The Sword of Wayland

by Gavin Chappell

  * * * * *

  The door banged shut behind them. Only a shaft of moonlight from under the door split the darkness in which they lay. Their fetters rang dully as they struggled to rise.

  ‘What now?’ Bork rumbled. When no one replied, Oswald heard him testing his manacles. After a few seconds, he ceased. ‘No use,’ he said. ‘Even I couldn’t break these.’

  ‘Godiva,’ Oswald wheezed piteously, straining vainly against his own chains. He could see nothing but her sweet face framed by that starched white wimple and black robes. What was she doing here? Why had she become a nun? He couldn’t believe it. He choked a sob.

  Edwin spoke from the darkness nearby.

  ‘Come on, Oswald,’ he urged impatiently. ‘Be a man! That won’t help. What we need is to find some way out of this situation.’

  ‘Don’t be an oaf, Edwin,’ moaned Oswald, his voice thick with grief. Clearly, the thief had no idea what had upset him. ‘We’re stuck here,’ he continued mournfully. ‘This is the end of the road. Tomorrow they’ll drag us out and hang us, and we’ll never get Wayland’s sword. The goblins will summon up the dragon and Cynethryth will seize the kingdom! We’re not getting out of this.’

  They heard a rustle from the far side of the small hut.

  ‘What…’ Bork started, then cleared his throat. ‘What was that the abbot said about… about a witch?’

  No one replied. The stirrings in the gloom grew louder.

  ‘Who’s there?’ demanded Oswald nervously. ‘Answer me!’

  Something brushed against his leg, and his chains clanked as he tried to roll away.

  ‘“Who’s there?”’ He heard a female voice, dry and rusty with disuse, mocking and sneering. ‘“Who’s there?” The witch is there, isn’t she? The wicked witch, who gobbles up bad children!’

  ‘Are you a prisoner?’ Oswald asked worriedly. Their companion didn’t sound entirely sane. ‘How long have you been here?’

  ‘Days, weeks, months,’ croaked the witch. ‘Who knows? Rats are my only supper; light is an ever-changing mystery.’

  ‘Old woman,’ Edwin said after this latest disturbing pronouncement, ‘why don’t you step into the light? Then we can see who we’re talking to. Are you elf or human?’

  ‘Old woman?’ the voice sneered. ‘Old woman? Do you call me a hag?’

  ‘Of course he doesn’t,’ Oswald said impatiently, hoping the witch hadn’t taken offence. ‘But we would like to see you all the same.’ He no longer knew what to believe. For all he knew, they could be locked up with an agent of the goblins.

  ‘Into the light?’ croaked the witch. ‘It’s a long time since anyone saw me.’ She hesitated. ‘I’m… shy.’

  ‘Why are you here?’ Edwin asked. ‘Did you cross the abbot? Did he accuse you of witchcraft?’

  The witch snorted. ‘Accuse me?’ she hooted. ‘Eventually. I had to convince him before he would. When I spoke of magic, he said it was a delusion of the Devil.’

  ‘Why convince him?’ Oswald asked, confused. Then he gasped.

  Into the shaft of moonlight stepped a female figure. But not the withered old crone they had been anticipating; rather a slender young woman of no more than seventeen summers, dark haired and soft-faced but with deep, penetrating eyes.

  ‘This is no hag,’ Bork remarked perceptively.

  ‘But bewitching nonetheless,’ Edwin said. ‘I’ve never seen so lovely a girl! Surely, the only charms you command are those wielded by any fair maiden?’

  ‘Smooth-tongued rogue,’ said the witch, darting a wicked glance in his general direction. ‘Oh, but if only that was the case!’

  ‘You are a witch?’ Oswald asked with a gulp.

  ‘I wish I wasn’t!’ she said fiercely. ‘My parents sold me to old Hilda when I was a brat. Another mouth to feed, and they couldn’t afford me. But that old sow of a wart-charmer wanted a successor, and she didn’t care how she trained me.

  ‘I hated it! Although she taught me every charm she knew, I could never cast any spells, until I had them by heart. But I couldn’t - I wouldn’t cast them! Even when she took me to the coven meeting and smeared the flying ointment on me, it just made my head whirl and my feet curl up.’ She shook her head. ‘But then I saw a way to escape her! I went to the abbot. I told him of her dealings with the Devil.’

  ‘He didn’t believe you?’ Oswald asked.

  ‘“Witchcraft is a delusion,” he told me,’ she said. ‘“A heathen belief that no Christian could countenance”. So I showed him! I hexed him with the worst curse old Hilda taught me.’

  ‘Did it work?’ Oswald asked curiously.

  She flashed her wicked grin at him.

  ‘I cursed him with boils on the privates and uncontrollable, unnatural lust,’ she said. ‘He laughed again, then he frowned. Then he started scratching. Then he began eyeing his clerk.

  ‘He had me flung in here as soon as he knew what was happening,’ she added. ‘I’d proved witchcraft true, so he decided he’d deal with me like his cursed Bible said. And Old Hilda’s gone scot-free, that old goat-swiving, elf-fancying baby-eater!’

  ‘You know, you might come in useful…’ Edwin said speculatively.

  ‘How?’ asked the witch scornfully, then added: ‘But what are you doing here?’

  ‘We had a little misunderstanding,’ Edwin replied, ‘concerning a sheep, a pimp, and an abbot. It’s a long story, and I won’t bore you with the details. But all that to one side, we’re on what you might call a quest…’

  By the time he had finished his explanations, the witch - who introduced herself as Alfrun - was wide-eyed with amazement.

  ‘Elves, woodwoses, dragons?’ she said. ‘It sounds like everything old Hilda said was true!’

  ‘You doubted it?’ Oswald asked. ‘Despite your own powers?’

  Alfrun flounced angrily. ‘Witchcraft!’ she spat. ‘I hate it! I’ll never use it again.’

  Edwin coughed apologetically.

  ‘Are you sure about that?’ he asked. ‘What a shame. I was thinking that maybe you could help us out of this situation.’

  ‘Wave my magic wand, you mean?’ Alfrun asked scornfully. ‘I’m no witch. Leastways, I don’t want to be one.’

  ‘But you cursed the abbot,’ Oswald pointed out.

  ‘And look where that got me!’ she snapped.

  ‘But if witchcraft got you in this mess,’ Edwin said slowly, ‘surely it’s only fitting that it should free you?’

  ‘How?’ Alfrun asked simply. ‘Don’t forget, there are two watchmen outside this lock-up.’

  Edwin laughed. ‘They’ll be no problem, eh, Bork?’ He clanked his chains. ‘These, on the other hand, are a different matter.’

  ‘Well, what am I supposed to do about them?’ Alfrun demanded.

  ‘Remove them, of course,’ Edwin said, as if it was obvious. ‘Use your magic.’

  ‘I don’t know how to,’ Alfrun said sulkily.

  ‘All magicians know how to free people from fetters,’ Bork rumbled. ‘I’ve seen it done.’

  Alfrun was silent.

  ‘Alright,’ she said at last. ‘I do know how - in theory. In fact, Hilda gave me a few rune staves for sticky situations…’

  She produced nine long thin staves of rune-carved beechwood on a thong around her neck, and flicked through them like a great lady searching her chatelaine for a particular key.

  ‘Here it is,’ she said finally, squinting at the runes on one of the staves.

  ‘Well, go on, then,’ Edwin urged. ‘Cast your spell!’

  Alfrun hesitated. ‘But I don’t want to be a witch,’ she insisted.

  ‘No one’s asking you to be a witch,’ Oswald said sternly. ‘Free us, and we’ll free you - and you’ll never need to use the dark arts again.’

  Alfrun looked thoughtful. After a while, she said; ‘On one condition.’

  Edwin groaned. ‘What now, woman?’ he said impatiently.

  ‘Take me with you,’ she commanded. ‘I can’t stay roun
d here - and I’m not going back to Hilda.’ She looked wistful. ‘Besides, I’d like to meet a few elves. Real ones, not Hilda’s hysterical imaginings.’

  ‘Take you with us?’ Oswald asked disapprovingly. ‘You’ll have to contribute something to our cause before we can afford another mouth to feed. Besides, this isn’t an exciting adventure, this is serious. The fate of the kingdom is at stake.’

  ‘Don’t patronise me, you stuck-up snob!’ Alfrun hissed. She folded her arms. ‘Take me with you. Or stay here and face the abbot’s justice.’

  Oswald sighed. He glanced in Edwin’s direction.

  ‘What do you think?’ he asked. ‘After all, we don’t want to leave here too quickly. It might be just as well to stay here until morning.’

  Edwin snorted. ‘Are you out of your mind?’ he demanded. ‘If this girl can get us out of here, give her anything that’s in our power to give! Why do you want to stay here, anyway?’

  Oswald’s voice was sombre in the darkness.

  ‘I must free Godiva,’ he said obsessively.

  ‘Godiva?’ Edwin asked. ‘Your betrothed? Are you saying she’s here?’

  ‘She was the nun who came into the abbot’s chambers,’ Oswald replied. ‘I don’t know what she’s doing there, but it is my intention to return and free her.’

  An awkward silence followed his words. Edwin broke it.

  ‘We’re in enough trouble as it is, Oswald,’ he said. ‘You want to go around abducting nuns?’

  ‘She’s my betrothed!’ Oswald shouted. ‘I must free her!’

  ‘I don’t see why you can’t do that if you escape now,’ Alfrun said. She held up her hands quickly. ‘Not that I’m promising anything, mind, until you agree to take me with you.’

  ‘If we wait till tomorrow, they’ll put us on trial,’ Oswald said certainly. ‘If they do that, we’ll be able to escape, and I’ll free Godiva.’

  Alfrun smiled pityingly. ‘That plan would be a bad one in Tamworth,’ she said. ‘And it’s worse out here on the frontier. They don’t put people on trial round there unless there’s a good reason for it. Out here they just drag you to the nearest tree and string you up.’

  ‘Look, we agree to take you with us, Alfrun,’ Edwin said. ‘She’s right, Oswald. Your plan is not good. I suggest you leave the thinking up to me in future. Alfrun, we’ll let you join us, but you’d better set us free soon, or we’ll all be dangling from an oak. I’ve already escaped the gallows once this year, and I’m not wanting to chance it again.’

  Alfrun was silent.

  ‘Very well,’ she said at last. ‘Move together, in front of me.’

  Grumbling and complaining, the three men heaved themselves across the floor towards her. Oswald halted at the witch’s feet.

  ‘Now what?’ he asked loudly.

  ‘Sssh!’ Alfrun hissed.

  Silhouetted against the moonlit door, she raised her arms, the rune stave in her left hand, and began to chant.

 

  Once the witches sat here and there;

  Some bound fetters, some chained fighters,

  Some unfettered the fettered:

  Flee from the fetters, escape from the foe!

  Then she fell to her knees, and blew gently on the chains that hampered the three outlaws. For a second, Oswald felt nothing.

  Then he heard a triple crash and clank, and felt almost weightless. The chains had fallen from his body.

  ‘By Our Lady,’ he murmured, feeling for the fallen chains. He found one, and touched it with his thumb. One of the links had been split clean through.

  He looked up at Alfrun, in wonder.

  ‘Well, hurry then!’ the witch urged. ‘Get me out of here!’

  Flexing his aching muscles, Oswald staggered upright. Pins and needles shot through his arms and legs, and in the darkness on either side, he could hear his fellow outlaws muttering as they went through the same experience.

  ‘Go on, then, Bork,’ Edwin said after a couple of seconds. ‘Smash that door down!’

  ‘Right,’ the berserker said.

  Oswald felt him brush past. A few seconds later, there was a crash from the door and it burst open, silhouetting its destroyer as moonlight and starlight poured into the dark hut. The two watchmen outside yelped with surprise.

  Oswald rushed forward to help, but before he was out of the lock-up, he heard the crunching thud of skull connecting with skull. He stepped through the shattered door to see Bork standing over the motionless bodies of the two men. The Dane stepped down and grabbed something. He flung it to Oswald. The thane seized it instinctively. It proved to be a hand-axe.

  ‘Careful,’ he said. He had almost failed to catch it. Bork straightened up with a second axe in his hand.

  Edwin and Alfrun followed them out of the hut.

  ‘All done?’ asked the thief. ‘Good. Come on.’

  ‘Where to?’ Oswald asked suspiciously. Edwin was heading for the inn.

  ‘Before we do anything, we’d better have a chat with Wilfred,’ Edwin said firmly. ‘Make sure he isn’t thinking of going off without…’

  His words trailed off. They had reached the inn courtyard now, and the spot where the wagoners had pulled up was visible. It was empty, apart from a few horses. Oswald assumed they belonged to other guests.

  ‘They’ve already gone!’ Edwin said with a curse.

  The words had hardly left his lips before the sound of shouting split the night. Oswald whirled round. A group of watchmen stood around the entrance to the lock-up, yelling and gesticulating. One glanced in their direction.

  ‘There they are!’ he bellowed in surprise. ‘After them!’

  ‘They’ve seen us,’ Oswald said. ‘What now?’

  ‘The horses!’ Edwin cried. ‘Quick!’

  He ran lightly over to the hitching post. Oswald and the others followed. With the skill of a born horse-thief, Edwin patted and reassured the nervous beasts, then untied them.

  ‘Stop those men!’ shouted one of the approaching watchmen. After a few seconds, lights flickered into life within the inn.

  Edwin leapt astride the bare back of a whinnying horse.

  ‘Hurry! There’s no time to saddle them,’ he shouted.

  Oswald mounted another, followed by Bork. Alfrun looked around self-consciously, then hitched up her skirts and mounted the last. She kicked the beast into motion, copying the other three as they rode for the square.

  The horses streamed into the market square, scattering the watchmen. ‘Ride for the south gate!’ shouted Edwin, and they thundered across the moonlit square.

  Edwin led them at a canter down a well-laid street, towards a closed gate. Here two warriors stood on guard.

  ‘What’s happening?’ one of them barked.

  ‘An attack from Wessex!’ Edwin shouted. ‘Let us pass!’

  Hurriedly, the two guards unbarred the gate, and swung it open. They rode out into the night. Edwin gave the guards one last cheery cry of ‘Oafs!’ as they galloped off down the Fosse Way.

  Dawn found them still on the road, where it descended from the Cotswolds towards the downlands of Wessex. In the distance, smoke rose from the roofs of Cirencester. There they would leave the Fosse Way and follow the Ermin Way south east for about thirty miles, before turning off down the Ridgeway, through the Vale of the White Horse.

  ‘Are they still following us?’ Alfrun asked, turning in her saddle, and staring off into the morning haze.

  ‘I think we lost them,’ replied Edwin. ‘We’re not far from the borders of Wessex now, and King Bertric’s men wouldn’t take kindly to an invasion of his territory. Certainly not in the autumn.’

  Oswald stared back down the road. The pursuit had been frantic while it lasted, and had left him with little time to think. But now realisation was sinking in again.

  ‘I’ve lost her,’ he said quietly.

  ‘What’s that, Oswald?’ Edwin looked keenly in his direction.

  ‘We must go back!’ Oswald said suddenly. ‘Godi
va - we’ve left her behind!’

  Edwin shook his head despairingly. The others gave the thane unfriendly looks.

  ‘Go back?’ Edwin said. ‘Get a grip on yourself, Oswald. We’ll never get back out of Stow in one piece. The hue-and-cry has died down, but if we go back, we’ll be riding the gallows tree to Hell before the day is out. Besides, we’re on a quest, remember? The safety of the kingdom is at stake.’

  Oswald lowered his head, and he stared down at the muddy road. He sat there for a while, and the others looked on uncomfortably.

  Finally, he raised his head. Conflicting emotions wracked his face.

  ‘Very well,’ he said sombrely. ‘We will ride to Wayland’s Smithy, and then to Wales, to foil Queen Cynethryth’s plot. But when it is all over, we must come back here and set Godiva free…’ His voice cracked, and he swallowed audibly. ‘I don’t know why she’s taken up holy orders, but I can’t help thinking maybe it’s my fault…’

  ‘Alright, alright,’ Edwin said, shaking his head. ‘We’ll do it. I promise. Now come on. We’ve got to cross the border. And that might be difficult…’

  They galloped off down the road to Cirencester, gateway to Wessex. As they rode, Oswald struggled to make sense of his thoughts. He felt lost, alone - unappreciated. None of his companions showed any sympathy for his plight. They were commoners, unaccustomed to the dilemmas that face those of noble blood. Their desires were simple, their pleasures base. Perhaps it was wrong for him to expect them to understand.

  Edwin rode at the front. He still hadn’t quite worked out who was leader, him or Oswald. The thane was the natural choice in many ways, and it was at his behest that they had taken up this quest. Edwin would have been content to continue a life of highway robbery, short and merry. But he wasn’t as unfeeling as Oswald seemed to think; he could see that the man was in pain, and he did sympathise. But he was unaccustomed to people who took themselves so seriously, and he found it difficult to react with sensitivity to Oswald’s spates of self-pity. He wished they could just reach the Smithy, get the sword, kill the dragon, and go back to their old lives.

  Alfrun rode beside him, unusually silent. She had never been this far from her own village, which lay to the northeast, on the far side of the wide and wild Wychwood. Even the landscape was different; as the hills gave way to rolling downland in the distance, and the far-off haze of the Wessex landscape, she realised how hemmed-in her life had been. Most of the villagers had avoided her, being a little afraid of the witch’s serving girl. She had been accustomed to others seeing her as the great adventuress, the madcap, daring one, who had once been to a Witches’ Sabbath in the depths of the forest. But the men she rode with were embarked on an adventure beyond her imaginings. She realised that there were deeper sub-currents to all this, that she had yet to fathom, but she looked forward to the coming weeks with a high heart.

  Bork brought up the rear. He would go anywhere and do anything, so long as Edwin was with him. Few people in this hostile land had treated him half as well as the little thief. Though he knew his father and his brother would sneer to see him having transferred his natural loyalties to a petty rogue, he cared little. The life of a robber was not unlike that of a Viking, the life his brother had always wanted to take up. Briefly, he wondered how old Ulf was getting on. Had he even survived the shipwreck? Somehow, he couldn’t imagine his brother dead.

  That was all in the past. Now he had drifted into stranger waters, and nothing was certain anymore. But the chances were high that adventure and plunder lay ahead, and what else did a simple Dane like him want, except wine, women, and song?

  Together, the four fugitives rode into the morning haze.

  8 THE VALE OF THE WHITE HORSE

  The cloisters were cool and shaded: a tranquil refuge from the cares of the world. But that morning, as Godiva walked round them with the steady, dignified gait that befitted her status as a novice nun, her mind was seething.

  What had happened to Oswald since his outlawry? He had fallen in with thieves, that much was clear - but had he taken up their ways? And was he to die for it? She couldn’t face that.

  Some months had passed since she first took up holy orders, and she had had the leisure to regret her decision. At first, her mind had been aflame with a burning desire to retreat from the world and find solace in religion. But that initial fervour had soon died down, and now all that kept her here was the knowledge that the world outside was an even worse place.

  And the unexpected reappearance of her betrothed seemed only to confirm this. She should hate him, she knew it. But somehow she found it impossible to consider his imminent execution without a sob. But justice was swift in this corner of the kingdom. Oswald would ride the gallows at noon - and her life would at last be empty.

  ‘Sister Godiva!’

  Godiva turned at the abbot’s call. He was waddling across the cloisters towards. She withstood his burning gaze, wishing she had never chosen to join a mixed house, as he came to a halt before her.

  ‘The man who was here last night, and his companions - what did you know of him?’ he demanded, unconsciously reaching down to scratch at his groin.

  Godiva swallowed. ‘Is he... Are they to hang today?’

  The abbot snarled.

  ‘No!’ he admitted fiercely. ‘They made it to the border, and my men were too afraid of the march-wardens of Wessex to pursue them. Do you know they are wanted not only by the civil authorities, but by the Church as well? Edwin the Lawless is a savage foe of the archbishop, and doubtless his heathen comrade has no love for the True Faith. They are wanted in connection with innumerable crimes, from assaulting senior churchmen to issuing challenges to Archbishop Higbert himself.’

  He paused, as if remembering where he was, then looked Godiva up and down. Almost involuntarily, he reached out to touch her cheek, and she shrank away. Then he seized her chin and tilted her face up to gaze into her eyes.

  ‘You knew the other one, did you not?’ he asked, moving closer.

  Godiva felt a lump in her throat. She blinked away sudden tears.

  ‘We were betrothed,’ she whispered. ‘He was a thane of the king once, the son of my father’s friend.’

  ‘You were betrothed to a thief?’ the abbot growled. ‘Harlot!’ he panted.

  ‘He was a thane!’ Godiva exclaimed. ‘Don’t touch me!’

  ‘I know you bed all the monks,’ the abbot said madly, fumbling at her robes. ‘But I won’t subject you to the correction you so richly deserve - not if you share your favours with me as well...’

  Godiva slipped out of his grasp, and glared at him, outraged.

  ‘Lies!’ she shrieked. ‘I am chaste!’

  ‘Come to my chambers now!’ said the abbot, half commanding, half pleading. ‘I must have you!’

  ‘That witch turned your brains, my lord abbot,’ said Godiva pityingly. ‘You have told me so many times of the lecherous thoughts that lead one to possession by devils. Look to your own before you find fault with others.’

  And with that she swept through the nearest arch and vanished into the abbey, leaving the abbot speechless.

  This was not the first time he had made improper advances on her, nor had it been the worst. Again, she railed against the fate that had incarcerated her here in this pit of torment. If things had gone otherwise, she would be Oswald’s bride by now, not Christ’s - the lady of the manor, with a rich, handsome husband who loved her.

  She should hate Oswald, but she couldn’t bring herself to do that. It was still impossible to believe that he was such a rogue; even now that she had seen him with his robber companions.

  Her heart ached. She wondered what he was doing now.