‘What is it?’ Ednoth asked.
Wulfgar turned it over, finding his voice at last.
‘A plaque from a book cover,’ he said, looking at the rivet holes. ‘Or perhaps from the lid of a box to keep a book in.’
‘A little box,’ Ronan agreed. ‘A single gospel.’
‘Would that be St John, then, with his eagle?’ Ednoth asked.
Ronan frowned.
‘Let me have a look.’
Fighting his reluctance to part with it, Wulfgar handed the plaque to the priest.
‘Faith, no, that’s not St John, not with a sword,’ Ronan said.
‘And wearing tunic and leggings?’ Wulfgar said.
They were both shaking their heads.
Ednoth looked from one to the other.
‘Who is it, then?’
‘St Oswald, of course,’ Wulfgar said happily, taking it back. He looked at it hard. The man’s face had been chased into the metal with light, sketchy lines. A frank, open face, with neat moustache and beard. Wulfgar tilted the metal and let the light flicker across its patterned surface. Was that a faint smile on the lips?
My Lord, he thought, it’s good to see your face at last.
‘I suppose I ought to give it to the Bishop. It might make up for giving away his ring.’
Ronan raised his eyebrows.
‘What your dear Bishop doesn’t know won’t hurt him. And Cat’s-Eyes seemed very sure that it was yours.’
Wulfgar looked at him, wondering how much he knew or guessed.
‘She said you can thank her when you’re next in Leicester. When you’re settling your account.’
The pot-boy had arrived at last with a fresh bowl of cider, burnt apples bobbing. Wulfgar pulled out the little bag he kept around his neck and tucked away the image of St Oswald next to his gospel-book. They were very much of a size, and he wondered if maybe once, long ago, they had belonged together.
‘Father Ronan, do you have Uhtsang in that bag?’
The priest nodded.
‘Why?’
‘Because we’re not leaving this bench until I’ve learned that song about St Oswald and his raven.’
GLOSSARY
Abecedarium – a written alphabet, from the letters A-B-C-D
After-gangers – from Old Norse aptrgangr (after-goer), a malevolent walking corpse
Army-law – the East Midlands (Eastern Mercia) fell to part of the Viking Great Army, which further subdivided to govern the Five Boroughs (Leicester, Lincoln, Derby, Nottingham and Stamford). We have very little idea of how this worked in practice, but the Scandinavian homelands had complex legal systems, and armies need discipline. I have combined these to come up with the idea that Toli and his father Hrafn governed Lincoln by what we might call ‘martial law’, a comparatively arbitrary form of justice
Atheling – the title Atheling comes from the word athel (noble) and literally means ‘of a noble family’. It was applied to all the men of a royal house who were eligible through birth and character for the throne, and is often translated by modern historians as ‘throne-worthy’. The Anglo-Saxon monarchy was, in a limited sense, elective – the eldest son of the reigning king had no more automatic right to the throne than any other atheling
Bone-garth – graveyard
Byre – cattle shed
Catafalque – a raised bier
Chape – a metal fitting decorating and strengthening the tip of a scabbard. Chapes, like other Anglo-Saxon sword-fittings, could be very elaborate and made of bronze or silver
Clarnet – a (modern) Mercian dialect word meaning ‘idiot’
Coldharbour – Coldharbour is a place-name often associated with Roman roads. It used to be thought that it represented a Roman ruin in which Anglo-Saxon travellers would shelter. This idea has been comprehensively debunked (until fairly recently almost all English main roads had their origins in Roman roads, so that’s where the settlements were, and the name is only attested in early modern times) but it’s much too good a word to relinquish
Dais – a low raised platform
Dalmatic – a wide, long-sleeved tunic worn by deacons as part of their official vestments
Eke-name – an extra name, recognising a personal quality, which might or might not be flattering. The Anglo-Saxon and Norse were very fond of these. The Modern English ‘a nick-name’ is a corruption of ‘an eke-name’
Ergasteri – a Greek word, meaning workshop
Ettling – Northern dialect word meaning ‘intending’
Forbye – Northern dialect word, meaning ‘besides’
Frankish – French, only France hasn’t quite been invented yet
Gildsmen – gilds were formal social groups of people with something in common, formed for mutual advantage. Members took an oath of loyalty to each other, feasted together regularly, funded gild-members’ funerals and prayed and paid for Masses for the souls of deceased brethren
Gospel book – a manuscript containing one or more of the Four Gospels – St Mark, St Matthew, St Luke, St John – of the Christian New Testament. They are the main account of the life and deeds of Christ
Grikkland – the Old Norse (and indeed modern Icelandic) name for Greece. Here referring to the whole Greek-speaking eastern Roman empire, not just the modern Greek nation state
Herra – Lord, just like Modern German Herr
House-carls – a Norse term for household troops in their lord’s personal service, often used as a bodyguard
Jarl – an Old Norse word essentially meaning ‘top aristocrat’. It becomes the Modern English ‘Earl’
Kist – chest, a Norse word still used in Northern England
Laiking – Northern dialect word, meaning ‘playing’ (compare Modern Swedish lekpark, playground)
Lectionary – a book containing the readings from the Bible needed by the priest for each day of the year
Matins – the first of the seven hours (church services) of the day, at cockcrow
Midden – where domestic rubbish was dumped; a compost heap, in effect
Miklagard – the Old Norse name for Constantinople (Istanbul) – literally ‘Big City’
Muniments – documents indicating ownership of land or other assets. In the tenth century, in the absence of bank vaults or domestic safes, many people would lodge their muniments at a church for safe-keeping
Necessarium/Need-house/Skitter-house – Latin/Old English/Old Norse for the loo
Numinous – possessing numen, a spiritual guiding power residing in a particular person, place or object
Oblates – a child on whose behalf binding religious vows have been taken, who grows up in a clerical or monastic institution. It was common practice in early medieval Western Europe to dedicate a child to the Church at a very young age – at or even before birth in some cases – but seven was the normal age to leave the birth-family and enter the religious house
Precentor – in charge of the cathedral music
Prestr – Old Norse, priest
Quires – the folded sheets of vellum (calfskin) from which a manuscript is made Ragr, nithing – these are both Old Norse insults which call a man’s heterosexuality into question
Reeve/Port-reeve – a reeve was an administrative official. Calling Thorvald the ‘Reeve of Bardney’ may be anachronistic as it isn’t until the eleventh century that we can see clearly that reeves are what we might now call an agent or a factor, managing the estate in the landowner’s absence. But someone must have done the job, and reeve is the best word for it. The port-reeve whom we meet in Lincoln is the Jarl’s agent in charge of overseeing the market
Reliquaries – the elaborate and valuable boxes which contained the bones and/or other relics of a saint
Sacristan – the church official responsible for guarding its treasures, such as the sacred vessels, the candlesticks, books and vestments
Serkland – the Old Norse name for the Abbasid caliphate, the Islamic empire whose capital was Baghdad
Shire-c
ourt – shire-courts were held twice a year, presided over by the lay and clerical authorities and dealing with the most important legal cases. It may be a little anachronistic to refer to a Mercian shire-court in 900. Wessex was divided into shires at this point, but Mercia had to wait until later in the tenth century for the modern shires (Worcestershire, Herefordshire, etc) to be imposed. However, there must have been an institution along these lines
Southron – a Northern form of ‘Southerner’
Thanes – most famous nowadays from Shakespeare’s Macbeth; they were (to generalise wildly) wealthy men, but not normally top aristocrats, who owed military service to the king. There were ranks within the thanely class; Wulfgar’s father was a king’s thane, which was the top rank. If anyone killed a thane, he paid to pay a manprice (wergild) of 1200 shillings
Thorndyke – thorn-hedge
Thralls – from the Old Norse word for slaves. It gives us Modern English enthrall
Thurifers – men or boys carrying thuribles, i.e. incense-burners, from Latin thus, incense
Tonsure – a circular shaven patch on the crown of a man’s head, indicating that he is ordained
Trash (in its original meaning!) – dead twigs, dry leaves, too small to be useful even for kindling
Trumpery – valueless
Tunicle – a wide, long-sleeved tunic worn by subdeacons, but not quite as elaborate or wide-sleeved as the deacon’s dalmatic
Utlendingar – Old Norse, outlanders, i.e. foreigners
Vespers – the late afternoon or evening hour (church service), held at dusk
Wadmal – from Old Norse vathmal, a densely woven, warm, hardwearing woollen cloth
Wave-Serpent – Old Norse poetry is full of kennings, poetic phrases which describe one thing in terms of another. Wave-serpent could be one of these and refer to a dragon-prowed Norse ship – maybe the one Gunnvor’s father sailed from Hordaland to England in?
Wergild – literally ‘man-money’. Everyone in Anglo-Saxon England had a wergild, which was the compensation a killer had to pay to the family. The amount varied according to social status, gender and ethnicity. It was an attempt to limit the damage that could be caused by a violent feud
Wether – a castrated ram
A note on currency:
In 900, the English unit of currency is the silver penny. Twelve of these make a shilling (but there is no shilling coin), and 240 pennies weigh a pound. Paying two shillings as a toll thus involves counting out twenty-four silver pennies – a very considerable sum. Scandinavians did not mint their own coins yet at home, but when they settled in England they began to imitate the coinage of the English kings. The Norse word øre comes originally from Latin aureus (gold coin). An øre was very approximately an ounce of silver, or about one-and-a-half English pennies. In Ireland a slave-girl was valued at three ounces of silver.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
No matter how many people I acknowledge, there are bound to be some meritorious names left off the list, if only because so many have contributed to the making of The Bone Thief in one way or another.
I was so lucky to have among my teachers in my last three years at school the inspiring writers George Szirtes, Peter Scupham, Neil Powell and Stephanie Norgate. From my Oxford days, I am endlessly grateful to Heather O’Donoghue and Ursula Dronke for my first lessons in Old English and Old Norse respectively, and to David Howlett for his valiant attempts to instil in me a proper understanding of Mediaeval Latin. At York, I had the great good fortune to be given a passion for archaeology by Martin Carver; a deeper understanding of Old English by Sid Bradley; and a sceptical approach to historical sources by Katy Cubitt and Edward James.
There are so many other friends in the academic world who have put up with me and my ramblings over the years: Helen Gittos; Sarah Semple; Sam Turner; Kate Giles; Farah Mendelsohn; David Petts; Jane Stockdale; Alice Jorgensen; Emilia Jamroziak; Lesley Abrams; Hannah Collingridge; Heather Cushing; Simon Trafford; Katherine Lewis; Joanna Huntington; Claire Woozley; Anna Selvey; Felicity Clark; Noel James; Howard Williams; Sybille Zipperer; John Blair; Alex Sanmark; Dawn Hadley; Chris and Alison Daniell – it’s been a great journey in your company and I hope you’re not too disconcerted to find yourself cited in this context. (Anne Brundle, you are sorely missed.)
Harry Bingham and Sophia Bartleet of The Writers’ Workshop were the source of tremendous encouragement in the early stages. I also have to thank the staff at Julia’s Café in Stromness, Orkney, for letting me colonise a corner to write in even at their busiest times. Other friends without whom I would never have got this far are Lucy Blackburn, Susie Holden, Jessica Haydon, Janni Howker, and in particular Sophie Holroyd (thanks, Soph, for badgering me to write fiction).
I can’t really credit my sisters or my cousins with support for this project as they had very little idea what I was up to until the last minute – but thank you anyway, Wendy Lord, Katie Thompson, Clive, Rebecca, and Alexandra Lacey, for so much, in so many ways, and over the last twelve years in particular. (And never, never forgetting Quentin.)
Laura Longrigg, my agent at MBA, has been amazing; and I am also blessed in my editor at Ebury, Gillian Green. My husband Ben has been the greatest help imaginable, particularly in keeping our daughter Stella off my keyboard. My debt to my late parents, Sheila and Miles Thompson, is beyond all calculation. But the deepest thanks must go to my aunt and my mother-in-law, who read early drafts with great patience and astute comments, and to them The Bone Thief is dedicated.
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