The Oath

by A. M. Linden

  As they rattled down the road, leaving the shrine behind, Caelym’s vow to come to get his sons rang in Benyon’s ears, followed by a flood of worries—What if giving the priests false directions about where he was going wasn’t enough? What if they really did have the power of second sight? What if Caelym came for the boys and found out the truth?

  Caelym’s pledge to come for his sons combined with Benyon’s lingering belief in Druids’ supernatural abilities, merging into the conviction that he would never be safe as long as Caelym lived.

  While the boys peppered him with “When are we going to get there?” “Can we go faster?” “Why are you hitting the horsie?” the only question that mattered to Benyon was, What am I going to do?

  The answer came to him late that afternoon, when they arrived at a town with an open tavern and a lighted church.

  Planning for his new life had included learning about being a Christian, and Benyon had found out what he could about that during his sojourns to village market—getting both eager proselytizing from converted Britons and sarcastic counter-arguments from skeptics. In one particularly heated exchange, an earnest villager started explaining the benefits of cleansing your sin through confession only to have his unconverted cousin interrupt, “Aye, you can tell their priest anything—anything you don’t mind your worst enemy hearing before the day is out.” From there, the two had settled into what was clearly a well-worn dispute, and Benyon had backed off while the Christian was warning his kinsman that his soul was in peril for questioning the sanctity of holy confession, and the pagan was scoffing, “Two can keep a secret if one of them is dead!”

  That cynical remark came back to Benyon just as he was pulling up the sweating, stumbling horse in front of the tavern where he bought the boys the last good meal they would have for two years before bedding them down in the back of the wagon and going back inside the inn. Although overcome by greed, he was not so devoid of conscience that he could betray the people he had spent his life with to torture and death without any qualms at all. It took four full mugs of ale for him to build the courage to leave for the church.

  He got there just as the priest was coming out. Recalling what he’d been told over and over by enthusiastic converts—that Christian priests were always happy to hear about sins—he clasped his hands and, in a louder voice than he intended, announced that he needed confessing. For a nerve-wracking moment, the black-robed man just looked at him. Benyon held his breath, letting it out again when the priest nodded and led the way into the church. It didn’t take long and, when he came out, he felt light and free, confident that he was saved, and Caelym was doomed.

  Father Wulfric had had a long day. He was tired and hungry, and he wanted to eat supper and go to bed. Faced with a supplicant asking to confess, however, he had no choice but to agree.

  Benyon was not the first penitent to come to the confessional by way of the tavern, and Wulfric had no trouble recognizing the almost overpowering odor of alcohol that wafted through the wooden grate between them. Although a generally forbearing man, he wasn’t feeling much charity for a drunken Briton who thought it was funny to send a Saxon priest on a wild goose chase looking for secret Druid caves. Too tired to challenge the man’s rambling story, he absolved him in the name of Christ (who was, in Wulfric’s view, capable of infinite forgiveness), dispensed a routine penance and send him on his way.

  Both because Wulfric did adhere absolutely to the sanctity of confession and because he was not about to be laughed at, the secret of Llwddawanden’s hidden entrance would remain safe for another two years. Benyon did not know that, however, and so it was because he wanted to make a complete break from his heathen past—not because he was afraid of Caelym finding him— that Benyon changed his name to Barnard.

  Lulled into a false sense of security, he also changed his mind about drowning the two boys in the first lake he came to, deciding instead that he’d keep them to be his servants as he had been a servant to their parents—the closest thing to a genuine joke he’d made since he had embarked on his plan for personal advancement all those years earlier.

  Chapter 41

  The Bargain

  As Aleswina was making her way along the road toward the manor, Barnard was having a second tankard of ale and beginning to wonder if the story that a dark-cloaked monk was looking for him had been his neighbor’s idea of a joke.

  In the first heart-stopping moments after he’d answered Maelrwn’s knock, Barnard had been overcome with the terror that his pagan past had been found out. His legs shaking, he’d leaned his back against the door to keep himself upright—terrified at the thought of be being accused of heresy and dragged screaming to the stake.

  Then he rallied.

  He ran to the kitchen to send his snooping servant woman home—certain she would betray him out of spite. Ordering the shrine brats (the mental phrase he used for the two foster sons he’d turned into slaves) to finish her work, he dashed to the storeroom where he kept the chests and crates and caskets of the things he bought at the market now that he could buy whatever he wanted. Pulling out every Christian icon and emblem he could find, he added them to the large gilded crucifix and several reliquaries he already had on prominent display in his front room. He always—even in bed at night—wore an ornate golden cross, but he hung two more around his neck for good measure.

  Finally, after looking down the hall to make sure the boys weren’t spying on him, he tiptoed into his bedroom. After closing and barring the door behind him, he shoved a large clothes chest aside, pried up the secret panel, lifted up the strong box of coins and jewels that was all he had left of the shrine’s treasure, and counted out what he hoped would be a big enough bribe to send the monk off to burn someone else.

  Walking up the front entrance of the manor house took all of Aleswina’s courage. The stone walls were as thick and fortified as the ramparts of Gothroc, and while she saw no guards and heard no dogs, any hopes she had for their breaking in at night died at the sight of the iron bars on the windows.

  She paused at the front door, working up her nerve to knock. Reminding herself that she was a boy now, and not afraid of anything, she straightened her shoulders and pounded on the heavy oak door.

  It flew open.

  She blinked.

  The man peering out looked so meek and humble she would not have known it was the evil, vile, wicked Barnard, except for his having only one eye. And when she said, “God be with you, Sir. I am Codric, sent to speak to you on behalf of the blessed Brother Cuthbert, who is come on a mission for the Bishop of Lindisfarne!” he squeaked like a mouse and made his sign of the cross backwards and upside down as he bowed and waved her inside.

  There was no going back now! She tramped across the threshold into a large room filled with more religious art and artifacts than the convent chapel. There were pictures of beatific Christ babies hanging next to grown Jesuses being scourged with whips or nailed to the cross, portraits of Mary smiling at hovering cherubs and of her weeping over her dead son, and paintings of martyred saints—Ignatius getting eaten by lions, Lawrence roasting on a grill, and Bartholomew being skinned alive, as well as one she didn’t recognize who had an arrow sticking out of his eye. If she hadn’t been hardened to the perils of sainthood by seven years in the convent, she might have quailed. As it was, she was only disappointed that there was no sign of the boys. How would she ask about buying them if she didn’t see them?

  Behind her, Barnard was glancing out the still open door for any sign of the actual monk.

  Noticing this, Aleswina said, “Brother Cuthbert would have come himself, only he has taken a vow of silence.”

  “Of course! Of course! You and your high—I mean, er, holy master have come from afar, and you must be thirsty. Come to the kitchen and I will get you some ale, and we can talk.”

  The kitchen windows were barred as heavily as the front door, but the two boys were there.

  Ignoring the chair Barnard pulled out for her, Aleswi
na sat down on one facing across the room at the counter where the bone-thin youngsters, both with an unmistakable likeness to Caelym, were moving warily about. The older one was making a show of being at work washing dishes while the younger stayed at his heels, getting in the way more than helping.

  Barnard bustled about, taking two tankards from a cabinet and pouring a hefty draft of ale for each of them, before he took the seat he’d pulled out for her and cleared his throat.

  “I, ah, I have not heard Brother Cuthbert’s name before. Is he—”

  “My master, Brother Cuthbert, is renowned throughout Christendom for his selfless devotion to the One True God in holy alliance with the revered Father Adolphus!”

  Aleswina’s only reason for mentioning Adolphus was to add credibility to Caelym’s false identity by naming someone she had heard talked about back in the convent—where she had not paid enough attention to know that the reason for the priest’s fame was his relentless pursuit and burning of heretics.

  A nervous twitch appeared by Barnard’s remaining eye as he babbled, “Of course! Of course! I remember now and am honored, I mean blessed, that the Holy Brother Cuthbert should honor me with his, ah, your presence.”

  Emboldened by seeing a man a head above her in height and three times her girth groveling, Aleswina repeated her entry line, “I am come in Brother Cuthbert’s stead because he has taken a vow of silence,” then added, “Brother Cuthbert labors selflessly to spread the Word of God, giving no thought for his own needs, while others, thinking only of their comfort in this world, have slaves and servants to cook their food and carry their loads.”

  She hoped that by dropping this hint, she might get Barnard to offer to sell the boys to her.

  Instead, he fell silent, looking down at the cup in his hands. While she was waiting for him to say something, she took the chance of looking past him to give the boys a small smile that she hoped they would take as reassuring. The smaller boy peeked around his brother’s side to look directly into her face, his lower lip pulled in and his eyes wide and wondering.

  Kept isolated and destined for a celibate religious life, Aleswina had never given any thought to motherhood, but now she suddenly felt as if this little boy were hers, and that she would fight dragons to keep him safe.

  Tearing her eyes away, she realized that Barnard was looking at her with an odd smirk on his face.

  She’d given herself away, acted too much like a girl! Thinking quickly, she spat on the floor and scratched between her legs at the same time—and was relieved to see his expression turn nervous again and to hear him say, with a gasp, “Yes, well, your master must have some needs, and it cannot be an easy thing to be the only one in service and have to meet to the demands of even so devoted a monk.”

  Aleswina held her breath, hardly daring to hope.

  “So perhaps, then, it might be a help to have one of these boys to take back with you to join in that service?”

  Steadfastly keeping her voice down and prepared to spit or scratch again, she said, “It would take both of them to be of enough service to satisfy Brother Cuthbert.”

  “Both of them, then.” Barnard’s smirk returned.

  “And how much?” She said in an offhanded sort of way.

  Barnard was ready to have the price named as well and started by offering the lowest bribe he thought might be acceptable.

  “Twenty-five sceattas.”

  It was, in fact, a very modest bribe, but more than Aleswina was expecting as a price for two little slaves.

  The afternoon light coming in through the window was beginning to fade. If she didn’t get the boys out quickly, it would be dark and Caelym would come and start wreaking havoc. Instead of making her own offer, she decided to try appealing to Christian charity. “I am sorry to say, people have been sadly lacking in their contributions of late—”

  “Fifty sceattas! No, a hundred!”

  Up until now, Aleswina had been feeling confident, even cocky. The last thing she expected was for Barnard to raise his price so much it so that she couldn’t even pay for one of the boys unless she went to get the gold coins from Annwr. Before giving up and going back empty-handed, she made one last try.

  Remembering that her earlier reference to Father Adolphus had seemed to impress Barnard, she decided to evoke his name again. “A hundred sceattas? Can you not be more charitable than that to my master, Brother Cuthbert, who is on a secret church mission for Father Adolphus?”

  With that final entreaty, she silently prayed that the miserable man would name a lower price.

  Instead, Barnard cried out, “Please! Please! Wait!”

  He jumped up from his chair and ran out of the kitchen. Hearing him banging doors and slamming things around, Aleswina thought he must have guessed the truth, but before she could gather her wits, grab the boys, and run, Barnard burst back into the room with two bulging leather bags clutched to his chest.

  “Here it is, all of it! Take it! Take them! Go tell your monk that I love Jesus and that’s all I have!”

  With that he broke out sobbing, but before she could ask him what the matter was, he thrust the bags into her hands, pushed her outside, tossed the two boys out after her, and slammed the door behind them.

  Chapter 42

  This Was the Day

  Aleswina stuffed the money bags into Caelym’s pouch, slung the bulging satchel over her shoulder, and called to the boys, “Come quick!”—adding, “Brother Cuthbert is waiting!” in case Barnard was listening to the door.

  Both boys jumped up. Lliem rushed to her side but Arddwn, to her dismay, dashed back to the door and pounded on it—shouting that he wasn’t going to leave, and neither was Lliem.

  All the while Barnard and Aleswina had been talking, Arddwn and Lliem had been listening.

  Terrified of Barnard, Lliem sometimes dreamed of living in a distant land where there was music and dancing and wonderful cakes to eat—and in that dream, just before he woke up cold and hungry, someone who was very tall would smile at him and hold out the most beautiful cake of all. When Aleswina (who looked very tall to Lliem) smiled at him from across the room, it seemed that the person from his dreams had come at last. All the while that he and Arddwn were being bartered over, Lliem had silently repeated, Please, please, please, like the word was a magic spell.

  Unlike Lliem, Arddwn could clearly remember his life in Llwddawanden. He remembered his father, and he remembered Caelym’s promise that he’d come to get them after they learned to speak English. For two years, he’d whispered to himself, “We will travel together on great adventures and return to your mother with gifts from all the wondrous places we have seen,” while he huddled next to Lliem in the woodshed where Barnard locked them up at night. As much as he hated Barnard (which was a hundred times more than Lliem did), they had to stay where they were or else their father wouldn’t know where to find them.

  So when Barnard threw them out of the house, Arddwn rebelled. He wasn’t going to leave. Not now. Not after he’d learned English, like he was supposed to. And especially not today, when he’d woken up somehow certain that this was the day his father was going to come to get them. And Lliem couldn’t go either. Arddwn had promised he’d take care of his brother, so when the door opened up again and Barnard poked his ugly head out, yelling at him to go away, Arddwn ran like lightning, grabbed Lliem by his shirt, and pulled him back to the door, yelling, “Our father said to stay here until he comes!” as he tried to push his way back inside.

  Barnard, however, caught the boys by their collars and threw them out again, shouting, “Go on, damn you! Get out of here!”

  Arddwn picked himself up and, standing with his feet set, one hand clinging to Lliem’s shirt and the other balled into a fist, shouted back, “I’m not leaving! My father is coming for me!”

  “Your father is dead! He’s burning in hell with the rest of them!” With that, Barnard slammed the door, leaving Arddwn standing still, his lips soundlessly shaping the word “no.”


  Not daring to take time to comfort the boys or tell them the truth—that their father was alive and waiting not very far away— Aleswina took hold of their arms and pulled them along with her down the road and around the bend, toward the path up to the ridge.

  Chapter 43

  Greetings, My Son

  Watching the manor from their overlook, Caelym and Annwr saw the door open and Aleswina and the boys come tumbling out of it. That was enough for Caelym, who was off and running down the path before Annwr could get to her feet.

  Glancing back over the edge as she gathered up the staves and the wooden bowl—which they’d still need, and she was not about to leave behind—Annwr saw the unexpected scene of Arddwn fighting to stay with Benyon. Thinking this meant that they’d misjudged a loyal servant and that he’d been a loving guardian to the boys after all, she rushed after Caelym, bent on keeping him from killing an innocent man.

  She caught up with him halfway down the trail. Dropping the staves and the bowl, she grabbed hold of the rope knotted around his monk’s robe for a belt, dug her heels into the dirt, and held on, shouting at him to stop and listen to her.

  He did neither. Continuing to careen down the trail, he dragged her along after him. Still, she succeeded in slowing him enough that they were just skidding down the last slope as Aleswina rounded the bend, leading Lliem by the hand and gripping Arddwn’s wrist as he dragged his feet and stumbled blindly after her.

  As he struggled to free himself from his captor’s hold, Arddwn heard the birdlike whistle that had been his father’s signal to call him back when he’d run off too far on their romps through the woods above the shrine.