The Time Sphere (19 page)

The exhausted and stunned noble
rolled over onto his back.  When he attempted to get up, a brown leather boot forced him to the floor.  Niccolo lifted his weary head, only to gaze into the burning eyes of Georgii de Villana, a baker’s son who believed he was a knight, pointing a sword at his face.

Georgii’s face re
vealed no satisfaction or joy.  He simply looked down on the downed knight, and said, “A knight seeks justice with humility and mercy.  As now and as before, you have proven to be your own worst enemy.  Billy and I are taking Jeanie from here.  It is over, Niccolo.”

Niccolo sneered as he spat at the boy above him, “Go ahead, but I shall tell everyone that it was you who freed the witch!”

“No, I do not think so,” Georgii whispered, gazing down at the felled noble.  “For if you tell anyone of this night, you must reveal your defeat to me, a simple baker’s son.”

Georgii
’s words caused a look of horror to wash over Niccolo’s face.  He stared up at the ceiling as if in thought, then laid his head down, a void expression upon his features.

“Remember, Niccolo, a knight seeks mercy and you shall have mine.  No one need know of this night.” Georgii turned to his friends and said, “Billy, Jeanie, let’s go.” 

As they fled the corridor, Billy looked back at Niccolo.  His eyes were closed, this time truly accepting defeat.

Billy gave Jeanie his cloak, attempting to conceal her red hair.  They raced through the streets of Pisa, which were deserted due to most of the people aiding with the fire.  They arrived at their destination and all three children hid behind some barrels, watching the guards posted at the main gate of the fortified wall. 

Billy looked worried.  “How are we going to get past them?  They’re going to know what’s happened by now and if not, someone’s going to sound the alarm.”

“Do not worry.  I shall distract them as you and Jeanie make your escape,” assured Georgii with sad eyes and a small smile.

Billy looked down at Georgii’s brown head, amazed at how different his feelings were since the day he had first set eyes on him.  Billy again remembered Leonardo’s words; his short friendship with Georgii would stay with him forever. 

He put his hand on the shorter boy’s shoulder, his eyes shining.  “Thanks, Georgii, you truly do have the heart of a knight.” 

Georgii grasped Billy in a tight hug and murmured, “I will remember you too, my friend.” 

At seeing the two boys embrace, Jeanie let out a small cry, gaining their attention.  She enveloped Georgii in a tight hug.  “I’ll miss you, too.”  As she let him go, she asked with a worried expression on her face, “What will you do now?” 

Georgii just smiled.  “I have nothing to fear from Niccolo, not anymore.   However, I’m going to go home, work hard and become the greatest baker in all of Pisa.”

“What about being a knight?” Billy asked with a puzzled expression.

Georgii gave Billy a cheeky grin.  “A true knight is just a state of mind,” he whispered.  He then turned and ran toward the guards.  “Goodbye, my friends,” he quietly called behind him.

Billy didn’t know what Georgii said to the guards, but as their backs were turned, he and Jeanie quickly crept through the front gate.  Billy c
aught Georgii’s eye, giving him one last smile.

Billy and Jeanie walked quickly and silently down the rolling dirt path leading to the apple tree.  As they approached it, Billy could see D
ickens waving his arm in the moonlight. 

As
he walked toward a new journey, Billy reflected upon his experiences in Pisa.  Only one thought kept resurfacing.  If Jeanie and Dickens were right and there was no such thing as a coincidence, he wondered how much their coming to Pisa had to do with Leonardo Pisano than a short and brave baker’s son with a wooden sword.

C
hapter 28

As Billy opened his eyes, dust and minute particles of debris filled them, causing him to wince in p
ain.  As he struggled to sit up, a large window behind him abruptly shattered, flattening him down again. 

Billy blindly searched for Dickens and Jeanie.  He could vaguely hear Jeanie’s voice shouting somewhere around him.   However, the sound of collapsing wood and stone all around made him hard of hearing.  As his senses began to register the scene before him, he could hear many people screaming and their feet scraping the ground as they ran for cover.  He
squinted his eyes, attempting to see down the narrow street.  All Billy could see were houses with large gaping holes in them and wood and stone strewn everywhere.

All of a sudden, he felt someone grab the scruff of his jacket and he was pushed through a nearby doorway.  Billy hunched over, put his hands on his knees and tried to catch his breath.  He could hear coughing beside him.  He looked over and saw Jeanie in the same position as him. 

“Oh my God, what’s happening here?” she said, her voice raspy and raw.

Dickens was walking around the room, appearing to be looking for something. “I don’t know
, children.  Wherever we have ended up, it seems to be a war zone.  But let me find you some water, dear.” 

As Dickens proceeded to look around the room for something to drink, Billy’s vision cleared.  He examined the room that was their current sanctuary.  He noticed shelves lining the walls, and large wooden tubs scattered all over the place.  It seemed that it had been a store of some type, but it was now abandoned and in disarray. 

“Well, I can’t locate any water and it doesn’t seem we’ll be finding food anytime soon.  It’s a good thing we brought some apples from Pisa,” Dickens said, as he handed Billy a white piece of paper that advertised vegetables for sale.  Apparently, this was once a grocery store which no longer sold any food. 

Billy was startled by an unexpected crash and the sound of more screaming.  As Jeanie began to cry, Dickens went to her side and held her in a tight hug.  Billy looked about w
ith a dazed expression.  His mind slowly processing the trouble they were in.

“It’s all right
, dear, we’ll find out what’s going on,” he said, as he comforted Jeanie in a hushed whisper.

Billy suddenly whipped his head around.  As he faced Dickens, he yelled with fury, “What
is going on?  You’ve brought us right into the middle of some kind of war, that’s what’s going on!”

“Billy you need to stop getting angry at things out of your control!” Dickens snapped, startling Billy out of his tantrum.  “We need to gather information, find out where and when we are.  Th
en we can make a plan.” As Dickens finished, his voice was once again calm.

Billy’s jaw tightened in anger, but he knew that Dickens was ri
ght.  Panicking right now wouldn’t be helpful, he told himself, as he listened to Jeanie whimper on Dickens’ shoulder.

Looking outside,
he couldn’t see anything due to the dust cloud obscuring his vision.  As if by a mutually silent pact, all three of the travelers huddled in the abandoned store and waited for whatever calamity that had befallen the town to end. 

After about an hour of silence, Billy looked to Dickens.  “I think we should get going, it’s been quiet out there for a while,” he whispered.

“I agree.  Staying here is proving to be counterproductive.” Dickens turned to Jeanie, “Do you feel comfortable leaving, my dear?”

Jeanie's eyes were still puffy and red, and she sniffed as she nodded her head.  “You’re right, the quicker we find out why we’re here, the quicker we can get home,” she said, as she dusted off her pants, following Billy to the door.

Billy slowly opened the front door, stuck his head out and cautiously peered down the street.  The dust had cleared, and there were only a few people milling about.  The tiny group proceeded to walk down the war torn streets, looking about them in shock.  The town was obviously under attack. 

Billy gazed at the crowded houses lining the street.  It reminded him of Pisa.  The homes were two to three stories high and built closely together.  Although, most were narrow and tall, some were wider and sprawling.  All of the roofs were unique in their design, each angled in various proportions.  As they continued down the street, Billy could s
ee that some were made of wood, some of stone and some a bit of both. 

It was evident who were wealthy and who were from the urban peasant class.  He saw homes with large bay windows and fancy ornate carving on the front of the house.  Others were devoid
of any decoration and some didn’t even have windows. 

However, these homes had one thing in common; in some fashion they all bore vicious battle scars.  Many windows that held glass were now broken and littered the street.  Walls had massive holes in them, revealing the home’s interior.  As the group gazed into these broken dwellings, rich or poor, the insides were scattered and torn apart.

Billy turned his attention to the few townsfolk wandering about.  Some would glance their way, but seemed to have no interest in the strangers and their strange garments.  He noticed some were dressed in peasant garb and others in richer attire.  However, they all had the same vacant stare, gray sunken faces and tattered, dirty clothes hanging off their bones.

“Dickens, what’s wrong with these people?” asked Jeanie, whose eyes were wide with fear.

Dickens eyes probed the inhabitants as they wandered about like ghosts, his eyes hard and lips pursed.  “These people are starving to death,” he said, his voice full of disgust and anger.

“What do you mean
, starving to death?  This looks like a regular town, or was,” Billy asked with a confused expression masking his features.

“Billy, these people are at war
, or more specifically under a siege of some kind.”

“So?  There’s always some kind of relief given to the people in wars.  You know, like Fema or something,” he replied, still gazing at the townspeople with astonishment.

Dickens let out a humorless laugh.  “Judging by the clothing and architecture, it looks like we’re somewhere in the 17th century and there is no relief.  If a country wishes to make war, or lay siege, nothing can be done about it until one side wins.  No one is going to come to these people’s aid, or I should say no one can at the moment.”

“So, they’re going to let these people die?  Let kids starve until someone wins the town?”

“Unfortunately, yes.  It wasn’t until the 20th century that real child welfare came into existence and even then it wasn’t very organized as it is in your time.  Billy, children did jobs that were dangerous and unthinkable for much of history.  They had no representation and in many parts of the world and even in your time, they still don’t.”

Billy then saw a young child about eight or nine wandering aimlessly down the street.  He appeared to be alone.  The young boy was crying and seemed to be gazing about for a familiar face. 

“There has to be some kind of organization taking care of the kids who don’t have anybody?” he stated with a horrified expression as he stared at the child.

“Billy, parentless children are sometimes given to family members, but are usually brought to an orphanage.  However, many usually resort to living on the streets.  Besides, this is a city at war; there is no access to food for the general masses, much less an orphanage.”

“That’s ridiculous!  You see it on the news all the time.  You know, people gathering supplies for other countries!”

“The poor, the infirm, the sick, and the orphan were not significant to most of society in the past, much less to another country.  In fact, they were a burden.  When most of society is struggling as it is, these people are lost, resorting to begging on the street for food.  The reigning governments are
monarchies and not like the monarchies of your time.  Taxes are used for luxury and the war machine, very rarely for the common folk.  They don’t use their money to establish social programs.  If they did, maybe the French and Russian revolutions would never have happened!”

Billy looked to Jeanie, who was kneeling before the young boy, offering him one of the apples they had taken from Pisa.  Suddenly, a strangled yell came from his left and he looked over to see a man running toward her. 
Before Billy could react, the skinny and hollowed out man reached for the apple in the boy’s hand with desperation on his face.  Jeanie’s face paled and she placed herself in front of the young boy. 

Billy tightened his fists and moved to help Jeanie. However, he felt someone grab his sleeve and push him back, causing him to lose his balance and land on his backside.  He looked up to see Dickens holding his cane like a baseball bat, striking the man hard on the forehead.  He easily fell to the ground and laid there moaning as he held his bruised brow.

Dickens immediately turned to Jeanie.  “Jeanie, are you alright!” he asked, his voice full of concern.

“I’m fine, Dickens.  He just startled me,” she replied, and
proceeded to give her attention to the youngster at her side.  However, he seemed more concerned with eating his apple than being frightened.

Soft crying drew their attention to the pathetic and tattered man on the ground.  “I am so sorry, young lady.  I was not raised to behave in such a manner.  Forgive me,” he pleaded, sounding horrified by what he had just tried to do.

“Ya right, buddy!  Taking food from children, you’re a-” Billy yelled only to be interrupted by the pitiful creature before them.

“My family is starving and I don’t know how long my children will last.  Damn this infernal siege!” he cried, holding his head in his hands.  Dickens, Billy and Jeanie could do nothing bu
t gaze down at the wretched man weeping on the cobbled stone road. 

His clothes appeared to have once been of quality and the garb of the upper crust.  He wore a loose white linen shirt with a green velvet vest over top, which ended in a
vee below his waist. The jacket had puffed sleeves and a slit down the sides, revealing a dark blue silk material underneath.  He wore tight fitting breeches, which were tucked into pointed black boots reaching his knees.  However, the entire ensemble was dirty, worn and threadbare.  The man’s black hair was past his shoulders and matted, a full beard covered his dirt streaked face.

“Where is your family?” asked Dickens in a short and abrupt tone.

The man looked up, the dirt on his face streaked with tears.  “My wife is with our two children at our home.  I roam the streets daily in hopes of finding-”

Dickens rudely cut the man off.  “Take us to them.”

The man just stared up in fear at the angry white haired man looming above him. “My family and I have nothing to give you.”

“But perhaps we have something we wish to give you.”  The man continued to stare at Dickens with disbelief.  “Do we look like we need your food?” Dickens added. 

The man gazed at each of the new comers, noticing their full and colored cheeks for the first time.  He awkwardly stood up, still staring at them in wonder and slowly nodded his head.

The man led them through winding
, narrow streets until they arrived at a three story home. From the look of it, it was beautiful at one time.  They entered the door, went up two flights of stairs and entered a large airy room.  It had wooden planks for flooring and a small window with the glass missing.  A large stuffed mattress was placed in the corner of the room, with ragged blankets in a heap on top.  A heating stove was located against the far wall, with a long wooden rectangular table in front of it and benches on either side.

“I apologize for our humble furnishings.” The man nodded about the room.  “We now live on the upper floors for safety and traded most of our furniture for food.  Not that there’s much trading going on nowadays.” 

Huddled on the mattress was a young woman holding two small children with fear in their eyes.  The wife looked to her husband and saw the red welt protruding from his forehead.  She ran across the room to him.  “Maurice,” she cried, forgetting her fear, “what happened?”

He smiled sadly down at his wife.  “It was my fault, dear, I attempted to take food from this young lady and her guardian rightfully prevented me from doing so.”

The woman’s attention returned to the strangers in her home, her children clinging to her legs.  “Shhh, it’s all right.  Gabrielle, Andre, it’s all right.”  She turned to her husband, absently caressing her children’s hair.  “Maurice, why have you brought these people here?  There is barely enough food for ourselves, much less more mouths to feed!” she quietly demanded, her face pink with anger.

The bedraggled man looked at Dickens with an expression of embarrassment. “Plea
se, excuse my wife.  It is only our present circumstances that is the cause of her lack of hospitality,” he said as he nodded his head in apology. 

The man turned to his wife.  “Madeleine, I must right the wrong I have committed against these people.” 

He quickly proceeded to introduce his family to his guests.  “This is my wife Madeleine and these are my children, Gabrielle and Andre.  And I am Maurice Merriot,” he announced, with a formal bow.