The View From the Cart (39 page)

The horseman swung round to face the newcomer. Cuthman stood alone, his long woollen cloak wrapped round him, his own beloved crucifix in his hand. They examined each other for a long moment.

‘Aha! A young saint, I see,' the man said. ‘This is a strange place indeed. But God or Stone, heathen or not, makes no difference. The land of Sussex has its own ways, which we are content to respect for the time being. We are not so earnest to force the Lord Jesus upon these southern tribes, as they are in the north. Though Kent is strongly of the Christian faith, of course.'

Cuthman said nothing, but stood defiant. I knew nothing of Kent, or where it might be, and I did not believe that Cuthman was any wiser than I was on the subject. The King's messenger seemed a wonderful creature to me, and to the other people of the village. Wonderful and intimidating in his knowledge of the world and his assumed power to impoverish us.

‘But whatever gods may prevail, the tribute must be paid,' he repeated. He tone softened a little. ‘It seems harsh, I know. We live in times of great change, after so much conflict and death – which perhaps you have not known of, hidden away on your fertile little plain. I can see that my coming is a great surprise to you. It has been the same across this area. I have been to Goring and Lancing, Sompting and Offing – so many little tribes living in peace across these seaward slopes. It is an idyll, which we do not wish to molest. But it is of great importance that we unite together, under the one King, so that our lives may continue to be peaceful and prosperous. You must believe me in this. You have no choice but to do so, but I very much hope that you will give the tribute willingly. The King has planned a summer tour of the South Saxon shores, and will be here to speak to you himself at that time.'

‘We have no wish to meet your thieving King,' Fippa called, her voice deep with anger. ‘We have all that we need, and your talk of war means nothing. No-one here has known war and we can see no cause to expect it now.'

‘We will pay your tribute.' Cuthman spoke calmly, though a light shone in his eyes.

‘No!' Fippa screamed. ‘No, we will not. We have not so much as that to give away.'

The people looked from one to the other, like sheep between two wolves. Though I fancy Cuthman seemed to them then the more threatening of the two.

‘We owe respect to the King,' said Cuthman. ‘He might do much for us here. And it would be folly to defy him, I see that now.'

‘You speak wisely, young Christian,' approved the messenger. ‘I have no wish to make threats, but it is plainly the case that if he desired to do so, the King could bring a single cohort of his army and annihilate you all, in a brief morning's work. You are entirely powerless. And perhaps you will also see that the same is true whoever seeks to attack you. You must take my word for the risks you run. There are peoples across the sea who would invade this lush land, and come armed in stout ships. You would be over-run and murdered in moments. But if you posted scouts to watch for the sails, and sent signals to the King's camps, there would be time to save you. All loyal subjects may call upon the King to safeguard them.'

‘You repeat yourself,' Fippa growled. ‘And still we see no danger.'

The messenger ignored her and fixed his gaze on Cuthman. ‘There, I think, is the true leader of this tribe,' he smiled. ‘A man of vision, who seems to glow with destiny. I have visited many such settlements as this, but in none did I see such a fellow. And nowhere is there a church of God. I foresee great changes for this village, and I shall advise the King to make it his first call. There are many interesting possibilities here.' He turned to the sea inlet, frowning at the hills beyond the water, and then scanned the forest to the north. ‘A natural harbour,' he murmured. ‘Well protected, well hidden, indeed.' Then a little louder, ‘What is the name of this place?'

‘We are the Steyning,' replied Fippa, surly but uncowed. ‘The people of the Stone.'

‘And your name, young sir?' he enquired of my son.

‘Cuthman is my name.'

The horseman turned to his companions. ‘Remember that, then. Cuthman of Steyning.' They nodded, in all seriousness, and I felt a thump of excitement at the events of that morning. Talk of Kings and wars lifted us from our daily lives; talk of destiny and change made us feel we had some importance in the world. I understood that Cuthman had anticipated me – that he had seen the promise almost from the first, and resolved to make what he could of this visitation.

‘Eat with us,' he invited the horsemen. ‘Rest a while.'

They accepted his invitation and the villagers provided meat and bread and ale, though somewhat grudgingly. The messenger sat with Cuthman, and I found a seat close by, ignored by them both.

‘The church is almost built,' the man remarked. ‘Have you a consecration arranged?'

Cuthman stammered a little at that. ‘I – I know of no-one who might perform that service for me. I shall call on the Lord God Himself to consecrate it. It is built properly, facing the east, with a stone altar and shrines ready for adoption on either side.'

The visitor smiled at the boyish earnestness of the words. ‘You have done well,' he said kindly. ‘I shall certainly mention you and your works to the King.'

There was nothing more said of the tribute until just before they rode away again, as the sun began to sink. The days were still short, and the light pale.

‘One month,' said the messenger. ‘Mark it well, and have your beasts assembled here. We will not be late in making the collection.' He signed to the man with the parchment, who unrolled it again and read the list through to remind us. It was curious how it seemed shorter and less impossible on the second hearing.

‘We make no promise,' Fippa sustained her defiance. ‘We will discuss it amongst ourselves.'

The man settled more comfortably on his saddle and smiled tolerantly. ‘I thank you for your hospitality,' he said. ‘I will not forget Steyning, and its amusing contradictions.'

When he had gone, Fippa rushed up to Cuthman, and began to snarl in his face like a mad dog. ‘
I
am the one to speak for these people. Who are you to give away our creatures and our provisions?'

‘I see the future more clearly than you do, crone,' Cuthman spoke up strongly. ‘The King's messenger is not a man to defy lightly. We would be wise to conform to his requests. We have sheep and goats and ale enough, as you know full well.'

‘And you seek his favour for your church, and yourself as priest. I see it only too well, my friend. I begin to wonder who offers us the greater danger – the King's army or the newcomer with his ambitions to rule us.'

‘The two between them might offer you a great destiny.'

‘Me? Might
I
know a great destiny?' She squinted fiercely at him, her finger stabbing crookedly into his chest. ‘What can you see for me, my friend?'

He swallowed once or twice, controlling his anger. ‘You are old, Fippa. You have known power and the people have respected and feared you. It seems to me that you time is almost done and there is no preventing the changes which are to come. And more – it seems to me that we do no good by hesitating. The time has come for your Stone to give way to my church. A man cannot truly serve two gods.'

A vision came to me, hearing that, of the great white striding god we had seen on the hillside at Cerne Abbas, with the monastery thriving only a few paces distance away, and I doubted the truth of my son's words. And I doubted their wisdom even more.

In the following weeks, we were refreshed by a damp westerly wind, bringing the scents of spring, faint but hopeful. New growth showed green under the trees in the forest, leaves thrusting through, which would become bluebells and Lent lilies in due course. The cruel starkness of winter was over, although we would have cold days yet in plenty.

Cuthman came down his hillside early on the day of the spring equinox, walking with a purpose which I recognised from earlier days. As if he had woken to find God at his bedside, I thought. I had woken early myself, with a stretching sensation in my belly which was not new, but which had a certain purpose of its own that I suspected was of some import. I knew already that it was to be a day of great moment. The balance of day and night, the unmistakable tipping into another warmer season, giving cause for hope and celebration.

I saw from my hut that Cuthman had gone to the byre where the oxen belonging to Garth and Welf had their quarters. I recalled hearing Garth announce, the previous evening, that if dry, this day would be spent ploughing a piece of land close to the forest edge, for planting with corn seed. The demands of the King's tribute required us to grow extra this year and there was no time to waste. There was thus an implied agreement that Cuthman could not use the oxen that day. Indeed, his need of them was almost done, with the church so nearly finished, and it had not seemed necessary to make the point overtly. He was now only waiting for the right season to gather rushes and dry them for his roof, before the entire edifice was complete. At nightfall there would be a ceremony around the Stone, to mark the equinox.

I dozed again, distracted by the weight of my belly and the warm pleasure of lying so close to Frith. If my child were to come soon, then so be it. I had expected another moon to pass before my time was on me, but the previous days had warned me that this might be a miscalculation.

Women everywhere will testify to the all-consuming nature of childbirth. In the final stages, there could be earthquakes or wars and a labouring woman would pay no heed to any of it. The same is true of the early days afterwards. Events or stories from that time make no impression, when there is a new baby at the breast, a new little person to get acquainted with and to keep safe from harm. And so it was with me, in part. That long strange decisive day came to me in snatches, as my belly asserted itself over my attention. It is disjointed in my memory and some of it I can scarcely believe truly happened, but there are other witnesses than I, who will confirm that it did.

And then came a surprise. Instead of Fippa's sons leading the oxen to set to ploughing, I saw Cuthman emerge from the byre, the beasts plodding obediently behind him. I watched as he led them to the Stone, and hitched stout ropes, attached to their yoke, around the sacred object.. He was seen by one or two early risers, who raised the alarm. Before long, the whole village was standing in a circle, shouting their protests and horror, but making no move to prevent him. Only when Fippa marched out of her hut, her hair even wilder than usual and sleep blearing her eyes, did the conflict truly begin.

And even then, she was for a time speechless with outrage. ‘These are
my
oxen!' she began, and I could understand that this would be for her the final affront. ‘And you use them to tear down the thing that is held most sacred here? The gods will strike you if you do this deed. You will be cursed forever.
I
shall curse you. Stop now, and go back to your hilltop where you can do no harm.'

Cuthman acted as if she were silent and invisible. He began to drive the oxen forward, the ropes growing taut between them and the Stone.

‘Does your God have so little power that he cannot permit us to keep our old ways?' Fippa demanded. Her eyes were clearer now, and darted back and forth as she summoned her forces. No-one had expected the confrontation to come so quickly, least of all Fippa. She seemed to me like a rat, using all its courage and cunning to escape from a dangerous trap.

I had risen and gone outside with the rest of the people, and Frith stood beside me, his arm about my shoulders. I had said nothing to him about my bodily sensations, but he began to guess, as my breathing changed, and I cradled the great lump of my belly in my hands. It felt good to be standing, and the absence of any pain in my back was deeply reassuring. I had already reasoned that I might do myself most good by standing, or crouching forward, so that there would be little strain or pressure on my spine, and now I believed that this would prove my salvation. Only the prospect of an unnaturally large infant continued to frighten me.

‘A man cannot worship two gods,' Cuthman cried, again as he urged the oxen forward.

‘Come, you men, come and save our Stone,' Fippa bellowed, desperately. Her sons, perhaps angry more about the oxen than the Stone, trotted forward at her demand. Three or four others followed. Then came a trial of strength between the men and the beasts, which seemed to last an age. There was much shouting, and cursing, and I heard Fippa above the others.

‘I call upon the Great Goddess of the Earth, in her power and goodness, to curse you, Cuthman of the cart. I call upon you a sickness which will never leave you, and a restless spirit which will know no peace. Nothing that you do, from this day forward, will bring pleasure or contentment. If you do this thing, you will suffer for it. I promise you that.'

She repeated this and more besides, shrill and furious. I shuddered and pitied my son more than the frantic witch-woman who saw the centre of her life falling away.

The oxen strained at the ropes, but the force of six strong men and the skilful planting of the Stone itself, defied their efforts. The sky above was ragged with wispy cloud, as if reflecting the uncertain struggle on the ground below. Suddenly Cuthman released the beasts, which he had been pulling forward, and stood back. For a moment, everything went quiet – even my blossoming belly.

‘Woman,' he hissed, more malevolent than I had ever seen a person be. ‘Be silent with your foolish curses. What folly leads you to think they can have any power over me?'

‘You overreach yourself,' she screamed. ‘You are nothing, and nobody. We accepted you, gave you a place to live though you did no useful work, food to eat which you had not grown. We allowed your church to disfigure our hill. And how are we repaid? By this evil act of desecration. You and your God will suffer for this, believe me. You may achieve fame, you may convert the whole of this country, and yet it will bring you no joy.' Her ranting became muddled in my head after that, a voice echoing and throbbing, tied in with a new pain which gripped me and made me moan.