A LONDON ANORAK IN THE COURT OF QUEEN KRISTINA - part one 
by Anonymous 
 
Has it ever happened to you?  Probably not.  Although there are a very 
large number of unexplained disappearances each year, so maybe it is 
more common than I had realised.  I'm getting ahead of myself.  My 
question is this: have you ever read a book, and wanted it to come true 
so badly that it did?  No?  I thought not.  
 
Now I'm not saying it always works.  When I was seven, and I first read 
'The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe' I sat in the wardrobe for four 
hours, hoping 

to go to Narnia.  I expect you did too.  Nothing.  Not even a single 
snowflake. But years later I DID wish a book to life.  And now I have no 
idea how to get home.  
 
The book in question is Mark Twain's classic: A Connecticut Yankee in 
the Court of King Arthur.  But it wasn't Camelot I wished for, but 
seventeenth century Sweden, and the Court of Queen Kristina.  
 
Have you heard of Kristina?  Probably not.  But she was Sweden's 
greatest Queen, when Sweden was one of Europe's great powers.  
 
To tell this story from the beginning, and that is how it deserves to be 
told, I should tell you how I first learned about Sweden's Amazon Queen, 
and how I ended up over 300 years from home.  
 
First of all me.  I was in my early twenties when this began - though 
age is now meaningless concept, as I am living before I was born.  I 
studied Scandinavian history as part of my degree, along with philosophy 
and the Swedish language.  I had been working as a data entry clerk, and 
spending every spare moment on the internet.  
 
Kristina was the daughter of Gustavus Adolphus, the warrior King who led 
Sweden into the 30 years war.  She succeeded her father before she was 
six.  Sweden needed to believe, and she needed Germany and Poland to 
believe, that there was still a warrior on the throne.  And so from the 
youngest age she was trained in swordsmanship and horsemanship.  Yes, I 
know that they are not the PC terms, but for the seventeenth century 
they were very appropriate.  She wasn't being trained to fight other 
women.  She was being trained to fight men.  
 
The more I read about Kristina the more confused the accounts became.  
It is widely agreed that she was a first class athlete: competing, 
successfully, against men in sprinting and throwing the javelin.  Some 
say that at 14 she issued an open challenge to any man in the kingdom to 
wrestle against her. And that from then until her death at 63 she was 
NEVER defeated. Others speak of her voracious sexual appetite.  But many 
historians have considered that an invention of her political opponents.  
 
She was described by some as the most beautiful woman in Europe.  Yet 
the Britannica tells us she was far from beautiful, with a hunched 
shoulder and pock marked face.  These too could be inventions by her, 
many, political opponents.  Her portraits do not show an ugly woman, but 
she was the Queen, and the painters wished to keep their heads.  
 
That she was a genius is not in doubt.  She spoke and wrote five 
languages.  She debated philosophy with Descartes, and brought him to 
her court.  
 
I wanted to meet her.  I wanted so badly to meet the Amazon Warrior of 
the North.  Can emotional energy rent the fabric of space-time?  I don't 
know. But I do know that I woke up one morning when it should have been 
late October 1996, to discover that it was actually 1644.  I should have 
been in London.  And I was actually in Stockholm.  I should have been a 
data entry clerk in an anorak.  I was actually a time traveller.  
 
I expect you are wondering how I have managed to post a note to Usenet 
now that I am living in the seventeenth century.  The fact is that 
Coutts bank on The Strand is very obliging.  They have been bankers to 
British Royalty for a very long time, and understand about 
confidentiality.  I am sure they were surprised to open a file they had 
been holding for 300 years and find within instructions for sending an 
e-mail.  But at Coutts Bank they are trained not to raise their 
eyebrows.  I asked the Bank to send this story to Diana Rhodes, of the 
Diana Rhodes Efficient Amazon Mailing System.  
 
So, through the Internet, the true story of Queen Kristina will be told.  
 
 
 
A LONDON ANORAK IN THE COURT OF QUEEN KRISTINA - PART TWO 
by Anonymous 
 
Now it may not have occurred to you, frankly it didn't occur to me until 
I arrived in 1644, but seventeenth century Sweden is not the best place 
to look for work as a data entry clerk.  Fortunately I speak Swedish, 
and unlike the majority of seventeenth century Swedes, I write it.  They 
find my accent a bit odd, and I theirs to tell the truth, but I can make 
myself understood.  I had no doubt I would find a job, but it wasn't my 
first priority.  
 
I had arrived in Sweden, but how could I get to meet the Queen?  In 1644 
she had just reached her majority.  She was about to wrest control of 
the Council from the Regent, Oxenstierna, and was already taking an 
interest in philosophy. Could I get into the Palace to discuss politics 
or philosophy with her?  It seemed unlikely, but there was always the 
prize of 50 Crowns for the man who could wrestle her to the ground.  
 
Now I am not an exceptionally strong man, but I am certainly not weak, 
so, although the main point of offering to take up the challenge was to 
meet her, I did give some serious thought to the question of could I 
win.  The history books had recorded  that she was never beaten, but 
they were far from a reliable guide.  I had come from a century when 
general standards of health and nutrition were far in advance of those 
which prevailed around me.  And even in the twentieth century I had 
never met a woman whose strength was close to mine. 
 
I wasn't going to count on it, but felt it was certainly possible that I 
could claim the prize.  
 
However, before I even reached the Palace I realised this was a futile 
hope. 

The gossip around the town confirmed everything I had read.   The prize 
of 50 Crowns had been unclaimed since she first offered it, on her 
fourteenth birthday, but she had been successfully wrestling against 
adult men since she was 11.  At 18 she was in her prime.  Professional 
wrestlers and acrobats from every country in Europe had come to 
Stockholm to wrestle the Queen.  And the 50 Crowns sat safely in a 
leather purse next to her throne.  
 
On arrival at the Palace I was told that the Queen would wrestle before 
supper that night.  That evening I was to be one of only two 
challengers, though she often defeated as many as six in one night.  
 
Suppertime approached.  We had both - the other challenger was a 
blacksmith from a nearby village - been dressed in loincloths, and it 
had been decided by someone that he would wrestle first.  We were herded 
into the great dining hall.  There were dining tables all around, and 
there must have been 300 people there waiting for their supper, but the 
central area was clear, and the floor scattered with sawdust.  In the 
very centre of the room stood a small woman with a big voice.  She was 
yelling for quiet.  
 
It was her.  Queen Kristina.  It just had to be her.  She was short, 
though perhaps not by the standards of the day.  Those who had called 
her the most beautiful woman in Europe were exaggerating, though not by 
very much.  But I sighed with relief when I saw how slender she was.  
With that build she was clearly nowhere near as strong as I had been 
lead to expect.  Her victories must have been due to every man's 
reluctance to defeat his Queen.  A man could win the 50 Crowns and still 
lose his head.  
 
The Blacksmith advanced across the room towards her.  He was big, and 
evidently strong, but slow moving and clumsy.  
 
They clasped hands.  And suddenly, to resounding cheers, the Blacksmith 
was tumbling across the floor.  I didn't even see what she had done.  
She was fast. She was very, very fast.  
 
He struggled to his feet, and ran directly at her.  He must have 
outweighed her by two to one, but he was clearly stupid.  She was far 
too nimble to be caught like that.  And yet she didn't dodge, she met 
him head on, and stopped him dead.  Bending slightly she scooped him up 
and, unbelievably, held him high above her head.  
 
She turned around, showing her prize to the cheering crowd.  He didn't 
struggle, he lacked either the initiative or the courage.  Without 
warning she flung her helpless opponent across the room.  He sailed 
easily twelve feet before he landed.  "This one's no use," she boomed.  
"Bring on the next one". 

 
Suddenly I was sick with fear.  
 
 
 
A LONDON ANORAK IN THE COURT OF QUEEN KRISTINA - PART THREE 
by Anonymous 
 
I advanced towards the Queen nervously.  Now I have said before that I 
am far from weak, but she had thrown that Blacksmith across the room 
like a sack of potatoes.  Indeed most women - most men come to that - 
could not throw a 50lb sack of potatoes as far as she had flung a 200lb 
Blacksmith.  
 
And yet she was not the giant you would expect.  I doubt she was more 
than 5'3", and decidedly slender.  As I edged closer I could see that 
she was toned. Her slim arms and legs had the sharp lines of an athlete.  
Yet it seemed impossible that those tiny limbs could contain the 
strength I had just seen displayed.  
 
When I was close enough for her to speak without anyone else hearing she 
addressed me in a voice that was clear and strong:  "You're frightened, 
aren't you?" 
 
"Why do you think that?" 
 
"You saw what happened to the man who went before you".  
 
"A good philosopher doubts all who went before him".  
 
We circled closer to each other.  "You have read Descartes?" 
 
"Oh yes, Ma'am.  Everything he has ever written".  
 
She smiled.  "You haven't read the private letters he wrote me".  
 
I had, actually, but I nodded agreement anyway.  I had also read books 
he had not yet written.  "I . . .".  I never completed my sentence.  Her 
hand shot forward in a blur of motion and she grasped my hand in a grip 
of simply unbelievable power.  She pulled me towards her.  "We can 
discuss this further another time.  Just now, I'm afraid, we're going to 
have to entertain the crowd.  She sent me spinning across the floor.  
 
Landing on my bum I barely had time to blink before the tiny amazon 
Queen had caught up with me.  She repeated her previous trick of hefting 
her opponent above her head and showing him off to the crowd.  Only this 
time it was me.  And it felt a very precarious position in which to be 
held.  
 
I closed my eyes, but I could still feel the acceleration in my gut as I 
sailed in a high arc from her strong hands.  I landed heavily and the 
breath whooshed out of me.  
 
She rushed over to me again and grasped by arm in a grip that was 
unbreakable without being painful.  She hoisted me to my feet and 
marched me around the oversized ring while the diners roared their 
approval.  
 
"Do you surrender," she boomed, "or do I break your arm?"  "Surrender!" 
I shrieked.  I thought appropriate to feign pain.  Again she sent me 
spinning across the "ring".  
 
Courtiers rushed forward and bundled me out of the room.  Within minutes 
I was in the dungeons sharing a cell with the Blacksmith.  "I didn't 
last any longer than you," I told him.  He grunted.  
 
Further efforts to draw conversation from the Blacksmith were equally 
unsuccessful, and shortly after our meagre supper the guards came and 
told him to go.  I was required to stay - but no explanation was given.  
 
Several hours later the guards took me upstairs to the residential 
quarter of the Palace.  I didn't dare hope that I was being taken to see 
the Queen, but every corridor they took me down was plusher than the 
last.  Finally they took me to a very grand sitting room and left me 
alone.  A few minutes later the Queen came out of one of the inner 
rooms.  Was I really in her private suite? 

 
She was dressed casually in a loose hanging white dress tied with a 
leather belt.  
 
"Well," she demanded, "you're not much of a wrestler, but how much 
philosophy do you know?" 
 
 
A LONDON ANORAK IN THE COURT OF QUEEN KRISTINA - PART FOUR 
by Anonymous 
 
This is probably not the place to outline the nature of our discussions 
on philosophy.  Suffice it to say that the Queen has a very sharp mind, 
which instantly grasps concepts unknown in her century.  I have read 
philosophers and scientists whose work is far in advance of anything 
available to Descartes - including, of course, workd that Descartes was 
yet to write.  As a result the Queen rapidly ascribed to me a level of 
genius far in excess of my actual capabilities.  
 
We talked for most of the night, and by dawn I was in no doubt that I 
would be invited to stay at her court.  
 
Within days it was known around the court that I was the Queen's new 
favourite. I given a large suite with a library.  The only condition was 
that, like everyone else in the court I was at the Queen's permanent 
disposal.  She would send for anyone she liked at any hour and insist on 
their immediate attention. Her needs from her courtiers were manifold.  
It could be intellectual discussion, or wrestling, fencing or sex.  It 
was widely assumed at court that I was her latest sexual plaything.  
That this was untrue was not of my choosing, but as a Royal favourite 
very little was of my choosing.  
 
Her appetite for both intellectual and physical pleasures seemed 
inexhaustible. Frwquently I would be summoned to her suite to find her 
still engaged in fencing or wrestling.  Instead of expecting me to wait 
she would begin shout a question to me - about evolution by means of 
natural selection or the possibility of life on other planets - while 
continuing the contest.  My answer rarely distracted her from the 
business at hand.  In any case her speed and strength invariably 
exceeded her opponent's by such a large margin that her distraction was 
welcome to him, and no serious disadvantage to her.  
 
One day - after the Queen had performed a particularly impressive 
demolition of a heavily built professional wrestler - I plucked up the 
courage to ask her if she knew why she was so strong.  
 
She shrugged:  "I'm my father's daughter".  
 
"But have you ever tried to measure your strength?" 
 
"No.  I concluded years ago that I would never meet anyone who could 
match me. That's all I need to know".  
 
"Can you bend a horseshoe?".  
 
"Easily".  Suddenly she grinned.  "The first time was a bit of a 
struggle, but I was only 11".  
 
"Who gave you the closest wrestling match you've had".  
 
"A wild bear when I  was 15.  It scratched me quite badly, and knocked 
me down several times.  Eventually I broke its back".  
 
I was stunned.  The notion of a 15 year old girl breaking the back of a 
wild bear was simply staggering.  "How did you do that?" 
 
"I lifted it above my head and threw it hard against the ground.  We 
roasted it for supper that night.  You'd like to wrestle me again, 
wouldn't you?" 
 
I could scarcely breathe, but I managed to reply anyway: "Yes".  

 
A LONDON ANORAK IN THE COURT OF QUEEN KRISTINA - PART FIVE 
by Anonymous 
 
It was about 2 am, but in high Summer in Sweden it never gets completely 
dark. We sneaked out of the back of the Palace and ran down to the 
beach.  We both stripped naked, and I was struck again by the leaness of 
her physique.  And yet she was tiny.  Her phenomenal strength remained a 
mystery.  
 
I didn't understand why she had brought me here, but her enthusiasm was 
impossible to resist.  She ran into the advancing waves.  I hesitated:  
"I thought we were going to wrestle".  
 
"Come on," she called back, and dived into the deeper water.  Within 
seconds she was stroking strongly out to sea, so I followed.  The water 
was unbelievably cold.  No matter how fast I swam, everytime I looked up 
she was further ahead.  Then in the distance I saw a floating raft, and 
before long the Queen was sitting on it, waiting.  
 
Freezing and exhausted I finally arrived at the raft.  It was very large 
and made with thick treetrunks topped by wooden boards to give it a flat 
floor.  The young Queen ran to the edge of the raft to hoist me out of 
the water.  My arms were so numb that I barely felt her painfully tight 
grip.  She dumped me in a heap on the floor.  "This is where we 
wrestle," she explained.  
 
I could barely stand, so the Queen massaged my sore, freezing, muscles 
while I struggled to get my breath back.  
 
"Ready?" she demanded.  
 
I clambered to my feet.  "We fight five rounds," she explained.  "Each 
round is different.  Round One is won by a submission; Round Two by a 
pin down; Round Three goes to the wrestler who lifts the other above 
his, or her, head; In Round Four the aim is to take possession of the 
raft by throwing you opponent off;  Round Five we settle with a 
knockout.  
 
Round One lasted for fifteen seconds.  For the first fourteen I was able 
to avoid her, and then she extracted her submission with a crushing 
grip.  
 
In Round Two I tried to prevent her overpowering me and pinning me down, 
but she pinned me as easily as a normal adult woman would a toddler.  
 
Round Three I felt was my best chance.  I was under no illusions about 
the Queen's ability to lift my weight - she would not have to exert 
herself.  Yet she was little more than 90 pounds.  I could lift her just 
as easily.  I reckoned without her astonishing speed of movement.  
Almost before I was aware that she had grabbed me, I was hurtling 
upwards.  
 
Holding me high above her head the beautiful Queen ran from one end of 
the raft to the other, laughing with the delight of the teenager that 
she was.  
 
Round Four was completely predictable.  Again she scooped me up above 
her head, this time tossing me lightly into the air, and catching me a 
few times, before flinging me far out to sea.  For the second time the 
water was shockingly cold. 
 
I was nervous about Round Five.  How would she knock me out?  Would she 
avoid causing permanent damage.  I needn't have worried.  A single blow 
winded me badly, and it was well past the ten seconds before I could 
struggle to my feet. 
 
Astonishly, despite the cold, the pain and the humiliation, I stood up 
with my erection already standing proud.  
 
The Queen surveyed my eager body for a moment or two, then grinned: 
"Okay, you qualify".  She pulled me towards her and kissed me savagely.  
 
Within seconds I had forgotten the freezing cold of two dips in the 
Baltic.  The skills she exercised that night - with her tongue, and with 
every steely muscle on her beautiful body - were simply breathtaking.  
 
 
A LONDON ANORAK IN THE COURT OF QUEEN KRISTINA - PART FIVE 
By Decio Azzolino
 
So that is how Queen Kristina and I became what will by 1996 be known as 
'an item'.  
 
This is not to say that I became the only lover in her life, far from 
it.  Over the next several years she commanded the physical services of 
every man and more than half the women at court.  To be frank, no single 
lover could cope with her appetite - on this her enemies did not lie.  
 
I became a close political confidant, advising her to end the 30 years 
war, and to seize control of Sweden from the regent, Oxenstierna.  In 
this advice, of course, I had the advantage of having studied history 
and philosophy some three centuries in the future.  
 
Eventually we left Sweden.  As the Queen, Kristina was expected to pay 
at least notional devotion to the Lutheran church, and neither of us 
were comfortable with that.  The official explanation for her abdication 
is that she converted to Catholicism.  Actually she became an atheist - 
as I am - we simply wanted to live and study in Rome, freed of the 
responsibilities of monarchy.  
 
We keep our atheism, and our lifestyle, as secret as we can.  Ironically 
I have taken holy orders in the Roman Catholic Church.  It is as 
convenient a cover as any for a lifestyle of academic study by day, and 
a passionate affair with Kristina by night.  
 
I have taken the name Decio Azzolino, and become quite influential in 
church politics.  Many people in Rome suspect my affair with Kristina, 
but I have the advantage of them.  I know that clear proof will not 
emerge until the cipher of our letters in cracked some two centuries 
hence.  I also know that no historian ever suspected that Decio Azzolino 
was an impostor from the future.  
 
But on one subject the burden of knowing the future is a little much, 
hence this journal.  We are both in our sixties, and I know we will not 
live long.  
 
But it is a good life.  At sixty two my beautiful lover can overpower 
any man, of any age.  She takes as many lovers as she chooses.  I have 
known her to lock herself in her bedroom with three men whose age totals 
less than hers, and completely exhaust the three of them.  While they 
were sleeping it off, she galloped across Rome, and demanded further 
services from me.  
 
There are some things I miss about the twentieth century, but I wouldn't 
return, not without my Kristina.  
 
 
Yours 
 
Decio Azzolino (Cardinal) 
 
The END