Angenga - John Broughton

Time Travel Adventure Novel Set In 8th Century England

Angenga by John Broughton

Book excerpt

Little Carlton, 870 AD

Rick’s eyes flickered open; to his relief, all traces of the headache and dizziness from moments before had gone. The squawking of raptors captured his attention and he switched his gaze from the weed-infested turf – whose solidity had lately comforted him – to the sky, half-expecting scavengers to be circling over his prone body. A rapid glance told him he was wrong. The cries were coming from over a rise, but to check them out, he had first to stand. For the moment, though, the small effort of straightening restored the sensation of vertigo. Giddily, his eyes strained over the gently rising ground and for a second he doubted his sanity.

Where previously the re-enactors had erected three wooden huts now stood an entire village of houses of different sizes. Was that a hall near the centre? Could they have created a whole settlement in the time he had lost consciousness? But the buildings showed no signs of newness, far from it; the reed-thatched roofs had a weathered aspect. The re-enactment roofing had been made of turf, for sure. How to explain this transformation? His mind rejected the only solution that would make sense. Remembering Occam’s razor – the problem-solving principle from philosophy that the simplest solution tends to be the correct one – as he walked with trepidation toward the village, he told himself that these were the Dark Ages.

He wanted proof of the impossible, but drawing nearer, every perception contradicted his rational mind. Red kites scavenged along the trampled earth road and voices with the cadence of Old English reached him.

Shortly, he met a man carrying a bale of straw on his shoulder.

“Good day to you, Rinc.”

Rinc? He’s speaking in Old English!

“Good day to you too, friend.”

“Have you heard the news? I have returned from the coast by the Salt fleet.”

“Nay, good man, I have not.” In an instant he was slipping, effortlessly, into the vernacular.

The tall, broad-shouldered ceorl set down his bale with a sigh and fixed Rick with sorrowful blue eyes.

“The Great Heathen Army landed in East Anglia and King Edmund marched to resist them. But Ivarr the Boneless captured the King and gave him to his archers as a target. When they’d had their sport, they beheaded him.” The ceorl’s voice quavered, “May God save us from the fury of the Norsemen!”

“Where are the Vikings now?” His thoughts were a tumult.

“In the Fens. The people fled to Medshamstead Abbey, but they are all slaughtered and the Abbey destroyed. The last reports are of the raiders changing direction, the Lord be praised! The sailors argue among themselves about the accounts but they all agree there has been a battle. As to who won it...I know not. Anyhow, I must away.”

They exchanged farewells, and Rick watched the man stride away with the sort of confidence in his step that Rick lacked.

Now he had proof the impossible had occurred. He knew not how, but here he found himself, in body and mind, in the Dark Ages. He drew on his studies and recalled the martyrdom of King Edmund in AD 870. In a mysterious way, he, Rick Hughes, had sped back eleven hundred and forty-six years into the past! His stomach tightened at the thought as the implications drove home. He lacked preparation for ninth-century life. As a pacifist – soft and intellectual, he could not even wield a sword. There was so much he had taken for granted in twenty-first century England; he would have to forgo electrical devices, gas, rapid transport, an endless list.

Panic set in. Would he ever find a way home? Then came an awful realisation. That man knew him! He had called him Rinc but Rick did not know the ceorl. What could that mean? Did he belong here? Only one way to find out. He breathed deeply but wished he hadn’t – that was another thing he would miss, a decent sanitary system with sewers. Thank goodness he didn’t need medicines. Striding in among the houses, he smiled at a woman in a faded yellow dress and white headscarf, who called out “Greetings, Rinc.”

He waved and moved on with determination, fascinated by the sights, smells and sounds of the Saxon settlement. This was superior to any re-enactment: for better or for worse, it was the real thing. Without a clear sense of purpose or direction, he supposed the largest building, maybe the village hall, was attracting him. He did not reach this construction because a familiar face emerged from a doorway three houses or fifty yards away – did they measure in yards in 870? – before he arrived.

“Rinc! Back so soon?”

“Esme! What are you doing here?” He gaped like an idiot for there stood, verily, Doctor Esme Drake from the Clark Laboratory for Zooarchaeology.

“Rinc, are you well?”

“All the better for seeing you, but how come you are here?” I didn’t know she spoke Old English!

Esme looked worried and bit her lower lip, her anxious eyes scanning his face. Then she giggled.

“Stop it, you fool! You’re teasing me. Now, what besets you? Tell me why you are home so soon, husband.”

Home? Husband? Rick wanted to flee but he had the same warm feeling he always experienced in the presence of Esme Drake. She was an identical Esme, just not a Drake, he presumed. And she was his wife!

“Remind me, Esme, where was I supposed to be? I know not what became of me this morning. It is as if I lost all power of thought.”

The concern on her face warmed his heart and he allowed himself to be drawn indoors, delighted at her handclasp. She spun into his arms and placed a kiss on his grateful lips. He responded in full.

She broke free and gazed into his eyes, “Remember, you set out with eel snares, but you must have laid them to return without.”

Rick considered that he would have to play along or risk frightening her. This would gain him time to reflect on the enormity of what was happening. Meanwhile, he was far from averse to Esme’s kisses.

“My love, I remember now.” In reality, he remembered the streams on Gary’s OS map. “I went to the stream,” he took his bearings and pointed, “over yonder.”

“As usual, then?”

“Ay.” He began to gain in confidence about his command of the language but then Esme frowned.

“You said you lost the power of thought? Your voice has changed too.”

“How so?” He worried; would she unmask him as a fraud?

“Little things, the way you say some words. Are you sure you are well, dear heart?”

“Truth be told, I feel more than a little strange although in rude health.”

She began to gather bowls, “I have made a bone broth with red clover, nettle and burdock. It will restore you to your old self in no time.”

Rick favoured slow-cooked foods but this dish sounded anything but appetising. He shuddered at the thought of all the favourite meals he would miss.

The goodness of Esme’s recipe eclipsed the charm of eating from a wooden bowl and using a spoon of the same material. When he looked up he met her brown eyes full of fondness, pleased at his enjoyment of the meal.

“It’s very good.”

Their domestic bliss was broken when the door opened and in walked – Rinc!

All three stared in amazement. Rick, who was astonished at seeing his double, at least had an explanation of kinds to help overcome the shock. The other two stared fearfully at each other. Esme made a sign of the Cross and sank back on her seat.

“What devilry is this?” cried Rinc.

Rick fought the desire to blurt out the truth since it was so incredible. He sought frantically for an alternative but could find none, only a lame, “I’d better go.”

“Ay, that you had! You changeling!” Rinc had found an explanation to enlighten them. “This is elfin magic, by God! Has he laid hands on you, wife?”

Esme’s hesitation was almost fatal. Rinc’s eye went to a nail in the wall where a seax hung by a strap. But Rick moved faster, grabbing the weapon and, with no intention to harm, raised it above his shoulder as he sprang for the door. Rinc shrank back and clutched Esme, giving Rick valuable seconds to flee.

Glancing up and down the road and delighted to see it deserted except for kites and mangy dogs, he ran in the direction from whence he’d come. Rinc emerged to raise the alarm and the curs began to bark adding to the din of Rinc’s shouts. It took precious moments before menfolk appeared to begin the chase. By then, Rick was well ahead across the wild meadow grass and had almost reached the field boundary when he tripped. In the fraction of a second that he lost his balance, his first thought was for the fragile pendant around his neck. If he fell on it, it might be destroyed, so with his lurching stride somehow righted, his hand closed over the delicate object to protect it. At his touch, the air around him began to ripple and the mist began to form, billowing around him, as a heavy stone flung by his pursuers thudded to ground near his feet.

In panic at the danger, Rick was still lucid enough to realise that the miracle was repeating itself. The air cracked again and he flung himself into the crystal-clear surroundings of the field he had left earlier. Relief could not impede the loss of consciousness and he sank to his knees as an arrow flew over his head, loosed from behind. Rick’s last thought before falling senseless was that the arrow might have taken him through the neck if he’d stayed on his feet. If he got back to his own time, he would be in no hurry to return to the ninth century!

When he regained his senses, Rick lay in bed. The familiar blue and white uniform alerted him, with the pungent smell of disinfectant, to the fact that he was in a hospital. The wearer of the uniform smiled at him and leant over the bed.

“How do you feel?”

That would take an hour to explain but he was alright apart from a sore left shoulder – he must have fallen.

“Not too bad,” he managed a brave smile for show.

“The doctor wants to see you at once. I’ll fetch him.”

A white-coated figure appeared by his bedside. His badge read Dr Morgan, and he greeted him with a smile and a nod.

“I gather you were at an historical re-enactment? Can you remember what happened?”

The doctor stood and drew the screen around the bed. “I need to examine you.”

“I’m not sure, but I felt dizzy and blacked out.”

“Mmm. Has this happened before?”

“No.” The doctor sensed his hesitation.

“It has, hasn’t it?”

“Maybe a couple of hours before, but that’s all.”

“I want you to take deep breaths.”

The cold metal of the doctor’s stethoscope pressed into his back.

“All clear there. That’s unusual, what is it?”

“A reproduction reliquary pendant,” Better to lie under the circumstances. “Doctor, would you mind removing it and putting it on the cabinet? My shoulder hurts. ” Rick did not want to risk handling it.

“Of course. There. Now let’s look at that shoulder.” He poked at Rick with latex-covered fingers, squeezed and asked questions. “Nothing’s broken, just bruised. I’ll prescribe a cream.” Next, he took Rick’s blood pressure and remarked, “Normal. Still, to be on the safe side, I’m going to book you in for a CAT scan on your head, Mr Hughes. It’s just a standard precaution. It’s probably nothing; you might have simply had a fall in your blood pressure. But we must be certain there’s nothing untoward. Have you been under stress recently?”

Unless being stoned and having arrows loosed at you counts. Rick shook his head.

“We’ll admit you overnight. You rest and don’t worry. In due course, you’ll get a letter with the date of the scan. Then I’ll give you an appointment to discuss the results.”

Rick wanted an instant discharge but Dr Morgan remained adamant: total bed rest until morning. On the bright side, it gave him time to reflect on what had happened. Everything defied logic and scientific knowledge as he knew it and yet...his experience was real. A flicker of doubt troubled him, so he leant over and opened the bedside cabinet door. There! Tangible proof of his time travel: Rinc’s seax placed diagonally in the cabinet owing to the length of the blade. For the time being, he decided to keep all this information to himself; otherwise his sanity would be brought into question.

So, how had it occurred? On both occasions, he recalled, he had touched the pendant. Some kind of key to the past? No. Too simple. Gary had handled it, Esme Drake had, Prof Thomas too and so had he, without consequences. What was the difference? Location? Was that the answer? Back in the place where it was found? This might be an explanation but Rick suspected more was needed to disturb time. What was he missing? He lay back in defeat and closed his eyes.

Next morning he woke and the nurse came directly to take his blood pressure. She jotted it down and hung a clipboard on the frame at the foot of the bed.

“Am I going to live?”

Book Details

AUTHOR NAME: John Broughton

BOOK TITLE: Angenga

GENRE: Historical Fiction / Science Fiction

SUBGENRE: Time Travel Sci Fi / 8th Century Medieval Fiction

PAGE COUNT: 248