Going Back

'Polyglot, load up languages for Britain circa 300AD.'

'Loading... Installed.'

'Polymath, run systems check on staff and headset.'

'Staff systems, ok. Headset comms ok. Are you receiving full audio and visual?'

'Receiving Am I dressed appropriately?'

'Research indicates that a Druid would not have a sword. Recommend an iron knife.

'Right...Open the door...What is that smell?'

'Organic decay. We are in a bog, there is a causeway one metre ahead. I am disguised as an elder tree. Do not roll your eyes and sigh, Martin. You...'

'Don't start nagging. Who programmed that into your personality? Blast!'

'You did. And I said one metre ahead. That's a big stride. You're lucky that the mud is only knee deep here, at least you'll pong like a local.'

'Left or right? And will this fog lift? It's perishing cold. I said to arrive in summer.'

'It's the 15th of June 298. We are on what will be the border between Wales and England. Typical English summer, if you ask me.'

'Huh!'

Five males are approaching, 452 metres ahead. I detect warrior accoutrements and they are speaking the local dialect. The big one appears to be the leader.'

'Relay conversation.'

'Yer great lummox. Whups! Hold 'im up. Yer don't want a swim in the bog. Told yer that wine were strong.'

'Besht Iberian red. Hic. Minds me on Virtush Zhoolia. Besht grapes. Didja know the gals tread them with their tootsies? Never sheen such gals. 'Speshally wit no clothes on.'

'I believe he is referring to Virtus Iulia, it was in our-time Cordoba.'

'Hail warriors! Do not draw your swords against me. I have only my staff.'

'Ease up lads! Can't you see he's a holy man? Hail Wise One. How goes your journey?'

'As you see. I missed my way. Is there a village nearby to give a wanderer shelter? I'm Martin by the way.'

'Martin By The Way? A good name for a wanderer! I'm Bear. Fight like a bear, drink like a bear and love like a bear! These are my lads: Gwaint, Moddo, Paulinus, Hengi and that little 'un be Pesh. Pauli, give Martin By The Way a squirt o' yer beer!'

'Uh. No. Thanks. I'm fine.'

'Are you refusing our hoshpito... hoshpitotle... hoshpitotitality?'

'Err... No. It's a geasa. A spell. I can't drink beer. Nor wine. Nor mead.'

'Whatcha think, lads? Is he a Wise One or a lying toad?'

'Toad!'

'Toad! Toad!'

'Toad! Toad! Toad! Squash the toad.'

'Stay back lads!'

'Whatcha doin' wit that stick?'

'Stay back!

'Goin' to gimme a love tap?'

'I call it a force pulse. Now stay down. I said stay down! Down Bear! All of you. Down!'

'Whaaaat? Where'd he go? Wha' happen?'

'Thanks for pulling me in, Poly. That went well. So much for meeting noble King Arthur, all I got was drunken louts.'

'The Welsh for Bear is arth and man is gwr. Arth-gwr. And Martin is nearly Myrddin. Merlin. You'll be going back.'

494 words.