Traveller Inceptio
57

Michael arose with the dawn with the rest of the household. Irminric, Desmond’s second son, staggered to light the blacksmith’s fire using the bellows on the coals left over from the day before. Eadric sat gazing at his sword as if he had thought the evening before had been a dream. Michael smiled at the lad, who smiled back happily. Edyt, like any good Saxon wife, stirred the boiled, cracked grain that had simmered since the night before and would serve as breakfast. It had taken Michael some time to enjoy the meal, especially without milk or sugar, but he was now quite used to the wholesome and filling start to the day.

Seeing Eadric idle, Michael gestured him outside for their daily unarmed combat drills in the small area that was screened from the main thoroughfare in front of the home and shop. Their kicks, punches, and blocks soon attracted a small audience of interested spectators. Desmond’s two sons looked on hungrily and then Hengist, a wrestler of some renown, wanted to demonstrate how wristlocks wouldn’t work on him. Michael invited him to try his best and the young man’s chagrin was most evident when Eadric was able to have him crying for mercy in seconds. Soon they were tangled together in the dust as they wrestled and laughed. By the time they gained their feet, their faces were bright red while their tunics and britches were filthy.

Edyt called out crossly, “Hengist! Look at your clothes. Can’t you wait till after breakfast?”

Hengist nodded to his mother and laughed as he gave her a hug to calm her mock anger. He turned to Michael. “That is grand, that is. You must teach us, Lord Michael.”

Michael nodded. “Of course, lads. Though we may not be here long.”

Desmond had been watching from the doorway. “Aye, Hengist. Ye have labours today, but ye can learn at the end of the day.”

As they ate their breakfast, Michael noticed more of the town’s folk carried packs as if leaving Snot-Ing-Ham, and there was an almost palpable feeling of panic in the air. Desmond spoke with some of those who passed, and after chatting with one of the town’s better-known merchants, he slowly walked back to his workshop, shaking his head. “It makes ye wonder what to believe. Some are tales and some true, but who can tell?”

Michael asked, “What have you heard?”

The blacksmith looked worried. “Some say that Sven Forkbeard and his army landed in Gainsbro’, off to the north in the kingdom of Northumbria.” He frowned, his calloused hand on his chin as he thought a moment. “Well, I s’pose Northumbria has always been known for their sympathies with the Danes. Many are Danes, or of their line, and still live by their language and customs, so for their King Forkbeard, it’d be like coming home.” He turned and watched a family walk past with their possessions on their backs and carried between them, slung on poles. “The people are afeared, Lord Michael, and rightly so. When King Aethelred had the people kill the Danes, it wasn’t a decision all thought wise. Some say Sven’s own sister, Gunhild, was murdered and Forkbeard has sworn revenge.” He paused and looked at his daughters, Linette and Torctgyd, as they chased each other from the house and laughed, red-gold hair braided and their faces flushed with their mother’s good humour. “Some say King Forkbeard has returned to conquer England and claim the crown for himself.”

Michael nodded, but gave no reply. He recalled what he knew. If this was the same past he knew of, and if history ran the same way, he knew the Vikings under Sven Forkbeard had already established their camp on the ancient mounds of Thonoc near Gainsborough. All in the region would have already sworn loyalty to the conquerors. Professor Taylor had stressed that each of the men learn the history of this specific time-period in as much detail as could be gleaned from historical records. It was likely that, by now, almost every person of power and note had visited or sent messengers to Forkbeard and offered up hostages as surety of their new alliances. Even the ealdorman of Northumbria himself, Uhtred, married to Saxon King Aethelred’s own daughter Aelgifu, saw the wisdom in making sworn allegiance with the Vikings to avoid devastation. Michael was worried, as these alliances wouldn’t prevent retribution being taken on the locals. The Vikings were out for blood. There was good reason to be afraid, for terror was about to be unleashed upon the land and it was unlikely Desmond and his family would be spared.

The blacksmith looked as if he had come to the same conclusions. “Osric, we may have to prepare for the Vikings. They could be here any day now and I fear they’ll take out their anger upon the people of Snotengaham.”

His sons and his wife gasped, their faces filled with sudden fear. Their safe world suddenly seemed perilous. The twins laughed as they cleaned the home while caring for young Berethun. The small boy smiled at their antics, the picture of a beautiful family. Edyt became tearful as her hands flew to her mouth. Desmond held her close.

“Now, Edyt, my sweet girl, you know as blacksmith we’ll be of value to the Vikings, who will need our services,” murmured Desmond as Edyt snuffled and nodded. With her tears largely under control, she moved off to supervise the girls, leaving Desmond to talk with the men and youths.

He was silent as he looked to each of the men carefully as he considered his position. “I was a young man when I witnessed a Viking attack, and one thing I know is they’ll kill who they will. There may be no safety, Osric. Think of ye family. My sons, because you’re young and know how to wield a sword or a spear, ye could be seen as a threat, and ye dear mother and sisters could be raped and murdered.” Desmond looked to each of them, his bearded mien grim, eyes red with worry. “I canna say what will happen, but I do know that as blacksmith, as a sword-smith, I’ll be safe, and ye might be too.”

Michael knew Forkbeard would eventually be victorious. “I think there’s a chance that after Forkbeard establishes his camp, that he’ll leave Gainsborough to continue his conquest of Aengland. Have you heard if his son and heir, Cnut, is staying?” he asked innocently.

Desmond looked at Michael in surprise. “Aye, Lord, I’ve heard as much. The people are saying to me that young Cnut and his father have already made demands of us for provisions. How did ye know?”

In response, Michael knelt, and with a piece of scrap metal taken from the shop floor, drew in the packed dirt while the others gathered around. “This is a map of Aengland and this is us here.” He marked a cross. “I think Forkbeard’s forces will come south, possibly to target King Aethelred and his court. That means he’ll travel to Lundenburh.” He drew a rough map of the coast of England.

Desmond had to ask what the squiggles meant and, on being told, looked at Michael with a frown.

“As he moves south, in his typical Viking fashion, his men will loot and burn farms and villages as a lesson to us. I believe his intent is in taking over the country and if a lot of villages are left in ashes, more towns will surrender without a fight.”

“Snotengaham will surrender. There’s no way that we can withstand the Vikings,” agreed Desmond, his voice sounding strangled in his concern.

“How many days journey is it from Snotengaham to Gainsborough?” asked Michael.

Desmond paused, raised his eyebrows and blew out his cheeks. “Traders can make it to Gainsborough in six days.”

“So, let’s assume for a moment that the Vikings will want to pillage the land between here and Gainsborough. If not, then they could be here any day now, even on the morrow, as the news would’ve taken some days to get here at best.” Michael pinched the skin at the bridge of his nose. There was a very real danger the Vikings could catch them on their journey back to Giolgrave. He knew from his history that Forkbeard’s forces were highly efficient compared to the disorganised defences of King Aethelred and that the only thing that would stop the attacking army would be when they arrived at Lundenburh, later known as London. There they would ultimately surround the heavily fortified old Roman city and force it into submission. Michael looked at young Eadric, who squatted with the others around the rough map. Though Eadric might not understand what the map meant, he understood the Vikings were on their way. Michael was afraid the lad would have to use the sword sooner than anticipated and felt even more responsible for his safety. He spoke briskly to the men gathered around him as he stood. “We have a task to perform for the monks of Giolgrave. We’ll collect them and depart as soon as we can this day. I believe that the invaders will arrive any day now, either this day or soon after. I can’t speak for you, Desmond, but you need to consider the safety of your sons and daughters. Will they treat you all well, or will they burn Snotengaham and its people? What will you do?”

The three young men’s faces were alive with emotion. Michael could tell that, like all their age, they were excited that something different was happening, but they hadn’t considered the fates of their mother and younger siblings.

“I don’t want to bring fear upon you, but we’ve all heard what Vikings can do, especially to young men and to the women,” added Michael gently. He watched Desmond look to his sons, certain the blacksmith, as well as any other who had fought the invaders, knew of the folly of assuming any Viking mercy. The invaders were going to bleed the people of Aengland and possibly burn the town, and then stay. To remain would be foolish, but he had to let Desmond decide. He had his own mission to complete.

Desmond’s knotted forehead cleared as he made his decision.

“Hengist, go and harness Plod to the wagon. Irminric, gather my best tools and load them. Edyt!” he turned and called with a bellow.

His wife ran to the doorway at his uncharacteristic call, and from her expression, she already knew something was amiss. He placed his hand on her shoulder and she looked up at him fearfully.

“Gather the girls and Berethun, sleeping blankets and food. Dress for travel and dress warm. We leave as we planned if things were at their worst.”

Her face was distraught, but she simply nodded and hurried back into their small home.

Osric turned to go.

“Come with us, Osric; ye’re family,” called Desmond.

His workmate shook his head. “Ah, I would love to, my friend, but my parents wouldn’t live through such a journey,” he replied, his face a study of distress. “I’ll play as blacksmith and we might be spared. Can I work here? I’ll care for your home until you return.” He paused, his face miserable. “I have no choice, Desmond. Maybe we’ll live. Who can say?” he murmured. With a hug and quick peck on the cheek for Edyt and the girls, he turned and clasped Desmond’s forearm before he hurried on his way. Desmond looked stricken at his loss.

“We must gather the monks,” decided Michael briskly as he belted his swords and adjusted his cloak. “Desmond, will you meet us past the western gate to the town? Your lads must be armed and ready. The town will panic. Some might even try to take your horse and cart.”

Desmond nodded and sighed. “We’ve planned this for some time, Lord Michael. We have warm clothing and food prepared.” He looked to his strapping sons and his voice strengthened. “Remember, my sons, many won’t be as prepared as we are and ye must be vigilant.”

The lads nodded, wide-eyed at this sudden intrusion to their peaceful lives.

“Well, lads, off with ye.” He waved them to their tasks. “Get our family ready to flee,” he ordered gruffly.

“Shall we assist you to a hiding place or do you wish to travel with us to Giolgrave?” Michael asked.

Desmond’s eyes were alive with anticipation and concern. “Ahh, yes. What to do? Young Berethun is prone to sickness in his chest, but I must think of the others too.”

The girls, Linette and Torctgyd, ran past with their arms full of blankets, warm leather boots already on their feet. Their hair flew and Michael’s heart went out to them. He would die rather than see these people hurt, a sentiment shared by their father.

“Let’s get out of Snotengaham and see the condition of the road,” rumbled Desmond. “A journey to some of the caves is but half a day and I would prefer that to the long journey to the forest village, but Giolgrave may be safer,” he added indecisively.

Michael nodded, and after farewells, strode off with Eadric who hefted his spear with his new sword belted about his waist. “Desmond!” Michael called as they were leaving. “Can you also pack two training swords? These lads will need to learn fast.”

Desmond nodded and waved as they walked onto the main thoroughfare where many crowded and jostled.

Snotengaham’s inhabitants and visitors had awoken to the possibility that the Vikings might soon be at their hearth. The news received by Desmond was obviously told to all and sundry, for those who Michael and Eadric met on the road were mostly heading out of town. Families struggled, burdened with their limited personal possessions on backs or loaded onto handcarts, or carts drawn by small ponies or oxen that lowed in the misty morning light. Others looked on, uncertain at the growing tide of humanity. Fortunately Eadric and Michael were moving with the flow out of town.

Michael had seen such situations often, for when people panic, social formalities break down and many take a more short-sighted approach to immediate safety. Nevertheless, it was safer to run than to stay and take the risk. Michael had seen families flee from fighting in Iraq and Syria, burdened with their minimal possessions. Like there, fights could break out over the smallest infractions. Michael warned Eadric to be ready to respond quickly.

Their only delay was to force their way past a wagon that had become jammed in a soft ditch and was leaning against a fragile building wall, blocking the path to most of the flow. People began to yell at each other, and though he would normally assist, Michael ignored the plight of those trying to lift the heavy cart and gestured urgently to move the hesitant Eadric onward. By the time they reached the monastery, the entire town seemed in the process of evacuation. There was pandemonium. Not a huge town, Snotengaham had a resident population measuring only in the hundreds, but was also busy with plus visitors from surrounding areas attending the busy markets. A thriving pilgrimage industry also ensured a steady stream of visitors to view holy relics housed at the church by the monastery. This morning, all sought to flee.

The monastery was an oasis of peace. When Michael and Eadric arrived, it was apparent the local monks hadn’t planned on leaving for they were in the middle of Mass. The warriors waited impatiently until one of the local monks emerged from the chambers. “Brother, we seek Brother Earconberct,” Michael asked. Surprisingly, the monk turned to ignore his plea, so Michael seized him by the hood and roughly pulled him back to face them. “Brother, do I have to repeat myself?” The young monk looked terrified. “Brother Earconberct, the monk with the keys to the storage room. Where is he?” Michael demanded quietly.

The young monk babbled, “Forgive me, brother. We fear the invader comes,” as he pointed. “I saw Brother Earconberct in the cellarium, though where he might now be, I don’t know.”

They spent frustrating minutes trying to find the monk, but none of the brothers they asked could assist. Michael decided to visit the room where their gear was stored and, as they approached, Brother Earconberct emerged with a travel pack and staff of his own. The shocked look he gave Michael and Eadric spoke volumes. Without a thought, Michael seized him by the hood of his cowl, dragged him roughly back into the room and threw him to the floor.

“Leaving, monk?” he asked quietly.

Brother Earconberct gasped and blustered before exclaiming indignantly, “I’ve been requested to attend the Lords who await the arrival of King Forkbeard. They plan to pledge allegiance to him to avoid bloodshed. Let me pass, ruffians!”

“So why do you flee with a guilty look? Would not the Abbott fill the role, rather than a lowly monk such as yourself?” asked Michael. He loomed menacingly, fully aware the coward lied.

Brother Earconberct looked as if to fly into a rage, but instead whined, “Fools! The district is in flight. Vikings have been sighted a day’s travel hence. They are burning and plundering, and the Abbot wants to trust in God’s mercies. We must flee or be slaughtered!” Brother Earconberct, for once, appeared sincere. He had struggled to his knees before Michael, pleading as if in prayer.

“What you do is of no concern to us, monk, but we want our possessions, and we want them intact. You have a craven look about you, so hand me your pack. I need to see you are as honest as you say.” Michael placed his hand on the hilt of his sword.

Brother Earconberct, who looked to complain, thought better of it and quickly removed his pack from his shoulder. He made as if to stand, but Michael gestured he was to stay where he was. He remained kneeling on the floor in barely controlled panic.

Michael and Eadric opened the simple leather pack to find valuables pilfered from the monastery. There was some silver coin and a weighty, ornate silver cross. There was also a coil of ribbon and packet of silver from Michael’s pack. Michael stared at the monk, who shrank visibly. It also appeared Brother Earconberct’s water skin was full of the Abbot’s wine.

Michael roughly dragged the pasty-faced, terrified Brother Earconberct to his feet. “Keys!” he commanded. The monk made a few attempts at bluster, but Michael silenced him with a gesture. “If I would receive any satisfaction in removing your fat head, I would. God will be your judge, monk. Get out of our sight!” He took the keys offered and as Brother Earconberct stood to flee, Michael booted his arse for good measure. The monk squealed and stumbled, but scrambled off and was soon running as fast as his unsteady legs could carry him.

Michael had been intensely irritated by Brother Earconberct’s disregard for others at this stressful time. As he made the effort to conceal his anger, Eadric was plainly horrified at the treatment of the monk, a class highly esteemed in his own community. He smiled at the young man. “Sometimes, Eadric, even monks can fall. That piece of scum sought to do anything to preserve his own skin. If I know anything about times of distress like we face now, he’ll probably survive and prosper.”

The young warrior smiled nervously and shook his head in bewilderment as they gathered their gear. Replacing the pilfered ribbon and pouch to his pack, a quick inspection found the remainder of his possessions intact. He had left that ribbon and pouch to tempt any thief that might try a quick rummage. Michael rummaged in his pack and removed two wrist guards which, when donned, would portray an image of threat. The thick leather wrist guards covered his forearms and, with the unseen reinforcement of slim Kevlar rods, were effective protection from a strike by a staff, club or dagger. These would display strength to those who might prey on the weak, that here was a warrior not to be trifled with.

“Now, lad, it looks to rain, so that means cold, muddy travel. Frightened people can be pushed beyond their limits, so we must concentrate on taking the monks to your uncle’s family and then leaving Snot as quickly as we can. Be prepared. Anything can happen.” Eadric nodded, frightened, but Michael slapped a firm hand on his shoulder, “Don’t worry, lad. Be sharp. Use your eyes and brain like you should. You know what you can do. You’ll do well.”

Eadric only nodded and smiled nervously.

They left the storeroom, locking the errant Brother Earconberct’s pack and staff inside, then sought Abbott Anna and the Giolgrave monks. Fortunately they were at the church: a service for the townspeople. As the warriors entered, a ripple of consternation passed through the folk. Brothers Oeric, Horsa and Tondbert looked up with relief, scrambled to their feet, and silently hurried over. Abbott Anna was more dignified, completing his worship before joining the gathered huddle. Without a word, he gestured for them to follow. Michael watched the Abbott’s back, stiff with disapproval at the warriors’ presence. On arriving at his chambers, he immediately crossed to a beautifully carved wooden chest that sat on his desk. He spoke with Michael as if addressing a child. “On advice from your esteemed Abbot, Brother Aldfrid, you are to guide these holy men as they take these most precious holy items to safety. Brother Aldfrid is a holy and learned man, a scholar of great renown and student of the great scribe and scholar, Brother Aelfric, who inscribed these Holy Gospels in our tongue. We’ve been caretakers of these most Holy Scriptures and it is of utmost importance that these are kept safe from the invaders.”

Michael inclined his head in a polite affirmation, but the Abbot had already turned to address the monks. “Brothers in Christ, we don’t fear what is to become of us in the hands of the Danes. I have faith that we’ll be safe in God’s embrace. After all, are not many of them now of Christ? Have they not accepted his ways? However, we know that anything of value risks to be stolen by the marauders and treated as if it is but coin for their base lusts and urges. So we entrust to your care this most sacred relic.” He gestured to a small casket fashioned of silver and inlaid with copper and semi-precious stones. On seeing the treasure, the monks immediately cried out and dropped to their knees in worship.

“You are entrusted with the preservation and care of this holy relic, the finger-bone of the most holy martyr, Saint Edmund, former King of England. Those who have touched this receptacle have been blessed of the Lord with mighty miracles.” Abbott Anna’s normally sallow face flushed with excitement as he spoke. “The lame have walked and the blind become blessed with sight. The barren have brought forth healthy children and all have glorified God. You must protect this at all costs.”

Brother Oeric raised his head from worship, tears in his eyes. “Abbott Anna, you must flee with us. Come and guide us. Brother Aldfrid would greatly glorify God if you stay with us in Giolgrave.”

Abbott Anna’s austere face softened. “Nay, brother,” he replied quietly as he rested his hand lightly on Brother Oeric’s untidy head, “my place is here with the people of Snotengaham. My family have been rulers here for generations and it’s my lot to remain and help those in need. We trust in the hands of the Lord that we’ll survive the scourge of the Vikings and bring them to the truth. I have faith that what might seem to be terrible is but a trial and a blessing in disguise. I ask for your supplications to the Holy Virgin on our behalf, that God’s will is done this day.”

Brother Oeric wept as he bowed his head in prayer, but Abbott Anna had already turned to Michael. “We rely on your guidance to keep these sacred relics safe. These brothers have an opinion of you. That is their choice.” He looked down his nose at Michael as if to intimidate, but Michael wasn’t to be cowed. Instead, he handed Abbott Anna the keys to his strong room. “These were left by Brother Earconberct who decided that God’s protection wasn’t enough. He desired to relieve the monastery, and our packs, of some valuables. I believe he’s fled, though he left empty-handed.”

The Abbott looked saddened and his head dropped as he accepted the iron ring. He resolve looked weakened, a man faced with enormous trials and momentous decisions. “My thanks, Lord Michael. He is kin. I hope the Lord guides him and shows him forgiveness.”

The Abbott then turned to remove a carefully wrapped package from the carved chest. He reverently unwrapped the fine, golden wool to reveal the psalter, a compilation of scripture written in the Aenglish language. He gave the sign of the cross, lifted the hefty tome and kissed it, before he rewrapped and placed it into a sturdy leather carry case. Without a word, he handed the pack to Brother Horsa and the less bulky sacred relic, now in a second leather travel case, to Brother Oeric. The monks knelt in prayer. There were final farewells as they kissed the Abbott’s hand and leave-taking would have dragged on if not for Michael. Their last sight of Abbot Anna was as he knelt, head bowed in prayer before the ornate silver crucifix on the wall of his chamber.

When they emerged from the monastery, it was mid-morning and the flight of the townsfolk was in full swing. Carts laden with bawling children and stricken women battled to travel on the south road, away from the rumoured Viking advance. Michael could only admire the strategy of such an enemy: to cause such panic through rumour and tales that it would weaken the resolve of almost any settlement in their path. This made for easy pickings as the Viking forces would take possession or destroy with minimal troop losses. What was of concern to Michael was that his study of Nottingham history showed no evidence of any Saxon monastery on the location they had just left. Despite Abbot Anna’s faith and prayers, he was certain the monastery faced fiery destruction at the hands of the conquering army. The Vikings would remain and develop the town’s defences anew to create an important strategic centre until the Norman invasion some fifty-odd years in the future.

As they fought their way through the panicked townspeople, Michael was all too aware of the humanity of the tragedy that was about to befall them. He saw an old toothless woman, mouth open in fear, as she stood alone, confused and abandoned by the side of the main thoroughfare. A young girl cried as her grim-faced father, equipped with only a pack and a staff, carried her. A few dogs ran wildly, barking in excitement. A cart pulled by a sturdy ox forced its way through the press while a wealthy trader and his family looked down, their cart loaded with valued possessions. The tapestry of human tragedy was woven against a backdrop of yelling and cursing, lowing cattle, hissing geese, and the odour of mud and dung and burning.

Michael told the monks to grasp a firm hold of each other’s rope belt so they would not be separated. The going was slow. By the time they reached the western gate, they were relieved to be free of the town. Any residents of Snotengaham who remained were doubtlessly hoping on the good graces of the conquerors, or to loot what was left and then flee before the Vikings caught them.

The western gate was not crowded, for to flee to the west was to tempt capture by the enemy advance. Any semblance of order had vanished. The only other armed men were the few assisting their families, hoping to travel west then south rather than risk the press at the southern gate. Michael heard Eadric’s name called and saw Hengist, who hailed them and guided them to his family sheltered under a tree beyond the outer defensive ditch. Desmond and Irminric stood with spears ready, Desmond with his precious sword at his chest. As Michael, Eadric and the monks arrived, there was enormous relief. “Is all well, Desmond?” asked Michael after the introduction of the monks.

“Aye, Lord Michael, though not a few covetous eyes have been cast our way,” the big man replied sternly.

Michael nodded, for the cart would attract brigands. Hopefully the presence of warriors would dissuade any thoughts of robbery. “Thankfully our path keeps us from the main roads. The rain and traffic from fleeing wagons will make the main thoroughfares almost impassable. While the Viking advance is from the north, pray they’re too busy to outflank us.” He looked to the men and lads. “Be watchful. Don’t ever relax. We all rely on your sharp eyes not to miss a thing.”

For most of their journey to Ilchestune, the sturdy pony, Plod, walked steadily at a pace that was brisk for those walking alongside, so they made good time. The smaller children and their mother remained as passengers, and despite the chill drizzle, they played as children do, singing songs and amusing young Berethun, who was a good lad. All were clad in their travel cloaks which, with the cart, showed them to be a family of wealth, for a blacksmith was a man of responsibility and affluence. Brigands seeing them may avoid such a party, as monks showed them to be of importance and power. Michael was most concerned they might attract attention from larger bands or Vikings hoping for plunder.

As they walked, Michael imagined the road to be dreary and frightening for Desmond’s family, who had never left the confines of their home in Snot.

“I spoke with a merchant who sells cattle hide,” Desmond muttered. “He mentioned the hidden caves scattered throughout the area.”

“Is that where you wish to go?” asked Michael.

Desmond shook his head wearily. “No, Lord Michael. The caves will be crowded and risk discovery by marauders. Some are used traditionally as hunting shelters, or even stables, while others are mere hollows in the hills. The most valuable caves will house larger families or groups, and are easily defendable, having been shelter even when ancients inhabited the land. I’ve heard tell that the odd rude stone tool can be found, while others have strange paintings on the walls. Many believe that the wee folk lived in the caves, or may still. Because of this, the caves are only used in times of hardship such as these.”

“So to Giolgrave?” Michael asked gently.

Desmond looked to Michael and shrugged his burly shoulders in weary resignation. “Ay, to Giolgrave and my kin. I must think of my wife and youngens, Lord Michael.”

Michael nodded. “The road will be long, but their safety is what matters most. It will be grand to have you travel with us.”

Desmond didn’t answer. His fearful thoughts still gnawed at the consequences of his decision.

Throughout the day, each of the men took turns riding as passenger to conserve energy. The monks wore their usual wide-brimmed hats, but were clad in new, woollen tunics. Brother Oeric explained they had been given, thanks to the kind generosity of Abbott Anna. Michael smiled, as the monks and their clothes had been travel-stained and smelled appallingly. In Anna’s private chambers, the effect would have been overpowering.

With the benefit of the cart, the men were freed from their packs, which were stacked with the few items of the family’s disciplined preparations. This made walking easier and their journey faster. The monks spoke little. Brother Horsa never shared the burden of the holy psalter, protected from intermittent, icy drizzle by the waterproofed, leather carry-case, while Brother Oeric remained the keeper of the relic.

They found the market town of Ilchestune eerily quiet. Most of the inhabitants had fled. Few were encountered on the road, all on foot and none inclined to exchange more than a nod in passing.

Brother Oeric spoke of the monks’ visit to the monastery at Snotengaham. “Abbott Anna is a great man in Christ, but he enjoys too much the pleasures of the flesh,” the old monk said uncomfortably.

Michael nodded. “Yes, he did seem to have some pride.”

Brother Oeric looked to Michael with a frown and then shrugged. “He wears the finest clothes, Lord Michael. I’ve never seen such grandeur. I even glimpsed a silk undergarment under his fine woollen tunic, as if he was royalty. He is waited on hand and foot by monks who he treats as servants. Oh, Abbott Anna is a great man and a learned man, for he is of the most powerful and influential families of the region.” Brother Oeric spoke sadly as he shuffled along, having refused a space on the cart. “I fear he is as much interested in political intrigue and the acquisition of land and possessions, as spiritual matters. Oh, the monastery is so rich. So many visit the holy relic and worship at the shrine, but they pay for the privilege. Abbott Anna has turned the monastery into a grander hall than any thegn.”

“Yet he must have some honesty, as the relic is now headed to the humble monastery at Giolgrave,” admitted Michael. “If Brother Anna thought his monastery would be safe, the relic, which of course is a source of influence and great wealth, would never be willingly relinquished.”

Brother Oeric nodded sadly and sighed in disappointment. “Oh, Lord Michael, I fear the Abbott has set a poor example for young Brother Tondbert, who has learned that a man of God can covet comforts of the flesh. The Abbott is rumoured to have a mistress in the town and when he entertained us for the evening meal, we dined on goose and eel in his own private dining room far from the other brothers.” Brother Oeric shook his head in despair. “I cannot judge too harshly,” he added. “I’ve never before seen so many poor and hungry fed as by Abbott Anna. A weak man of the flesh he may be, but his work blessed a great many.”

“For all of the Abbot’s faults and human failings, he decided to stay to help those in need and feed the hungry. Let’s hope Brother Anna is spared,” Michael added hopefully, to which Brother Oeric agreed.

Their weary day ended before sunset. They found a sheltered spot to camp for the night. The children and Edyt were to sleep under the cart, while shelters of branches and leaves were built for the others. Despite the ever-present drizzle, they managed to build a smoky fire and the company ate bread soaked in a thin broth that was hot and filling. Michael, to the delight of all, played his mandolin. He advised them not to make too much noise, so they sat huddled together and listened, the children in rapt attention. Young Berethun was soon fast asleep, spared a wash in the chilly weather. The young girls had their long hair brushed before bed where they cuddled together with their little brother. Hengist gave Plod a rubdown before he tied the faithful pony to a nearby tree.

Michael organised the young men to take turns in standing watch. He showed them how to stand in the dark, away from the fire, what to look for, and how to stay awake until the next watch replaced them. He would check on them through the night.

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