The Way of Wyrd (12 page)

Wulf said nothing, busily scraping leaves and loose vegetation over the covered hole in which he had buried the broken rune-staves. I feared that I had offended him and was trying to find a way of placating him when he suddenly stood up and started to whistle in a strange but melodic fashion. Almost at once, I recognized a convincing mimicry of the song of a blackbird. Wulf watched me quizzically, blond eyebrows raised, eyes twinkling with humour.

‘The birds speak to me as surely and clearly as you do,’ he said. ‘Their songs are like incantations from the spells of wyrd.’

He resumed his inane whistling. At that moment I heard a rustling sound behind me and turned just in time to see the glossy blur of a blackbird launching into flight from a shrub; it passed directly over us and with a wet splash a lump of bird droppings streaked onto my tunic. Wulf collapsed with laughter.

‘If you understand the omens of birds, you would have realized what the bird was going to do.’

His shoulders bobbed up and down, laughter bubbling out of him, spilling around the clearing and bouncing back from the trees. I felt a sudden thrill of companionship, an almost tangible warmth between us. I felt as if, long ago in some other existence, we had sat together in a forest clearing and laughed until we cried.

‘Come on,’ Wulf chuckled, slapping my arm playfully. ‘We have no more time for talk of runes and ravens.’

Quickly cleaning my tunic with grass, I collected up my sack, bag and cloak and, with a final glance downriver towards the spot where the ravens had disappeared, I followed Wulf back into the forest shadows.

THE SETTING sun sat on distant hilltops like an orange-painted shield and the afternoon light began to fade. Wulf stopped on a ridge and pointed to a thickly wooded valley below, lying sea green in the descending dusk. I followed the direction of his arm and saw grey fire-smoke drifting in the wind above the trees, half-way up the opposite slope. Beneath the smoke, in a small area cleared of trees, sat a large timber hall surrounded by a stockade, with houses and huts spilling down the hill towards a stream at the base of the valley.

We set off downhill towards the settlement and when it dropped out of sight behind the trees we followed the plumes of smoke rising above the tree line like beacons. Dense stands of beech and birch opened into fields cleared for ploughing and eventually into a meadow which sloped up towards the large hall dominating the skyline. As soon as we entered the meadow I heard a dog bark and looked nervously at Wulf; in my homeland a traveller leaving the road either shouts or blows a horn, lest he may be regarded as a thief to be killed or ransomed.

Several figures emerged from the shelter of the buildings, stood stock-still in the shadows watching our approach and then yelled something back into the compound. To my consternation a dozen or more men came out of the gate and hurried down the meadow towards us. But far from being hostile, they approached Wulf with deference, ducking their heads and grinning like nervous dogs. A small detachment of children ran towards us, looking expectantly into Wulf’s face; suddenly one of them darted forward, touched his tunic and then dashed off, laughing and shouting with the others. Two women joined the throng and presented Wulf with an armful of dyed linen, apparently as a gift. Throughout all the excitement Wulf behaved almost regally, as if he had expected such a welcome. The whole scene was confusing to me; I could not fathom the significance Wulf held for the people of the settlement.

Suddenly, I noticed several people eyeing me suspiciously and I realized that I would have to reveal my status as an observer of their customs and beliefs. I cursed myself for not having worked out a false identity with Wulf.

Wulf turned towards me. ‘This is Wat Brand,’ he announced. ‘A friend. He journeys with me.’

The perfunctory introduction seemed to result in immediate acceptance of my presence: men shook me by the hand, their eyes shy and guarded and it was clear from their demeanour that I was being accorded high status as Wulf’s companion.

We were led up the meadow, past houses and huts and into the compound of the main hall, surrounded by a timber-stake stockade. Two goats tethered in the lee of a building stopped eating, looked up with interest and then resumed their busy munching. Clucking chickens scattered as we walked across the compound to a house adjacent to the main hall; it had a good, steep thatch and a sturdy timber weather-porch protecting the entrance. Wulf and I were ushered into the house, the door latched behind us and the excited chatter of people outside gradually faded into the distance.

The one-room house was cool and dark, save for chinks of evening grey-light filtering through the smoke-hole in the roof and gaps around the door. Down either side of the room, against the two longest walls, ran raised benches topped with linen-covered mattresses and the centre of the room was taken up by a raised fire-pit, raked clean and laid with fresh kindling. The planked floor was strewn with dried rushes and aromatic, creamy-flowered meadowsweet. Without doubt it was a guest-house, carefully prepared as if in anticipation of an important visitor.

I dropped my bag and sat heavily on one of the beds, feeling exhausted. Wulf hung his cloak and bag from wooden pegs set into the oak cross-beam.

‘Wulf, why are these people afraid of you?’

‘What do you mean?’ he said, his innocent expression just too exaggerated to be convincing.

‘This house has been prepared for your arrival, they have given you presents and they speak to you with deference and respect. And yet I saw them watching you out of the corners of their eyes—they are afraid of you.’

He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I have been of service to them in the past. As a consequence they are pleased to welcome me.’

‘But why are they afraid of you?’ I persisted. I felt that it was important for me to establish the basis for Wulf’s status in the settlement.

‘The people pay me for each task that I perform for them,’ he said softly. ‘But they also bestow gifts at the beginning and end of my season of travel. They believe that if I were not treated properly, then I could bring great misfortune to them.’

He looked up at me, his white teeth bared in a sudden, broad grin. ‘They are right,’ he said, chuckling. I felt a shiver of apprehension in the pit of my stomach; beneath his warm and easy exterior lurked darker depths as yet unknown to me.

Wulf stood and walked to the door. ‘I have business to attend to. You can rest here for a while. They will give us food later.’

He opened the door and latched it quietly behind him as he left. Alone in the room, I sank back gratefully on to the mattress. Without moving from the bed, I unstrapped the bandage and leaves from my ankle and dropped them on the floor. The swelling had completely subsided and the ankle gave no pain at all. I tried to think through all I had experienced with Wulf, but I had not slept properly for two nights and drowsiness slowed my thoughts. I closed my eyes and slipped into slumber.

I awoke with a start and peered around the candlelit room. Someone was shaking me by the arm.

‘Wake up!’ a voice said loudly. ‘It’s midnight. The thanes are having a hunting feast and we are guests.’

I looked at Wulf in surprise; I had expected the familiar face of the sub-prior, touring the dormitory with lighted lantern to awaken late sleepers for prayers.

‘Is everybody going?’ I mumbled, groping for my shoes.

‘Warriors only—and us,’ he replied, creaking open the door.

I clutched my cloak and, still warm with sleep, followed Wulf through the darkness to the main hall, looming two-storied into the night sky. Horses snorted and stamped in nearby stables and through the open door of a work hut I saw saddles and harness leather being cleaned under the light of oil lamps. The warriors must have ridden into the settlement while I slept.

Guards at the entrance to the hall took little notice of us as we crossed the cobbled threshold into the massive room. The air hung heavy with the odour of mutton-fat candles, wood-smoke and roasting meat spitted over roaring log fires set in trenches down the centre of the hall. Side benches were fronted with boarded trestles and we crowded in at the lower end of a long trestle already full of men.

I counted at least forty men in the hall, though I recognized only two of the faces I had seen earlier in the day. Then, my eyes still smarting from wood-smoke, I looked around the hall. It was magnificent: at least 20 paces long and perhaps half as wide, with blazing torches in wall brackets arcing great shadow shapes up into the high, smoke-blackened roof-beams. Massive supporting timbers, strengthened with iron clamps, were graven and painted with boars and serpents writhing in the flickering firelight and behind the benches stretched enormous tapestried wall-hangings; skins, horns, shields and swords glittered in wall-hung racks. I had never been in such a splendid building.

‘There sits the power in this part of the kingdom,’ Wulf whispered in my ear, gesturing towards the raised platform at the North wall. It was packed with older thanes and dominated by a huge, magnificently carved and decorated chair.

‘Cydda has yet to make his entrance,’ he continued. ‘He rode in this night with twenty thanes and will leave tomorrow. He has six halls in this forest alone and is hoping for greater gifts yet from the King.’

Suddenly benches and trestles scraped as people scrambled to their feet and a thane who could only have been Cydda strode majestically into the hall, accompanied by a clanking group of bodyguards. He was a big, broad-chested warrior, with a long, fine blue cloak swept back at his left hip to reveal a glittering, jewel-encrusted sword-hilt. He took his place in the enormous chair, firelight flaring off his gold headband and arm-rings. The thanes sat down again.

As soon as Cydda was seated, the large, black cooking pot suspended above the fire was winched noisily to the ground. Slaves with cropped hair and collars pulled racks of spitted fowl from the flames and chopped them on to trenchers, while two bakers carried boards of steaming bread and cakes which were removed with tongs and placed carefully on the trenchers. More meat was heaped on to side tables of upturned shields, the aroma of roasted venison gradually camouflaging other smells. Leather pitchers of ale and mead were pushed along the tables.

I was overwhelmed by the sheer splendour of the feast and my mouth ran wet at the sight of the food. But I could not eat; it seemed to me sacrilege that I should feast in a place of such pagan ostentation. I watched hungry mouths tearing at the hot meat and an image formed in my mind of the ragged packs of peasants who had trudged pathetically into the monastery the previous winter; hollow-eyed people, with wailing children, begging for food. The previous summer had yielded a miserable harvest and winter wrought near famine throughout the Mercian kingdom. Yet the monastery gardens had provided sufficient and the monks had preached that the famine was the Lord’s punishment for sins. I remembered Brother Eappa’s prediction: ‘When the peasants are hungry, they are weak in flesh and in spirit. By midwinter they will be scrambling for crumbs of comfort from their heathen gods’. After hearing Eappa’s words I prayed fervently for the souls of the peasants and for their faith to be strengthened, but sadly Eappa was right. Their faith did not sustain them. Rather than asking for the Lord’s forgiveness, the peasants resorted to bribing devils and our chapel had again become empty.

Wulf pushed a trencher of meat in front of me.

‘Fasting at a feast will arouse suspicions,’ he said, nodding encouragingly towards the plate.

He was right—my mission would not be helped by self-indulgent martyrdom. Breathing a silent prayer, I picked up the food. As soon as I started to eat I realized that I was ravenous; I ate and drank heavily and soon the wine made my ears hum.

Wulf ate slowly, though he seemed to be enjoying the occasion. ‘Listen carefully to the speeches,’ he said, his eyes crinkling with amusement. With concentration I could follow the alien dialects, as one by one the thanes climbed to their feet to fawn upon Cydda with splendid flights of oratory and glowing accounts of his deeds of valour. Cydda grinned broadly, though his smile never reached his bright, pig-like, intelligent eyes and he dispensed gold rings and bracelets like a man training hunting hawks.

Suddenly, at the height of the celebrations, Wulf stood as if to leave. I swung my legs over the bench and reached to pull my cloak from the beam-hooks behind me.

‘Stay!’ Wulf said firmly.

I looked at him in surprise. ‘Stay here,’ he repeated, buckling on his cloak. Then he leaned over and spoke into my ear, though no one could overhear amidst the general uproar.

‘You must stay and observe closely if you wish to know the ways of our people.’

I looked into his face and he winked broadly; his expression was warm and friendly, but his eyes betrayed the cunning of a fox.

Before I could protest, Wulf stepped lightly across the hall, a guard leaned heavily on one of the huge doors and my guide slipped out into the darkness.

I settled back on to the bench in puzzlement. I could recall nothing that could have precipitated his departure and he had not told me what to watch for. I concentrated again on the speeches, thinking that Wulf might have recognized an orator who would tell stories of their gods.

Suddenly, without warning, I was toppled backwards from the bench as thanes all around me jumped to their feet and, as I recovered my footing, I was swept along by the crowd and pushed on to a serving bench with others, all scrambling for a clearer view of Cydda’s table. Voices bellowed belligerently above the general commotion and I could see Cydda standing impassively, thick arms folded across his chest, as a dozen or more men heaved his heavy table to the side of the hall. Near the kitchen door I caught sight of two warriors stripping off their tunics. The drunken atmosphere throbbed with excitement and I was struck with a sickening sense of foreboding; Brother Eappa condemned challenge matches between warriors. Indeed, the Christian King of Mercia had been persuaded to increase wergild, so that a man who kills has to pay such heavy compensation to the dead man’s family that the thanes no longer consider fights a worthwhile adventure. I would have left immediately, but for Wulf’s admonition to stay.