Inspired by this photo by permission of the estate of H.H.J. Barkshire

Percival Cedric Pierce-MacDonald stood hunched over his workbench, making the last-minute adjustments to the object sitting there. It was an odd gizmo, about the size of a young child’s shoe, and just over one inch thick. He made the last adjustment and put down the tool, straightened and stretched, easing the ache in his back.

‘Well, it’s done,’ he thought. ‘I think before I try it, I’d better take an hour or so to rest and eat.’ Covering his invention, he turned and went upstairs to the kitchen. Making himself a sandwich and a cup of tea, he moved to the sitting room and settled in an easy chair. Munching and sipping, he thought about what he was about to do. ‘I guess I really should leave a note for the housekeeper, otherwise she’ll panic and call the police, and my family, and get them all upset. And if I’m going to be gone for some time in the here and now, I’d best pack my camping gear. I may need food and water and not be able to use what is available in whatever time I end up in. I think I’ll wear my sturdy camping clothes and boots, too. And take along a medicine kit. Since I have no idea what I will face, it’s best to be prepared for anything.’

Finishing his lunch, he took the dishes to the kitchen, rinsed and put them to drain. Then he dug out his camping gear, went to his room and changed, and back to the kitchen to gather food that would stay edible for a long period. Filling four water canteens, he attached them to his belt. Gathering the bundle of tent, bedroll, and other camping gear, he went down to the basement. He picked up the little box he had made and put it in his breast pocket.

When he was about to leave the house, he thought ‘I don’t know what the weather might be where I arrive’, he opened the bundle with the tent and bed roll, and put in cold weather clothing, and a Mac and rain hat. With that closed again, the note for Mrs. Kennedy prominently displayed on the mantel piece, he was ready to go.

As he stepped outside, a voice hailed him. “Hello, PC, going camping? Looks like you plan on staying for a while!” Doctor George Parson (GP to his friends) laughed.

“Yes, GP, I’m off for a while, don’t know how long, so I’ve prepared for a long stay. Tell the others for me, will you? I’ve left a note for the housekeeper, but you’ll be seeing them before she does.”

“Sure thing, PC. I hope you have a good time. If you discover anything new, tell us about it when you come back.”

With a nod and a wave, PC got out his bicycle and rode off down the street. He was heading for the country where he wouldn’t be seen when he set his gadget. It wouldn’t do to disappear in front of someone. He chuckled, thinking of the reaction if he was seen.

An hour later, he was standing on a deserted country road, far from any buildings.

Taking the box out of his pocket, he opened the front, adjusted the settings, and paused. He had set for the year 1917. Would that be different enough to be sure his time machine worked? Given the changes since the turn of the century, he thought it would. ‘Well, here goes,’ he thought as he pushed the button. Once more, the road was deserted.

Moments in Time – part 2

P.C. stepped into the middle of the road, and looked around. He noticed that London seemed closer than it had been. Suddenly, he heard a lot of shouting, and horns honking. He turned his head and saw a car bearing down on him, one man in the front and one in the back standing, shaking their fist and yelling. He had no time to try to figure out what they were shouting; they were too close. He dropped his bicycle and dove for the ditch.

Gravel flew as the car stopped, with other vehicles behind honking horns and breaking. Men jumped out and ran toward him. Groggily he climbed to his feet, staring. They were all in uniform and armed. He started to brush himself off, and saw that his shirt was torn on one sleeve, and his hands and part of one arm were grazed. When he put his hand up to touch a sore spot on his forehead, it came away bloody.

“What..?” he mumbled, and was suddenly grabbed by both arms. He winced and tried to pull his sore arm away with a muttered “ow!” He was pulled back onto the road, and found himself facing what appeared to be an army officer.

“Who are you, and where did you pop up from?” the officer snapped. “Speak up! Were you spying in the ditch?”

“Spying? Uh … I was just resting, and stood up to look around, to see where I was. I’m heading out for a bicycle tour, to get away from the city for a while. Why would I be spying?”

“We can’t be too careful. Some of the Krauts can speak English fluently, and have lived here for years. But they spy, and report back with hidden radios. You are blonde, fair skinned and blue eyed. You could be one. For now, you are a prisoner of war.”

The Captain turned to the men holding P.C. “Tie his hands and put him in the car. Tend to his injuries first.” He tuned to the rest of the soldiers, waving his hand. “Take that bicycle and put it in the back seat of the Lieutenant’s car, and get back in the truck. We have to move on, or I’ll be late.”

Everyone scrambled to obey orders. The two holding P.C. did as directed and patched him up, tied his hands and settled him in the front passenger seat. One looked at his gear, and then set it in front of him. “Sorry, chum, but there’s no place else to put it. Grip it with your fingers; that should keep it from doing more damage to your face. The drive will get bumpy. We’ll have to drive fast so the Captain won’t be late for his meeting.”

P.C. did as the private suggested, taking hold of one of the straps. He lowered his head so that his forehead rested on the top. ‘Good,’ he thought. ‘Once we’re on the way, I can reset the time machine. Good thing I made it look like a cigarette holder, they just ignored it. I’d have hated to have to try to explain it.’ He chuckled inwardly at the thought.

Soon they were heading for London, going fast. He snuck a look at the speedometer, and gasped. They were hitting thirty-five miles an hour! That was incredible – and dangerous. He slipped the time machine out of his pocket and set to work. It wasn’t easy, with his hands tied, and the car bumping and swaying, but at last, he had it set. 1905, June tenth, one week after he left, and the location in his basement work room. He pushed the stud. The right passenger seat was empty.

He staggered, and fell to the floor. “Whoosh! he exclaimed. “I’m going to have some great bruises on my derriere; first I land on hard dirt, then on concrete.” Painfully, he climbed to his feet, put the time machine on the work bench, picked up the gear and climbed the stairs. At the top, he put his ear to the door and listened. Not a sound came through.

Cautiously, he opened the door and peeked out. He heard faint music, looked at his watch, and sighed with relief. Mrs. Kennedy was having her afternoon cuppa and rest. He slipped his boots off, closed the door quietly, and went to the front hall. He slipped the gear in the closet, put his boots back on, opened the front door then shut it noisily and walked into the sitting room. When Mrs. Kennedy came rushing in, he was sitting in an easy chair, looking exhausted and disheveled.

“Oh, sir, whatever happened? Why, you have been injured! Do you need a doctor?” She was ringing her hands, hovering near the doorway.

“I had an accident. The bicycle was ruined, so I just left it where it was. I hit a pothole, and went flying, landed in a ditch. I’m all right, just some bumps and bruises, a little cut on my head. I took care of them, and caught a ride with a farmer back to the city, and got a cab home. All I need is a bath and some rest.” He heaved himself to his feet. “Perhaps you could get a cup of tea ready for me while I go and clean up. Then you can go finish your rest, while I call G.P. He can come and look me over while we talk.”

Moments in Time – part 3

June 3, 1917 on a country road outside London.

“What the?!” Corporal Smith’s arms jerked in shock and the car swerved. He quickly brought it under control, as he heard shocked shouts from the Sergeant and Captain in the back seat. “He’s gone, sir!” Corporal Smith exclaimed. “How did he manage that? Where’d he go?”

Captain Mason sat staring at the empty seat in front of Sergeant Kennedy, wondering the same thing. “It’s impossible. People don’t appear out of thin air, and disappear back into it again!” He looked at the sergeant and the corporal. “You both saw him, you held his arms, treated his wounds, and tied his wrists. Did you not do a good job with that?”

“Sir, we did. I checked the cords myself, and they were tied securely. There is no way he could have got them off. And he didn’t jump out of the car, the door is still closed. He didn’t move, I swear, I was looking at him all the time. All he did was rest his head on the top of his gear.” Sergeant Kennedy’s voice was firm, but with an undertone of bewilderment, as he shook his head.

Captain Mason sat in silence for a moment. “We will say nothing. We’ll make no report, and Sergeant, you can see that the wrecked bicycle is quietly disposed of. Anyone who speaks of this will do the dirtiest kp jobs I can find. Be sure they know. Now, let’s get back to London, I have a meeting to attend.

London, June 10, 1905, the home of Percival Cedric Pierce-MacDonald, evening.

“Well, chaps, what do you think of my tale? War with Germany in 1917, and it had been going at least one year. That was all I was able to find out. Frankly, that was all I wanted to find out. I don’t intend to go time hopping into battles and wars.” P.C. leaned back in his chair, eying the others, and taking a sip of his drink.

“You have certainly given us food for thought,” Digsby ‘Digger’ O’Neil, Archeologist, said.

“How old will we be in 1917? I’ll be thirty-seven, so I probably won’t be called up. P.C., you’ll be in your thirties, too, but with your genius in engineering and such, you would likely be tapped for war work – weapons and such.”

“Yes, and young Jimbo here will be thirty. And with his talents in repairs and upkeep on automobiles, he would probably be roped into the cavalry.” G.P. added. “I’m the oldest, but my experience with wounds caused by firearms, even though I’ll be in my forties, I’ll likely be sent to a military hospital. It’s not something any of us can really be happy about. But since we have the warning ahead of time, we can prepare with extra training.” He sighed, and drew on his cigar.

For a little while there was silence, then P.C. said “One thing I know, I will not go forward again. Who knows how that war will turn out? Or how many more there will be this century? I’m going back in time, and picking my arrival very carefully.”

“Do you have any thoughts on that?” Digger asked.

“Yes, in fact I have. I’ve been looking at old copies of newspapers at the Museum for ideas. I’m going back to April 3rd, 1880. I’m going to attend the first performance in this country of Gilbert and Sullivan’s ‘Pirates of Penzance’.” He sat back with a grin, waiting for their reactions.

“Trust P.C. Mac to go for something like that.” Jimbo said. “How many times have you seen that one already?”

“Six – but this time will be the first time ever that it was shown here. I might even see Gilbert and Sullivan! Think of it!” His eyes sparkled with excitement. “Of course, I’ll set the time of arrival at least a week early, maybe March twenty first. That’ll give me time to find a place to stay, and get a ticket. I’ve already got clothes of that time. I’ll be leaving on Saturday. G.P., will you keep an eye on things here for me? Mrs. Kennedy will take care of the mail and such, but I’d feel better if she had someone to turn to in case of a problem.”

“Of course, P.C., let her know I’m on call for her any time. Unless something dire happens to a patient, I don’t expect any urgent calls.” G.P. held out his hand. “Shake on it, friend. Go and enjoy yourself, and come back and tell us all about it.”

Shortly after that the visitors said goodnight and left. P.C. sat for a little while longer, thinking, then headed off to bed. Saturday came, and so did his friends. He was dressed in high 1880s style, and they all commented on how well it suited him. Then they shook hands all ‘round, stepped back, and waited. P.C. took the time machine out of his pocket, checked the settings, smiled and nodded, pressed the stud, and was gone.

“That is eerie!” Jimbo exclaimed. The others nodded. It was indeed.

P.C. looked around. He had set his arrival spot in a secluded place in Kensington Gardens. It was twilight, and quiet. Lifting his carpet bag, he headed for the nearest exit. He intended to stay at the Bentley Hotel, at 27-33 Harrington Gardens in south Kensington. Reaching the street, he flagged down a passing brougham, gave the cabby directions, and settled down to enjoy the ride.

All in all, his venture into the past was a huge success. He did some shopping, finding unusual gifts for his friends, and a lovely tea cup and saucer for Mrs. Kennedy. And the performance of the Prates exceeded his expectations. And best of all, he not only saw Gilbert and Sullivan, he got them to sign his copy of the program. He was almost reluctant the following day to go home. He gazed avidly at the streets and people as he rode back to Kensington Gardens. At last he was back in the secluded spot where he had arrived. Taking out his time machine, he took one last look around, and pressed the stud.

Moments in Time – part 4

London England, September 15th, 1905, Same location.

“Well, P.C., here we all are again. What are your big plans this time? Something a bit more exciting than last, I do hope!” G.P. laughed.

“I think so,” Percival Cedric replied. “There is some question, even nine hundred years later, about the death of King William 11, William Rufus. I am going back to August 2nd, 1100 AD, and see if I can find out. Was his death an accident, or murder, and if murder, was it planned by his younger brother Henry, who took the throne immediately, becoming Henry 1?

“I’m going to go back to that time, get to the New Forest before the royal party, and follow William. I have had clothes made so I will blend in, in that era – as a game keeper. That gives me a legitimate reason for being in the forest. I plan on stalking William, so my clothes will blend in with the background. Maybe I can solve the mystery. I’m taking a Brownie Box camera with me; I may be able to shoot a picture of what happened. Think of it! The historians would go wild.” He chuckled, eyes sparkling.

“Well, if you come back with an arrow in your shoulder or elsewhere, I can do something about it. But what are we to tell everyone, especially Scotland Yard, if you don’t come back?” G. Ps voice was serious, and he was frowning.

“I thought of that, and have written a statement telling all my plans. My barrister has it, to be opened in the event that I am gone for two months without sending word. He and I both signed the sealed envelope, witnessed by his secretary and a clerk. So, no worries for you chaps, though I expect you will, anyway. I don’t think there is any danger, though.” He sat back, relaxed and confident.

“All right,” Digger said. “I don’t like the idea, though. If you blend in with the scenery, what’s to keep someone from shooting you by accident, or a stray arrow finding you? We certainly will worry, but it’s your life to risk as you choose. I think you’re mad.” Digger smiled slightly, and nodded.

“Well, you’ve all been to circuses and such, and seen sword swallowers, fire eaters, tight rope walkers and so on. People take risks all the time, but, like those folks, I will take all the precautions I can. I could be run over by an automobile or a runaway horse next time I go out. Life can be risky, and I have this planned as carefully as possible.” P.C. stopped and waited.

G.P sighed and nodded. “All right, you are correct, you seem to have taken everything you can into consideration. I’ll keep an eye on things here. When do you plan on getting back?”

“I’m going to July 23rd, 1100, the death was August 2nd, so I’m setting my return for the workshop one week from today.”

“In that case, why don’t we go to the basement and see you off?” G.P. said.

“Right. You chaps head down, I’ll change and meet you down there.”

Fifteen minutes later, P.C. walked down the stairs clad in his Game Keeper’s garb. He wore a knee length green tunic, patchy in colour because of a poor dye job, with a matching floppy, flat hat over shoulder length dark hair. His skin was darker, too.

There were leather coverings on his bare feet and lower legs, held in place by cords made of deer gut. Over his left shoulder, he carried a long bow, with a quiver of arrows hanging on the right from a rope around his waist. Tucked into the rope was a long, hilted knife, and he had a large club in his right hand.

The rest of his gear was in a wool satchel worn over his head and hanging down the left side. His time machine was in a hidden pocket in his tunic. He was wearing short linen drawers under the tunic. That wasn’t strictly in line with what he was supposed to be, but was a concession to his modesty.

“Well?” he asked, as he stopped and struck a pose. “What do you think?”

The others gazed at his silently for a moment, then Jimbo started laughing. “You look just like the pictures I’ve seen. But how did you get your hair to grow so long, and so dark? And what did you do to your eyebrows, and your skin?”

“A wig, and some hair dye, like the ladies use to hide the grey. I used it on my beard, too. And some walnut juice darkens the skin nicely. It makes quite a difference, doesn’t it?”

“It does!” Jimbo exclaimed. The others all nodded and murmured agreement.

“Fine, then. It’s time for me to go. All ready?” when they all nodded, he checked the setting, said “Goodbye, see you in August.” Pushed the stud, and was gone.

Moments in Time – Part 5 –

“mph!” P.C. staggered and grabbed at something for support. His hand struck a hard, rough surface, and he opened his eyes to see a tree trunk only a few inches from his nose. “Boy, that was close,” he mumbled. He stepped back, and heard a stifled gasp behind him. Turning, he saw a young man, dressed as he was, in green Game Keeper’s garb. The youth’s was dirty and tattered. He was dirty, his straw coloured hair matted with dirt, grease and bits of twig and dry grass. He stood staring, wide eyed and mouth agape.

“Hello, young fellow, who are you?” P. C. felt it wise to take the initiative and keep the boy off balance.

“M-m-my name is Barda, s-s-sir,” the lad stammered, still staring wide eyed. “S-s-sir, are you a Mage? You just appeared from nowhere!” he hunched his shoulders, as though expecting to be beaten.

“Um – yes, I am. Where is the Forester?”

“Gone, sir – he had the flux, and died. I got the priest and he was buried. I’m – I was his ‘prentice, sir. I’ve been trying to look after the forest, sir, but I’ve only been ‘prenticing for four years, sir.”

“Ah, too bad, I was looking to meet him. However, I have come to inspect things so you can take his place. If I am pleased, I will tell the Reeve, and you may become the Forester. I can’t promise, but I will put in a good word. But first, you must help me, and tell no one. I must not be known to be here. Will you do as I say exactly as I say and keep my presence secret?”

Barda nodded, “Yes sir, I will!”

“First, then take me to his home – you and I will stay there until my job here is done.”

Barda led off through the forest and soon they came to a small house, its stone walls and thatched roof almost hidden by the growth around it. Nearby a spring bubbled, flowing clear and cold into a stone lined bowl. The water overflowed and ran off in a small stream into the underbrush.

By the time the important day arrived, P.C. had awed Barda many times. First, because he had insisted on a thorough cleaning of the house, and had liberally sprinkled powders to kill the fleas. Then, much to Barda’s amazement, he had bathed. Not once, but every day! And made Barda bathe, too. And he’d provided Barda with a clean tunic in much better repair than his old one. Barda was totally convinced that this big man was a Mage. Only a Mage would do all of those strange things.

Early in the morning on August second, P.C. gave Barda his orders. “You are to go to where the Royal party will enter the forest, and follow them. Make certain that you are not seen! Remember that! Just follow, and stay with Prince Henry, no matter who might leave him. I will stay where I can see the tree where I arrived.

“When Prince Henry leaves the forest, come to me and let me know. Again, you must be quiet, and unseen. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Master, I understand. I will watch, follow and be hidden, and come to you when the Prince leaves the forest. I can move very quietly, I had to learn so as not to frighten the animals.” His face echoed the earnestness of his voice as he looked up at P.C.

“Right, then, off with you.” P. C. watched as Barda slipped away. The lad was right, he could move very quietly. ‘I only hope I can do as well,’ P.C. thought.

Some hours later, P.C. heard the faint sounds of men shouting and dogs barking. ‘Hmm…sounds like royalty has arrived. I hope William the red doesn’t hang around too long. This is getting boring – and uncomfortable.’ He was crouched in a small grove of young trees, where he could see around him, and, he fervently hoped, couldn’t be seen. Still, it was at least another two hours before William and his close friend Walter Tirel, Lord of Poix (pwah) came near, stalking a huge stag.

“Well, Walter,” William breathed, “if we are going to get him, now’s the time. Go you around to his other side. If I miss, you shoot.”

“Yes, Sire,” Walter’s voice was as soft as the King’s, and he slipped quietly away. Soon P.C. could see a slight movement from behind a large tree about a bow shot away, and a flash of red. Walter was in place.

William raised his bow, took aim, and fired. From his hiding place, P.C. was quietly snapping pictures, and watching the action. William’s arrow few true, and hit, but only wounded the stag. It threw its head up, snorted, and started to move just as he heard the twang of Walter’s shot. But this arrow missed the stag, and flew right to William’s chest. William only had time to gasp, then he fell, to lie wounded and bleeding under the huge oak tree.

Walter moved out from cover, and moved softly closer, stopping out of William’s sight. He looked at the king for a long moment, and whispered “now I can return to my estates with enough coin to repair the manor, and live comfortably.” He nodded, turned away, and disappeared. P.C. had taken a picture of him as he stood there, a look of sorrow and satisfaction on his face.

“So, he was murdered, and the murderer left him to bleed to death. From his expression, he was sorry, but from what he said, he was paid well.’ Half an hour later, he heard the sound of the other hunters fading away, and Barda slipped into sight. He saw the king’s body, and gasped. “Oh, master, what happened?” he asked. “I’ll run and get help, shall I?”

“No, Barda. For magical reasons, he must lie there until Monday. Then you can lead some of your people of Minstead here to find him. Do not come directly, they must not know you have already seen the body. Promise me you will do exactly as I say.” He looked sternly at the lad.

Barda looked from P.C. to the dead king and back. “Master, did you shoot him?” he asked.

“No Barda. Look at how he is lying. Could I have shot him in the breast from here?”

Barda looked, thought for a moment, and shook his head. “No master, your shot would have been in the back. All right, I will do as you say, and I will see that men of Minstead find him on Monday. They will know what to do.”

“Fine, Barda. And what of Prince Henry? Did he make any attempt to find or contact his brother?”

“No, master. He just had everyone mount and ride away. Someone called to ask if they should send a messenger, but the Prince said no, William would come back in his own good time. Then they all rode back toward London.”

“Good. You have done well, Barda. My work here is done. I will speak to the reeve about you. Meanwhile, stay in the house and take care of the forest.” He put his hand in his pouch and drew out some coins, “Here, you will need this to buy supplies.” He dropped four silver coins, two coppers, and one gold coin in the lad’s hand.

Barda gasped and stared at what to him was a fortune. “Oh, master, that’s too much! They will say I stole it, to have so much – and a gold piece!”

“It will be all right, Barda, I will tell the Reeve I gave it to you. He will believe me, because he will know I am a Mage.”

Barda stared for a moment longer, then said “Must you leave, Master? I would willingly work for you!”

“I must, lad. And I must go now. Take care of yourself, and remember what I have asked you to do. You will do well here, and the forest will be in good hands. Farewell!” He slipped his time machine from his hidden pocket, smiled at the lad, and pushed the stud. A moment later, he stood in front of the Reeve in Minstead.

“Who are you? And how did you get here?!” The Reeve was angry and shaken.

“Do not fear me,” P.C. said. “I am a Mage from far away. I have been with Barda, the apprentice forester, checking on his work. The old forester is dead, and I wish to tell you that Barda is both well trained and conscientious. You can do no better for the forest and the King than to name him as Forester. Here is a gift for you in thanks.” He gave the Reeve two gold coins.

The Reeve stared at the coins in his hand, then at P.C. “Yes, Mage, I will do as you say. I had only heard of the forester’s death yesterday. Where will I find Barda?”

“In the forester’s cottage. And I gave him four silver coins, two coppers and one gold coin. He needs to buy supplies if he is to continue to live there. Do not let anyone accuse him of theft.”

“It shall be as you say, Mage. May I offer you something? A cold drink, perhaps?”

“I thank you, but no. I must away to my own land now. God be with you.” P.C. lifted the time machine, reset the controls, pressed the stud, and was gone, leaving the Reeve staring at the place where he’d been standing.

“Hello, chaps!” he smiled at his friends where they were gathered waiting for his return. They greeted him happily, and again, Jimbo was too anxious to wait. “Well, did you solve the puzzle? Was it murder or accident?”

“I did, and I have the evidence right here,” he held up the Brownie camera. “If you are patient, I can change and then I will develop the film, and you can look at the pictures while I tell you the story.”

Several hours later, as they all left, G.P. said “I think you are right, P.C. it would do no good to tell anyone about this, they wouldn’t believe you. Not even with the pictures. And if they did, you would have to give your machine to the government. They would insist that it should be only used for military purposes

“Yes, and it’s mine to play with, do research with. I look forward to many more trips, and I’ll work on it so that I can take some of you with me.” There was general agreement.

Time Moves On   part 1 – A continuation.

Inspired by a picture of a pile of books with a green leaf

“Uncle Peesee,” P.C. looked up from his desk at the soft voice and turned; in the doorway stood Betsy, Mrs. Kennedy’s ten-year-old granddaughter. She looked very solemn, and worried.

“Yes, Betsy, what is it?”

“Um…the teacher sent a note home today. Grandmama read it and said I should show it to you.” She held out an envelope. “I said something I shouldn’t have, and teacher got mad.” Betsy’s voice said she knew how wrong she had been, and was worried about how he would take it.

“Bring it here, then, and let me look.” He took the envelope, removed the note, and read it. Then he looked at her.

“Oh, Betsy, what have I told you about repeating what I teach you?”

“You said not to. But she said it was proven that the world was made six thousand years ago! And you have shown me things at the museum that are lots older than that!”

“Yes, and I have told you many times – many Christian people will not accept that. It is no use arguing with them. We have seen the proof, and we believe science is right. They don’t, even if they’ve seen the proofs. I guess you will miss the trip this time.”

Her eyes filled with tears, but she whispered, “All right, Uncle Peesee. I won’t ever do it again. But they make me so mad! How can someone as smart as teacher be so dumb?”

“It’s called blind faith, Betsy. They believe in what their experts tell them so strongly, that nothing sways them. Best to leave them to it, there is much less trouble that way. Some day they will find they have to accept what science is telling them. Until then, we keep out of it. Remember that, all right?”

The little girl nodded, “I will, Uncle Peesee. And I’m really sorry.”

“All right, Betsy. Off you go now and help your Grandmama.”

He watched as she went slowly away, head hanging. He hated to see her unhappy, but he really needed to be sure she remembered. Otherwise, she could end up in real trouble. As he turned back to his desk, he remembered the first time he saw her, a shaken, numb five-year-old clinging to Mrs. Kennedy’s hand.  Both of her parents had been killed in an auto accident, and Mrs. Kennedy was the only family she had left. Of course, he welcomed her into his home, though he did worry about the changes it would bring.

In the end, all the changes had been good. Within a few weeks Betsy was a lively, intelligent, inquisitive little person, bringing life to the old place. He had grown to love her, and had made out his will so that when he died, she and Mrs. Kennedy would have the house, and most of his wealth. With the time trips he made, it was possible that he wouldn’t make it back. If, however, he outlived Mrs. Kennedy, still Betsy would inherit.

Sighing, he put those thoughts aside and looked again at the disorderly pile of books and files on his desk. For a long time now he had been trying to find someplace, or something, interesting enough to time travel to. He and Digger had gone back in time to some of the places the archaeologists had found. It was interesting, but just not enough.

He had gone with G.P to Paris where for some time they followed Louise Pasteur’s experiments and discoveries. They saw the development of germ theory, the immunization of cattle against anthrax and the development, by Pasteur’s colleague Emile Roux, of the Rabies vaccine. They spent several years back in that time, but arrived back in London only a week after leaving. Interesting as all of that was, it didn’t satisfy P.C. He wanted something more exciting, possibly more world shaking. He’d even taken time to go to the Museum to look at the Piltdown man, and come away thoroughly let down. It just didn’t feel real.

‘Perhaps I will have to take some chances on running into battles,’ he mused. ‘I could go back to the fifth century, and see if I can find a warrior named Arthur. Now that would be exciting!’ he chuckled, but still sat running the idea through his mind. It wouldn’t be too hard to pick a year for a starting point, or a general area. And there is a lot of information on the clothing, weapons and so on. ‘At least, I do know how to use a sword – even a broadsword.’  He and a bunch of university friends had set out to learn all that a knight of the round table needed, just for a lark. ‘Hmmm…. perhaps; I’m going to do some in depth research. Maybe I will be ready by next month. I’ll contact Jimbo, Arthur would be right up his alley!’

“Uncle Peesee,” Betsy was at the door again.

“Yes, Betsy?”

“Grandmama says dinner is ready. Will you come?”

He smiled, pushed away from his cluttered desk, and rose. “Certainly, Betsy,” he said as he walked to the door. “That is the best news I’ve heard for hours!” Betsy giggled, and took his hand as they walked away.

Time Moves On – part 2

“Uncle Peesee, are you going away again?” Betsy stood in the hall looking into P. C.s bedroom, where he was sorting clothing.

“Yes, Betsy, I’m going on another trip, with Uncle James. We won’t be gone long, just about a week.” P. C. stopped and looked at her.

“When will you take me? You promised you would, you know.” Betsy’s eyes were big, her face solemn. “It isn’t nice to make promises and not keep them.”

“True, Betsy, but what I promised was that I would take you with me when you are older, like in about ten years.”

She stamped her foot. “I don’t want to wait that long!” she exclaimed. “You take lots of other people. Doctor, and Uncle James – this will be his second time – and Uncle Digsby; everyone but me!”

“Yes, Betsy, now think, you have named them all, are they children?” P.C. watched her face as she thought about it.

“Well, no,” she said. “But ten years is so long! My whole life!”

“Yes, Betsy, to you it is a long time. But use it well. Study hard, especially the extra lessons I’m giving you and you will be well prepared for the trip when it happens. Uncle James and I have been preparing for this trip for five years, and working very hard. Be patient, my girl, and apply yourself, and the time will pass more quickly.”

“All right, Uncle P.C.,” she sighed. “But it does seem so far away.”

“Think about now, and study, and don’t worry about ten years. You’ll find the time goes faster that way. Now come and give me a hug and kiss, a big one. It will have to last me until I come home!” He held out his arms and smiled. She ran into his arms, wrapped hers around his neck as he bent to her, and they exchanged hugs and kisses.

“Goodbye, Uncle P.C., be careful and come home safe!” She raised her hand, turned and went running off down the hall.

Two days later P.C. and Jimbo were standing in a quiet spot on the river Wysg, in Wales. It was the year 456 AD. They were dressed as a questing Knight and his squire, with four horses compatible with those ridden in the 5th century. Packed on the sumpter horses were all the accoutrements needed to care for weapons and armour on one, and other supplies on the other. Jimbo was the squire and P.C. the knight in boiled leather armour with sword and shield, of course. After a quick look around, they mounted and rode out onto the track that did duty as a road.

They had ridden for about an hour when they heard shouting and the clash of arms. “Wouldn’t you know it,” P.C. sighed, “We find a battle first thing!” And a battle they found as they rounded a bend in the road. Three knights fighting five Saxons, and getting the worst of it. “We’d better go help them,” P.C. said. “Yes,” Jimbo replied.

Setting spurs to horses they charged into the fray, swords swinging and taking two of the Saxons from behind. The unexpected help bolstered the knights’ courage, and renewed their energy. Soon the battle was over, and all that was left to do was to gather whatever was useful, including the horses, and move on.

“Thank you for your timely aid, sir knight. I am hight Sir Ambicatos, and these others are Sir Maelgwn and Sir Cantoris. To whom do we owe our thanks?” The speaker was the biggest and the oldest of the three, fully six feet tall, with brown hair and beard. Sir Ambicatos was no more than an inch shorter, and his hair and beard were pale yellow, while Sir Cantoris was about the same height with fiery red hair and was clean shaven.

“I am hight Sir Cunedda and my squire, who is ready now for knighting, is Ifan. We come from Gwynedd, on an errand from our Chief into Somerset. Perhaps at a later time, we will be free to join you.” P. C. was anxious to get away from the knights. He did not want to become embroiled in King Arthur’s battles, he wanted to meet the man after he had all of Britannia united and at peace.

Sir Ambicatos raised a hand in acknowledgement. “One must carry out the orders of one’s Chief. It would be good to have such doughty warriors at our side, but needs must. Perhaps, as you say, we will meet again. May the God Aeron aid your hand in battle. Fare thee well.” The three rode off, going south. P,C. and Jimbo rode north for a while, until they were sure the others couldn’t see them, and moved into the edge of a forest. “I’m going to send us to Somerset, between Glastonbury Tor and what is, in our time, South Cadbury. And I’m taking us ahead seventy-six years, to 532. If Cadbury Castle is the site of Camelot, we should see it when we are in the open. And we should hit the time after all the battles. Arthur would be at his best by then. Think of it, meeting the legendary Arthur in person, and being able to hear him and his knights tell tales of their adventures!”

“Great!” Jimbo agreed. “Let’s go!” and they went.

Time Moves On –part 3

Much to P.C.s dismay, they appeared in the middle of a road, this one in good repair, obviously built by the Romans. With a quick look around, he sighed in relief. Except for a distant figure working in a field there was no one in sight. And he would not have seen them, as his back was turned as he bent over his task.

“Oof!’” he exclaimed. “I thought we’d land in a wooded area. Well, good luck for us, we won’t have to pretend to be magicians. Once is enough, and I don’t want to be mistaken for Merlin or one of his rivals.”

“Yeah, I guess so, though it might be fun,” Jimbo grinned. “Now what are we going to do?”

1. C. turned in a slow circle, scanning the area. “Hmm…it looks like we may be closer to Glastonbury Tor than I thought. I think we should go there and see what’s what. Someone around there should be able to tell us about Arthur.”

That decided, they mounted and rode. It was late afternoon when they came to a settlement near the base of the Tor. It was not much more than a village, but they found an inn on the main street, and stopped there. With the horses stabled and cared for, they got a room, and settled at a table in the common room for a hot meal, and some ale. As they ate, they listened to the conversation at a table nearby. Four monks sat resting and making final plans for the climb of the Tor, and were discussing how privileged they would be to see the tomb of King Arthur and Guinevere.

“Oh, no!” P. C. moaned as he smacked his forehead with the heel of his hand. “I’ve done it again! This time I took us too far forward. Well, since we are here, let’s follow the brothers and climb the Tor. It would be ridiculous for us to be right here and not take a look. I’ll ask them if they mind us joining them.” He stood up and approached the other table.

“Pardon me, Brothers, I couldn’t help overhearing that you plan to climb the Tor tomorrow to see King Arthur’s Tomb. We are strangers here, and must move on tomorrow, but would you allow us to join you? We would feel blessed to see the last resting place of such a great King and Warrior.”

“I am Brother Bartholomew,” the oldest monk said as he stood to shake hands. “It would be an honour and privilege if two such sturdy warriors joined us as we pay homage to Arturus. We will be leaving at sun up, and will fast until after we have returned from our pilgrimage. You may eat or fast, as you think best. Ask the inn keeper to wake you when we come down, or earlier if you plan to eat.”

“Thank you, brother, we will join you in fasting, and in breaking fast afterwards.”

P.C. bowed and touched hand to forehead and rejoined Jimbo. “We can find a secluded place after we eat, and go back some. I’m sure we will find out a great deal about the time and events surrounding Arthur’s death, and that should give us a better idea of the year we want.”

Jimbo nodded. “It will be quite an experience to actually see the grave.  It was found in the rebuilding of the Abby in 1190, but some are sceptical about it. I for one believe the claim is correct, but to see it so soon after his death will be a thrilling confirmation for me.

The climb to the top of the Tor was long and tiring, the brothers chanting prayers the whole way.  When they reached the top, Brother Bartholomew led them across to the gravesite. There was a large stone slab with a leaden cross fastened to it. On the cross, in Latin, was an inscription translated as ‘Here lies King Arthur buried in Avalon.’

Each of the Brothers laid a relic on the stone slab. PC and Jimbo hadn’t expected this, but hastily searched in the pouches at the belts. P.C. found a Roman denarius dated 166, with Marcus Aurelius depicted on it. This he placed on the stone with the offerings of the monks. Jimbo found an even older coin, a gold aureus from 75 AD. They didn’t know whose head was depicted. He solemnly placed it with the other offerings. The Monks nodded, pleased that the strangers honoured King Arthur with such valuable gifts. Chanting their final prayers, the monks bowed one last time to the tomb, and turned to depart. P.C. and Jimbo followed suit, and soon they were on their way back down.

It was still fairly early in the morning when P.C. and Jimbo bade the monks and the inn keeper farewell, and rode off, heading into the sunrise, toward the nearest forest. Once there, they slid off the horses and settled down on a fallen log.

“All right,” P.C. said. “When we arrived back in 459 we were several years too early, Arthur was only two years old.  Those knights we met were battling to have him named king, as Uther had just died. This is 535, and he has been dead for about fifteen years, so we need to go back to 490, I would say. Things would be peaceful, and he would be about 33, and still an active man.” He looked at Jimbo. “What do you think?”

“Sounds good to me, and I think meeting him at that age would be perfect. I can hardly wait to hear of the exploits of Arthur and his knights from the horse’s mouth as it were. Let’s do it.” They both chuckled, stood, gathered the reins of the horses, and adjusted the time machines. Soon the forest was empty of human life.

Time Moves On – part 4

The usual small group had gathered in P. C.’s study, avid to hear of the latest time travel adventure. Jimbo had given some interesting hints, but no one knew if they had succeeded in their quest to meet King Arthur. P. C. closed the door, and took his seat.

“All right, now we will tell you our tale. Including the bouncing around in time that we did before we found a year in which Arthur still lived, and all was at peace.

“We first arrived in the year 459 AD, and ran into a battle. Some knights fighting others, in the belief that the very young Arthur should be named King. We rounded a corner, riding right into it, and perforce joined in. We won, and after it was over, had to think of an excuse not to join them. We said we were on an errand for our king.

“Once we left them we found a secluded place, and I set our date ahead to 535. On arrival, we road to a village at the base of Glastonbury Tor where we stopped at an inn. There we met a group of monks, who were on pilgrimage to Arthur’s tomb on the Tor. We were not too happy at missing the time again, but were allowed to join them. We all fasted before the climb, and saw the tomb, just as it has been described. We left after we had eaten, and again found a secluded spot at the edge of a forest. Once more, we reset our time machines, and went back to 490 AD. At last we hit it right, Arthur was alive, and at peace. We were fortunate in running into a couple of the knights, Sir Dinadin and Sir Tristan. They invited us to join them that evening at a feast in Camelot’s Great Hall. There we met Arthur, presented as Sir Lucas and Sir Gwilim, from Little Britain, and heard many tales of knightly adventures.

“Arthur was a big man, dark haired and eyed, with the broad shoulders and muscular body of a fighter. He moved with the grace of a dancer or sword fighter, and was all that legend describes. He was a gracious host, and was enjoying and joining in with the laughter and banter around the table.

“Two stories stand out. The first was Sir Sagramore’s, who was called the Desirous, the Unruly, the Rash, the Impetuous, and from his tale, the description was correct. He was the son of the King of Hungary and daughter of an Eastern Emperor.  After his father died and his mother married a British king, he followed her to Britain.

“He had barely landed when he was attacked by a group of Saxons, and might well have ended his career then. As luck would have it, Gaharis, Agravain and Gawain came to his rescue, and they killed the group and left them for the ravens. He was then housed for the night with the brothers, and the next day went with them to meet Arthur. He distinguished himself in several battles, was knighted, along with Gaharis and his brothers, and named a member of the Round Table.

“The part of his tale that he seemed to enjoy telling the most was about his adventures rescuing maidens and, afterwards, seducing them. He mentioned only two by name, Queen Sebile of Sarmenie whom he defended against Baruc the Black. After which, they became lovers.

“The other named maiden was the Lady Senehaut, who became more than a lover, as she was the mother of his daughter. The daughter was being raised by Queen Guinevere.  ‘Another well rewarded adventure,’ he said, ‘was the liberation of the Castle of Maidens from a siege by Tallides of the Marsh.’ He smiled at the memory, and refused to detail the rewards, though many knights called for him to do so.

“There was a great uproar when Sagramore’s tale ended, with many ribald comments and much laughter. When this died down, Arthur called on Sir Gawain to tell of his encounter with the Green Knight.

“Sir Gawain was hesitant, and stood blushing. ‘I am not proud of how I comported myself in that encounter,’ he said, ‘but as my King commands, so I will tell.’ He then recounted how, at a New Year celebration, a gigantic figure all green, entered the hall. He rode a green horse, and wore no armour, but in one hand he bore an axe, and in the other, a holly bough.

“I have come to challenge any knight here to play a Christmas game with me,’ he said. ‘Let him who dares take this axe and strike me, once.  One year and day hence, let the knight come to me, and allow me to strike him once. Whoever wins, keeps the axe.’

‘At first, Arthur wanted to take the challenge, but I begged leave to do it.’ Gawain said. ‘It was granted; the knight swept his hood off his head, and bowed his neck to me. With one swift stroke, I severed his head, and it rolled to the floor. But he did not fall. Instead, he picked his head up, and the mouth reminded me of the bargain. ‘Meet me at the green chapel,’ he said, then mounted his steed and rode out.

‘When the time neared, I set out to find the Green Chapel. I had many adventures and battles along the way, but eventually I came, starving and worn, to the castle of Bertilak de Hautdesert. He and his beautiful wife welcomed me, and treated me royally. There was an old crone there, too, who was treated with great honour, but never introduced.

‘Three days before I was to appear at the Green Chapel, I told Bertilak of my quest and asked if he knew of it. He told me it was less than two miles away, and offered a bargain. Whatever he brought in from hunting for the next three days, he would give to me. I was to give him in return whatever I gained during each day. I agreed.

‘The first day, I was in the room assigned to me, when Lady Bertilak entered. She tried to seduce me, but all I would allow was one kiss. This kiss I exchanged that evening with Bertilak, in return for a deer. The same thing happened the second day, with two kisses exchanged for a boar. The third day, the lady was more insistent, and to keep the peace, and because she said it would keep me from injury, I accepted a girdle of green and gold silk, and three kisses. I exchanged the kisses with Bertilak for a fox, but didn’t mention the girdle.

“He goes on to recount how he went to the chapel, met the green knight, and after flinching at the first threatened blow, steadfastly knelt for the final one. The green knight swung again, without touching him, but when Gawain angrily demanded that he finish what he started, he swung a third time. But the blow was soft, only breaking the skin. Then the green knight revealed that he is Bertilak, transformed by magic, and it was a trick proposed by the elderly lady Gawain had seen. In reality, she was Morgan le Fay, Arthur’s sister and a sorceress. She hated Arthur, and thought to test Arthur’s knights, and terrify Guinevere. Gawain and Bertilak parted on friendly terms, and Gawain returned to the Round Table to tell his tale. He wore the green girdle in shame at his failure to follow the rules of the game.  The knights, after hearing the tale, absolve him of blame, and all decided to wear green sashes to honour his adventure.

“And that, gentlemen, is the tale of our Arthurian adventure.” P.C. smiled. “The day after the feast, we rode out and deep into the forest, set out time machines for my laboratory for yesterday’s date, and returned home.” They sat in silence for a moment, then the discussion started, and went on long into the night. THE END!