Time of the Beast (5 page)

‘I am hardly seeking to satisfy fleshly urges alone in the middle of a swamp,’ I reminded him.

‘Perhaps not,’ he frowned. ‘But I tell you plainly that while more impressionable men might see something to admire in your actions, I see only a man who would live without order, discipline or restraint.’

Inwardly I scowled at him. I could barely believe his words – that I was being rebuked inside a monastery for being overly religious.

‘Now you may leave me,’ he concluded. ‘I wish you contentment, and bless your venture, Brother. Not because I approve of it, but because I would see you gone from here.’

There were two servants – good carpenters and thatchers – who went with me from the monastery, journeying up towards the sea: to the great bay north of the Fens where lies the mouth of the river called the Weolud which flows down through the marshlands. We took with us a horse-drawn cart containing our many items: building materials and implements, and my own essential things, including sacks of grain and quern-stones to make and burn my loaves of bread in the cinders of the fire grate.

We travelled all that day over the flat bare plains of East Anglia, the lands of the North-folk, dotted in every direction with distant settlements, until at last we came within sight of the faraway coastline as the day grew late and the light began to fade. Then we turned from our course to enter the grounds of a great estate where we might seek shelter for the night. Soon we came upon a small group of dwellings, where several of the cottagers greeted us, then took us onward to the hall of their thegn, a grand manor house where a steward soon came out to meet us.

‘Lord Osric is away,’ he informed us, ‘summoned by the king to Rendil’s ham. But it is his instruction that men of the Church are always made welcome. I will have lodgings prepared.’

In the absence of the lord and his chief retainers the great hall seemed quiet and almost deserted as we were taken to a chamber annexed to the main building; and as we rested and warmed ourselves by the fire a servant brought us some bread and cheese for our supper. When we had eaten we began to settle our weary limbs for the night, but then there came a knock at the door, and the servant entered again and said to me:

‘Lady Hild, the mother of Lord Osric, has asked if you will present yourself to her. She is very ill, near to death, and is confined to her chamber. Normally she will see no one. But she has asked to speak with you.’

I nodded my assent and followed him along a shadowy network of occasionally torchlit passages until we came to a closed door beyond which I could hear the soft chanting of women’s voices as they sang what I took to be curative charms. Their tone was muted, so I could not tell if their words were Christian prayers or pagan spells, or even a combination of both. The kingdom of the East Angles had been converted to the Faith years ago, but sometimes the old customs survived barely disguised among the new.

My guide tapped on the door, and as a serving woman answered, I saw that the room inside was faintly lit, the air thick and pungent with smoking incense. I was led in, and as I entered the women who sat in attendance stopped singing, then rose and withdrew at once, leaving me alone with the lady herself, who sat wrapped in a dressing-gown of silver wolfskin. I gazed hard to see her, since her face was half hidden as she reclined in the shadows, yet it seemed to shine there with an almost translucent whiteness. Then she leaned forward into the light of a candle which stood on a small table by her side, dismissing the servant at the door with a nod as the glow further accentuated her extreme pallor; and I saw grey hair pulled back sharply from a face that was almost skeletal, the shrunken skin drawn tightly across the bones.

‘I am Brother Athwold, lady,’ I said, ‘and I thank you for the hospitality we have received. How may I serve you?’

‘How pleasant to welcome a guest,’ she said in a voice that was faint and slightly slurred. It seemed that her eyes swam as she peered at me, and I realised she must be drugged and drowsy from a potion taken to ease her pain. She gave a smile, although in truth it was the grimace of a death mask, and even through the burning incense a cloying smell of sickness hung in the air. ‘Your coming is fortuitous,’ she announced. ‘Soon I will die, and I wish to make a confession.’

‘I am not a priest,’ I told her. ‘I cannot give you absolution.’

‘No!’ she agreed. ‘But I hope you will listen to me and give me your counsel. I have long tried to be a good Christian, Brother. But as my time draws near I find suddenly there are doubts which trouble me. I wish to discuss them with you.’

‘What is the nature of these doubts?’ I said.

She gave a long sigh, and her breath rattled in her throat as she sank back into her chair.

‘To explain this, I must speak of a time long ago, when I was young and first married, and the Faith of Christ was new to this land. Our first Christian king, Eorpwald, was murdered by a pagan usurper, and there was war in the kingdom between rival factions. But at last Sigbert came to be our king, returning from his long exile among the Franks and firmly imbued with their Christian beliefs. He was determined to convert the whole of East Anglia. Soon after his return a Frankish bishop arrived here on a progress through the land. His name was Felix.’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Bishop of Dommoc, now gone to glory.’

‘He came one day,’ she nodded, ‘with a retinue of priests and acolytes, and a formidable escort of armed men, to speak with the authority of the king. His preaching was filled with fire and also warning, and he left us in no doubt that compliance was demanded of us, as of all the noble families. There was much local opposition to this royal decree, and its harsh tone was resented, for until then we had been free to worship as we chose. Men asked how we might dare to abandon the beliefs of our ancestors which governed the cycle of the seasons and our traditional way of life. They looked to my husband’s father, Lord Aldfrith, to give them leadership. But the memory of war was fresh in his mind, and he feared that if the kingdom should turn once more upon itself it would make us vulnerable to enemies beyond our borders. So, under the fierce eye of Bishop Felix, he conceded that we must accept the new Faith.

‘His only son, my husband Oslac, was deeply affected by this. He was a fine young man of eighteen, good-natured, tall and handsome, his father’s pride, and very devoted to the old gods. We had been married little more than a year, and had already been blessed by the birth of our son Osric, while a deep love had grown between us. But now he grew fretful, and remote even from me.

‘Then one night I was disturbed in my sleep by Oslac rising from the bed and pulling on his clothes in the darkness. Barely awake, I asked what he was doing.

‘ “I must go,” he answered in a strange sleepy tone. “There is a knocking at the door.”

‘ “I heard nothing,” I said. “Come back to bed.”

‘ “I must go!” he said again.

‘ “Go where?” I asked him.

‘ “Outside!” he replied simply.

‘It all felt like a dream to me, and I fell asleep again and knew no more until I woke at dawn to find him missing from our bed. I went to ask the servants where he was, but no one had seen him, and he was nowhere to be found. Now we grew alarmed, and his father began to organise a search-party for him.

‘These men returned later, bringing Oslac with them. He was deathly pale, his clothes were soaked through, and he was frozen to the bone, for the night had been very cold. Lord Aldfrith questioned him, but Oslac barely replied or even acknowledged him, and seemed to be confused and lost in a kind of dreamlike state. The servants told us that he had been discovered in a far-off part of the estate, on the family burial ground, his body motionless and covered with white morning frost as he knelt on the hard ground beside one of the mounds, just staring blankly at it. By tradition the names of the ancestors buried in most of the graves were known, but the mound in question was very old, and the identity of its occupant long lost to memory. But one aged servant spoke of the belief that this mound contained the bones or relics of an ancient founder of the clan, steeped in old magic, brought long ago from across the sea and buried here by the first settlers.

‘Oslac was put to bed, where he sank into a deep sleep, and for hours I sat with him, holding his hand and talking to him in the hope of reviving him. Until at last he awoke and looked up at me, then spoke in a voice that was faint and distant.

‘ “He came in the night… and I had to go with him. Out into the darkness.”

‘ “Who came?” I said, relieved to see him animated again, but disturbed by his odd manner and words. “You must have been dreaming.” Yet I was concerned, for I knew there were powers in the night which spoke to us in our dreams.

‘ “
No!
” he said. “It was not a dream. I went to his dwelling place and he stood there before me, finely clothed, his face fair and shining, radiant in the dark. He did not seem to speak, but his words came into my thoughts and said that for long ages he had served as our guardian and protector. In return we had given him our prayers and offerings, and sacrificed a fine ram to him every year in the Blood-month. But then his voice grew angry.
Why
– it demanded – would we now repay his faithfulness by forsaking him and sending him into exile?”

‘Oslac had become feverish and as he raved these things sweat was streaming from him. Soon he fell back into an exhausted sleep. Desperate with worry, I went to Lord Aldfrith, but I found him in the company of Bishop Felix, who had somehow learned of Oslac’s disappearance in the night. The bishop stood before me, looking down at me with sharp, hard eyes, then demanded:

‘ “What have you to report? Out with it, girl, and spare no detail if you value your husband’s life and soul. And remember that I am here to represent the king. You will speak to me as you would address him.”

‘Thoroughly nervous, I stuttered out Oslac’s words. When he had heard them, the bishop departed at once and went with a gathering of priests to the burial ground; and for the rest of the day they performed rituals and sang prayers and threw holy water over the ancient mound.

‘That evening I climbed into bed beside Oslac and wrapped my arms about his shivering body to give him warmth, whispering to him of the bishop’s efforts to drive away the spirit which tormented him – probably for my own comfort more than his, since he did not appear to be awake. Yet deep in the night I felt him stir, and once again he tried to rise from the bed, saying he must go to the one who called him. But I clung to him tightly to restrain him. Then he gasped out:

‘ “
He is here!
He has come to us.” I felt my flesh quake, for it truly seemed to me that the air in our room at once grew deathly cold, and felt charged with a sense of unseen power. “But he is
changed!
He no longer shines, but is covered all over with a black cloak. His face is grown dark and angry, made raw and ugly with blisters. He says we have sent strangers to defile his sacred ground… and torture him with screaming spells and scalding water. He is no longer our friend and protector. He has become something vengeful… a
draug
… a demon from the death mound!”

‘As I held him to me I felt his skin burning, and I knew his fever was reaching its height. I hurried from the bed and went to raise up the house. Lord Aldfrith said we must send for a priest to cast out the sickness, but all our old priests were gone, driven away by the Christians, so in desperation he sent word to Bishop Felix to come, although his magic was still foreign and strange to us.

‘At daybreak the bishop arrived, clad in ceremonial robes and prepared for battle, accompanied by many priests and monks armed with crosses and censers and holy water. When I related Oslac’s words to him, his eyes gleamed as he pronounced:

‘ “He is in dire peril. The Devil speaks through him. We must expel the forces of Satan to win his soul for Christ.”

‘I was trembling as I stood with Lord Aldfrith at the doorway to watch as the bishop and his clergy circled the bed and chanted in Latin, their voices growing louder and their gestures more dramatic, while Oslac lay seemingly unconscious, but restless and groaning in their midst, his features twisted and distraught. Until at last the bishop leaned over him, bringing his face close to Oslac’s as he screamed out:

‘ “I compel you, devil, to depart in the name of Christ!” And the priests and monks began to intone these words, their voices rising like one.

‘In a moment Oslac’s eyes opened wide, looking huge in his pale, gaunt face as he stared with confusion and terror at the robed and hooded figures that stood gathered around him in the smoke-clogged chamber. His mouth fell open and his breath wheezed as the whole room fell quiet, and every eye was upon him, for at once there was something in his look that seemed to shine with a terrible lucidity. Then he croaked out in a voice so hoarse and strangled it was barely recognisable to me.

‘ “
You… are the devils!
Who come like thieves in the night to steal away the souls of my people… to defame and defile our sacred customs… and turn our nation’s ancient faith and pride into something which is dark… and guilty… and
shameful
…”

‘As he heard this the bishop’s face grew enraged, and his voice rose like hate-filled thunder to denounce the blasphemy, while the priests and monks rushed forward like a screaming mob to close all about Oslac, shouting holy curses to drown out his voice and silence him. For what seemed a long time this went on. Until there rose above the din a long and dreadful cry. Then there was silence – a silence more awful to me than all the uproar which had gone before it.

‘ “The demon has fled, and in Christ we are triumphant!” I heard the bishop say at last. He turned towards us, yet his face was not exultant but desolate. “But I fear the ordeal has been too great for Lord Oslac. His malady has taken him. It is God’s will, and the price of our victory.” Then he moved aside to reveal Oslac, who lay sprawled and motionless, his eyes gaping lifeless in their sockets, his face rigid in a look of dying anguish.