Merlin's Shakespeare Encounter

By Malcolm John Baker

Merlin has been moved on from his encounter with King Arthur and Robin Hood to Middle-Aged England; he has become in charge of the archers to King Henry V in his war with France, leading to the Battle of Agincourt. Romance flourishes, along with espionage and treachery. He is then moved on by the ghost of Viviane, lady of the lake, from King Art

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stratton Press
• Release date: Dec 10, 2019
• ISBN: 9781643457970

Malcolm John Baker

Malcolm John Baker was born in Salisbury, England, in 1945. By trade, he was a chartered surveyor and practised in South London, England. Now retired, he lives in the United States in Florida.

Book preview

Chapter One

1413

On the road to London, five miles south of Nottingham, standing in open countryside surrounded by farmland, was the mainline coaching inn serving the route from London to Edinburgh. In the year 1413, the inn was a timber building, comprising on the ground floor a large bar area, which had a wood suspended floor and six tables each with eight chairs. Beyond was a kitchen where there were two wood-burning stoves, one of the newest inventions at that time. Stairs led to the upper floors that housed ten small bedrooms. At the rear of the building was a corral that held fifteen horses, and beyond that was the timber barn for storage.

One chilly March afternoon, a lone rider arrived at the inn from the north of England traveling to London. He was a tall smartly dressed man with the appearance of a soldier and asked for a room for the night.

The landlord said, We have plenty of space tonight, sir. In fact, you will be the only guest as the stagecoach does is not in operation today.

The stranger was led to his upstairs room where he deposited his holdall; he then went downstairs to the main bar and ordered a jug of ale and dinner of roast beef. He was dry from his day riding horseback.

The landlord served him his flagon of beer, followed by slices of beef served on a thick slice of bread. As there was no one else in the bar, he left to do his paperwork in the office.

Having drunk a sufficiency of ale, the traveler needed to pee. Being a traveler, he knew that these establishments didn’t have very clean toilets, so he decided to go outside and find a nearby tree.

As he left the bar, there were two assailants waiting for him outside. As he passed them, one took out his cosh and struck the back of the head of the guest, who passed out immediately. He was then carried into the barn behind the building and stripped of his clothing. His hands were tied, and while he was still unconscious, he was hung up by the wrists on a hook from a rafter, just like a chicken.

The two assailants then got a bucket of water and threw the water over the victim’s face, which revived him.

Where is your letter of appointment? one demanded.

Go to hell, said the victim.

We probably will, but not before getting that letter. We can do this in two ways. You can either cooperate and give us the letter, in which case you are free to go, or we can torture you, and you will then be pleased to give us the letter, but you will certainly die that way. So, which is it to be?

There was no reply. The victim knew that he would not survive either way. One assailant took out a whip and started with ten lashings on the man’s back. Blood was pouring out of the wounds, but although the victim was in agony, he did not give way. Ten more lashes followed with the same result. They then took out wire cutters from the toolbox in the barn and proceeded to cut off three fingers one at a time. Just before the victim passed out again with the pain, he thought he detected a foreign accent in one of the assailants, who said, This is getting us nowhere. I’m going to sneak up to his room and have a look around in there, as there are no other guests in the building. Hopefully, I will not be seen.

He then left and crept up the main stairs. The landlord was busy in his office and heard nothing. Having searched the room, the only item in there was the victim’s holdall, which he took downstairs and into the barn. Look what I found, he said to his colleague, holding up the bag.

They searched the bag and found the envelope with the royal seal on it. Ripping it open, they took out the letter that they were seeking.

We’d better kill him, said one, and he took out his sword and, while the victim was unconscious, thrust the sword through his heart. They quickly left the building, riding off to London.

It was still cold in the morning next day when the landlord of the inn went out to the barn to collect hay for the horses, muttering to himself, Is this winter never going to change to spring? On opening the doors, his stomach turned over to see the traveler hanging from a hook on a rafter. He had been brutally tortured and murdered.

He retched out his breakfast. He quickly closed the door and sent his son into town to get the sheriff.

On arrival, the sheriff walked around the body, looking for evidence. The body was covered in blood, now dried from slashes to the skin, and several fingers had been cut off. The sheriff had seen some gruesome sights, but this beat the bunch. He told his assistant to cut the body down and instructed him to look around the barn for evidence.

The sheriff went outside and took a deep breath of air. The stench inside was now vile. Do you know who the man is? asked the sheriff.

The landlord replied, No, he arrived yesterday afternoon, saying that he was on his way to London and wanted a room for the night. He had a small bag with him, and that is all, except that he was well dressed for such a ride. I thought he might have been a dignitary. His horse is over there in the corral.

The landlord continued after a moment’s pause. We did not have any other guests staying overnight. I cannot think who could have carried out this dreadful deed or why. The victim is not local. Who would have known he was here?

They are outstanding questions that I will try to get to the bottom of. You said he had a bag. Do you have it?

At that moment, the sheriff’s assistant came out of the barn choking, but carrying a bag with bloodstains. This must be the victim’s bag, I think. Oh, and I did find this envelope laying on the ground by it, he said

Yes, that’s it, said the landlord.

The bag only contained items of clothing, nothing significant, but the sheriff took hold of the envelope and said, That’s interesting. This is from the Royal household. It has the crest on the front, but there is no name or address on it.

After a few days of inquiries, the sheriff had to admit failure. He had no more information than when he started and had to record the death as murder by persons unknown. The body was buried in an unnamed grave in the local cemetery, but the sheriff could not understand how this traveler had an envelope from the royal household, what had it contained. Whatever it was, he thought, was the reason he died.

Chapter Two

2019

Robert Hunt was a disillusioned man being twenty-one years of age and living in South East London in the year 2019. He had no living family; his parents were killed in a car accident when he was ten. Consequently, he received no parental control. He desperately wanted a brother, a wife, and children. He was enticed into bad company at this tender age of twenty-one and was caught red-handed in a bank raid.

Viviane saved him. She was a ghost spirit, the Lady of the Lake from the year AD 600. Viviane’s mother named Beverley was a witch, and on her deathbed, she cast a spell over her ten-year-old daughter, Viviane. Viviane had to make King Arthur Pendragon a legend, and then promote the English Empire, even after her death. She did this by transporting people who were in trouble back in time. Only those who needed help were transported because she had her own agenda—to build up the character of those who had suffered through adversity. She saw Robert as a classic example of someone needing her help.

Robert was transported back to the days of King Arthur, where he was given the task of establishing the legend that will be known for millennia. He takes advances from the twenty-first century back with him that will only be known hundreds of years later. His name was changed by King Arthur to Merlin, and he was knighted because he was thought to be a wizard. He became an essential part of the legend. King Arthur, who also is brotherless, makes Merlin his brother. Merlin married a local girl, and a baby soon followed.

However, tragedy struck when his wife and son were killed in battle with the settlers who were advancing to take over all of England. Viviane took pity on Merlin, with whom she had established a special relationship, and he was moved on to the year AD 1200. His task was the same, transform Robin Hood from a highwayman into a hero. He accomplished this, and the evil Sheriff of Nottingham was exiled by King Richard I. Richard was restored to the throne and recrowned after his imprisonment in Europe.

Merlin’s task was completed. Robin was married to Maid Marian and became lord of the Manor of Loxley.

Merlin now went to the lake on the edge of Sherwood Forest where Viviane transported him last time, and she appeared out of the lake. Merlin thought she looked beautiful this time.

She said to him, Well done, Merlin. You have done well. Robin Hood will now be the legend that future generations will know. King Richard will also be one of those kings who will never be forgotten. He will be called the Lionheart. He won’t get back to Jerusalem and the crusades, but others will. You have learned much from these experiences, and you are a better man for them. Always remember your need for a family. That will come again in time. Be patient, your mind still needs time to heal for now.

I never did thank you for saving me in the bank raid, did I? I realized I was being dragged into things that were against my nature, and I do thank you for guiding me in the right direction. I promise not to make that mistake again, said Merlin.

It is now time for you to leave. Are you ready? Viviane said.

Yes, but can I go back to Gwen, my wife, before she is killed?

I’m sorry, Merlin, but that would not be a good idea. Remember, you cannot alter history. You can only make sure it happens in the way you know, from the twenty-first century. Gwen, your wife, has already been dead six hundred years, and you cannot alter that. Just remember that she is watching you and is happy, but she wants you to live your life, start a new family. She knows how important that is to you, said Viviane.

So, where am I going? asked Merlin.

You’ll have to wait and see. I have other tasks for you that will build upon your character. Viviane had now moved across the lake toward him, and she said, Just walk into me again.

Merlin or Robert walked forward. Viviane turned into the bright light once again, and he entered her.

Chapter Three

Robert Hunt landed with a bounce on the main road from Salisbury to London. Damn, he said, I must ask Viviane how to land properly, without nearly breaking my leg each time! At least he was still holding his treasured abacus calendar in its leather case, made for him by Friar Tuck.

He was outside a coaching inn named Stonehenge, according to the sign swinging in the breeze, right next to the famous landmark with the same name. It was a chilly evening—nay, perhaps cold would be a better description. There was already a sharp frost on the ground and twinkling of ice particles glistening in the freezing air.

He was exhaling mist as the condensation froze. The row of oak trees was sparkling with frost in the moonlight. Icicles hung from the branches like silver daggers. Robert thought it must have been raining recently. It was a full moon that night, not a cloud in the sky, and the stars twinkled like diamonds.

Robert stood for a moment looking up at it, imagining various shapes superimposed on the moon. Strangely, it seemed larger that night and brighter and had a deep orange glow. Thoughts of werewolves went through his mind. Was that a howling he could hear? No, he thought. It seems to be coming from the inn. Why had he been brought here? What period is this? he wondered. What was his task?

The grass was crunching as he walked on it, making him feel creepy. He thought an animal was following him. So was it an animal? The witching hour was fast approaching. He walked over to the inn and entered the bar to get out of the cold.

The bar was full of passengers having gotten off the London-bound coach, together with some locals who came from a nearby village to get some free warmth and a few drinks. Tonight was a special occasion, with music and dancing with a singer, said the poster outside the bar. In the far corner was a lady in her midthirties. She played a very early piano-type instrument and was singing a ditty about, of all people, Robin Hood. Robert realized where the howling originated from, and he must have moved on in time from his last adventure.

The room was full of people drinking and dancing; there was that musty smell you get in a crowded place, a combination of body odor, heat, and ale. Furnished with solid wooden tables and benches, it had a very basic feel to it. In a corner was a rambling log fire burning brightly, sending out its orange tongues of flame high in the air, the warmth spreading out across the room, and the smoke was adding to the smell. Even being fifteen feet away from the fire, Robert could feel its heat. His bones were beginning to come to life now, and his fingers were burning with chaps.

The innkeeper had kept the fire burning high tonight; it should last until morning to give the breakfast eaters a little warmth, he had said to his wife earlier. The revelers were enjoying themselves dancing—hardly dancing though, more like jumping up and down on the spot, but in between drinks, they were happy. The inn was busy tonight, much to the pleasure of the landlord, who had invested in the musician, who had a hat on the floor for tips. The hat was empty though; money was tight here in this rural community. These were local farm workers, out for the only entertainment that existed then.

As the dancers left their seats, the landlord was quick to clean the table, allowing others to sit down and keep them moving. Bums on seats meant money in his pocket. That was his point of view.

Robert rubbed his hands together to improve his circulation. He managed to find an empty seat before someone else took it, and he sat down at the table that the landlord has just cleared. An unkempt man suddenly just walked into the inn. His hair was long and unwashed. He went up to the landlord and asked, Do you have a Major Stanley Wellove staying here?

Yes, sir, he is sitting over there next to the column, the landlord replied, pointing.

The seat next to Stanley Wellove was the one taken by Robert, so the stranger walked over toward him. Robert looked up at seeing him and smiled in greeting, but the stranger had a deadpan face. He looked like a bruiser, having a scar from his right ear that went right down to his chin and a Roman nose. Robert sensed that the man was a farmer. His fingernails were filthy, and when he came to sit next to Robert on the left-hand side, he smelt like a farmer too.

The server came over to Robert to collect his order, and he asked her for an ale and plate of roast beef and bread. Next to him on the right-hand side was Stanley Wellove. He was a little older than Robert, but otherwise, he looked much like Robert, slightly taller with a slim build and dark hair.

Stanley introduced himself, saying, Hello, it’s a bitter night. The weather should be getting better now March has arrived. By the way, my name’s Stanley Wellove. I’m traveling to London.

I should say Major Stanley Wellove. I have just received a commission to command the King’s archers for his forthcoming battles in France. King Henry is claiming the French throne. I wonder why, he has enough problems over here, why more? Congratulations on the promotion. It certainly is a cold night. It would freeze the balls off a brass monkey out there. My name’s Robert Hunt, said Robert, who had now reverted to his original name from 2019. He felt that Merlin would sound strange in this period. He realized with the mention of King Henry, this was likely to be Henry V. The name Robert has a French origin from the Normans and would be accepted now.

It was well known to every Englishman that King Henry wanted to recapture the parts of France that had been lost in recent years by Henry’s ancestors. France at that time was a collection of smaller realms. The King also has a claim to the French throne itself; he was of Norman descent.

The stranger on the other side of Robert said nothing, but Robert did notice he was wearing a knife scabbard around his waist. Robert could see he was not interested in conversation as he was slurping down his beer, much of which went down his face and onto his chest and onto his already-stained shirt, so he ignored him. In all fairness, it was hard to have any conversation as the noise from the revelers was loud. The singer was still calling out the songs of old England, short ditties about King Arthur and King Richard and his exploits in the crusades.

At that time, the server returned with Robert’s drink and a plate of food. She leaned across the table to place them in front of him. She was an attractive lady with a fuller figure and seemed to be in her late thirties; she had large breasts, and her white tight-fitting blouse only just hid her nipples, which were partly showing at the top.

Robert was impressed, but she was not his type, but the man on Robert’s left got excited at the view and couldn’t resist the urge to hold the server’s near naked bosom as she leaned forward. She was annoyed and slapped him around the face with a force that nearly knocked him off his chair. That only made him more aroused as he groped her again.

Didn’t you hear the lady? said Stanley Wellove on Robert’s right chivalrously.

The man was furious at Stanley’s interference with his pleasures and got up from the table, confronting him. Mind your own business. This is nothing to do with you. Just because you are a toff, doesn’t give you that right, he said.

Stanley didn’t agree. Getting up, he punched the offender in the face, although he looked like a good fighter. I’m making it my business, Stanley said.

At this point, the man who was drunk reacted, throwing a punch at Stanley, which missed as Stanley pulled himself backward. The groper responded by pulling out the six-inch-blade knife that he had in his scabbard. It was thrust into Stanley’s stomach without warning. He gave it an upward movement and a twist, severely damaging the gut.

Stanley keeled over, falling to the stone floor. He was bleeding profusely now and obviously in pain, although not a sound was heard. He was hurting too much in his fetal position. His face was twisted in agony.

The assailant raised his right leg and kicked Stanley hard in the stomach. Now Stanley yelled out with the pain. The bleeding got worse as blood was puddling on the stone floor. It had all happened so quickly, no one could have done anything except that several people now came to Stanley’s aid, offering him comfort. Stanley’s face was turning blue around the lips. There was little anyone could do other than support him.

The music had suddenly stopped. Several of the revelers didn’t want to hang around with a fight going on, so they left the inn forthwith. Poor Stanley was sinking fast, and he knew he was dying; his eyes started rolling backward.

The attacker, realizing he had gone too far, decided to slip out of the inn door.

Robert was in shock. It happened so quickly, but there was nothing he could have done, but that did not stop the guilt.

Stanley was ebbing; the pool of blood was speeding further. One drinker tried to halt the flow of blood by pressure, but it did not work. Stanley tried to say something to Robert, who was standing over him. His lips moved, but nothing came out. He then sank into unconsciousness and died within minutes, without uttering another word. Robert wondered what was Stanley trying to say. Was he involved in Robert’s task?

The perpetrator slipped out of the bar quietly through the main door that Robert had just entered.

The landlord carried out the body and laid him in the barn. Life was cheap, and the landlord had seen the offender before and would report it to the magistrate tomorrow.

Robert finished his drink and ordered another; he needed it now, something stronger like mead to quell his anxiety after that episode. Robert went over to the landlord when he had finished, saying, I need a room for the night please. Sorry to trouble you so late. I know I should have asked when I came in.

I’m sorry, sir, but we are full. It’s been a busy day, as you can see from the numbers here tonight. I would love to have accommodated you if I could, the landlord replied.

His wife, who was standing next to him, said, Well, that’s not correct now, darling. Don’t forget poor Stanley Wellove’s room. He doesn’t need it anymore.

Oh yes, I suppose there is. You can have his room if you like, but I realize that might not be appropriate for you tonight, said the landlord.

Robert thought for a moment. He didn’t know Stanley Wellove, and maybe he did have a connection to Robert’s task. He said, Okay, I’ll take that. I must say, I was distraught by what happened, but I didn’t know him personally. He pulled out a gold guinea coin he had from Robin Hood’s days. He had no idea of the date now, but the landlord seemed happy with it.

I haven’t seen one of these for a long time. I suppose it’s still legal tender. At least it’s gold, so it will always be tender, the innkeeper said and gave him change.

After the murder that had just taken place, the evening came to a rapid close. The musician packed up her equipment, and the revelers finished up their drinks and left for the evening. Those who had rooms for the night were glad to go to bed; the others had all left.

Robert had no luggage, and the landlady showed him to Stanley’s room. It was simple but adequate. There was a fire in the hearth, which made the room warm. He knew it would be a good idea to get into bed before the fire went out because the room would soon get cold after that. She told him, We’ll clear Mr. Wellove’s belongings in the morning, if that’s alright. I’ll bring up another log for the fire in a moment. It’s an icy night.

Robert went into the room. In the corner were two longbows, the type he had introduced to King Arthur, and there was Stanley’s small suitcase.

Robert was dressed in his country outfit from living in the forest with Robin Hood. Although the clothes seemed acceptable now, he thought he needed new attire. Robert went through Stanley’s bag, as the landlady had said Stanley didn’t need it anymore.

He opened the bag. There was a collection of new clothes, including a warm-looking coat, which he put to one side. There were also some old clothes that Robert put in a different pile. On top of the bag was a letter addressed to Stanley Wellove care of the Duke of Salisbury. It was headed the Royal Household and read,

Dear Mr. Wellove,

You have been appointed by His Royal Majesty King Henry V to command the bowmen in the future wars in France. Your ranking will be that of major, and you are required to attend the Tower, in London, on seventh of March to take your command. Your salary will be as previously agreed, one hundred guineas per annum. A coach will pick you up on the fifth of March at the Inn at Stonehenge, on the London Road at eleven o’clock in the morning. Please report to the yeoman of the guard on arrival at the Tower.

Signed,

Chief of staff

Robert read it quietly; his mind was reeling now. He had just been transported in time and place. He had witnessed a murder and was now in the victim’s room. What did Viviane want of him this time? At least he now knew he was in the early 1400s because of the mention of Henry V and the French wars. He had guessed Viviane had her own agenda. She had been a feisty girl when she was alive, and she took pity on people who lacked character. She saw it as her vocation to turn a wayward person into a hero.

Robert was feeling the abacus that Friar Tuck had given him. Tuck said to him, It is important for your own mental perspective that you keep a record of your own age from your relative position from the twenty-first century. Otherwise, you will have no knowledge of your actual age.

Robert liked Tuck. He saw him through a very emotional period when he went back to Camelot five hundred years after his wife and child were murdered. He snapped himself out of his thoughts. Robert realized that this was King Henry V’s era from the letter, but he was not sure of the exact year. King Henry V was known to Robert to be the second king of the House of Lancaster. English was now the language of the country, as opposed to French of the earlier Plantagenets. Technically they were still Normans, but had, over the centuries, become English. Their dynasty would soon be ending, to be replaced by the Tudors.

At each visit in the past, Robert brought twenty-first-century items back in time, but he was not confident what he could do that here, now that time has moved on. He had learned from experience that Viviane would have brought him to this inn for a specific reason, and the murder of poor Stanley Wellove must have been part of that.

Chapter Four

O h, Viviane, what is it you want me to do this time? he asked himself timidly, although his confidence was building. He still had far to go. He looked around the room. Seeing the bows, he went over to them and picked one up. He ran his fingers along the cherished willow wood and stretched the string. It felt good, just like it did in the past. He had become a good bowman in both Arthur’s and Robin Hood’s time. That has to be it , he concluded. Viviane wants me to take on the identity of Stanley Wellove and become the King’s major of bowmen. She brought me here to witness the murder of Stanley Wellove for that reason.

Going to war didn’t exactly excite him.