The Raven Banner

by Tim Hodkinson

  There was also another woman who was perhaps seventeen or eighteen winters. She kept her mouth shut and avoided the eyes of the others. Unlike Affreca’s lean, almost starved features, the other woman’s cheeks were slightly plump and she had eyes like a doe, the sort that, Affreca knew, when combined with a glimpse of the deep valley between the ample cleavage of her chest, could turn men’s knees to water. Her clothes were simple and without decoration but Affreca was a daughter of a king and could spot the cost of the material they were made from. This woman was no poor cowherd’s daughter, going into a nunnery to escape the poverty of her family’s hovel. Like Affreca, her head was not shorn. Instead her long hair was bound behind her. It was so black that Affreca assumed she was Irish.

  ‘What’s your name?’ Affreca said in the tongue of the Gaels.

  The confused look the other woman returned told Affreca she was wrong about her origins.

  ‘No talking!’ Osgyth ordered in the tongue of the Saxons. ‘Especially you two.’

  Affreca exchanged glances with the black-haired woman and shrugged. She considered punching Osgyth, just to see what the woman would do, but realised there was little to be gained. With the armed riders alongside the waggon there was little chance of escape anyway. She would just have to bide her time until a better opportunity arose.

  As the night approached, they stopped in a burgh. Affreca could see the hungry looks in the eyes of the warriors of the garrison at the sight of the young women. This changed when their commander ordered them to give up their warm beds in the barrack house to the nuns. As they trooped outside to put up tents, the only looks they shot in the nuns’ direction were surly with resentment.

  The nuns each took one of the wooden, straw cots that the warriors usually slept in. With some foreboding, Affreca could tell from the looks of excited delight on some of their faces that even these basic beds were a lot more comfortable than they were used to.

  ‘Sisters,’ Osgyth barked. ‘Every one of us must take out half the straw from our bed. I don’t want any of you getting distracted by luxury and forgetting your vows.’

  Affreca sat on her bed as she watched the nuns dutifully begin scooping out the comfortable, fresh straw from their cots and dumping it on the floor.

  ‘Did you not hear me, Dane?’ Osgyth said, striding over to Affreca. The nun towered over Affreca, fists bunched on her hips. ‘That means you too. Perhaps you do not understand civilised language?’

  Affreca looked up at Osgyth.

  ‘I understand your tongue fine,’ she said. ‘But I see no need to do what you say. I am not one of your religious fanatics. I am Affreca Guthfrithsdottir, daughter of the King of Dublin. I’m not stupid enough to willingly make my bed more uncomfortable than it already is.’

  Osgyth glared at her. She clenched and unclenched her fists. Her cheeks flushed red as she gritted her teeth.

  ‘You will do what I say, Dane,’ she said in a voice that sounded almost strangled. ‘By Christ’s holy name you will.’

  With that she turned on her heel and left the dormitory.

  Affreca smirked.

  ‘You’ve done it now,’ the black-haired young woman said. She had taken the bed beside Affreca and like the nuns she was lifting straw out of hers. She spoke the Saxon tongue but with an odd, lilting accent as if she was singing. ‘She’s a right bitch that one.’

  ‘I don’t care,’ Affreca said. ‘What can a nun do to me?’

  ‘So you’re Irish, then?’ the other woman said.

  ‘Norse Irish,’ Affreca replied. Her voice had a sharpness to it. ‘You’re no Saxon either. What are you doing here?’

  ‘My name is Angharad ferch Hywel,’ the dark-haired woman said. ‘Ferch in our tongue means daughter of.’

  Affreca could tell from her tone of voice that she was supposed to be impressed by this name. There was indeed a Hywel she knew of.

  ‘Is that Hywel ap Cadell, King of the Welsh?’ Affreca said.

  ‘Yes,’ Angharad said. ‘And he’s King of the Britons. Welsh is a Saxon word. Do you know what it means? To the Aenglish the word means foreigner. Can you believe that?’

  ‘So you’re a king’s daughter too?’ Affreca said.

  ‘I am,’ Angharad said. Then her voice became bitter. ‘You’ll know that isn’t much of an honour. What are we? No more than gaming pieces our fathers use. We are factors in alliances. Peace cows to be married off to resolve a war with another kingdom, then nothing but stock for breeding another king’s sons.’

  Affreca smiled. ‘If only my father were so nice. So that’s why you’re joining these nuns? To get away from a forced marriage?’

  ‘No!’ Angharad said. ‘You think I wouldn’t want to run my own court? Aethelstan of Wessex calls himself King of all the Aenglish people and he wants to be Emperor of all Britain. He’s preparing to lead an army against the Scots, the Picts and the other kingdoms of the north. My father has pledged to support him.’

  Affreca frowned. ‘I thought you said your father was already King of Britain? Why would he support Aethelstan then?’

  Angharad smiled. Affreca was not sure she liked the way Angharad’s expression suggested she was explaining something simple to a child.

  ‘My father is King of the Britons, yes,’ she said. ‘The people called the Britons. We still have territory where we Cymry live free. Aethelstan, alas, rules most of the land called Britain. He has demanded support from the other most powerful kings. He’s made it clear that anyone not with him will be regarded as against him. My father, shall we say, knows what side of his bread is buttered. He has pledged his support and will march north with his warriors as part of Aethelstan’s army. The trust of the King of the Aenglish only goes so far, though. He demanded a hostage to ensure my father’s loyalty. That’s why I am here.’

  ‘At least your father is on Aethelstan’s side,’ the Scots woman, Eithne said from nearby. ‘Mine will be fighting with Constantine of Scotland.’

  ‘When will this war start?’ Affreca asked.

  ‘Perhaps it already has,’ the Welsh woman shrugged. ‘Aethelstan was gathering his army near Jorvik. My father was the last to arrive as far as I was aware. He delivered me as a hostage then rode to join his men and the rest of the army. They were to march north straight away.’

  Affreca was about to speak when the door of the room crashed open. All the women in the room turned to see two burly warriors clad in leather and mail, helmets on. Behind them, eyes blazing, came Osgyth.

  ‘Seize her!’ Osgyth screeched, pointing a long bony finger at Affreca. Affreca sprang to her feet but it was too late. The warriors were already on her. One grabbed her by the left wrist. She lashed out, driving her foot hard into the other warrior’s crotch. It was Affreca who cried out though. A stab of pain shot through her toes as they struck his mail breeches and the padded leather beneath. Trying to ignore the pain, she clawed at the face of the warrior holding her left wrist. He shouted in fear as much as pain as Affreca’s nails raked his cheek and probed for his eye.

  The second warrior grabbed Affreca’s hand and hauled it away from his comrade’s face. He drove a fist into her stomach, forcing the breath from her lungs and doubling her over. Both arms now held firm by the warriors, she sagged between them, gasping as she tried to get her breath back.

  ‘Get her up,’ Osgyth said.

  Affreca felt herself being hauled upright by the warriors holding her upper arms. She raised her head and saw Osgyth standing before her, teeth bared in a vicious grin. With a loud slap, the nun whipped the back of her hand across Affreca’s face.

  ‘You will do what I tell you, Dane,’ Osgyth said. ‘You will.’

  She hit Affreca again and again, striking one cheek then the other. Affreca tasted the iron flavour of blood in her mouth. Then Osgyth bent and scooped all the straw from Affreca’s bed, dumping it on the floor.

  ‘Get rid of it,’ she ordered one of the other nuns who rushed to gather handfuls of straw and throw them out the door.
When they were done, Osgyth struck Affreca once more across the face, this time so hard Affreca saw the world dissolve into stars for a moment. Her knees gave way and if the warriors were not holding her up, she would have fallen to the floor.

  Osgyth retreated to the doorway. The two warriors holding Affreca threw her to the ground. One swung a kick into her gut then they sauntered out of the room.

  ‘I’m locking the door,’ Osgyth said. ‘It’s to make sure you are all safe with those men outside. Also in case any of you think you can escape.’

  She left, the door clunked shut, followed by the sound of the key rattling in the lock.

  Affreca lay on the floor for a few moments, trying to catch her breath. Her stomach ached and it sounded like someone was whistling in both her ears. Then she dragged herself over to her bed and collapsed on the hard wood of its now bare boards.

  ‘Osgyth used to be an important noblewoman,’ one of the other nuns whispered to her from her own bed. ‘The Danes killed her husband and she had to become a nun.’

  Affreca did not reply. She stared at the roof thinking what to do. If Osgyth was driven by hatred then she would make sure every moment of Affreca’s life from now on was misery. Ulrich and the Wolf Coat crew would be headed for Jorvik, expecting her to be there with the location of the Raven Banner. Einar was presumably somewhere on the whale road to Ireland.

  One way or another, she had to escape.

  Fifteen

  The next morning, they were woken before dawn and told to go outside for prayers. Osgyth sent four warriors to make sure Affreca joined in. Trying to fight men armoured in mail and leather with her bare fists was futile, so Affreca complied, kneeling on the damp earth like the others as they intoned their magic spells in monotones. Osgyth would say something in a strange language – not that of the Aenglish – and the others would then all chant something in the same tongue. It was almost as if they were having a conversation and Affreca wondered how their Gods or God realised the nuns were actually speaking to them and not each other.

  After a sparse breakfast of pottage they were on their way again. Affreca could tell by glimpses of the weak sun that peeked through the clouds now and again that they were travelling north and west. The late winter countryside was washed out, bare and lifeless. There was no sign yet of the colour waiting to burst forth with the spring. Eventually a grey line appeared on the horizon, the northern sea, and the cold, damp air began to be haunted by the mournful cries of seabirds.

  As they reached the shore they came to a grass-covered promontory that poked out into the sea, a feature called a ness in Affreca’s Norse tongue. Sitting on the ness was the religious house that was to be Affreca’s prison.

  They rode in through a gate in a low stone wall that surrounded the whole complex. The waggon lurched to a halt and the nuns clambered out. Affreca sniffed the crisp, salty air and looked around. There was one building made of stone with a tall tower. Affreca recognised it as a Christian kirk, the equivalent of a Hof, the building where the Gods lived and religious rituals were held. Scattered around the compound were several other buildings, all wooden with thatched roofs, a mixture of farm buildings and sleeping quarters. Chickens and goats wandered around and there were a few plots of cultivated land, though being the middle of winter, these were just ploughed earth with some patches of evergreen herbs.

  Affreca was surprised to see both men and women in the compound. She had always believed that the Christian wizards had to live in separate houses for men and women, but this did not appear to be the case. There were men who wore the rough tunics of undyed wool and whose heads bore the strange hairstyle of Christian monks with the top of their skulls shaved. A band of them were working repairing a stone wall that ringed the compound.

  Another thing she noticed was that apart from the eight warriors who had escorted them from Jorvik, there were no guards or armed fighters anywhere. Perhaps her chance to escape was coming.

  The other nuns headed off towards one of the outbuildings while the warriors took Affreca and Angharad to the kirk. Osgyth threw open the iron-bound double doors of the building and the warriors shoved Affreca and Angharad in. Stepping into the cool stillness Affreca became aware of an uncanny stillness in the air. She looked around, wary in case something lurked in the shadows that clung along the walls. The building was long and its roof seemed impossibly high above. The walls were painted with all sorts of strange scenes, some with warriors, some with strange monsters. One wall had a depiction of a huge dragon that was devouring a horde of miserable looking people who for some reason were forming an orderly line to walk into its maw. At the far end of the kirk was a stone table on which stood a huge gold cross. There was also a silver cup. Along the aisle of the building were several silver candle holders where many tall, yellow candles burned, filling the air with light and the aroma of warm beeswax.

  Affreca’s mouth dropped open at the sight of what lay beyond the table. There was a gap in the wall, a Wind’s Eye, but it looked as though it had been filled with jewels and precious stones. The sunlight that poured through it was transformed to stunning colours that played across the floor. Even more amazing, the jewels somehow formed the image of a man, standing with his arms outstretched. Was this some form of witchcraft?

  A nun was kneeling before the table. At the sound of the door she stood up and turned around. She wore the same plain dress of the other nuns but somehow she still exuded an air of authority. As she got closer Affreca saw her face was lined by age and white hairs escaped from her headdress.

  ‘What’s the matter, girl?’ the woman asked in Aenglish, seeing the look of amazement on Affreca’s face. Following her eyes, a look of understanding crossed her own. ‘Have you never seen stained glass before?’

  Affreca shook her head, finding it hard to take her eyes off the amazing colours that gleamed like precious gems from the window.

  ‘You must be the new girls,’ the old nun said, looking them up and down.

  ‘Kneel before the abbess!’ Osgyth said, her voice a screech. When neither responded, the warriors clamped their gauntlets on the shoulders of the two women and forced them to their knees.

  The abbess regarded them for a long time. Finally she spoke.

  ‘My name is Hathumod. As Osgyth has told you, I am the abbess here,’ she said. ‘In case you do not know, that means that I am in charge. Unlike the other nuns, you two are not here of your own volition. But while you are here you will follow the same rule as them. You will dress how they dress, pray when they pray, which is eight times a day. You will work when they work, eat when they eat, sleep when they sleep. Every waking hour will be given to worship and service of God. It is not a life that suits some but you will probably be here for a long time so you’d best get used to it.’

  She paused, taking another closer look at Affreca, noticing the bruise on her cheek and her swollen lower lip.

  ‘I see you have received some chastisement,’ the abbess said.

  ‘Osgyth did it,’ Affreca said, shooting a glance in the direction of Osgyth.

  ‘I was punishing her for disobedience, lady,’ Osgyth said.

  The abbess remained impassive. ‘You must forgive Sister Osgyth,’ she said to Affreca. ‘She has suffered terribly at the hands of the pagans and this can lead her to be over zealous in her faith sometimes. Our Lord teaches us to forgive our enemies. Perhaps that can be your first lesson in our faith?’

  Affreca looked at her as if she were mad.

  ‘Our Lord also teaches us that if we are struck, we should turn the other cheek,’ the abbess continued. ‘You clearly have a lot to learn. Let me give you some advice, girl. Your life will be a lot easier if you just submit to the Rule of the Abbey. If you fight you are not just resisting Sister Osgyth. You are fighting all of us. You are fighting me. You are fighting against God like the rebel angel Satan. We will simply not allow it.’

  For a moment they locked eyes. Affreca saw the unflinching stare of a woman who held power
in a world ruled by men. The abbess was clearly not used to backing down to anyone.

  ‘You can return to King Aethelstan now,’ the abbess said to the two warriors. ‘This is a house of peace, not war.’

  Affreca’s eyes flicked to the gold cross and the silver cup on the table. She had seen no other warriors in the whole compound. It was no wonder these places were such a favourite target for vikings.

  ‘In case you think that means there is no one to bring you in line, you are mistaken,’ the abbess said as she caught her glance. ‘There are plenty of monks and nuns here who will make sure you conform. If you think of escape then bear in mind that, as you would have seen on the way here, there is nothing for miles around but moors or sea. There is nowhere for you to go and any locals you will meet are Saxons with a long hatred of Danes. Sister Osgyth will begin your induction in the morning. Until then you should pray and think on the life that waits ahead for you. Good day.’

  Sixteen

  It quickly became obvious was that there was no shortage of food in the Abbey. The supper Affreca and the others were given was plain but plentiful and none of the nuns or monks looked particularly starved. Given the treasures she had seen in the church, the flocks of sheep that wandered around the surrounding fields, the tannery and fishery that were both joined to the Abbey, it was clear that these monasteries held considerable wealth.

  With a decent amount of food in her belly, saying more prayers were not much of chore. Neither was a session at work spinning wool until it was too dark to continue. Then there were yet more prayers and then it was time for bed again. Tired and full, she had no problem falling asleep in her cot in the nuns’ dormitory.