1194, Kirklees Priory, Yorkshire

They stood amid the waist-high field listening to the hiss of a thousand ears of barley swaying in the gentle breeze. Becks handed Cabot an armful of sheets of parchment. ‘This is the complete duplication, with several minor alterations. You must look after it, keep it safe.’

Sébastien Cabot nodded dutifully. ‘I will. We have a crypt below the priory. I will see to it that it is stored there.’

‘That is good.’

Liam stepped forward. ‘Mr Cabot, we – we owe you our thanks.’

The old man grinned. ‘Aye, ’tis been a … a truly fascinating few months.’

‘That much is for sure.’

He held a hand out to Liam. ‘I have learned so very much. Perhaps too much. My … my faith has been troubled.’

‘Well –’ Liam grasped his hand – ‘if it’s any help … despite all the things I know and all the things I’ve seen, I still pray to the fella upstairs – when I’m in a tight spot, that is.’

Cabot nodded. ‘There is comfort in that, Liam. Thank ye.’

‘Information: tachyon particles detected,’ said Becks. The soft tones of a court maiden she’d used just for John dispensed with for now. She turned to regard the circle of low stalks in the field, clipped down close to the ground from the last time the portal had opened here. ‘Stand back,’ she cautioned.

A moment later their loose robes fluttered in the gentle gust of displaced air and they were staring at the undulating sphere of the portal.

‘I’m sorry, Mr Cabot. I would invite you to come along with us but …’

Cabot shook his head. ‘’Tis a world, I think, that would send me mad. Anyway –’ he held the parchment out – ‘I have a duty here, do I not?’

Liam nodded. ‘Aye, that’s true.’

‘We must go now,’ said Bob. He stepped towards the portal, then stopped, turned and offered his one good hand to Cabot. ‘A pleasure working with you, Mr Cabot.’

Cabot grasped his large hand. ‘And ye. Truly … I have never seen a man as indestructible as ye. I would not be surprised if the superstitious folk in these parts tell fireside stories about ye, Bob, long after ye’ve gone.’

Bob worked on a smile and let his hand go.

Becks was the last to bid him farewell. ‘If you ever see John again, tell him …’ She hesitated, unsure how to complete the sentence.

‘Shall I tell him that ye think fondly of him? That ye have returned to France?’

She nodded. ‘Affirmative. That would be an appropriate message to convey.’

The portal still shimmered, impatiently inviting them through.

‘We should go,’ said Bob. ‘It is unwise to open non-dimensional space longer than necessary.’

Becks released the old man’s hand and joined Bob and Liam at the edge of the sphere.

‘Take good care of it!’ said Liam.

Cabot nodded and watched as the three of them stepped into the churning perimeter, their solid outlines becoming wavering phantoms lost in a swirling dim world. Then, with a soft puff, the portal closed, leaving him alone once more in the swaying field of barley.

He looked up at some crows circling above the trees, now beginning to turn from their rich summer green to the golden hues that beckoned harvest time. The stifling warmth of summer was soon going to give way to fresher winds.

He sniffed the summer scent with his florid nose and found himself considering an idea.

So, the world is round now, is it?

The thought placed the hint of a smile on his craggy face. A vaguely reassuring notion, that. He looked up at the sun in the sky.

And ye stay put, do ye? It’s us that wanders round ye?

Again, a strangely comforting idea, that God’s works might be far larger, far greater than this one little world full of greedy and insane barons, princes, kings and popes.