To Kill the Christ! - Chapter Ten: Long Reach Concept

       That night Gaio entered Aaron's tent. For days he had been searching for a reason to stay with Rebecca, but until now nothing had seemed likely to persuade Aaron to allow him to remain. Tomorrow the caravan would continue to the coast.

       "Master," he said, "I have been talking with Rebecca of the Red Hair, learning as much as I can from her, especially about a world of things I do not understand. She speaks of bugs—'bacteria' and 'viruses,' she calls them—that cannot be seen with the naked eye but only through something she calls a 'microscope.' They are all over our bodies, and some of them are bad. She tells of ways to purify water, how disease, especially the terrible disease affecting Aquae Sulis, is caused by sewage which runs into pits located above the wells from which the village draws its water. We have been gathering our water from the streams and boiling it before using it, as she has told us to do. There has been no sickness among our people."

       "Is there more you can learn?"

       "Yes, I'm sure. She has not revealed how to make any of the magic potions she used on Raphael and without which he surely would have died. Her potions are very powerful."

       Gaio then drew closer to his master, as though the tent had ears. "If you were to give me to Carl, Lord of the Long Arm—only pretending to do so, of course—I would be able to learn how she makes her potions. I can teach her many things, too, since she knows little of the herbs and medicines that are useful and where they may be found in Britannia or gathered from Rome and Greece."

       He glanced around, as though expecting Carl to come into the tent, which was pitched inside the square of wagons. "I will need a letter from you saying that you have sent me to be with Lord of the Long Arm, to learn medicine from Rebecca of the Red Hair, and I am to return to you by a certain date, perhaps two years from now. I then would be able to protect you and your family much better than now."

       Gaio knew such a rationale would appeal to Aaron the Trader, for he loved his family very much and worried constantly about their health in this strange land. They had had to alter their dietary habits because of the food, much of which was not acceptable to their palates or their religious dictates. Aaron had had to compromise time and again. Only after he built a large community of Jews would he be able to observe the proper dietary rules and regulations of the faith.

       Aaron hesitated. If I give Gaio to Carl I might lose a valuable physician, he thought. A letter in Gaio's hands is worthless, unless I can protect myself against his duplicity. He had bought Gaio only two years before. That Gaio would suggest the scheme means he might find a way to escape from bondage entirely. Still, he would be gone for two years. That could be a blessing. My daughter will be betrothed and free of Gaio's attractions before he returns. He gave an audible sigh.

       It bothered him to treat Carl unjustly, for Carl had saved his life and Aaron had warm feelings for him. But the needs of his family, for whom he would do anything, and the needs of the Jewish community, for whom Gaio's knowledge of medicines and medical methods would be Yahweh-sent, overruled his scruples. It helped that Carl was a Gentile. Calling in an amanuensis from Aquae Sulis, he wrote two letters, one to accompany Gaio, the other to be kept with his own papers. Both were in Latin.

       "Remember, Gaio, I paid a large sum for you, and I have treated you well. I renew my promise to set you free after you've taught my people the knowledge you'll gain from Rebecca. We will use this subterfuge only because the needs of my family and my people require it.

       "You must keep your letter carefully hidden. You will need it when you return in two years. If you are found on the road, they will take you for an escaped slave, since no Greeks travel the roads of these isles as free men. Without a letter, you will be sold into permanent slavery or sacrificed by Druids.

       "If you don't return, I will use my letter as authority to claim you again. I need your skills, and I will miss you sorely while you are gone."

       He dismissed the amanuensis. "I will tell Carl, Lord of the Long Arm, that I am giving you to him as his slave. If he should demand a letter, and I do not think he is wise in these matters, you will steal or destroy it during the time you are with him and his wife."

       He looked up at Gaio, then carefully examined his appearance. He did not find Gaio especially attractive, but he knew that many women did, especially his daughter. She's the reason he's with me now. I didn't dare leave him alone with her!

       He waved the letter in his face. "Do not involve yourself with Rebecca of the Red Hair," he warned. "She is a beautiful woman, and it may be that she will find you attractive. I know how you can work on a woman's instincts, Gaio."

       His words were measured. "Be careful here. Carl, Lord of the Long Arm, is aptly named for we ourselves saw how he killed the Ggaron from such a great distance."

       The reminder brought a shudder at how close he, Aaron, had come to losing his life and his goods. "He is a mighty warrior and a religious man. If he should find you have stolen his wife's affections or even her embraces, he may react like Samson and tear down the temple around his head, but you will surely die in his efforts, and I will lose as well." The allusion to Samson was lost on Gaio.

       The agreement was made with Carl that night, after he first rejected the gift of a slave. Aaron was surprised at his objections to slavery, but with careful arguments he persuaded Carl that slavery was a common and necessary thing in the world. The Romans made great sums of money by selling captives into slavery, which is how Aaron had bought Gaio. And the chiefs of many tribes made money and received Roman goods in exchange for slaves gained in battles with nearby tribes.

       But slavery was also a means of protection to the people who were subjugated, especially those with talent such as Gaio. Aaron and his family had treated him well, even though he was Gentile, and he hoped that Carl would treat him well, too.

       "I ask for no slave, Aaron, but I do thank you for your generous gift," Carl said. "We will teach him much about medicines, and he will teach us as well. When we have trained him, he will teach others what he has learned, since knowledge does not disappear when it's used, and useful knowledge must be passed around as rapidly as possible."

       Carl was moved by the merchant's expression of appreciation, but was perplexed at what he should do in return. He offered to assure Aaron a safe journey. "Remember, Aaron, we will probably spend two more weeks in Aquae Sulis before Raphael is fully recovered. Perhaps you can give your guards a letter when you arrive and have them deliver it to me." He grinned, since he was well aware of his reputation.

       "You can tell them Carl, Lord of the Lengthened Arm"—he garbled the translation—"must have knowledge of your safe arrival before he leaves Aquae Sulis, or he will reach out to kill them as well." The threat was empty, but that was true only if the one who was threatened knew it. Sometimes myths were the only reality.

       Aaron was seized with remorse at his duplicity, but he knew the greater good of his family, especially of his daughter, required that he carry it through. "Thank you, I will do so." He bowed slightly, then continued. "What are your plans? Where are you going to settle?"

       "In the land of the Coritani, on the edge of the land of the Cornovii. It is largely unsettled and uncontrolled, according to Morius. Many marauders ravage the coasts and inland, but I know that area has coal and iron, and I think I can control the bandits who pillage and rape."

       Carl paused, for what he had in mind was risky business for the small group he now had. But a plan had been forming, the creation of a Camelot without the knights and derring-do that characterized the historical myths and musical plays. A place where men could be free, yes, but also where all men could be free, not just the knights. It may not be possible, but it was worth trying, if he could get Rebecca and Raphael to go along with his dream. It would require their efforts and those of others as well.

       "Aaron, it may be that I will need your trading services in the future, or those of others you know who trade and sell east of here in London."

       "London? Where is London?"

       Carl laughed. "I don't know, wherever the cities exist that trade with Gaul and Rome. You mentioned Camulodunum. I will need merchants and traders there to move the raw materials and finished products I will produce. Your help may be needed if we ship anything out of Clausentum."

       "I will help you, of course. I will give Gaio a list of men in Camulodunum along with a letter introducing you to them. They will treat you fairly."

       Aaron was puzzled. There was nothing, absolutely nothing in the region in which Carl intended to settle, but it cost nothing to offer a helping hand.

       In the days after Aaron's departure, Carl spent more and more time with Morius, teaching him techniques of warfare he could only begin to comprehend and learning from him, too. They developed a close friendship as Morius quickly recovered from his own wound and pledged his devotion to Carl for saving him from the Ggaron. He regretted losing his steed, since he was a powerful, though headstrong beast, that had carried him to many victories, but Carl gave him Daemon, another powerful horse. He was owned by the guard killed in the fight with the Ggaron.

       A wandering warrior, Morius was in his mid-twenties yet showing several years of warrior life behind him. When they relaxed in a hot pool after a hard day of military practice, in which Carl learned as much as he taught, he noticed several scars and pockmarks on Morius' arms and back. Tall for his day, he was still four inches shorter than Carl. Both were lean. He was well built, not muscular, but with a sinewy strength. He kept his hair clipped short, just below the ear line. A full but closely clipped beard hid pockmarks and a long, angry scar, the result of an enemy sword that had sliced open the left side of his jaw.

       He was fearless, but Carl was most pleased with his intelligence. He also was a careful teacher, showing Carl how to handle the short blade sword while wielding his shield as an offensive weapon. Carl returned the favor by having the local blacksmith fashion a bronze thrusting/throwing knife designed after Carl's own knife. When he presented it to Morius, and showed him how to throw with accuracy and deadly power, he won a comrade for life.

       An accomplished fighter and woodsman, Morius' training was effortless. Meanwhile Carl worked hard on his own conditioning, overcoming the sedentary years as a student.

       One day while practicing in a field outside of the town, Carl noticed several young men riding chariots and mock fighting with wooden swords and shields.

       "Morius, do all of the young men train for war?"

       "No, only the warrior class, the people who run each clan. They are the people who can afford to pay for equipment and keep their children from having to work in the fields."

       "Where did you train for war?"

       "My father was ri of my clan, so I spent most of each day training with sword and riding, but one day when I and several friends were away hunting, the Dubonnii massacred my family and most of the village. My clan didn't have a chance since we had been at peace with them for many years. It was a sneak attack, and only a few people escaped." He paused. The incident still burned in his memory. "My family was killed and the village was burned after it was looted. The six of us who were hunting were saved along with a few older men and women who fled into the woods. I became a wandering warrior at the service of anyone who needed my sword. You saved my life."

       "Well, I hope one day to build a kingdom you'll be proud to be part of. We'll need some of these well trained boys at the beginning, but we'll do our own training, probably of peasants, to build an army that's different from that of the Gauls. It will take less training, and we'll supply weapons, horses, shields, and armored jackets for protection."

       "Armored jackets?"

       "Yes, I'll show you mine. It's a prototype, er, an example of what they will be."

       Carl was getting ahead of himself, but he wanted Morius to see that he would be part of a much larger kingdom than the few men and one woman that it now was composed of.

       The local blacksmith fashioned iron stirrups with thick foot bars for each rider, including the small crew Morius was recruiting. Using leather that Aaron had given to him, Carl had tanners prepare straps that were riveted to roughly shaped saddles to hold the stirrups, although the workers never saw the stirrups themselves. The stirrup was a weapon. Carl was determined to keep that technology secret as long as possible. Word would spread soon enough, especially if they demonstrated its utility in battle, but secrecy bought time and a temporary advantage over British tribes.

       He also had boots made for each member of the team, boots with stiff lasts and heels so they could ride properly. Spurs weren't needed, yet.

       Morius sold one of the ponies to pay the blacksmith and leatherworkers, then traded four more for two very good horses. Carl was pleased. The horses, not as large as those of the Twentieth-first Century, were much larger and stronger than the ponies, and Carl needed their size to build a cavalry.

       Raphael regained his strength. The wound had healed. Though the physical pain was gone an emotional pain had replaced it. He could not control his fingers or wrist without great effort, and he had little strength in his hand. He was now a lefthander. Bad as that was, it was the knowledge of when he lived that infected his spirit beyond the reach of medicine. Christians would have six hundred years to build the church. It was more than he could bear.

       Raphael's temper flared easily, causing Rebecca to diagnose his problem as the weakness in his hand. "I don't blame him for grousing," she said, though the snappish Raphael was hard to live with.

       Carl agreed. "Let's get his mind on something else. We need his input, but first we need to find out his background. That's never been clear to me."

       Carl called a council of three, excluding Morius of Glempf and Gaio the Greek. The three sat sipping a mild ale in Carl and Rebecca's room. Raphael had abstained from alcohol for religious reasons, Carl because an uncle he had liked very much—who had lived on his parent's ranch for several years when Carl was a child—had been an alcoholic. It also was against Carl's nature to get drunk and lose control of himself. He couldn't even imagine what that would be like. But both men succumbed to the necessity of drinking ale in Aquae Sulis, for it was a safe drink. Besides, a hot ale toddy on a brisk, cool day was enjoyable. Rebecca had no hang-ups with alcoholic drinks.

       "Raphael, we want to explain to you our plans for the future," Carl said. "But first we need to know something about you—your background, education, and experience."

       Raphael took a large swallow, awkwardly spilling the warm brew on his green army shirt. It was a good thing for him that the ale was mild. He cursed lightly at the spilled brew, then thumped the large clay cup on the table. As yet he had only rough control of his left hand.

       It was a long story, but they had time. "I was raised and educated as a Christian, first in Maaloula, Syria, and then in Damascus. There I became supporter of the Palestinians and converted to Shi'a Islam. I moved to London where I graduated with Honors from the London School of Economics with a degree in international trade. I intended to return to Lebanon to help my father in his export business, but, while in school I was involved with a fringe group that had terrorist roots."

       He took another drink. "I wasn't inclined toward personal violence, since my training was with ideas and business not weapons, but I was fascinated with the idea of changing history through terrorism.

       "Unlike those Underground bombers of 7/7, I don't believe in a glorious paradise for dying in battle, but I do believe in Mohammed and the tenets of Islam.

       "My father is a nominal Christian. He speaks excellent British English and taught me from childhood. He spoke only English to me while my mother spoke both Aramaic and Arabic." A touch of pride entered his voice. "I'm truly tri-lingual."

       Carl interrupted. "By the time we finish here we may be tri- or quad-lingual, and you'll be quin-lingual, if there's such a word."

       Raphael nodded agreement, then continued. "My father was unhappy with my activities in London and refused to support me any longer, so I went to work for a British trading firm specializing in Middle Eastern imports. It paid well and enabled me to pursue political and religious activities.

       "I was on a short vacation to prepare for the attack on the American Embassy. I had no intention of taking part in the attack itself. I'm a thinker, not a doer," he admitted with a toss of his head.

       "The group knew this. I was in the house to evaluate the preparations and to offer suggestions, since I was responsible for gathering information about the Embassy and its employees. I also had secured many of the gadgets and rare earths that the professor had needed." He was proud of his contribution to the building of the SuperBurst.

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       Carl glanced at Rebecca. They had already talked over his vision and agreed to pursue it. Now they needed to know what role, if any, Raphael would play. Carl quickly got to the point.

       "You remember the legend of King Arthur, how he united much of England and created a class of knights that vowed to serve the ideals of Camelot, to protect the right and prosecute evil. We're in a position to do something along the same lines, given the time we're in. My doctoral research was on the Norman period, especially the economic geography of England, and how the Normans financed the building of castles, thus changing the face of England."

       Raphael started at the mention of Carl's doctoral studies. It was the first time he had heard of it. He blurted, "I thought you were a military man because of your skill with the rifle."

       "Well, I was." Carl continued, neglecting to mention his experience in the Special Forces in Afghanistan. "I don't know much history of England before the Romans, except what I retain from one course, but I do know the country was made up of squabbling, quarreling tribes, many of which had connections with tribes in Germany and Gaul, what we call Germany, Belgium, Switzerland, and France, as well as the lowlands on the continent. Historians now believe Camelot was historical, although much later, probably from the time of the Saxon invasion, but the story of King Arthur's kingdom was so embroidered through the centuries that only myth remains. Still, the idea has merit."

       He stood and began pacing the room, his hands clasped behind his back in the European style. Rebecca and Rafael both noticed the slight limp, which was always most pronounced when he got up.

       His words rushed. "Just think of what we know that can be used by these people today. We have weapons that give us a tremendous, if temporary, advantage over the technology of this day. No one in England or Europe, including Rome itself, can challenge even the three of us if we develop the technical weaponry we know."

       His eyes caught Raphael firmly in their grip. "Weapons are almost incidental to what we three carry in our minds. The barest knowledge we have about virtually everything is far greater than any knowledge of the people of this time. Rebecca is a nurse as well as skilled in archery. What she knows about disease and its causes and cures, what we all know about these things, is so much greater than the understanding of today that it will require several lifetimes to teach it to people."

       Rebecca interrupted. "Think of what we can create in a real Camelot, a kingdom called Long Reach, one that is a relatively disease-free place in which to live and work, with the ideas spreading out to envelop the entire country, years ahead of the continent."

       Carl frowned at the interruption, then his eyes crinkled for she glowed with the passion of the idea.

       He hurried on with the thought. "Virtually everything we know and have used is superior to what exists in this period, at least in material things. The use of iron and copper is still primitive; we can improve these metals so they will be superior to anything other countries have available. Our ideas of religious liberty and personal freedom have no place in this world, yet, but we can lead the way. Right now these people believe in ghosts and goblins, in magic and sorcery, in gods they should fear and placate, and they practice human sacrifice, if the historians are correct. Our God still reigns—your Allah and our Jehovah—and, while our Savior has not yet been resurrected and your Prophet has not yet been born, we can create a place of tolerance for all religious beliefs. And people, all people, can be free, not just the warriors and owners of the land and merchants in the cities. We can do away with slavery in this small corner of the world."

       Carl sat and poured another glass of ale; the heat had long since dissipated. He looked deeply into Raphael's eyes. "Do you begin to understand what we can do? The simplest improvement can have profound effects on the lives of these people and of people around the world."

       Raphael's eyes reflected his concern. He shook his head. "You would make England strong earlier in its history. It would still act the way it has in the past and subjugate more nations. Rome could never conquer the kind of England you're portraying. The Normans could never successfully invade. You would change history beyond recognition. Do you know what you're doing?"

       Raphael's passionate response meant his mind was on something much larger than himself. Carl could give only one answer. "We don't know what we are doing nor do we know what the result will be, for England or for the world. We can only deal with the light we've been given. To leave this people in spiritual bondage and economic blight because we don't want to build a powerful England is untenable. We can teach brotherly love and tolerance of others, though," he ruefully added, "I don't expect we'll be any more successful at changing the nature of man than others have been through the centuries. That really isn't in our power."

       Carl moved to the open window, looking into the street through roughly cut shutters which were often closed to keep out the smells, cold, and dampness when dusk had fallen.

       "Look at this window. It's nothing but a hole in the wall with shutters that are opened or closed. If it's cold outside, the shutters are closed and light is denied. Window glass hasn't been invented, yet it's relatively simple to make and will prove a boon to mankind. Should we deny people this?"

       Rebecca walked over and opened the shutters. "Over there," she pointed, looking back at Raphael, "runs an open sewer." As though to emphasize her point, a quickened breeze carried the stench into the room to assault their nostrils. She recoiled. "The waste collects in a large pond on the south edge of town, the rest runs into the stream, untreated. They've had a fever here since shortly before we arrived, a reminder that spring is coming. We can tell them what to do, where to get their water and how to treat it to avoid the kinds of diseases transmitted through contaminated water."

       Her face was animated. "They take some of that waste, night soil, and put it on their crops, then eat and get sick from diseases transmitted through their own waste."

       She turned to Raphael. "We have the answer to that. When Aaron was here, none of his men were sickened, because Gaio made them boil all of their water and cook all of their ground crops until the germs were killed. Should we have let nature take its course, when we know better?"

       Carl closed the shutters against the night air. The odor remained. He picked up the conversation. "We've already changed history, in some small ways. When your little machine dumped us into this time, we changed it. When we killed those bandits, we changed it. Aaron would have been killed and his goods stolen, Morius would have died, and many other men likely would have died. And men who would not have died, at least in that particular battle, littered the battlefield. No, everything we've done has changed history in some small respect, and we can't go back and undo it, even if we wanted to."

       He was passionate, striding in front of them as though giving a lecture, but keeping his eyes on Raphael. "I don't know what the effect of our changes will be, or what the effect of our proposed Long Reach will be. We can't tell the future, now that we're in the past. Perhaps the Romans will still invade Britain in AD43. Perhaps they won't. We can't know what the people will do with what we offer them, but it's possible that we'll be able to produce such a kingdom in England that Rome will not need to conquer Britain. I don't know, but I refuse to be paralyzed into inaction. Since we can't tell what will happen we must do the best we can with what we do know. That is, if we live. This is a violent society!"

       He returned to the table and enveloped Raphael's left hand with his right. "Are you with us?"

       Raphael nodded, then grimaced. "I was asked that question once before, and I ended up here. But, yes, I'm with you. You're the only choice I have, right now. But I claim the right to leave at any time and to be my own man, to practice my own faith, and to follow the dictates of my own mind."

       "Fair enough. We're equals and any one of us has the right to pull out on his or her own at any time."

       Rebecca leaned against Carl, her cheek on his shoulder. "Hey, I'm not sure how far that independence thing should go since we're married, you know, and I don't like the idea of you wandering off into some other country because you disagree with me."

       Carl pulled her close. "I mispoke. We have the right to pull out, just as you do, Raphael. Our commitment to each other is a little deeper than the one I was talking about."

       He held Rebecca at arm's length. "Now, thou comely wench, fill the cups that we might toast, drink, and sleep well tonight."

       He turned to Raphael. "I'm glad you said yes. We'll need your business talents if we're going to build this modern Camelot. This is still a barter society, but some of the tribes have gold and silver coins which they use for trade. It's a confusing economic situation, and you can help us work with it."

       Rebecca got a new flagon of the hot brew, filling each cup.

       "We can spend several more days enjoying the hot waters," Carl said. "We can sit in the pool and plan until we turn Pepto Bismo pink. I want to be sure Aaron has arrived safely before we leave Aquae Sulis, or we may have to teach some guards the meaning of the name I've been given."

       The three stood and clapped cups together. "Here's to our adventure," Carl toasted. "May it be crowned with success and long life, and may it honor our God, yours and ours."

       Rebecca chimed in. "Hear! Hear!"

       "Yes," Raphael intoned. "May Allah's will be done."