunted and sat back on the log as he looked around at the forest. “I’m sorry I haven’t been here for a while. It seems they’re doing something in Transporter research and I was out of touch.”

Hunter shrugged as he scratched his bearded chin. “Aye, the winter was a tough one. We couldn’t even get to the Area of Convergence on most days as it was so deathly cold. We thought we’d get through it okay but we were wrong.”

“Yes,” nodded Hurley. “I was so sorry to hear about Oeric.”

His friend nodded quietly. “He was a wonderful man, and my friend.” He paused and gazed reflectively into the forest as he scratched Latis’ back a moment, then shook his head as he shrugged. “Sometimes life comes to an end. We did all we could. Even the modern medicines couldn’t help him.”

They were silent for a few moments in memory of the old monk. Until the very end, Oeric believed his friend Michael to be an angel of God. The 21st century world had been forced to sit idly by as the savage winter claimed more villagers, mostly the aged and those badly wounded in battle.

“How’s the blushing bride then?” asked Hurley in an effort to change the tone. The last time he had visited was on Hunter and Tatae’s wedding day. The occasion had seen many of the original Travellers attend and had been a ratings winner for the reality TV show. But, like most television events, the stellar ratings of a wedding seemed to strike a death-knell. After the climactic episode, daily life and building a village was no longer quite so appealing. Ratings had dropped to the point it was predicted that, next season, weekly updates would only be aired on Discovery Channel. Now, Hunter and Giolgrave were rarely, if ever, mentioned in nightly news bulletins.

“Oh she is grand, grand!” smiled Hunter. “She’s especially happy as it’s spring, a time for the rebirth of the goddess, so she’s busy with her little fertility rites and such.” He laughed to himself. Hurley knew that Tatae had become aware of the small, hand-held cameras’ intrusive potential and banned them from anything of true religious significance, despite Professor Taylor’s repeated begging. “You know she’s pregnant?” added Hunter slyly.

Hurley noticed that his friend had adopted some of the characteristics and humour of the villagers. It was a cheeky humour which he liked enormously. His reaction to the news was a laugh and a congratulatory slap on his friend’s shoulder. “How far along is she?” he asked, not that he was particularly interested. “Sorry to ask but Helen would bloody well kill me if I didn’t find out.”

“About two months, though she’s very well. She says it’s a girl, someone to carry her sacred knowledge onwards. Tatae is very excited about it,” Hunter added. “She knew within the day that fertilisation had finally taken place and our pregnancy journey begun.” He shook his head in disbelief. “I never know how she knows the things she does.”

“You know they’re making a movie of us?” chuckled Hurley.

“Who?” asked Hunter, “I thought they had a movie about the battle.”

“No lad,” laughed Hurley. “About you and me, about us and our story and such.”

His friend gave a truly Saxon belly-laugh, “Another one? Wonders will never cease. I know you’re talking shite”, and he gave his friend a playful punch.

“It’s honestly happening. Old Taylor is pissing his pants with excitement. Not that he needs the money. Or any of us, for that fact,” added Hurley wryly.

Hunter shook his head in disbelief, for none of that mattered. “So what’s the latest? What’s happening with the Transporter? Have they created another yet?” he asked. Hurley suspected that his friend feared that eventually he would need to use the Transporter in an emergency, particularly mindful of Tatae and the fate of their future child.

Hurley screwed up his face and shrugged in a ‘don’t have a clue’ look. “I hear Helguard are trying to build another Transporter. Everything is very hush-hush but some big projects are looking like taking off in America, Byzantine Turkey, and Ukraine of course. You should know about New Zealand too.”

Hunter paused in scratching Latis’ ears, something she enjoyed with half-closed eyes and a sloppy grin. They knew their old New Zealand hunting trainer, Kai Whitianga, had been involved in the training of the New Zealand Traveller team. As Hurley went on to describe the details of the Maori ambush and the men killed, Michael listened closely without expression or comment. At the end, he only shook his head and muttered, “Poor bastards”, to which Hurley grunted his agreement. “They were good men, good soldiers and nice blokes.” They were silent a moment, for they knew how easily a similar fate could have befallen them.

“What of you then mate, what is your involvement in this?” Michael asked. “I can’t see you being left out of the excitement.”

“Well, Helen and I have been given an offer we can’t refuse, it seems,” Hurley admitted grudgingly. “Our erstwhile friends the Russians are keen to put aside differences and are trying to work with the Ukrainians to develop a Traveller project to research the Kievan Rus. They were the origins of modern Russians and, like most of Eastern Europe, are descendants of the Viking types that we know so well. Transporter Corp has made the call that the Russians can’t engage in that research as it’s over Ukrainian territory, so one thing has led to another, governments have swapped favours and in a mutual bum-kissing exercise we’re contracted to train and develop the Ukrainian project. I’ve been training Ukrainians for a few months and the Russians are pissed! I understand they have been fighting to be part of it. It’s all very sensitive at the moment as the two nations are in negotiation, you know, ‘Give us back Crimea and we’ll let you be included’ sort of thing. It seems we’ve a couple of months before a joint effort might be suggested.”

Hunter chuckled cynically, “So, Transporter diplomacy in action? How do you think that’ll work?”

Hurley rolled his eyes, “Well, the Ukrainians have, for once, something the Russians can’t take by force, so I’ll begin ramping up the training of their contingent soon. They’re a good bunch and you should know they’ve taken a move from tradition. Their team includes two lasses.”

Hunter looked at his friend and raised his eyebrows but said nothing.

Hurley paused a moment to watch a few squirrels scamper above and Latis, with her hairy muzzle rested on her huge paws, huffed contentedly. “The rest of the old team, minus the Americans, are involved in a Byzantium Traveller project with Taylor. Osborne’s going to be with them,” added Hurley. Hunter glanced at him briefly. The wounds he had suffered from the Vikings had mostly healed but he still experienced reoccurring pain and bad dreams. How must Osborne have managed his terrible injuries? “That poor bastard,” conceded Hunter. “And Morris. They came pretty close to buying the big ticket that day.”

Hurley agreed, “We all did. As happens, we were just lucky.”

“So Osborne’s arm is okay then?” asked Hunter.

Hurley hesitated a moment, “Well, it’s there. He’ll never be the same of course but he has two arms and he’s a bloody sharp operator.”

Hunter simply nodded. Both men knew the real healing would take years.

Too soon, the afternoon sun cast long shadows and the temperature suddenly dropped. Hurley checked his watch, knowing he had an hour’s hike ahead of him, so he could delay no longer or he would miss his pickup, something modern England would not appreciate. Hunter also had to make his way back to the village. Neither wished to duplicate Hunter’s experience with the wolves that still inhabited the area. The harsh winter had seen the canny creatures expand their territory to the extent that they had recently attacked some of the village sheep. The villagers were forced to keep their stock more securely penned and sometimes even in their homes while they slept.

Before parting, Hurley removed his backpack and handed it to his friend, who accepted it with gratitude. Inside were useful medical supplies including antibiotics, which were handy despite one of Tatae’s odd little salves being more efficient at killing antibiotic resistant bacteria than anything modern pharmacists had so far devised. There were also some food items that were popular; namely tea, coffee and sugar along with sewing needles and a few other comforts from home that Hunter and Tatae found desirable.

In return, Hunter handed Hurley a leather pack of carefully categorised plant seeds and samples. Corresponding data regarding their use had already been sent to one of the most profitable arms of Transporter Corp; the ‘Tatae’ brand of natural remedies managed by Tatae’s close friend, Olivia Mojidi. Hurley suspected the data on these plants could be worth a fortune in the burgeoning natural medicines industry. Tatae’s treatments helped manage common health issues through the use of plants still found in England. Many a struggling 21st Century farmer was finding new wealth in growing and harvesting plants once considered weeds. In response, the pharmaceutical giants were ramping up publicity to discredit all natural remedies as quack therapies.

“How is the other project going?” asked Hurley.

“Oh aye, the young lads are onto it,” confirmed Hunter. “We’ll have samples of plants, feathers, eggs and more in a few days and the young lads will have collected the relevant birds and animals as requested.” The project to recover lost species was controversial. While philosophers argued over the ethics of returning species that had become extinct, 21st Century botanists had already set up greenhouses to cultivate plants endangered or previously unknown to modern science. A range of extinct wild flowers were already a hit with home-gardeners. New species of squirrels, moles and ducks were also to be trapped and shipped for study.

All adding more value and income to Transporter Corp brand, thought Hurley cynically.

Hurley and Hunter clasped arms in fond farewell and Latis was given a friendly pat before Hurley set off. As he looked back, Hunter stood with the huge dog by his side. The dappled light gave the scene a mystical air and, not for the first time, he wondered at the world Hunter had made his home. Belief was a powerful thing and Hurley was convinced that his friend had spoken little of what he had experienced. Tatae was a woman steeped in old wisdom and she felt hers was the responsibility to sustain the old beliefs that often lay in conflict with modern and ancient Christianity. The Normans would conquer this land fifty or so years into their future, stamping out many pagan beliefs of the world Hunter had joined.

Arm raised in farewell, Hunter passed from view and Hurley was struck with the unusually strong impression that it wouldn’t be long before he would be no longer able to visit his friend.

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