Moyra Caldecott (22 page)

Unfortunately, the first adventure that came to his mind was to attack the province of Lindsey and wrest it from the hold of the Mercians.

Wulfhere at this time, with the conquests that he had made and the alliance with the Kentish royal family through his wife, was overlord of all the southern English. His power and influence was growing stronger every day, and since Oswy’s death rumours were being brought to Bamburgh that he was plotting to extend his influence north of the Humber, thinking that Egfrid was no match for him.

This rumour was too much for Egfrid. He wanted to show his childhood hero his new-found strength, and test his skills against him. He also wanted to make sure that no one thought he was a weakling under the thumb of his wife.

Against Etheldreda’s advice he took his men south, and Lindsey once more became a pawn in the game of power between Mercia and Northumbria.

Wulfhere was not expecting an attack, all his advisers and spies having told him that Egfrid was useless at everything except drinking, womanising and playing at soldiering. He was occupied on his western borders when the attack on Lindsey came, and Egfrid won an instant victory.

Beside himself with excitement at his achievement he rode back to Bamburgh. On his arrival he did not go straight to Eormenburh as he normally would have done, but strode, still clad in his dirty fighting clothes, into the bedchamber of his wife.

He held a torch above his head and looked down at her triumphantly.

Startled, she woke and sat up, staring at him in amazement, her long hair flowing around her like silk.

‘Lindsey is mine. I have taken, it,’ he announced, and waited breathlessly for her commendation.

It did not come.

She drew her wraps about her and stared at him.

‘All those people killed – for what?’ she said coolly.

The flames danced on her gold hair, her pale, cold skin.

His face went black with rage.

‘For me!’ he shouted. ‘For my kingdom and my throne!’

‘Egfrid…’ she started to say, horrified at the passion in his voice.

He pushed the torch into the iron wall socket and then strode back to her bed.

‘I have taken Lindsey and I will take you,’ he said bitterly, seizing her shoulder and tearing her wraps from her.

She slipped from his grasp and fled to the other side of the room, pulling her clothes on with shaking hands. He lurched after her but lost his footing, the small mat beside her bed caught in his foot, and, cursing, he grabbed a chair to save his balance. By the time he was in control again she was gone. Furious, he seized the torch again and flung it on the bed.

When the agitated servants came running they found him standing in the room staring at the flames that had consumed the furs and were now roaring towards the tapestries. Tears were streaming down his cheeks.

‘My lord!’ they cried, some taking his arms and hauling him out of danger, others beating at the fire.

Etheldreda had run straight from him to the stables, saddled her horse, and with only a young groom to accompany her, ridden down to the harbour. The groom woke the startled master of a boat that lay to at the quayside and demanded that it be made ready to sail the queen south to Whitby as soon as the tide was right.

The groom was then sent back to the king with a message to be delivered as soon as the boat was under way.

No news had come to Hilda of what had occurred at Bamburgh. She greeted her friend warmly and insisted on her having food and drink as soon as she arrived.

Etheldreda sat quietly listening to the gossip of the great abbey, her head throbbing, but saying nothing about the reasons for her sudden visit. Eanfleda and her daughter, the young Elffleda, were present and she didn’t want to talk about Egfrid in front of them.

After the meal Hilda insisted that she listened to a song although she protested that she was not in the mood for singing.

‘Listen to this one song, my friend,’ Hilda said. ‘It is no ordinary song, I promise you.’

A rough looking peasant was brought in. Etheldreda was told his name was Caedman, and that he had received the gift of song in a dream, from an angel. She was so tired she could hardly concentrate. Everything seemed to be swimming around her, the firelight, the faces of her friends, the flickering shadows. She longed to sleep. Then Caedman began to sing, and his voice was unbelievably fine and pure, his words falling into her mind like crystals dropped into a clear pool, the ripples of their meaning travelling outwards from the centre far beyond the words of any song she had ever heard. He sang of the Lord of Creation. He sang of the earth. Etheldreda’s agitated thoughts were stilled, her weariness forgotten. She began to see her relationship with Egfrid and what had just happened with such clarity she knew that the fault was by no means all on his side.

The song ended and Hilda was eager to tell her about the singer. ‘There is no doubt that something really extraordinary took place here,’ she said as soon as the man left the room. ‘Up to a few weeks ago he could scarcely put two words together. He has been looking after horses all his life and hardly had occasion to talk with men. In fact, when he was with others and the harp was being passed around after a meal he would slip out and go back to the stables to avoid the embarrassment of having to take his turn at singing.’

‘The song he sang was beautiful,’ Etheldreda said, still half dazed by the power of it.

‘His word-hoard is as rich as a poet who has been storing and using words for a long time,’ Eanfleda said with tears of pleasure in her eyes.

‘One night,’ Hilda said, ‘he was sleeping in the stable when he saw a man standing beside him. “Caedman” the man said, “sing me a song.” Caedman shrank back and told him that he couldn’t sing, but the man reached out his hands towards him and looked into his eyes. “You will sing for me,” he said. Caedman felt suddenly wonderfully confident. He even laughed to think how all those years he had refused to sing. “What shall I sing about?” he asked cheerfully. “Sing about the creation of all things,” the man said, and immediately Caedman found that words and melody were flowing from him as easily as water from a spring. When he woke he could remember the song vividly and the next morning he sang it to the reeve, who brought him to me. He sings for us every day now,’ Hilda said happily. ‘We tell him a story from the Bible and he puts it into a verse straight away.’
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She paused and looked hard at Etheldreda. Something was wrong. ‘What is it my friend?’ she asked. ‘Surely this story should make you happy. It’s a sign of God’s continual grace to us.’

Etheldreda shook her head and the tears began to flow. ‘I know,’ she sobbed. ‘It’s a lesson to me. I’ve been so busy with worldly matters lately I’ve scarcely stopped for a moment to notice if miracles were happening or not!’

Eanfleda and Elffleda quietly and tactfully withdrew, leaving the two close friends together. It was some time before Etheldreda stopped weeping but when she did she lifted her blotched and desperate face to Hilda and told her everything that had occurred and everything that she feared.

‘What must I do? Oh, Hilda, what must I do? I can’t go back to him and yet I can’t leave him. The people need me. I know he is not capable of ruling them.’

Hilda shook her head. ‘I can’t tell you what to do. There is only one who can – and that is the Lord.’

Etheldreda was ashamed. This was advice she herself had given to many people in her life, and yet she had to receive it now from someone else. Hilda, seeing the expression on her face, kissed her wet cheeks.

‘Spend the night in the chapel,’ she said gently. ‘I’ll see that you’re not disturbed. But I’ll give you one piece of advice. Think of Egfrid – not only of yourself. I think you have thought too little of him over these years, my sister.’

Etheldreda bit her lip, the tears welling up again. Caedman and Hilda together had opened a door she had been trying to keep shut. ‘I tried, after Oswy died,’ she said sadly. ‘I truly tried. But there was so much to do. There never seemed to be any time.’ Her voice trailed away. How often had she pointed out to others that the moments were there and it was our choice what use we made of them?

That night in the chapel she tried to pray as she used to pray, and realised with a shock that even in prayer her mind had become too busy and too worldly. She found herself asking for things, pleading and wheedling.

‘Egfrid is a burden to me,’ she caught herself thinking. ‘Please take the burden off my shoulders.’

At Ely she had learned to pray a different way, a way that she had known was right by the feeling of joy it gave her. It had been a gradual going into Silence, a listening, and a waiting. She had learnt that when you asked the Christ-God for help for yourself or for others you did not list and specify and bargain. You offered the problem to Him for His help confident that He knew better than you did what was needed.

‘These things I have spoken to you, while I am still with you. But the Counsellor, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, he will teach you all things, and bring to your remembrance all that I have said to you.’
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Of all the gospels, Saint John’s was the one that spoke most directly to her.

She bowed her head, knowing that she had lost the art of listening to His counsel. Her days were governed by what she wanted to do and how she thought it should be done. First one thing and then the other had led her further and further into the noise of the world, further and further away from the quiet inner voice of the Counsellor.

Just before dawn she went for a long walk, down the steep hill from the headland where the monastery was built, through the little village that nestled in the bay. The tide was out, and so instead of the sea beating against the cliffs there was a long stretch of beach for her to tread. First light was touching the wave tops, making the cliffs look darker in contrast. The first gull winged above her seeking the return of the first fishing boat.

She shivered at the beautiful, cold clarity of it all, the feeling of renewal and excitement that dawn always brought with it. She thought of something she had heard about Cuthbert when he was at Coldingham. A brother monk had noticed that after the others had performed the last office of the day, instead of going to sleep for the few hours that were allotted to them for this purpose, he crept out of the building and disappeared into the night. Thinking that he would catch him at some sinful work, he followed him. Cuthbert took the path down the cliffs to the beach, the monk close behind him. To his amazement Cuthbert walked straight into the sea and stood there for the rest of the night, only his head showing above the water in the moonlight. Stiff and cold and ashamed the brother monk returned to the monastery knowing that the bell for the early vigil would soon be rung. Cuthbert was not late for the vigil. His clothes were dry, his face fresh and peaceful.
[20]

The brother told his fellows and several accompanied him on another night. The same thing happened. But this time two young seals followed him as he came out of the sea and for a while the brothers watched the three of them playing on the beach as though they were children. The exercise and the frequent rubbing of their fur against him made him dry.

Etheldreda removed her shoe and touched the water with her toe. It was freezing. The air was prickling with invisible ice.

She remembered the Irish monk Fursey from her childhood and how Hilda and she had tried to emulate him by walking in the snow with bare feet.

She took off her other shoe and threw them both back up the beach out of reach of the sea. Then she stepped into the water and gasped as her legs almost buckled under her with cramp. The sky blazed with sudden fiery brilliance as the sun came up over the horizon and a shaft of dazzling light shot across the watery leagues and drove like an arrow into her heart. She cried out and the cry was of a lonely child seeking its Comforter, its Counsellor, its Protector and Mentor.

Suddenly she felt no cramp, no cold. She found herself walking along the golden path that led from the beach to the sun, the air filled with singing and with a million sparks of light. Beings swirled around her, bodiless yet recognisable to her in bodily form. It was as though all the barriers between the realms were down.

A fisherman returning from the sea found her lying on the beach unconscious, the waves washing over her.

Chapter 20

Eormenburh

Etheldreda lay ill at Whitby for some time, but when she recovered she returned to Bamburgh. She was much paler and thinner than when she had left, but she was calmer. She had resolved to ask Egfrid to allow her to leave the castle and become a nun, realising that for his peace of mind as well as for her own, the arrangement they had had for more than ten years could not go on. She was also sure that she could not do justice to either world by straddling both as she had before.

The king was away when she arrived, and, hearing that Wilfrid was at Lindisfarne, she decided to go there at once to ask his advice.

The holy island was only an island at high tide. At low tide miles of pale sand stretched out towards it and it was possible to walk to it. On the mainland shore, where the sea did not normally reach, the sand was held against the wind by tall grasses that shivered and stirred in the sea breeze, and caught the gold of the sun.

Etheldreda insisted on going alone, walking over the dry sea bed at low tide, listening to the sound of sea birds and the distant hush of the water. From time to time she stooped and picked up shells until the little leather pouch she carried at her belt was full. She looked at the heavy rings on her fingers and they seemed gross and crude compared with the exquisite delicacy of the sea treasure she was gathering. Her heart ached to return to the natural life, the holy life, close to God’s infinite wisdom.

As she drew nearer to the island there were times it disappeared from view behind a sand dune, as though it didn’t exist and she was following a dream. But it was there and where the land rose enough for grass to grow, boats were drawn up like stranded fish and some of the brothers were working on the nets.