Sanctuary (Dominion)

by Kris Kramer

  "You will now!"

  "He's here for the winter," Eadwyn said. "So you have a while to fatten him up."

  "Wonderful! Sister Ethelwan will be happy to see you when she gets back. She’s visiting Jarrow, bringing news to Father Fearhan, mostly about all this nonsense with the two kings,” she waved her hand dismissively. “If the weather isn’t too bad she might be back in a few weeks. If not, we probably won’t see her until the spring. You don't know all the new people, do you?" she asked, her face lighting up at the prospect of introducing me. "Oh, well let's see." She motioned to the two boys. "That's Cerdic and Brant over there, orphans like yourself.” She said it as if it was a common thing, and unfortunately, it was. “Boys,” she called out, “come here and say hello to Daniel. He used to live here, just like you.”

  Cerdic and Brant walked over and stood impatiently in front of me. Brant, the boy I’d seen drawing in the dirt earlier, mumbled a scarcely audible hello.

  “Good to meet you,” I said in response. They looked at the ground and fidgeted with their hands, barely containing their energy before Agnes shooed them away.

  “There's a few more around here somewhere, but I haven't a clue where they could be. That one," she pointed at the giant, who hefted firewood onto his shoulders and carried it to the stables, "is Ewen. He helps us with some of the work around here and we let him stay in the space above the stables." She scrunched her face, as if talking about him was distasteful, though I had no idea why. "You already saw Oslac?"

  "Just now, yes.”

  Agnes frowned at Eadwyn. "Do you have any idea what kind of names he calls me? In public, no less?"

  Eadwyn nodded. "I'll speak with him."

  "Where's Abraham?" I asked, deftly changing the subject. Abraham grew up with me here at the church, though he'd been a year or two younger and much more of a troublemaker.

  "He's gone to Lodis," Agnes said before Eadwyn could. "He apprenticed to a cobbler there named Creth. Turned into a proper man. Finally.” She added the last part under her breath. “But enough of all that. Let’s eat!”

  *****

  Dinner was a small affair, consisting of a stew filled with chicken, parsley, radishes and an onion, along with bread, cheese and butter, staples of all good Briton meals. Agnes and Deaga prepared the food, then set it out on the kitchen table, pulled away from the wall to allow for a few additional place settings. The food was overcooked and under spiced, but it was hot, which made it an extravagant feast for me, and I ate heartily. Agnes and Oslac traded silent glares, but eventually, the women left to make sure the servants and children were finished with their work and fed, leaving only Eadwyn, Oslac, myself and a young, bookish Irish clerk named Aengus sitting about the table. In addition to the Archbishop, two other priests and clerks also stayed here, but all four were currently out, ministering to the different factions in the Northumbrian civil war. So the four of us drank our cider and ale, and traded stories, mostly about old times. Eventually, Eadwyn picked up where our earlier conversation left off.

  “So, I assume you met Bishop Ceobred while staying at Leicester?”

  “I did. The Bishop was most a gracious host.”

  “That’s good to hear. He’s even older than Oslac, I understand, so I hope his health isn’t failing him?” Oslac raised his eyebrow at Eadywn’s veiled jab, but he didn’t say anything.

  “Not that I could see. We talked for hours that night, but it was mostly him telling me about the recent excitement in the area.” Eadwyn furrowed his brow in confusion. “You haven’t heard about the dwarves, yet?”

  “The dwarves?” Oslac perked up. “This’ll be interesting.”

  “It’s not Briton dwarves,” I explained. “These are vertar, the mountain dwarves from across the sea, where the Vikings come from. Ceobred told me that a hundred of them came to East Anglia a few weeks back on Danish boats. They claim they’re looking for lost treasures that were stolen from them thousands of years ago and brought here. When I reached Leicester, I’d missed them by less than a week. They camped outside the town for a night, frightening the women and children because they were so heavily armed, but they just picked up and left the next morning without incident. They call themselves Hargrin’s Band, after the dwarf, or vertar, who leads them.”

  “Fascinating,” Eadwyn said, but Oslac just shook his head.

  “What do you expect?” he said. “Even dwarves from across the sea are ornery little prigs. They’re like hairy, brainless tree trunks, and about as useful, too. But they’ll sure hold a grudge forever. I bet having a whole army of ‘em around is stinking up Mercia more than usual.”

  Eadwyn shook his head reproachfully. “Did he have anything else of interest to say?”

  “Not really, no. I asked about the Danes, but he said all of his stories about Vikings end badly, and he didn’t want to ruin our conversation. Luckily, they’ve been spared so far.”

  “Praise God,” Eadywn said, and Aengus nodded his head. “I hope we can all say the same.”

  Just as Oslac began diving back into his diatribe against the dwarves, Eadwyn deftly changed the subject, asking about my time in Rome, which I recounted carefully, focusing mostly on the relics and the history of the city.

  “You went to St. Peter’s Basilica?” Eadwyn asked, and I nodded. The inference was clear as this very church had been dedicated to St. Peter when built two hundred years ago.

  “I even stood in the very spot where Charlemagne was crowned Emperor of the Romans by His Eminence Pope Leo III.”

  “Magnificent!” Eadwyn said. “Is it as beautiful as everyone claims?”

  “The Basilica?” Eadwyn nodded and I hesitated. “It is. Well, it will be. It was under repair when I visited, so I couldn’t grasp its full glory.”

  “Repair?” Oslac raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

  “The Saracens?” Aengus asked.

  “Yes. Saracens from Africa attacked Rome twenty years ago, in 846,” I explained, “and they nearly destroyed the building. It’s still being rebuilt. Pope Leo commissioned a defensive wall to be built around the city because of that attack. The Leonine Wall. It completely encircles the area around the Vatican. In Rome, they call everything within the wall Leonine City. After the Pope, of course.”

  “Fascinating,” Eadwyn said, and Aengus agreed.

  “Hrmph,” Oslac said. “What’s he done to deserve a city named after him?”

  “He’s the Pope,” Eadwyn explained.

  “He’s a Pope. Plenty of others who deserve to have a city named after ‘em.”

  Eadwyn sighed again, and I stifled a laugh. I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed their banter. Eadwyn cleared his throat and stood.

  “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to work. I have to make some preparations for All Saints Day. Daniel, let me say again how wonderful it is to have you back here, and I hope you have a restful night. I look forward to seeing you in the morning.”

  “You as well, Father.” Eadwyn gave a curt bow and left the kitchen.

  As soon as he was out of earshot Oslac turned to Aengus and waved him off. "Give us a minute to catch up, will you?"

  Aengus nodded sheepishly at the dismissal and stood. "As you say, Father." After he left the room, Oslac put his hands together and raised his eyebrow at me.

  "It's good your back, boy, but I wouldn't stay too long if I were you."

  I cocked my head in surprise. "Why?"

  Oslac took a deep breath. "Eadwyn won't say it, but this isn't a good place for someone like you. Things are better now, but they won't be when the Archbishop gets back. He's not the same man he was when you were here last."

  I shook my head, not grasping the message.

  "You're too trusting. You and Eadwyn both. And Rothward has been playing dangerous games lately. Some of it is politics, what with the war and all,” he waved his hand indifferently, “but that man looks at us funny these days, like he's ready to sell us off, and I don't like it. I'm old. I'm not going anywhere, an
d Eadwyn spends so much time in here he doesn’t know what grass looks like. But you, you can go somewhere better.”

  "I don't understand," I said, my confusion plain. Oslac was typically blunt, which made it unnerving to see him so deliberately talking around a subject.

  "Don't need to," he said. He slid his chair out and stood. "I'm just saying that seeing as how you haven't made up your mind about how long to stay, I'd keep your stay short. You've been out seeing the world. Don't stop now."

  "Oslac, I'm not a little boy anymore. I can handle the politics of two petty kings and a scheming Archbishop. I've seen worse at almost every town in Frankia."

  "Don't be so sure," was all he said. He left, leaving me alone to wonder just how bad things could be to warrant a warning like that. I’d come here to escape from my troubles, not to find more. I left the kitchen, exhausted in more ways than one, went to my room and closed the door behind me. I’d spent the last six days walking across Britain, and the moment I saw that narrow cot in front of me, I was suddenly too tired to do anything other than lay down. Once I closed my eyes, sleep came quickly.

  Chapter 10

  I woke early the next morning and stared for some time at the ceiling over my head. The nightmares no longer disturbed my sleep. Instead, they’d settled into a predictable pattern and bled harmlessly into my other dreams, so much so that I forgot about them once I woke. My body, however, had grown accustomed to a lack of sleep and an indomitable urge to keep moving. So I was up before the sun rose and the morning bells tolled, and I spent my idle time trying to contemplate how I’d ended up here, and what I needed to do next.

  Three days had passed since Arkael left, and I’d devoted much of that time to trying to understand why. Those days were full of anger, self-doubt, and simple self-preservation, and because of that, I’d had trouble thinking of reasons that weren’t overly simplistic, or ridiculously fantastic. But after my first good night’s rest since the attack on Rogwallow, I’d finally come to a reasonably rational conclusion - Arkael’s abandonment of me could simply be a sign that I’d taken him for granted because I thought myself special. His own words to me said as much.

  “You think God has time for you? You think He’s up there in heaven, watching over some false little priest in a village, waiting for you to call to Him for help? And then when you cry, He just makes me appear at your doorstep?”

  I’d shown a terrible lack of humility, and Arkael could have punished me for that by leaving. But that begged a difficult question - was I now consigned to Eoferwic until I learned to be humble, and only then would Arkael find me again, if he decided to find me at all? His very next breath reminded me that God had no plan for me that day in Rogwallow. I was merely in the right place at the right time. I was lucky.

  But there was so much more to this than simple, dumb luck. I’d seen the darkness in Caenwyld’s soul, felt it twist into my gut like a jagged knife, and I knew I hadn’t imagined it because I saw it fade away at his death. I’d witnessed Arkael move with a speed and grace that could only come from God. And even though he’d been coy about who or what he was, or Caenwyld for that matter, he’d admitted that angels and demons were behind it all. He’d revealed to me, unsolicited, that he walked the front lines of a war for our souls. Maybe what he told me was true. I’d discovered all of this by chance, but now that I had, I couldn’t fathom sitting still until spring. I simply couldn’t contain myself for that long. And regardless of what Arkael claimed, what really mattered was what I chose to believe, and I chose to believe that God had given me a path to follow, and it didn’t end here. I had to find Arkael. I needed to be out searching.

  Fortunately, one last thought occurred to me that morning, just before the bells rang and Oslac pounded on my door, yelling at me to wake up and get busy. I may be stuck within these walls, but that didn’t mean I had to give up my quest. Eoferwic was a busy trade destination, which meant I had access to people from all over the world. All I had to do was talk to them and I could learn all manner of things, like I had as a child. I could listen for rumors of a strange man traveling across the countryside, or raiders attacking the southern coast. My search may slow down, but it didn’t need to be over.

  Chores were given to me, and I settled back into my routine easily. Most of my work involved cleaning the floors, washing clothes, and caring for the horses. Some of these were Oslac's responsibility, but he was more than happy to delegate to me for a while, so he could wander off and make chippy comments about Sister Agnes or the boys who would tease him about his missing finger behind his back. He liked to tell them that he lost it in battle, and he'd graphically recount those tales to them, especially the parts where he stabbed men in the crotch and watched them bleed to death while crying in agony. I think he embellished those stories more often than not just to frighten the boys away.

  I spent a little time with Ewen while tending to the horses and the livestock, though he barely said a word. He spent most of his time trying to stay out of my way, as if I was somehow inconvenienced just by being near him. Every so often, though, he would catch his breath, close his eyes and grimace. He tried to hide it but his pain was obvious, and I suspected he suffered from terrible headaches. When I asked about it, he dismissed my concern and said I needn’t worry about him.

  The children ended up being in the way more often than not, darting in and out of the stables that morning like hares. One of the boys, Cerdic, stopped to ask me where I'd come from, and I told him about Rogwallow, and some of the towns I'd seen along the way, hoping that would appease him. Instead, it only stoked his imagination and he wouldn't leave me alone all morning. I was eventually forced to fetch Oslac and have him scare the boy off, just so Ewen and I could work in peace.

  After he left, Ewen mentioned that he had a brother, who had two boys around Cerdic and Brant’s age. The older one would always pick on the younger, but they were both good, strong boys. I asked what their names were, but Ewen suddenly seemed reluctant to talk again, so I left him alone. Later, I asked Eadwyn and Oslac about his strange behavior, and they explained what ailed him.

  "He hasn't been here long,” Eadwyn said, “but we've found out he's prone to madness. That's why he stays out back, in the stables. He knows when it’s about to happen, though, and he locks himself away, or he wanders off somewhere. That way he doesn’t hurt anyone."

  "What kind of madness?" I asked, suddenly uncomfortable at the notion of a giant mad man outside.

  Eadwyn gave me a look that made it clear he didn't want to go into too much detail. "It’s not entirely clear," he said. "The best we can make out is that he was engaged in some… improper activities with a woman in Wales. No doubt he caught something from her and its affecting his mind."

  "Rutting with Welsh women will do that to ya," Oslac said, tapping his head. "’Specially the pagan ones.”

  I’d heard all I needed to know, and his behavior made a little more sense to me now. Ewen did his job well and without any complaint, and I felt sorry he had to suffer from his ailment, but some men had to learn the hard way about sins of the flesh.

  After spending the morning at the church, I volunteered to pick up a few supplies from the market, mostly as an excuse to get down to the docks. Sister Agnes gave me a large burlap sack and made me memorize the list of items she needed from a merchant named Thurgis, who’d promised them to the church last week. She told me to be persistent, because he’d already tried to weasel out of his donation twice.

  “If it happens a third time,” she said, holding up an empty pot threateningly, “you tell him I’ll be coming down there with this, and we’ll see if a few raps to the head will make him remember his promise.”

  I ended up having to relay Agnes’ warning once I reached his shop, and that was enough to make Thurgis relent and offer up his donation, though not without a lot of mumbling that I had trouble hearing, but no trouble understanding. I told him he could take his time gathering everything – flour, some vegetables, a medley of
spices, and a few brand new cooking utensils – so I could walk the docks without lugging the bag around with me. I took my leave, ignoring Thurgis’ irritated looks, and told him I’d be back later in the day.

  A brief stroll down the street brought me to the main thoroughfare that led back to the bridge, and after another few dozen paces I found myself at the edge of Eoferwic's busy market area. The river snaked through the town from the northwest to the southeast, and the majority of the shops, merchants and crafters could be found on the north bank, packed around the warehouses, taverns, and the offices that managed the docks. The street ahead of me, lined with buildings to the left and the river on the right, overflowed with both people and animals, as farmers looked to trade or sell extra livestock or grain for food or supplies that would get them through the winter. The air stank of dung and sweat, but there was no better place to be if I wanted to glean some useful information.

  And glean information I did. Everyone I spoke to talked as if they were foremost experts on everything. Scots were making forays into Northumbria, druids were becoming problematic in the west and in Wales, and Irish raiders had nearly taken over the island known as Ynys Mon. But the one thing everyone seemed to worry most about were Vikings and their incessant attacks on coastal villages and churches. And local politics made that even more worrisome. I’d heard when I stopped in Lincoln that a battle was coming between the two kings, and everyone had their favorites. Aelle's throne sat in Eoferwic, though he hadn't been here for months. He’d left the city lightly garrisoned to fight Osbert in the north, thinking his lands were safe from Vikings this late in the year. So the people of Eoferwic were uneasy, as they should be.

  Beyond that, though, the city continued on much as it always did. Farmers complained about their poor harvests, merchants complained about tariffs, and everyone complained that the war made it easier for people to cheat, steal and kill. But information about Wessex was rare, and I heard nothing about Rogwallow, Ranulf, or Arkael. Not a word. I decided I needed to locate a better source of information, and in a town like Eoferwic, there were few places better than a tavern.