Avalon (29 page)

"Werra, werra —" said Finian soothingly. "Those cursed horses've bolted wi' the saddlebags or I could give ye a drop to calm ye down. We can see ye've had bad times. An' I begin to wonder do ye understand the English tongue?" For Poldu's ashen, sweating moon-face was a frightened blank. "Can you get this better?" continued Finian in Celtic. After a moment the prior nodded.

"Lord Rumon, come here!" said Finian sharply. "Betwixt the two of us, we can foind out what's happened."

Rumon stiffened and squared his shoulders. His trembling

Stopped. "Yes," he said, and turning to Poldu, added in halting Cornish, "Have you seen the woman Merewyn from Tre-Uther? Is she dead?"

Poldu shook his head. "She wasn't when they took her away in their longship, and it's because o' her that Vm alive. Don't know who else is." He pointed his fat hand back towards the monastery. "They slaughtered and burned everywhere. I've been here since yestermom when they spared me."

"What happened?" said Finian and sat down on another gravestone. Rumon remained standing, his arms folded tight against his chest; there were swirls of blackness in his brain which he ignored with a violent effort.

It must have been about dawn when they came, Poldu said. Nobody saw the Viking ship sail down the harbor, over the sandbar. But they saw it later: its carved snaky prow and stem, the solid flanking of round shields along the gunwhales and the great red striped sail with the black raven on it. Must have been fifty men aboard, and they landed near Tre-Uther because they burned that first, whooping and yelling, Couldn't've got much loot from there, and Merewyn escaped up the road with her two servants, the Vikings hot after her. Poldu didn't know what happened to the servants, but the young woman tried to take refuge in the church. They soon found her and because the chief — a great red-bearded fellow — obviously took a fancy to her, she was bound and thrown on the grass in the cemetery while they ravaged the church, putting everything they got from it aboard their ship, including the silver reliquary which contained some of St. Petroc's bones. "They burned the village," said Poldu, "and then they went for the monastery. I remembered the raid years ago, and ran for the same tree I'd been up then. But I couldn't get up it now. They soon caught me."

Rumon held himself very still, while Finian shook his head. "And then —" he said.

"They bound me and threw me in the churchyard near that

girl, yammering about a special sacrifice to Thor. Some of those devils were from Ireland, an' I could understand them a little."

Poldu went on to say that Merewyn never made a sound as she lay with thonged ankles and wrists in the cemetery, but that he, Poldu, knew of course who she was. She had come to the monastery upon her arrival, and requested someone to officiate at the burial of her aunt's heart in the church. Poldu had not bothered to do this himself, had sent a young monk who didn't know her story — but they all had a good laugh later in the Refectory about the appearance from England of Breaca's bastard. However, as Mereviyn lay bound in the churchyard and despite the terror of his own fate, Poldu had felt sorry for her. After burning the monastery, the chief and his men had returned to the churchyard. They had kicked Poldu, guffawing at his fatness and two of them rolling him like a tub between them. By then Poldu had recognized the captain in his horned helmet; he seemed scarcely older than when he had come before, but he had a lumpy purple scar across his cheek, which Poldu had seen clearly from his tree — and saw now.

This red-bearded leader went to Merewyn, and untied her anldes. There was no doubt what he had in mind. She gave a low hoarse scream and began to kick as hard as she could. The red-bearded man laughed and his men laughed. Then Poldu spoke up in a desperate shout.

"And so, you Norse fiend — you would rape your own daughter?"

The majority did not understand, but the Irish Vikings did. They cried in warning, "Ketil, Ketil!" which seemed to be the leader's name.

Ketil, who was already on top of Merewyn, looked up much astonished. He stared around and came over to Poldu, jabbering something and waving his battle-axe.

Poldu, though expecting the axe to finish him any moment, saw indecision in the scarred face, scented reprieve and repeated, "Your daughter. You were here twenty years or so ago. You

raped Breaca, the little dark woman at Tre-Uther, and you murdered her husband that very day. He'd not been home in four months. This woman is your child."

Ketil lowered the axe; he turned to the Irish-speaking Vikings and demanded to know what the prior had said. His men shifted uneasily, they stared at the ground, but two of them translated. Ketil went back to Merewyn who had gone limp as grass. He examined her carefully. Poldu had lifted himself on one elbow to see what was happening. Her eyes were staring blindly at the sky. Ketil gazed into them for a moment. He said something like "My mother" in a startled voice. He yanked down her bodice and examined her skin. He pulled loose from its long braid one half of her hair, and held the strands against his own beard. The hair mingled with his beard, darker, finer, but of the same reddish hue. His men drew around, murmuring and watching. One of them — a big young fellow with a beard like ripe com — said something, and Ketil listened. After a moment he nodded. It was odd, said Poldu, to see the change in all their faces which had been hideous with blood lust and jeering laughter. They became grave, thoughtful. They all drew aside near the church and conferred. Ketil spoke for some time pointing down to Tre-Uther and nodding again.

Then he spoke to the yellow-beard, and gave a command. The young man picked up Merewyn and slung her over his shoulder, but gently, as though she were a valuable burden. As she still remained completely limp, the young man transferred her to his arms, and ran down towards the ship.

Ketil, the chief, came over to Poldu and himself untied the prior's wrists and ankles. He said something in his heathen tongue, and made a solemn though mocking salute. Then he led his men out of the churchyard. As soon as he dared, Poldu got up, and saw the great dragon ship sailing down the estuary towards the sea.

Then Poldu collasped. The fear he had not quite felt earher

overwhelmed him. His legs turned to water. He could not move and he had stayed in the churchyard.

When Poldu finished his account, his jowls quivered. He looked at his two appalled listeners and whimpered, "I'm thirsty."

Rumon paid no attention. He drew a long harsh breath and said, "My Merewyn, my poor love. So now she knows. I suppose she knoiDsT

Finian looked around at the young man who stood with clenched hands, staring into the distance. "Knows what?" said Finian, anxiously inspecting Rumon for signs of extreme disturbance. "What d'ye mean?"

Rumon gave the monk a perfectly lucid, sad look. "Didn't you understand what the prior said?"

"Some o' it. That the red-beard raider, Ketil, was her father. Ye don't believe those vapors — do ye? This poor prior's maundering."

"No," said Rumon. "It is the truth. I've known it over eight years. And do you think they would have spared Poldu, if in his own way Ketil had not been grateful that Poldu stopped him from vile incest?"

"Ye amaze me," said Finian, screwing up his face as he digested this. So the Lady Merewyn was actually a Viking's brat, and unless matters were more sinister for her than Poldu's account would indicate, she would not be harmed. All very bad, Finian thought, but there were more pressing things to be considered. "We must see what's happened at the monastery," said Finian.

Rumon did not hear him. He continued to gaze down the estuary towards the open sea. "I shall go after her. It is my fault that this happened. Had I not insulted her at Glastonbury, had I not been such a vacillating fool then and earher — ah, I see it now. I'll find her this time, may Our Blessed Lord protect her, and I'll bring her back to what she and I both want."

Finian opened his mouth to protest, to point out the difficulties

of this pursuit — where would Rumon find a boat in the deserted village? How would he know where to go? But Finian did not protest. Rumon's tone convinced him. This was a man who had found a purpose at last. And all was in God's hands. No doubt it was God's wish that a Christian girl be rescued from the heathen murderers. If such a miracle could happen.

"Well, may all the saints help ye," he said, "and in the meantime," he took Poldu's fat arm and dragged him to his feet, "there's much to be done now."

The next morning Finian stood on the Padstow beach waving goodbye to Rumon, who had certainly so far received evidence of divine favor. A large fishing coracle had come back to Pad-stow at dawn. When the four fishmen saw what had happened to their village, they scarcely needed Rumon's money to persuade them to set out again. They were mad with grief and the lust for vengeful action — any action. Nobody would listen to Finian's tentative warnings. That even granted they could find the Viking ship, or catch up to her, what could five men do against the fifty aboard?

That was not the plan, Rumon said, with an icy determination Finian had never seen him show. He had been conferring with the ablest of the fishermen: one Colan, who had often been to Ireland and knew the christianized Norse settlements at Dublin, Cobh, and Limerick. This raid, said Colan, was obviously instigated by Vikings from the far Northern Seas who had persuaded some of their Norse-Irish kin to join them. They would undoubtedly return to Limerick for provisions and barter. There was a famous Icelandic merchant at Limerick, Rafn by name, who played both ends against the middle very cannUy. For silver he would do anything. And he could certainly raise an Irish force from the surrounding countryside to overcome these Viking murderers.

"So — Brother Finian," Rumon had said in the same con-

trolled way, "my plan to rescue Merewyn is not as foolish as you think."

Finian said no more. He saw many uncertainties in this expedition. He wondered if Rumon — notably averse to violence — realized what such a battle could mean if it did happen. Yet if the young man had divine guidance . . . ?

So he had shriven Rumon and celebrated Mass in the empty church and bidden him Godspeed.

And there went Rumon in the coracle, a proud diminishing figure in his velvet mantle, the favorable southeasterly wind blowing into the one lugsail while the fishermen paddled.

Finian returned wearily to Poldu and the ruined monastery. There were seven corpses to be decently buried, including Merewyn's two servants. But it might have been worse. Since Ketil had started his raid at Tre-Uther, the clamor had given warning in time for some escapes.

One by one they straggled in from hiding — four monks, ten of the villagers. They had no homes left; many of their precious pigs had been thrown on board — and other valuables such as wooden doors, fishing tackle, cheeses, casks of ale, and, of course, the ornaments from the monastery and church. But they were aHve.

Poldu seemed in a stupor. He drank water without protest. He ate the new peas one of his monks put before him, and did nothing else but sleep. Yet Poldu was amongst the lucky ones. His wife had died some years ago, and his son was on a visit to Truro, and had escaped the whole disaster.

Finian took charge. He buried the dead in the churchyard. He assured the wailing bereaved ones that the Blessed Lord Jesus would take these slaughtered lambs directly to his bosom. He forebore to express any displeasure at the ridiculous state of the so-called monastery — at the long-forbidden type of ear-to-ear tonsure exhibited by the monks, at their dirty white robes, at the two young women who returned from hiding and obviously belonged — as wives or not — to the monks.

When all was in order he walked around the ruined village, and even as far as the blackened shell of Tre-Uther. He came back and roused the somnolent Poldu.

"Bestir yourself, Brother!" he said. "You're leaving here."

It was some time before he made the prior understand, though Finian spoke in slow measured Celtic. Then Poldu raised frightened objections.

"I've the authority," said Finian, "invested in me by Lord Dunstan, the Aichbishop o' Canterbury, to whom — though you seem not to know it — you owe every obedience. Here's the parchment to show it."

Poldu gaped at the vellum document which he could not read, "That Viking ship'll probably never return," continued Finian. "But I understand this is the only dacent harbor within a hundred miles. Some other band of heathen may decide to try here, an' you've no means o' protection at all. I shall lead you, your monks, and the villagers who wish to, as far inland as Bodmin anyway. There they've a monastery with a prior who obeys the Benedictine rule, and you shall join them."

So Finian on his recaptured gelding and Poldu on Rumon's stallion headed a weeping procession away from devastated Pad-stow. Finian settled the little flock in Bodmin before he set ofi^ wearily on his own journey back to Glastonbury. He found that he missed Rumon, and worried about his safety — for which there was no recourse but prayers.

Rumon and his fishermen reached the mouth of the river Shannon on the sixth day after leaving Padstow. All had been favorable. The Irish sea was calm, and the coracle skimmed over the ripples with a following southeasterly breeze. They had been parched and starved until they touched the Irish coast past Cobh. There the fisherfolk welcomed them with food and drink and sped them on their way, having refused Rumon's offer to pay for their hospitality.

These Irish all hated the Norsemen who had gradually en-

trenched themselves into parts of their proud island, and they wept with sympathy at the tale of the Padstow raid.

It was drizzling when the coracle entered the Shannon. Ru-mon, exhilarated by the hope that this time he would find Mere-wyn, scarcely felt the wet, and stood up to see where might be a Viking ship.

Colan, the able skipper, reproved him. "Crouch down!" he cried. "Put that sealskin over yer shoulders! If they saw ye in that red mantle anyone'd know we wasn't an ordinary fishing boat. We must reach port wi'out their noting us."