by A. M. Linden
The
Oath
Copyright © 2021, A.M. Linden
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, digital scanning, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, please address She Writes Press.
Published 2021
Printed in the United States of America
Print ISBN: 978-1-64742-114-4
E-ISBN: 978-1-64742-115-1
Library of Congress Control Number: 2020924588
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Interior design by Tabitha Lahr
She Writes Press is a division of SparkPoint Studio, LLC.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
For Mark, renaissance man
and love of my life
Author’s Note
The Druid Chronicles is a historical fiction series set in Anglo-Saxon Britain during a time known alternatively as the early medieval period or the Dark Ages. Books 1, 3, 4, and 5 are primarily concerned with events that take place in 788 AD. Book 2 begins a generation earlier and recounts the events that set the main story in motion. While considerable liberty has been taken in adapting the geopolitics of the period to the needs of the story, it is generally true that:
• At the time in question, the Germanic invaders (who, for the purposes of this narrative, will be referred to as Saxons) had conquered the southeastern lowlands while indigenous Celts retained control in the mountainous northwest.
• The majority of native Britons had converted to Christianity by the end of the fourth century. The Saxon conversion was essentially complete by the late 600s.
• Before the conversion to Christianity, both ethnic groups were polytheistic, and elements of those earlier beliefs and practices persisted after that transition was nominally complete.
Atheldom and Derthwald, the Saxon kingdoms in which most of the series’ actions take place, are literary creations, as is Llwddawanden, a secluded valley in which it is imagined that a secretive Druid cult has continued its traditional practices despite the otherwise relentless spread of Christianity.
About Druids: Although much has been written about Druids, there is little verifiable information regarding what this apparently elite and possibly priestly class of Celts believed or what ritual practices they may have carried out. For the purpose of this series, it is conjectured that Druids were indeed priests and priestesses and that the Druids of Llwddawanden were matriarchal, subscribing to the belief that:
• There was a supreme mother goddess at the apex of an extensive pantheon of gods and goddesses.
• The spirit of this supreme deity inhabited the body of their cult’s chief priestess.
• At the chief priestess’s death, the Goddess’s spirit passed on to her daughter, if she had one, or else to a designated member of the priestesses’ inner circle.
There is not, to the author’s knowledge, any evidence that a community of practicing Druids persisted as late as the eighth century in the British Isles or elsewhere, and there is no reason to think that the views and practices ascribed to the Druids of Llwddawanden have any basis in reality.
Characters
ATHELROD . . . . . . . King of Atheldom
GILBERTH . . . . . . . King of Derthwald
OLFRICK . . . . . . . . Captain of King Gilberth’s guards
THEOBOLD. . . . . . . Late King of Derthwald, Gilberth’s uncle
ALSWANDA. . . . . . . Late Queen of Piffering, Theobold’s wife
ALESWINA . . . . . . . Daughter of Theobold and Alswanda, Gilberth’s cousin
MILLICENT. . . . . . . Aleswina’s first nursemaid
HILDEGARTH . . . . . Abbess of the Abbey of Saint Edeth
UDELLA . . . . . . . . . Prioress
DURTHENA . . . . . . Under-prioress
IDWOLDA . . . . . . . . Novice nun
HIGBALD . . . . . . . . Bishop of Lindisfarne
WULFRIC . . . . . . . . Christian priest
ADOLPHUS. . . . . . . Christian priest
BARNARD . . . . . . . Wealthy landowner, previously “Benyon”, a servant in the Druid shrine
FEYWN . . . . . . . . . Supreme priestess of the Shrine of the Great Mother Goddess
RHEDWYN . . . . . . . Druid priest, Feywn’s first consort (deceased)
ARIANNA . . . . . . . . Rhedwyn and Feywn’s daughter
ANNWR . . . . . . . . . Priestess, midwife, Feywn’s sister, enslaved as Aleswina’s nursemaid
CYRI . . . . . . . . . . . Priestess, Annwr’s daughter
CAELYM. . . . . . . . . Druid priest, bard, physician, Feywn’s second consort
ARDDWN . . . . . . . . Caelym and Feywn’s son
LLIEM . . . . . . . . . . Caelym and Feywn’s son
HERRWN . . . . . . . . The shrine’s chief priest, bard
OSSIAM . . . . . . . . . Druid priest, oracle
OLYRRWD . . . . . . . Druid priest, physician (deceased)
RHONNON . . . . . . . Priestess, the shrine’s chief midwife
Author’s Note: This list includes characters who are mentioned but do not appear. Some of these characters died before the story opens; others will appear in later books. Names of several minor characters who appear or are mentioned in a single context have been omitted, including Gilberth’s five wives, all of whom are deceased.
Contents
PART I: PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1: The Clearing
CHAPTER 2: The Message
CHAPTER 3: The Novice
CHAPTER 4: The Warning
CHAPTER 5: Abduction
CHAPTER 6: Sold
CHAPTER 7: Cyri
CHAPTER 8: Annwr Makes Up Her Mind
PART II: THE SHRINE OF WILFHILDA
CHAPTER 9: The Potion
CHAPTER 10: A Druid’s Cure
CHAPTER 11: Prayers For The Dead
CHAPTER 12: A Midnight Service
CHAPTER 13: Durthena’s Dread
CHAPTER 14: The Ledger
CHAPTER 15: What Durthena Saw
PART III: THE KING’S GHOST
CHAPTER 16: Awakening
CHAPTER 17: Ask And It Shall Be Given
CHAPTER 18: The Vision
CHAPTER 19: Saying Farewell
CHAPTER 20: Idwolda
CHAPTER 21: Olfrick
CHAPTER 22: I’m Coming With You
PART IV: THE RIVER
CHAPTER 23: Not A Word
CHAPTER 24: The First Rapids
CHAPTER 25: Whatever Dangers Lay Ahead
CHAPTER 26: I Will Compose A Song
CHAPTER 27: Who Said It Was Safe?
CHAPTER 28: The Seed Of Mortal Sin
CHAPTER 29: Leave to Speak
CHAPTER 30: Confessions
CHAPTER 31: The Fifty-First Psalm
CHAPTER 32: Making Camp
CHAPTER 33: The Map
CHAPTER 34: Changing Clothes
CHAPTER 35: Leaving Camp
PART V: WELSFERTH
CHAPTER 36: The Spotted Hound
CHAPTER 37: The Overlook
CHAPTER 38: Benyon
CHAPTER 39: A Step Beyond Sport
CHAPTER 40: Benyon’s Plan
CHAPTER 41: The Bargain
CHAPTER 42: This Was the Day
CHAPTER 43: Greetings,
My Son
CHAPTER 44: No Unnecessary Risks
CHAPTER 45: Follow Me
PART VI: FERNLEY’S FEN
CHAPTER 46: Frogs
CHAPTER 47: Real Horses
CHAPTER 48: Merna’s Gift
CHAPTER 49: The Squirrel
CHAPTER 50: The Horses’ Tale
CHAPTER 51: Family Secrets
CHAPTER 52: The Last Solstice
CHAPTER 53: Pine Needles And Wood Smoke
PART VII: LLIEM’S STORY
CHAPTER 54: Annwr’s Rule
CHAPTER 55: The Trees Speak
CHAPTER 56: A Village Fair
CHAPTER 57: Caelym’s Tribute
CHAPTER 58: Ealfrid’s Inn
CHAPTER 59: Brave Horse
CHAPTER 60: Father Wulfric
CHAPTER 61: Back to Ealfrid’s Inn
CHAPTER 62: Keeping to the High Ground
CHAPTER 63: Caelym’s Answer
CHAPTER 64: Speaking of Wolves
CHAPTER 65: Parting Gifts
CHAPTER 66: The King’s Lodge
Translations of Latin Text
Acknowledgments
About the Author
PART I
Prologue
The events that took place in and around the Kingdom of Derthwald during the spring and summer of 788 AD have, understandably, been overlooked by scholars concerned with early medieval history. Even at its peak, Derthwald was never more than a minor monarchy, rising and falling within the span of forty years and leaving only a single, obscure reference to its existence in surviving documents of the period—besides which, most of those involved had good reasons for keeping silent.
By the end of the previous century, the wars between the Anglo-Saxon settlers and the native Britons had reached a standoff at the diagonal chain of mountain ridges that separated the southeastern lowlands from the northwestern uplands. Located at the northernmost edge of the Germanic territories, Derthwald was all but encircled by the larger kingdom of Atheldom. It had begun its independent existence as a land grant given by Atheldom’s king, Athelrod, to Theobold, the commander of his main army, as a reward for Theobold’s successful siege of the last Celtic stronghold below the mountains. Athelrod, a king as open-handed with his friends as he was iron-fisted with his enemies, had awarded Theobold the ravaged fortress along with the broad, fertile valley around it, in a proclamation that was more loosely worded than it would have been for any less trustworthy vassal.
Theobold, however, was known equally for his military prowess and his unwavering loyalty to Athelrod. Having no interest in civilian rule, he gave orders for the citadel’s broken gates and ruined battlements to be repaired, renamed it Gothroc for the steep granite outcrop that held up its massive stone walls, and returned to the field for another ten years, leaving the running of his household to his widowed sister, who, along with her young son, came to live there following the death of her fourth husband.
Never intended to be a hereditary domain, Derthwald would have remained a common fiefdom had it not been for Theobold’s marriage, late in life, to the queen of another realm—one even smaller, but where the royal lineage was firmly established.
Theobold was approaching sixty when he finally retired from active campaigning and returned to Derthwald. Surviving into old age was something of a miracle for a warrior of Theobold’s generation, and the fact that he had managed to do so with no crippling injuries and an unbroken record of victories was taken by most as a sign of God’s favor. In spite of that, Theobold began to be troubled by a recurring dream in which he came to the gates of heaven only to find them locked. Then the golden gates and shining spires vanished, leaving him standing naked on a barren hilltop surrounded by a vast multitude of ghosts—his own fallen men gathered together with slain enemies, all with fresh blood dripping from their death wounds, all of them staring at him and muttering amongst themselves.
Theobold did not tell anyone about his dream. Instead, he swore a silent oath to Jesus in which he named off the exact number of sites in Derthwald he would have consecrated in exchange for a secure place in heaven. Pursuing entry into God’s kingdom with the same dark intensity that he’d put into the conquest of military objectives, he went on to endow seven churches, two monasteries, and a convent, along with thirty smaller shrines.
Preoccupied with the next world, Theobold grew increasingly withdrawn from the life going on around him. He saw his sister and nephew only at dinner—and even then, ate his unnecessarily spare meal as if he were alone at the table.
Once he’d made sure that no one in Derthwald would be more than walking distance from a place to pray, Theobold began a series of trips to increasingly distant monasteries and holy sites. Eventually, he left for what was to be a pilgrimage to Rome. He chose an indirect route through the small neighboring kingdom of Piffering, meaning to stop there briefly to pay his respects to King Alfwold, a fellow veteran of Athelrod’s campaigns. Upon his arrival, he was met by a distraught servant who led him to the royal bedchamber, where his once robust, seemingly indomitable comrade lay pale and wasted, with no hope of recovery and only one surviving child, a girl of sixteen, to succeed him.
Theobold stayed at his old friend’s side, talking about God, telling war stories, and conducting a tactful negotiation that culminated in his marrying the young princess. It was an arrangement that brought together their two small but prosperous domains and, at the same time, bloodlessly resolved a potentially troublesome border dispute. The most remarkable thing about the match was not the fifty-year age difference between the bride and groom but the fact that Theobold had fallen deeply in love with the slender, dark-haired girl he was about to marry.
The wedding was conducted quickly and quietly. It was followed three months later by Alfwold’s funeral, and six months after that by the birth of a daughter. Once Queen Alswanda was recovered from the delivery, there was no reason not to make the journey back to Derthwald, but Theobold remained in Piffering for almost four more years.
Had he been a man to closely examine his own motives—or admit to personal weakness—Theobold would have been forced to acknowledge that he’d always been intimidated by his overbearing older sister and that her moving into Gothroc had played no small part in his decision to spend so little time there. As it was, over the course of those four years in Piffering, he simply found one excuse or another to put off his return home.
He did keep in touch, sending regular messages to his steward regarding the management of his estates but leaving out any mention of his marriage or his new family. The missives were carried by a loyal—and discreet—messenger named Hobarth, who delivered them without revealing by so much as a smirk that Theobold had not entered holy orders in Rome, as was widely assumed.
It was not until Hobarth returned to Piffering in the spring of 773 with the news that the Lady Theodosia had taken a sudden chill and died that Theobold, with an unconscious sigh of relief, packed his things and returned to Derthwald, along with his wife and nearly four-year-old daughter.
Dressed in a warrior’s regalia and not looking a day over sixty, Theobold led a proud procession through the ironclad gates of Gothroc on a bright morning in May. His daughter, blond like Theobold but with her mother’s luminous brown eyes, sat on a tasseled pillow propped securely in front of her nurse, who rode a light gray palfrey. Close behind, a pure white mare carried Derthwald’s new queen, who was dressed in a royal blue gown that bulged out over her pregnant belly.
Hobarth had traveled ahead and arrived in time to get the palace guards busy putting up banners, the trumpeters lining both sides of the palace courtyard, ready to sound their welcome, and the cooks and kitchen servants scurrying to set out the celebratory banquet. With that done, he went, as an afterthought, to tell Theobold’s nephew, Gilberth.
He found Gilberth standing in front of the wardrobe in the king’s chambers, his hand outstretched towards the king’s ermine-lined cloak, his fingers twitching oddly.
For a
brief second after hearing the message, Gilberth looked at Hobarth as blankly as if he’d been speaking some foreign language. Then a dark shadow seemed to streak across his face but was gone before Hobarth could be sure he’d seen it. In the next moment the young nobleman beamed with fulsome goodwill, declaring this to be “good news, excellent news, wonderful news, the best possible news” before ordering Hobarth to do what he’d already done in preparation for the king’s entrance.
The triumph of Theobold’s homecoming was short-lived—ending less than a month later when word came of a threatened Celtic uprising on Derthwald’s northern border. There’d been reports of minor troubles in that region before, but in the past, they’d been nothing more serious than small landholders complaining about missing cattle and traders claiming they’d been robbed by Britons. This time, however, Olfrick, the captain of Theobold’s palace guards, burst into the dining hall in the middle of the midday meal, and, before the gathered assembly, repeated the insulting challenge that the unnamed leader of the insurgents had sent to the king.
Before Theobold could speak, his nephew, Gilberth, rose from his place at the far end of the table. “There is no need for the king, at his age, to leave the safety and comfort of his dining hall,” he cried out. “I will answer this villain’s foul slurs, lead our army to flush the vermin out of their den, and crush them once and for all.”
Livid at his nephew’s effrontery in speaking as if he, Theobold, was too feeble to wage war—to say nothing of calling attention to his age in front of Alswanda—the king rose up from the table. Pointedly ignoring Gilberth, he called for his sword, shield, and armor and sent the captain of his guard to gather his forces. An hour later, the king led his army out of the gates of Gothroc and followed Olfrick though the heavily forested foothills to a clearing large enough to camp for the night before mounting his attack in the morning.
Theobold had fought the Britons before and knew them to be an erratic and unpredictable enemy—appearing suddenly over a hilltop, charging wildly downward into the center of his battle line, then scattering and vanishing into the undergrowth, only to reappear in the crags overhead and loose a deadly barrage of rocks and arrows. With his years of experience and battalion of battle-hardened troops, the king was prepared when his scouts warned him of a war band approaching on the far side of the ridge. The actual clash was over in less time than it would take to tell about it.
