by Geoff Smith
As we left the dismal island and trekked back out onto the marshes, we each fell silent for a time and walked alone with our thoughts. But at last I turned to Aelfric and said:
‘I believe there is something more for you in this mission than merely an instruction from the ealdorman.’
‘It is so!’ he answered. And after a long pause he went on: ‘As a child I lived with my family on our farm on an island deep in the marsh to the north. When I was six there came a time of bad summer and great floods, and there was much famine in these lands. But ours was good land and spared the worst, and we grew enough to live. Then one day raiders found the secret path to our island – maybe bandits, perhaps hungry, desperate people from another farm or village. Yet I was small and to me they were like dark raging giants. Much afraid I ran to conceal myself inside a hidden cellar in our outhouse. My parents and kin were killed as they tried to defend our home, and I heard it all happen – terrible cursing and screaming – as I shivered underground, not knowing if I would be discovered there and murdered also. I could do nothing. I could not help them! Then I smelt smoke and I knew that our farmhouse was on fire and would be burnt to the ground. Terror made me helpless, and I froze and could not move, as I feared that the fire would spread and I would be burned alive. But these raiders took everything and left, and fire did not spread to the outhouse. At last I emerged, but all my family were dead and burned inside our home. Then I went off to live with my sister who was married into a clan which had farmland nearby. They were good people, but always afterwards I am troubled and restless. When I grew up I left, then wandered throughout the Fens until I came to know these lands well. Then at last I took service with Lord Ecbehrt. I was given this task at my own asking. Whatever it is we hunt – be it man or devil – I will see it die! So my duty will be done, and thus I hope the spirits of my kin will be in some way avenged. And their screams which haunt me still may also die.’
‘Aelfric… I am sorry!’ I said, reaching out to place my hand on his shoulder. He merely shrugged, and said no more as I began to reflect upon how the three of us were drawn together so strangely, each driven by some inner darkness to pursue the darkness outside. Of course I rejected the pagan concept of fate, but it almost seemed like our paths were weaved together in the pattern of some greater design.
My thoughts were suddenly interrupted, and we were halted in our tracks, as there rose at once about us a chilling sound: a long and terrific howl, a roar of primal rage which shattered the stillness and echoed out across the fen even as it broke and then fell silent. My heart began to pound as I searched my senses to locate the place of its source. Then I realised that it had come from behind us – it had come from back upon the island. I asked myself briefly if it might be the men arrived from Meretun to discover their murdered kin, but dismissed this conjecture, for it had been a single lonely cry and not the clamour of many. It had seemed like the sound of something savage and furious.
Now Cadroc turned and began to run back towards Weagar’s Ridge, once more drawing his sword and calling out to us:
‘Our quarry has eluded us. The demon is still here!’
Aelfric followed Cadroc and I went behind him, struggling to stay close and keep him in my sight as we entered back into the depths of the fog. As we reached the island and I climbed upward through its thick vegetation, I lost sight of them. I stumbled along a winding track, and Cadroc’s dire warning returned to me as I realised with sudden alarm that I had strayed from the right path. But then with relief I saw a vague figure loom up in the murkiness ahead. Yet as I made to move towards it some deep instinct conveyed at once a warning to me, and then I simply froze: for as the figure drew closer to me and grew in form, I saw with profound dread that it was something of massive size, far bigger than either of my companions. I staggered backwards and then grew still, hoping the fog would conceal me as I felt my heart would fail. The ominous figure moved away and was lost in the gloom, while I remained fixed to my spot, not daring to stir or breathe, praying frantically in my heart for deliverance. It was as I began to hope the danger had passed that something fast and powerful sprang upon me with fearful force, gripping me from behind. A huge hand was clamped over my mouth, then I was lifted from my feet as if I were a child and thrown physically through the air, crashing down heavily onto my back. I gulped in a mouthful of air to cry out, but fell silent as I felt the tip of a sword press into my throat.
I grew numb as I looked up at the gigantic shape that stood over me, but even as I knew I was about to die, I was only aware that as I died I would at last look clearly into the face of the killer. It was the image I would take with me into death.
It was like a man, yet indeed one of extraordinary size and terrifying aspect, clad in tunic and trousers made from animal hide. The face appeared old and lined, and it creased into a savage growl as he bared his teeth at me. His hair and beard were long and grey, and he looked like a wild creature, a werewolf, a terrible merging of man and beast. As he stared at me he spoke in a whisper, yet his voice seemed to shudder in the air with pure menace.
‘I know you!’ he said from deep in his throat as his eyes gaped horribly at me. ‘I have observed you in your place of refuge.’ My mind filled instantly with the words of Aelfwin the carpenter, and what he claimed to have seen – something old and evil that was watching us. ‘You seemed like only a mad pious creature obsessed by your dreary devotions, a harmless imbecile. But it may be you are more than you seem. Now you will tell me what I must know, and do not try to lie, for I will know it if you do. I will see into your heart and cut it out if I like not what I see. Tell me what you are doing here. What is your purpose?’
I looked up at him witlessly, not knowing how to answer as I lay in all senses upon a blade’s edge. This savage was quite obviously insane, and a wrong word would surely be my last. But as I felt the press of sharp steel against my flesh, I knew in desperation that I must say something.
‘Missionaries,’ I stammered. ‘We are only missionaries, who mean harm to none…’
‘Liar!’ I felt the tip of his sword push deeper, as I quailed with fear. ‘I ask you for the last time what is your true purpose?’
‘Monster!’ I cried out, convinced now his claim to know truth from falsehood must be real. ‘We have come to hunt a monster.’
‘But you carry no weapon. So how will you fight?’
‘With prayer!’ I gasped.
‘As I supposed!’ he said. ‘Tell me now what you have learned about this monster.’
‘Nothing…’ I said hopelessly. ‘Truly… I know nothing…’
‘He is mine!’ His voice hissed suddenly with renewed fury. ‘That devil is mine, for our souls are bound and our fates are one!’ My mind was racing. What was he saying? That he was not the murderer? But he was clearly deranged, and who could tell what tormented fantasies might exist in his mind? ‘You are hunting him with Christian magic,’ he said. ‘And now you will hunt him for me! I have seen his vile work – those murdered men whose bloody corpses lie nearby. He has returned and it is revenge he seeks. Upon all mankind. Upon me! He is a thing of vengeance and relentless hate!’
‘Be calm, my friend.’ I knew a faint sense of hope now as I heard Aelfric speak from somewhere nearby. ‘Withdraw your sword. Please do not harm this innocent monk.’
The madman did not move, but stood, still scowling down at me, and kept his sword pointed to my neck. My eyes were fixed on it, and vaguely I saw it was a magnificent thing, the exquisitely forged weapon of a nobleman, and I wondered how it had come into the hands of such a creature as this. Then there were footsteps, and Cadroc emerged from out of the fog, his own sword pointed at the savage, who now seemed finally to relent, lifting his blade away from me as Cadroc strode fearlessly before him. But then the monk appeared to become astonished, and for a moment grew unsteady on his feet as the two men exchanged a long silent stare.
‘It is you!’ Cadroc said at last.
Aelfric now moved warily
to my side and helped me to get up. I stumbled and nearly fell at first, for I could not feel my legs.
‘It is the one they call “the Exile”,’ Aelfric whispered to me. ‘He lives alone deep in the fen, and men avoid him in fear, for none know anything about him. We must keep our wits sharp. It might be we are in the company of the killer himself.’
I began to study the man. His manner was remarkably transformed, changed in an instant from murderous rage into composed silence. And I saw now that in spite of his wild appearance, his face when calm seemed stately and even handsome, and in no way truly monstrous. But the alteration in his mood had been so sudden and extreme – it was alarming. Perhaps he was really possessed by a demon. Who could know when he might turn back into a raging horror? It was as I considered these things that the truth of the matter came to me with sudden certainty.
‘Do you understand this?’ I whispered to Aelfric. ‘This is the man Cadroc told us about – it is the wild stranger from his tale!’
I looked at him in wonder. But what was he doing here? And what did he know? Certainly his presence among us could be no mere coincidence. Suddenly he turned to me, looking huge and awesome as he stood half-shrouded in the heavy fog, and said:
‘You must forgive me. I have been a long time alone, and my manner is rough. Men fear me and will not answer me willingly. It has been many years since I have known the companionship of others.’
Now Cadroc spoke, as he gazed with incredulity into the stranger’s face:
‘We must move on. The men from Meretun will arrive here soon, and when they find what awaits them their hearts will be filled with a vengeful fury. I cannot vouch for your safety among them. You will go with us!’ His tone became at once demanding, and I feared for a moment it might rekindle the stranger’s dreadful rage. But instead he seemed content to comply, and together we left the island to go back out into the marshes.
‘I have followed your trail across these lands to find you,’ the stranger said. ‘When in these dark times I heard it said that a monk named Cadroc had come to the Fens, it was a sign I could not ignore.’
‘This is the first time,’ Cadroc said, ‘that we were ever able to speak freely in a common tongue. I remember well those events in Elmet which brought us together so many years ago. But I have never heard your own story, and this you must now tell to me. It seems you know much I should hear.’
‘I agree to this,’ the stranger answered, ‘since as you must suppose I have come here to seek your help. Your cause and mine have become once more the same.’ He turned his head to look at Aelfric and me. ‘You should know, all of you, that I was once a man and held my place in the world of men. It was long ago… long ago. Now I am what you see. No one before has ever heard my story. But now is the time to tell it, and this is the company to hear it.’
I could not imagine what kind of strange and terrible revelations his tale might hold, to have brought him to his present state. But so it was that he came to relate them to us.
Chapter Twelve
‘My name is Cynewulf, son of Beornwulf, born to a noble clan in the kingdom of Mercia in the time of King Ceorl.
‘The day of my birth was long afterwards remembered as one of ill omen. It happened in deepest winter, on a night dark and very cold, in the hall on my family estate at a place called Imma’s ham – the home of the heirs of Imma. In those days, when Mercia was still a pagan land, the time of childbirth was given to the sacred rites and mysteries of women. When the pangs of labour began, the females in a village would gather at their place of worship to offer prayers to the goddesses Frigga and Freya. Then they would intone their ancient rituals to summon those great spirits who are the weavers of fate – Urd, Verdandi and Skuld – the Sisters of Wyrd. These three sisters would come to inspire a shamaness who would attend the birth, to act as a midwife, and then speak a prophecy of the child’s future. In our kingdom at that time, the most famous and revered of these was a woman called Urta. It was Urta herself who came at my birth to perform this function, a tribute to the high standing of my family.
‘Once the child was safely delivered, it was normal that the women would go chanting paeans from the place of confinement to give thanks and proclaim the powerful immanence of the Wyrd Sisters. Then they would burst into riotous celebrations, loudly daring any man to try and restrain them. They would dance and cavort, sing lewd songs, and go on to consume all the strong drink they could find. Like men in battle they would abandon restraint and later women would be found lying drunk and insensible all around the village. It was their time of freedom, and no man would seek to prevent it, for no man dared to forbid a woman who went under the spell of the Sisters.
‘But I learned that when I was born these customary celebrations did not occur, for as my life began there blew up a sudden violent storm, and raging winds were followed by a blizzard that covered the land in ice and snow. That night many across the kingdom died, and among them was my mother. It was declared an accursed night. But still Urta fell into her trance, communing with the three Sisters to give her secret prophecy of my destiny to my grieving father. It was said that my father was never the same man after that night, and he never married again, nor even took a woman to his bed.
‘As I grew older I was told of Urta’s prophecy, and I once asked my father what she had foretold. But he only grew angry and would tell me nothing, forbidding me ever to speak of the matter again. I was never close to my father and was allowed little contact with him. He left me to be raised by servants, and they secretly supposed he resented me, blaming me for my mother’s death. I once heard him shout at his steward, Herewald, that I was a changeling child of the dark elves. But I never really understood his aversion towards me and became bitter at his great unjustness.
‘I grew, like my father, to be much taller and stronger than most men, and in my youth I was sent away to do military service with one of the king’s ealdormen, Ceolwulf. It was made to seem like an honour, but even then I knew the harsh truth of it: I was to serve as a hostage to ensure my father’s loyalty. How little they knew my father, if they believed that any threat against me would concern him. But in those days such rules were strictly enforced, for our king now was Penda, who had quickly come to assert his authority over our many feuding tribes and clans, and was turning Mercia for the first time into a strong and unified kingdom.
‘I took well to the martial life, for my size and strength, along with my skill, made me a formidable warrior. I spent my young days riding through the kingdom, fighting to put down rebellion and lawlessness, and enforcing the king’s authority. I rode in Penda’s army to fight in his great war against the confederate lands of Northumbria, and I was twenty when he declared his first war against the kingdom of East Anglia. We marched behind him into Middle Anglia, the territory he sought to win from East Anglia’s control, and our army gathered into three formations as we moved to face the enemy forces, while behind us there rose up the war cries and curses of our wizards. From the opposing ranks there came the chanting of monks, for it was known that Sigbert, East Anglia’s king, a pious Christian, had gone soft in the head and retired into a monastery, leaving the rule of his land in the hands of his young kinsman. But his nobles dragged Sigbert, against his will, onto the battlefield in an effort to inspire his wavering troops. We saw him there, his standard surrounded not by warriors but by singing monks, and we all thought it looked very funny indeed.
‘Upon the order we charged, shouting out our battle cries, and both shield walls met with a mighty crash, and almost at once the enemy formation started to break. In the chaos which ensued, I found myself face to face with a huge enemy warrior, who saw my own size and came forward to challenge me in single combat. I advanced and began to swing my sword in fast circular motions, a showy manoeuvre designed to demonstrate my skill and unnerve him. It did not work. He lunged at me, and as our blades met I felt at once his enormous strength. Then he was striking at me relentlessly as the air about us filled with t
he screams of men and the stink of blood. He was attacking so hard that I fell back before him as I smelt the reek of his stale sweat and looked into his wide, roaring mouth to see his rotting teeth as he bared them at me. Such was his sheer weight and power that we both sensed it was I who would weaken first. Desperately I saw that my best hope lay in my greater agility and speed, since I was a youth and he was a lumbering brute. But suddenly he stayed his attack, lowering his blade as if to rest his sword-arm. Exhausted, I sought a moment of respite to relax my own tortured muscles. Yet his move was a bluff, and he suddenly swung his sword at my face in a fast sideways strike. I raised my shield barely in time to block the blow, but in the same moment he struck out with his own shield, smiting me full in the face. The iron boss of his shield slammed into the nose-guard on my helmet, and I felt a sharp crunch of pain as the metal buckled and my nose began to bleed. I was stumbling backwards, my head ringing as my flesh crawled with fear, but I found my footing just as he came at me. Now I saw my chance, and I feigned another stumble as I waved my blade weakly in front of me, as if disoriented and still fighting to regain my balance. My opponent hurtled forward to claim his victory – my lure had worked. As he swung down his blade to beat mine aside, I pulled my sword back and leapt away, so his blow met no resistance as he lurched forward under his own momentum. I turned beside him, and with all my strength drove the point of my blade through his war-coat and into his ribs as he gave a bellow and the blood burst out through his chain-mail in a torrent. Then his life was mine for the taking.
‘Already the enemy shield wall had collapsed, and they were in full flight as the battle turned into a rout. I joined the pursuit, but soon had to stop to pull off my helmet, for my nose had swollen painfully against the metal, and the stream of my own blood was suffocating me. I did not hear anything above all the confusion and clamour until it was too late, when suddenly there were footsteps running behind me. As I went to turn I was struck a heavy blow on the side of my head, and my sight began to fade as I fell dazed to the ground. I lay and felt the warm trickle of blood on my face and neck as I helplessly awaited the killing blow. But clearly my attacker had no time to inflict it, and I only began to sink deeper into unconsciousness.
