The Lost Ballad of Sherwood Forest - Chapter 1 of 7
1 Dancing to the Chaos of Time
Noah stared at the seat belt indicator, willing the light to be turned off. Flying long-haul in economy class was nobody's idea of fun, and even less so for someone his height. His left calf muscle was throbbing and he had lost all feeling in his right thigh before the plane was half-way over the Atlantic. He thought longingly of the seats in the first class cabin and their additional inches of leg room.
Finally, the pilot took mercy on Noah. The seat belt light dimmed with an accompanying ding and the flight attendant announced, "Ladies and gentlemen, the seat belt sign has now been turned off. For your own safety, we advise that you remain seated until the aircraft is stationary. Thank you."
Naturally, none of the passengers heeded this piece of advice. Half of them were shuffling to their feet before the announcement was finished. Noah was among the first to raise himself from the confines of his seat, unfolding his long legs and stretching them out with a groan. He had pins and needles in both feet, which was unpleasant but better than the excruciating cramping of the past few hours.
It was a long wait before he could disembark. His seat was right at the rear end of the aircraft and the flight was full. He fiddled with the straps of his backpack and looked at his watch. The flight had been delayed at departure and he was almost two hours behind schedule.
The lady in the next seat smiled sympathetically. She said, in a lilting accent, "These things can take forever, can't they? You look worried, dear. Are you running late for a connecting flight?"
"I'm taking a train to Nottingham. The last one for the day leaves in ninety minutes."
"My word, ninety minutes! It'll take forty just to get to St. Pancras."
"I know," he said ruefully. "I'll be cutting it very close."
"You'll be alright, dear. At this time of the day, there won't be much of a queue at Immigration. Look, the aisle has cleared a little. Just grab your bag and go." She shoved Noah gently, pushing him into the path of several passengers who were removing their luggage from the overhead lockers. Before they could complain, she said loudly enough to be heard several rows ahead, "The poor boy's going to miss his train if he doesn't get off this plane soon. Have a heart, people!"
Remarkably, that seemed to do the trick. The other passengers edged away to the side of the narrow aisle, allowing Noah a clear route to move to the front of the plane.
"Thank you, ma'am," he said, slightly stunned.
She patted his arm kindly and pushed him again. "Go on, lad. Go catch that train."
After he disembarked, Noah ran through a series of endlessly long walkways, wishing fervently that Heathrow Airport was a smaller place. When he arrived at the Immigration counters, he joined the queue, which was thankfully much shorter than he had expected. Seven minutes later, his passport duly stamped, he went to collect his checked in luggage.
The carousel completed two cycles but Noah did not see his bag there. He glanced at his watch, counting off the minutes as they ticked by. Then he saw his black Samsonite emerging through the plastic flaps on the wall. Without a second's delay, he grabbed the bag off the conveyor belt and sprinted in the direction of the express train into London.
He spent much of the next hour running on train platforms while pulling his bag behind him, as he navigated his way through Paddington and St. Pancras stations. Finally, he sank into a seat on the last train to Nottingham and took a deep breath. He was tired and suddenly realized that he was also hungry. He tried to ignore the rumbling in his stomach; it was a two hour journey and he refused to pay a king's ransom for a stale cheese sandwich from the train trolley service.
He took out his phone and placed a call to his Aunt Ruth, who picked up on the first ring.
"Aunt Ruth, it's Noah. I made it onto the last train."
"Noah! I was worried you'd have to spend the night in London. It's impossible to get a room there on such short notice. But thank goodness you got on that train. And I have a good mind to take this up with the airline. Arriving two hours late is quite beyond the pale."
"I'm really sorry, Aunt. It'll be after midnight when I get in." He consulted the timetable in his hand. "To be exact, a quarter past twelve."
"It's okay, Noah," Ruth assured him. "It's not that much past my usual bedtime and I'm not working tomorrow. I'll pick you up at the station."
"Thanks, Aunt."
"Not at all. I'll see you in a couple of hours. We'll talk then, okay?"
"Okay."
"Noah," she said kindly, "don't think about it too much. Everything will be fine. You'll see."
After ending the call, Noah closed his eyes. The past two hours had been a blessing in disguise. Between the worrying and rushing, he had been distracted. Now he had another two hours before him, with nothing to occupy his mind except the very thoughts he wanted to avoid. He managed to ignore the hunger pangs. He tried, less successfully, to avoid thinking about his father.
***
Noah swallowed down the last bite of chicken casserole while Ruth watched him approvingly.
"You always had a good appetite," she said.
"You always made a mean casserole."
She smiled. "Thank you. Would you like another helping? There's more in the fridge."
"No, I'm fine." He picked up his plate to take to the sink, but Ruth stopped him.
"Just leave it there, Noah. I'll take care of it later."
"Okay." He put the plate back down, waiting for the conversation that he knew was coming. Now that he had eaten, it was time to talk.
"I spoke to your father this afternoon," Ruth said gently.
"Did he call you?"
"No, I called him."
"What did he say?"
"He's still angry and still refuses to listen to reason. When I told him you were coming to stay with me, he said I should turn you away."
"I expected as much," Noah said, telling himself not to be upset.
"Well, I told him that it's none of his damn business who I invite into my house. And I asked him what happened to the man that my sister married. If I'd known that he would turn out to be this stubborn and idiotic, I'd have advised Charlene to refuse his proposal. That shut him up for a bit."
Noah managed a small smile. Only a few people could intimidate his formidable father and Ruth was at the top of that elite list.
"Thank you, Aunt. For talking to him and for letting me stay."
Ruth took his hand and squeezed it. "Noah, listen to me. I know things seem really bad right now."
He laughed without mirth. "Yes, you could say that. My father disowned me."
"We'll see about that," she said archly. "Noah, your father is a product of his generation, which is also my generation. He reacted badly because he doesn't understand that being gay isn't anything to be ashamed of. We were brought up in a time when nobody spoke of such matters. If they did speak of it, it was to denounce it as a sin. Silence was the order of the day. We all knew gay people, but we didn't know that they were gay. They were too afraid because they were different, and we were all taught that it was wrong to be different. I believed it myself for a long time. But the more I saw of the world, the more I realized that we were taught the wrong things. Your father will get there eventually. He just needs time, to open his eyes and learn the lessons that I've learned."
Noah's head dropped. In his current state of mind, he was much less optimistic than Ruth was. "Maybe he can't. Or maybe he doesn't want to. I think what he wants is for me to retract what I said, and go back into the closet."
Ruth clicked her tongue impatiently. "If that's how it is, I'm flying out to Missouri to personally give him a piece of my mind. But we'll cross that bridge if we come to it. Whatever happens, Noah, you're not alone. You'll always have me. You should be proud of yourself for coming out to your father and wanting to be open about who you are. If your mother were still alive, she'd tell you the same thing."
"Thank you, Aunt." He felt like crying but held it back.
"Okay, it's late. We'll talk tomorrow. Let's get you off to bed," she pronounced briskly.
Noah retrieved his luggage from the living room. As he bent to pick up his suitcase, he frowned. Something was off; on one corner of the bag, there was a blue sticker with the words "First Class" on it. The small luggage tag that he had attached to the side handle was missing. He turned over the case, looking for a scratch mark from the time that he accidentally wheeled it against a car fender. The mark was not there. He tried the combination lock and as he expected, it could not be opened.
"This isn't my bag," he said. "I picked up the wrong bag at the airport."
"What? Are you sure?"
"Yes, this definitely isn't my bag. This belongs to someone who flew First Class. What should I do? I guess I have to call the airport. They can match the baggage claim tag and find the rightful owner. He's probably some mega important CEO who's fuming mad because someone took his bag. And my own bag is probably still at Heathrow."
"Wait. Did you put your contact details anywhere on your bag?"
"There's a tag with my name and phone number on it."
"Then the airport, or whoever has your bag, will call you."
Right on cue, Noah's phone rang, making him jump in surprise. "Are you psychic now?" Noah asked while Ruth grinned jubilantly.
"Answer your phone," she said.
He did as she suggested. "Hello?"
"Hey, sorry to call so late. Would that by any chance be Noah Mayer?" The voice on the other end was male and the accent was American. It was hard to know for sure, but he sounded young and not very CEO-like.
"Yes, this is Noah Mayer."
"Hey, I'm so glad I got hold of you! My name's Luke Snyder and I know it's after one in the morning which is a completely ridiculous time to be calling. But I have your bag here and I think you may have mine. It's a black Samsonite?"
"Yes!" Noah exclaimed. "I just discovered the mistake and I was wondering what I ought to do. I'm so sorry, it was my fault. I was in such a hurry, I didn't check that the bag was mine before I took off."
"No," Luke said, "I was one of the first people off the plane and I just grabbed the first black Samsonite I saw on the conveyor belt. I was the one who should have checked. Therefore I'm should be the one doing all the apologizing."
Of course, Noah thought, looking at the blue sticker. Luke Snyder had flown First Class and would have disembarked before the Economy passengers.
"Mix-ups happen, don't worry about it," Noah said.
"Since I caused this mix-up, let me fix it. I'll call a cab and bring your bag to you now. Unless you prefer to wait till the morning? I'm leaving for Nottingham first thing tomorrow, but I can swing by your place on my way to the station."
"You don't have to do that," Noah said, marveling at the happy coincidence. "I'm actually in Nottingham right now. We'll do the exchange tomorrow when you get here. I can meet you wherever you're staying."
"I'll be at the Blue Boar Inn. Shall we arrange to meet in the lobby at noon?"
"Okay, I'll see you then. How will I recognize you?"
Luke laughed and it was a very pleasant sound even heard through the phone. "I'll be carrying a book and a rose."
Noah recognized the reference to You've Got Mail and chuckled. "Do you also look like Meg Ryan?"
"Now that you mention it, I might. From certain angles and if you squint really, really hard. And if you're extremely short sighted." They both laughed before Luke continued, "I'll look out for you. You'll be the one wheeling in a black Samsonite case that looks exactly like mine because it is mine. There can't be too many people fitting that description. Unless you look like Tom Hanks, which would make life even easier."
"You're out of luck with that one."
"Then I'll look for someone with a black Samsonite."
"Okay. I'll see you at noon, at the Blue Boar Inn." Noah glanced at Ruth, who nodded to acknowledge that she knew the place.
"Great. If there's a change of plan, I'll call you. Or you can call me on this number if something comes up at your end."
"Got it. I'll see you tomorrow. Thanks for calling, Luke."
"Goodbye and good night, Noah Mayer," Luke said, ending the call.
Ruth was watching Noah with one eyebrow slightly raised and an inscrutable expression on her face. When she caught his eye, she smiled enigmatically and continued studying him.
"What is it, Aunt?" he asked, suddenly self-conscious.
"Nothing," she answered. "It's just good to see you laughing. Whoever this Luke person is, I think I ought to thank him."
***
Noah wheeled the bag into the lobby of the Blue Boar Inn, struggling slightly with the somewhat sticky revolving door. He looked around the small but elegant space; other than the receptionist at the front desk, there was no one there. The clock on the wall showed that he was ten minutes early.
He took a seat and waited. A number of guests walked past him but nobody stopped. At exactly twelve noon, a young man with light blonde hair came into the lobby from the dining area. Noah felt a tug of attraction, sparking low in his spine and causing his breath to catch. He had spent much of his post-adolescent years denying his impulses towards men. After removing that self-imposed restraint a few months ago, he now allowed himself to fully appreciate men that he found attractive, be they gay or straight. This young man was more than merely attractive; Noah was inclined to think that "beautiful" might be a more fitting adjective.
The young man came up to Noah, flashing a dimpled smile. "Hey, you look nothing Tom Hanks!" he said, and Noah instantly recognized his voice from last night. "You better be Noah Mayer. Otherwise, I just insulted a complete stranger."
"Guilty as charged," Noah said, getting to his feet. "You must be Luke. I can tell, because you do look a little like Meg Ryan if I squint really, really hard."
Luke laughed heartily. "And shut your eyes tight." He stuck out his hand to shake Noah's. "It's nice to meet you, Noah. I left your bag with the concierge. Are you in a hurry to leave?"
"Actually, I have about an hour to kill. I got a ride from my Aunt and she's running errands in town."
"Great!" Luke said enthusiastically. "Let me buy you lunch. It's the least I can do to make up for this whole debacle with the luggage. You must have been cursing me yesterday. I probably owe you a week's worth of meals."
"I wasn't. It's no big deal, really. You don't owe me anything."
"You need to eat, don't you? And I need to eat. So let's eat together. Come on," Luke urged, already pulling his bag towards the concierge. "I'll leave this here and we'll have lunch in the dining room. I hear the food is pretty good."
Noah did not argue. He did have to eat and he admitted that looking at Luke's face for an hour was quite an appealing prospect. Nothing could come from this attraction, which made it a safe indulgence for Noah.
After they placed their orders, Luke asked, "Fellow American in Nottingham, whereabouts are you from?"
"Missouri. Sort of," Noah hedged. Missouri was where his father lived. Now that he had been disowned, it no longer counted as his home. "But I go to school at Northwestern."
"Hah! Go figure. We go to school in the same state but meet on another continent."
"You're from Illinois? Which part?"
"A town called Oakdale. You've probably never heard of it. I go to Oakdale University."
"I've heard of it. It has a very reputable film studies program."
"You must be a film student to know that," Luke surmised and Noah nodded in confirmation. "Have you chosen a specialization? Let me guess." He studied Noah for a few seconds. "You look like a film director. Did I get it right?"
"I'm not a director yet. But you're right, directing is my final year specialist stream."
Luke whistled appreciatively. "That's really cool. I went from one thing to another for three years, but I've finally settled on Literature as my major. That's way less cool than film studies."
"No, it's not," Noah protested. "My aunt teaches Literature at a university here. And she's one of the coolest people I know. She specializes in Robin Hood studies."
"Get out of here!" Luke exclaimed, his eyes bright with excitement. "I was thinking of writing my senior year paper on the early Robin Hood ballads."
"Is that why you're in Nottingham? For research?"
"That's what I told my parents," Luke said with a snort. "But not really. I'm here on holiday, just to get away from Oakdale for the summer. How about you? I guess you're visiting your English relatives?"
"I don't have any English relatives. My aunt's from Texas. She moved here last year to take the teaching job. I'm staying with her for...," Noah stopped, realizing with a pang that he was indefinitely exiled from his father's house. "For a while," he finished.
"So for all intent and purposes, you're a tourist like I am. An American in Robin Hood country."
"Yes," Noah agreed. He had not considered it before, but exploring Robin Hood country would be a much needed diversion from thinking about his father.
A waiter served their lunch order and their conversation ebbed to snatches of small talk about their rather excellent meal. But Noah suspected that Luke was not given to long stretches of silence. Even while he ate, he seemed to be waging an internal struggle, like he wanted to talk but was reminding himself that it was impolite to speak while chewing.
When his plate was mostly empty, Luke put down his fork and licked his -eminently kissable- upper lip. "I'll probably see you around the Robin Hood sites. Nottingham Castle, Sherwood Forest, all the usual suspects. Is there any place in particular you want to see?"
"Sherwood Forest, I guess. But it's too bad none of the Robin Hood movies were actually filmed there."
"It's not like the movies are that faithful to other parts of the legend," Luke scoffed. "For one thing, all the early ballads suggest that Robin Hood lived in the 14th century. That is, if he was real in the first place. But the movies always have Robin Hood meeting Richard the Lionhearted who lived three hundred years earlier. And don't even get me started on the trope about Robin of Locksley being a nobleman. Mind you, I know the movies didn't invent these embellishments. It's the handy work of writers like Howard Pyle and Walter Scott, who were trying to jazz up the legend to sell books. But the films take these fictional ideas and present them like historical facts! That bit about Robin being pardoned by Richard the Lionhearted always gets to me. Richard never even set foot in this part of England!"
"It's a romantic story. And movies are about make-belief," Noah offered as a counter point. He was quite entertained by Luke being so exercised over this topic.
Luke sighed dramatically. "Of course they are about make-belief. Because the movies also have us believing that there were dental surgeons and hair spray in medieval England. I'd bet any sum of money that if there was a real Robin Hood, he looked nothing like Kevin Costner. Or Russell Crowe, for that matter."
Noah had to grin. Everyone knew the preposterously entertaining Prince of Thieves but very few remembered Russell Crowe's version of Robin Hood. Although it was more recently released, it was also interminably dull, Cate Blanchett notwithstanding.
"Maybe he looked like Errol Flynn. Or Douglas Fairbanks," he said, taking the movie references back to the Golden Age of Hollywood.
Luke frowned, which scrunched his face up rather comically. "I saw the Errol Flynn version once on TCM. Nice mustache, but I fell asleep before it ended. Who's Douglas Fairbanks?"
"He played Robin Hood during the era of silent movies."
"Which would explain why I haven't heard of him. Sorry if this offends the film buff in you, but I can't muster much interest in black and white movies, much less silent ones."
"I feel compelled to lecture you on the merits of the silent movie art form," Noah said jokingly.
"Please don't," Luke pleaded. "I get enough of that from Maddie."
"Maddie?"
"There she is, speaking of the devil." Luke pointed to the a dark haired young woman who was approaching their table. "Hey, Maddie," he greeted her, kissing her on the cheek.
"Hey, Luke. And who's this?" she asked, turning to Noah.
Luke made the introductions. "Maddie, meet Noah. And vice versa."
"Noah, it's nice to meet you. I hope I'm not interrupting anything."
"No, we're just having lunch," Noah said. Just then his phone buzzed with an incoming message. It was from Ruth. Looking up at Luke and Maddie, he said apologetically, "I'm sorry. I hate to leave so abruptly but my aunt's picking me up outside in five minutes."
"Let me sign the bill, then we'll go get your bag," Luke said.
They went out to the lobby together and retrieved Noah's luggage from the concierge's desk. This time he checked the tag to make sure that it was his.
Noah shook Luke's hand. "Thanks for lunch, Luke. And for taking care of this." He nodded at the Samsonite case.
Luke flashed another one of his blinding smiles. "It was good to meet you, Noah. You have my number. Call me some time. Maybe we can check out some of those Robin Hood sites together."
"That would be fun," Noah said. It was a measured reply; he did not want to promise anything.
As he shepherded his bag out through the sticky revolving door, Noah turned to look at Luke one last time. Luke had his arm around Maddie and they were leaning into each other. Of course, Noah thought. They were probably dating. For some reason, he was profoundly disappointed.
***
They watched Noah's lanky form depart from the lobby. Luke heaved an internal sigh. Noah was almost ridiculously good-looking, and all the more so because he seemed entirely unaware of it.
"So," Maddie said knowingly, digging her elbow into Luke's midriff, "tell me about this Noah person. Who is he exactly?"
"He's Noah Mayer, the guy whose bag I accidentally stole. You were standing beside me when I called him last night."
She looked at him askance. "You know what I mean, Luke Snyder. Unless my eyes deceive me, and I don't think they do, there was some serious chemistry going on between you. And he's Major League hot."
Luke groaned and rolled his eyes. "And more likely than not, he's also Major League heterosexual."
"Well, you don't know that. And you won't know unless you make some effort to find out. What I saw was a really hot guy who seemed to really like you."
Luke knew that Maddie was well-intentioned and he appreciated what she was trying to do. But he was tired of playing a game with rules that he had never quite mastered. And the thought of playing that game with Noah Mayer, he of the smoldering blue eyes, was deeply unsettling. It was just as well that the possibility was a remote one, if it existed at all.
"Maddie," he said patiently, "I already told you. I've given up getting together with a guy just because he's hot and he likes me. You know what happened the last time I did that."
"You and Rick were together for four months!"
"Yes! Four months!" he said with mounting agitation. "I know four months is an eternity by Oakdale standards. But I'd like to have a relationship that lasts longer than one season of a TV talent show. And one that's difficult to give up, you know? Something that I'd fight to keep. When Rick and I split up, there were no broken hearts. Nothing even close to that."
"And that's bad? That your heart wasn't broken?"
"Yes, it's bad. In a way," he said, trying to explain himself. "I mean, I'm glad that it didn't happen. But I'm sad because it means what we had during those four months didn't amount to that much. It was easy to be with Rick because he was the hot guy who liked me. And it was easy to break it off because that's all we were to each other."
Maddie hooked her elbow around Luke's forearm and hugged it. "I do get it," she said. "You want someone to be a friend as well as a boyfriend. Someone with whom you share more than just an attraction. Something more. Something deeper."
"Honestly, what I want right now is to forget about boyfriends and relationships," Luke pronounced decisively. "I'm going to have an actual holiday. For the next couple of weeks, I'll follow the Robin Hood trail and immerse myself in the legends of Sherwood Forest. No distractions from any guys, hot or otherwise."
"That's a good idea," Maddie approved. Then after a beat, she added, "But you still have Noah's number, don't you?"
"Maddie! Cut it out!"
"Cut what out?" she feigned innocence.
Luke shook his head and laughed with resignation.
***
Leaving the grounds of Nottingham Castle, Noah noticed a small building tucked around a corner, away from the main walking path. Consulting his map and guidebook, he learned that this was Barton Chapel. No further information was provided.
He decided to take a closer look. The chapel was a solitary stone structure of medium size and considerable age. The architecture was simple, shaped almost like a farmyard barn, save for an imposing arched door that took up half the front wall.
A gray-haired lady was tending to the hedges lining the path leading to the chapel. She greeted Noah with a smile.
"Welcome to Barton Chapel. Would you like to take a look inside, my dear? It's open to the public."
"What is this place?" he asked. "The guidebook doesn't say anything about it."
"That's because not much is known about it," she explained. "From what we can tell, the Chapel was built in the 14th century, during the reign of Edward the Third. Some people suggest that this was Edward's favorite place of worship, although it's outside the main Castle compound. His coat of arms is on the east wall. But other than that, it seems like the Chapel was used by the town folk of Nottingham. When you're inside, take a look at the stone tablets on the north wall. There are hundreds of names inscribed there. We don't quite know what they mean, but we think they may be records of christenings."
"Thank you, ma'am. Is photography allowed?"
"Of course! Just go right through the door." She gestured him to the main entrance. "Mind your step when you're inside. The lights aren't very bright."
The interior of the chapel was cool and dim. Very little modernization work had been done. Noah explored the main hall, snapping photographs of the pews and the pulpit. He was the only person there and it felt like being in a different world.
Presently, the tranquility was interrupted by voices coming from outside. They sounded American and Noah recognized one of them as Luke's.
"I want to check out this Chapel, guys," Luke said.
"I don't know, Luke. It doesn't seem very interesting," said an unfamiliar female voice.
"Yeah, why don't we just go straight to the Castle?" This sounded like Maddie.
"Tell you what," Luke said. "You guys go on to the Castle and I'll catch up with you when I'm done here. I won't be long. I just want to see those stone tablets that the lady was telling us about."
There was a chorus of "Okay" and "We'll see you later" which quickly faded away.
Having heard this exchange, Noah was prepared to see Luke coming into the chapel. It was Luke who registered surprise when he saw Noah.
"Noah, hey. Fancy seeing you here." He beamed, favoring Noah with one of those smiles that made Noah's breath catch in his throat.
"Hello, Luke. It's a small world, huh?"
"Miniscule," Luke said. "How have you been?"
"Okay. Settling in and keeping busy. I've been helping my aunt with stuff around her house. And you?"
"The same, I guess. We've been doing some of the sights but nothing too heavy duty yet. Hey, do you want go see those stone tablets?"
"Yes. They sound fascinating. A glimpse into the lives of everyday people hundreds of years ago."
"Exactly!" Luke enthused. "We keep seeing these great houses and castles, and things that belonged to royalty and the nobility. It's sad that the common folks always get trampled upon and forgotten, even by history."
They made their way to the north wing and gazed with awe at the rows of stone tablets that covered the wall, from the floor to a point just above Noah's sight line. The inscriptions were etched deep into the stone, not eroded by the passage of time. Each tablet was sequentially numbered, the last being the eightieth. Noah whipped out his phone and began snapping pictures including several close up shots.
Luke took out his phone to do the same. It emitted a loud beep and the display went dark.
"Shit! My phone battery's gone flat."
"Did you forget to charge it?" Noah asked sympathetically. "Smart phones are great in almost every way, except for their battery life."
Luke looked sheepish. "It was fully charged when I left my room this morning. That's not the problem."
"Then what's the problem?"
"My addiction to Angry Birds," Luke confessed with his eyes cast down. "God, I can't believe I told you that! It's so embarrassing."
"No, don't be embarrassed. It's a good game. Have you managed three stars on all the levels yet?"
Luke smiled wide, seeming to recover from his mortification. "There are a couple of levels I can't seem to crack. Not from want of trying. Hence the dead battery. I'll have to come back some other time to take a picture of this place."
"I can send you what's on my phone," Noah offered. "Or you can borrow it and snap whatever pictures you want. Here, take this."
Luke refused to take the proffered phone. "I better not. Knowing my track record around your things, I'll probably forget to give it back to you."
"You have a point there. I'll just send you what I have. Or if you see anything you want a shot of, just let me know."
Luke was studying one of the stone tablets and suddenly let out a small cry. "God! I can't believe it, but there's a person back in the 14th century who had my name. Or close to it anyway. It's spelled differently, but I bet it was pronounced Snyder. Look, here it is."
Noah followed the line of Luke's pointed finger to a spot on the wall where tablet number thirty two was placed. The name "Luke Snuythur" was etched into the stone surface, spelled out in Gothic script.
"Wow, Luke. This is amazing." Noah took a close up shot of the inscription. As he panned out, the camera lens caught a name a few lines down. His eyes widened with shock.
"What's wrong, Noah?"
"Look down three lines below your name."
As Luke came closer to the wall, Noah put his hand on the tablet, wanting to confirm by touch what his eyes were telling him. The name three lines down from "Luke Snuythur" was -incredibly, impossibly- "Noah Maier".
When his fingers came in contact with the grooves in the stone surface, Noah felt a tingle spread to his wrist, then shoot sharply to his elbow. He stumbled back, surprised by the sudden jolting sensation. His body slammed into Luke, who held his waist to steady him.
"Whoa there, be careful! What happened, Noah?"
"I don't know. It was like electricity. Or static. But I don't think stone produces static."
Luke reached out to touch the tablet, running his fingers over the inscription of his name. He similarly jerked backward, as if he had been struck by a physical blow.
"I felt something too," he said, furrowing his brow. "I'm not sure what it was. A blast from the past, maybe?" Luke groaned as soon as he said it. "I'm sorry, that was a really lame pun."
"Terrible," Noah agreed. "But what was that?"
"There could be bits of old wiring behind that wall," Luke ventured a guess.
"Yeah, that could be it." Noah was glad to hear a logical explanation for what happened. There was something odd and discomfiting about the experience. He felt uneasy, like he was being watched by the people whose names were on the wall.
"Whatever it is, I'm not touching anything else in here," Luke said. "And I should get going. My friends are waiting for me at the Castle. Do you want to join us?"
"I just came from the Castle."
"Oh. That's too bad. But send me those pictures and call me. We'll arrange to have dinner or something. Maddie would like to see you again."
"Okay, I'll call you."
"I'm holding you to that. I'll see you soon, okay?" Luke said as he walked away.
Noah returned his attention to the wall. The odds were so improbable, that two people in the distant past could share his name and Luke's. He wondered what they had been like, Luke Snuythur and Noah Maier, and what their lives had been like seven hundred years ago.
***
Noah always took time to adjust to sleeping in an unfamiliar bed and room. Since arriving at Ruth's house a week ago, he woke up every morning feeling disoriented by the windows being in the wrong place and the walls being the wrong shade.
Today, everything seemed strange when he woke up, not just the windows and the walls. There was an unusual smell in the air and the bed itself felt like a slab of granite. Noah groaned when he moved his head and his neck cricked. He sat up and his feet touched a cold wooden surface, not the carpeted floor of Ruth's guest room.
"What in the world?" he said out loud, shaking his head to clear it.
He was in a tiny space, more like a cell than a room. It had one window and was empty of all furniture except the bed. The bed itself was, to put it kindly, rudimentary; the frame was hewn from unfinished wood and there was no mattress to speak of, only a linen sheet thrown over a pile of straw.
His clothes too were strange. He was in a long overshirt that hung down to his knees and under that, he wore a pair of loose-fitting shorts which were perhaps intended to be underpants. Hanging on a set of nails on the wall were various items of clothing and a pair of sturdy leather boots stood at the side of the bed.
His head spinning with confusion, Noah stuck his head out of the window. It was very early in the morning and the sun was just rising. He saw large expanses of woodlands dotted by the occasional thatched roof. Directly outside his window was a dirt path. Two pigs and a rooster lay on a patch of grass beside the path.
"This must be a dream." He spoke louder this time, hoping to wake himself up, but to no avail.
Not knowing what to do, he took down the clothes hanging on the wall. They were reminiscent of a costume he had once worn to a medieval-themed party. He put them on, together with the boots, and found that they fit him perfectly. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and left the room. Outside was a dark and narrow walkway, with two doors on the other side from his. As he deliberated what to do, a woman came out through one of the doors.
"You're up early, Noah," she said in a sing-song voice. "I though the Sheriff's summon was for this afternoon."
"Sheriff?" he repeated, his mind going blank with panic.
"I suppose he wants to see you before gathering all the other constables together, what with you being his deputy and all. It's such a responsibility, but it couldn't be in better hands."
"Thank you," he said, reduced to monosyllables because his mind was melting down. He was apparently deputy to a Sheriff.
"But the Sheriff himself must still be in bed. The sun has barely risen. Why are you up so early, Noah? Are you having trouble sleeping?"
"Yes, ma'am." It was the safest answer he could give under the circumstances.
She reached up and patted his cheek sympathetically. "Oh, you poor thing. I'll put a pinch of chamomile petals in your tea tonight. That will help you sleep like a baby."
"Thank you," he said, still at a complete loss for polysyllables.
"No need to thank me. You're not my favorite tenant for nothing," she said, with a wink and a smile. "Oh well, I've work to attend to. Off with you, my dear. I suppose you were planning to take a walk?"
"I was, yes."
"It's a fine day for it. I was despairing after all that rain we had last week. But it's passed now. It always does, you know. We always have sunny summers here in Nottingham." She bustled away, humming softly under her breath.
Noah felt as if the floor was giving way and his stomach falling through it. He pieced all the facts together and there was only one remarkable, impossible conclusion. He was in the past; at least five hundred years in the past, judging from his clothes and surroundings. There was something else even more ludicrous than that. He, Noah Mayer, was the Deputy Sheriff of Nottingham.
***
Continue to Chapter 2