by Chris Bishop
We Saxons loved a riddle but this was one I couldn’t solve at first, however hard I tried. Then it dawned on me what it was. ‘Are you saying that I drank my own piss!’ I said aloud.
‘Not just your own. Yours was bloody and had traces of pus within it so I gave you some of mine as well, albeit mixed with herbs to sweeten it.’
‘Then you’ve surely poisoned my guts!’
‘No, what I’ve given you has helped to make you well. As I’ve said, it’s your wound that will kill you in time, not my remedies. In fact I’m surprised that you survived the exertions of our coupling as, with your destiny fulfilled, there is no reason why you should live any longer. You must surely have the heart of a warrior or perhaps the Gods have yet more in mind for you to accomplish. Whatever the truth of it, be warned that even you cannot endure such a wound for ever. Remember the apple and how I showed you that even the slightest graze can cause it to rot and then to wither from within.’
* * * * *
Ingar tended me well for several more days after that and under her care my strength gradually returned, though I still worried that in doing so she was damaging her reputation.
‘I’ve tended men before and often in intimate ways,’ she chided me as if to justify her actions. ‘There’s no shame in healing the wounded nor in tending the sick, for sickness and disease are as much a part of nature as are we all. Besides, you cannot be more intimate than to share what we have shared. As for being alone with you, my calling requires me to live apart from others, free from the distractions of heart and mind so that I might concentrate on all that’s needed for my craft. All my forebears did as much and I see no cause for me to depart from that.’
‘But what of all the people who came to watch what we did that night?’
‘They are those who will benefit most from my healing. They know how important it is for me to give birth to a daughter who will one day continue my maternal line and thereby preserve the craft of my forebears. You may not recall, but even before that night many of them called to visit you, curious to see a man who has returned from the dead. So much so that they even have a name for you.’
‘What is it?’ I asked intrigued.
She laughed as though not sure whether she should tell me. ‘They call you “the warrior with the pierced heart”,’ she managed at last. ‘And your reputation has spread so far that you are now a legend in these parts.’
‘But I didn’t die!’ I protested. ‘As you well know, the arrow somehow missed my heart, albeit not by much.’
‘To their eyes you did but were then sent back to fulfil your destiny, just as I’ve said. They and I truly believe that to be so. But whatever the way of it, remember these are but simple folk who still fear the old ways as much as they do the new.’
‘Then you shouldn’t let them believe such nonsense! They would be better served in looking to their priests for comfort, not witchcraft or pagan rites.’
‘They do. They go to your Church to find solace and to beg forgiveness for their sins as they have little enough in this world and hope for better in the one to come. Prayers and confession are the only way they know to secure repentance for their souls, but to cure their mortal aches and pains they come to me and I provide the remedies they need. Such an arrangement works well enough and besides, they’ll find no succour for whatever ails them any other way.’
I found it hard to accept what she was saying. If true, it meant that for them their religion and their Church were just a means to an end. That was at odds with all my training as a novice monk in which I’d been persuaded that there was nothing more powerful than prayer and that worship and dedication to God needed to bleed from every fibre of our being. Yet I had to admit that Ingar impressed me greatly, not least because she seemed so at one with her world, something I and others I’d known, be they warriors or monks, never seemed able to achieve.
‘You should not be too quick to judge the old ways nor even other beliefs,’ she once chided me. ‘I’ve met people of many different faiths. They may not admit it but most simply view the same God but from a different place.’
‘But what of those like the Vikings who have many Gods?’ I asked.
She shrugged. ‘Perhaps there are many Gods, or perhaps there is just one who has many different guises. Few of us can say for certain except perhaps those who, like you, have died and returned to us.’
‘But you know that’s not what happened!’ I protested. ‘True I was close to death, but to claim that I’ve risen from the grave is blasphemy!’
‘Your faith runs deep,’ she mused. ‘I wonder whether you were right to leave your precious Church?’
Those words troubled me as the guilt I felt for all my many sins, particularly that of having led my men to their deaths, still weighed so heavy on my conscience that I feared I was beginning to doubt my faith. ‘So, what of you? Which Gods do you fear most?’ I asked.
She shook her head. ‘I fear none. All I need for my comfort and protection is here, in the forest and in everything you see. The Earth Mother provides for me and spares me as any mother should.’
‘Ah, but not everything in nature is benevolent,’ I tried, thinking of some of the herbs I’d seen or heard of which could poison or cause great pain.
She nodded wisely. ‘It’s true that nature offers some things which can cause terrible torment or suffering and, in some cases, bring even death. But look again Matthew and you’ll see that she always provides a remedy for each. For example, the dock leaf grows beside the nettle and will assuage its sting. It is the knowledge of these remedies which is the calling of all true healers, myself included.’
‘Then there are no miracles or magic potions? Is that what you’re saying?’
‘Your Church relies on miracles and strange happenings which defy all logic but there are none in nature, save the miracle of life itself.’
As part of our discussion I reminded her that I stood to become a counsellor to Lord Alfred himself. ‘Once restored I shall of course make proper provision for you and our child,’ I said as if that might please her.
She seemed not to care about such things. ‘Have you understood so little of what I’ve told you?’ she said. ‘I neither ask nor want anything from you save that which you have given.’
I had to admit that I’d never met anyone so complete in herself and so at one with her beliefs. Yet my Christian faith would not accept that I could leave her if she was with child. But that was another decision fate would make on my behalf for there was nothing I could have done about all that was to follow.
Chapter Three
I was not sure how long it had been since I’d left Chippenham but at least several months had passed as the days were noticeably longer. Knowing this, I realised it was unlikely that anyone would still be looking for me. Alfred would surely have despatched a small group of men to discover what had become of me and my escort, but the search party would have first needed to return to Chippenham to retrace our steps from there. As they couldn’t be sure which route we’d taken, it would have been several days at least before they found what was left of my party – a group of by then rotting bodies, stripped of anything of value and no doubt ravaged by crows and wild beasts. I therefore had to assume they would be unable to tell one man from another and, though they would bury them all, they would not know for certain whether I was to be counted among the ranks of the fallen.
In the end they would have returned to Alfred with the dreadful news that the party had been attacked and that all but two bodies had been recovered and buried. After that there was nothing they could do save to assume that the two who were missing had either been taken by the Vikings for slaves or that their remains had been dragged off by wolves.
I knew Lord Alfred well enough to know that he would be deeply saddened by that news, but I also knew that whatever his regard for me, he could ill afford to have his men waste more time looking for bodies at a time when so much needed to be done within his realm. It was t
herefore up to me to find my own way back to Chippenham – and thereby to Emelda – as soon as I was strong enough to travel.
Meanwhile my wound had all but healed visibly, the scab having fully crusted and fallen away to reveal a bright pink scar where the skin had regrown to seal it. Ingar assured me that I still needed to rest as much as I could to allow the flesh to fully knit together within, sternly reminding me of her prediction that the wound would one day kill me. It was whilst she was applying yet more of her precious balm one morning that I suddenly had the strangest sense of foreboding; a feeling so intense that it made me shudder.
‘What’s wrong?’ she said, stopping what she was doing and allowing me to sit up and listen to the sounds of the forest.
There was little to be heard. A light breeze lifted the boughs of the trees but that caused barely a whisper. Then something scurried through the undergrowth near the edge of the clearing but, whatever it was, it seemed to present no cause for concern. Yet despite this we both knew that something was wrong as all seemed much too quiet. Even the birds had stopped singing.
‘I think someone has just stepped across my grave,’ I said, trying to make light of it.
‘You heard something, didn’t you?’ she pressed.
I shook my head. ‘No, it was more like something I sensed. Something which has aroused all my instincts as a warrior.’ In truth, I doubted whether after all I’d been through those instincts still survived but there was no denying that something had awakened them. Then, for no obvious reason, I seemed to know exactly what it was.
‘Hide yourself!’ I ordered, getting up and looking about for something that would serve as a weapon. We were in my world then, not hers, and I wasn’t about to let either of us be taken without a fight. ‘Gather what you can and go!’ I urged, almost pushing her aside.
Bemused, she got up and quickly started to gather up her things. ‘Matthew, be careful!’ she warned. ‘Remember your wound!’
‘Just go!’ I ordered, meaning to follow her. ‘We can hide in the forest until it’s safe to return.’
I’d never before seen her look frightened but, as she ran towards the trees, she was plainly terrified, all the more so because she had scarce reached them before the raiders appeared.
There were seven or eight of them, all armed and looking ready for a fight. Having not made good my own escape, I seized a stout broom from the corner of the cavern, broke off the end with my foot and thus turned it into a useful staff, the only viable weapon I had. I then went outside to confront the intruders.
They were indeed a motley group. As they blundered into the clearing they were no doubt expecting anyone who had heard them coming to have fled. On seeing me they laughed as one of them stepped forward with his axe poised, not thinking that a boy armed with nothing more than a broken broomstick would give him much trouble. Hence, he was surprised as I drove the end of the stick straight into his face with all the force I could manage. He was already spitting blood and teeth as he reeled away but I gave him no chance to recover. Instead, I struck him again across the back of the neck and he went down hard. As he lay there, moaning as he endured his pain, the second one to try my hand got similar treatment. I dodged his blow and struck him full in the belly, winding him before breaking the stick across his back.
By then the raiders realised what they were up against. They’d thought me an easy target and therefore not allowed me due respect. Two of them had already paid the price for that and the others were not about to make the same mistake.
What they didn’t know was that I was all but spent. Although what was left of the splintered broomstick might have been sharp enough to serve as a weapon, so much exertion seemed to have sapped every morsel of strength from my body. Worse still, my wound throbbed as if I’d torn the parts of it inside which were so newly healed and I began to feel dizzy and lightheaded. Empty and exhausted, I dropped first to my knees then fell and lay face down on the ground.
The raiders were quick to seize upon my weakness. Two of them grabbed me and roughly turned me over. As they did so I could hear Ingar’s prophecy ringing in my ears ‘that wound will surely kill you’. It was not the way I’d expected it to happen but by rendering me helpless I was certain that it was indeed about to cost me my life.
I lay there, staring up at the raiders, so fearful of what I was sure would follow that I almost forgot to breathe. Yet, strangely, although they had overcome me, it seemed they were not intent on blood. Instead, they lifted me up by my arms then half carried, half dragged me over to the stone slab. Roughly sweeping aside all the items Ingar had placed upon it, they pressed me back against the stone and then bound my hands in front so that I had no chance of escape. Little did they know that I barely had the strength to stand, never mind defend myself again. At that one of them roughly looked me over, forcing open my mouth as if to check my teeth then tipping back my head and staring hard into my eyes. Satisfied, he let me be, no doubt distracted by Ingar as two of his comrades dragged her struggling and kicking from her hiding place.
Unable to believe their good luck at finding such an attractive prize, they started to abuse her, ripping the torc from her neck and tearing at her clothes until one of their number stopped them. He was a big ox of a man, not tall but with a full belly and a mass of tangled yellow hair that hung lank and loose about his shoulders. Whilst I can’t be certain of what he said to the others it was clear that he wanted Ingar for himself. As he seized her none there seemed inclined to argue. Instead, Ingar was made to stand beside me where she was also bound then, together, we watched in silence as they ransacked her home and rifled through her few belongings.
* * * * *
When they’d finished rummaging through Ingar’s cavern there was little left that wasn’t spoiled or broken. Even the pots which she’d filled with her precious herbs and potions had been smashed, but still the raiders found nothing worth stealing except the wooden figure of the naked woman which had once had pride of place on Ingar’s altar and which they seemed to find amusing. That they despoiled and insulted with lewd gestures and no doubt some very crude comments.
Disgruntled at finding so little spoil, they marched us both off into the forest. I was still dressed in just my undershirt and leggings and with not even any shoes on my feet whereas Ingar’s modesty was barely preserved by the torn shift she had hastily secured with her girdle.
I can recall little of where they took us beyond the fact that we were led deeper into the forest, following what looked to be a freshly cut path – presumably one they’d cleared on their way to find the cavern. I remember thinking that as their path led directly to it they must have known exactly where it was, suggesting someone had betrayed its location. In any event, we had only a short way to go before we arrived at a makeshift camp where two of their number waited, having been left to guard six other prisoners who were all securely bound together with a long rope, forming a file of miserable and dejected men.
With my hands still tied, I was added to this line. As the rope was secured around my neck I noticed that the others all had rips and tears in their tunics which revealed livid wheals to their backs, no doubt caused by the cruel lash of a whip. Though none of them made any attempt to introduce themselves by name, I glanced at those on either side of me. The first was dressed in the habit of a monk and who I later learned answered to the name of Brother Benedict. He was a willowy figure, so tall and slender that I thought he might sway and bend in the wind. The crown of his head had been shaved into a tonsure as a sign of his devotion but he wore no crucifix, his having no doubt been taken. The other man was of stouter build, being short but with broad shoulders and thick-set arms which suggested he was used to hard labour. His hair was cropped close and he had the shadow of a silver beard, indicating he was older than he at first appeared. Still, he looked as though he could handle himself well enough, so I judged him to be a useful ally if we had a chance to escape, though from all I could see at that time there was little hope of
that.
Ingar was taken directly to another man who had been laid out on a litter and covered over with furs. It was then I realised that it was her they’d come for, not me. Having heard of her healing skills they needed her to tend one of their own, presumably a man of some importance.
Ingar seemed to know at once what was expected of her. With her bonds untied, she knelt beside the litter then lifted back the furs to examine the man’s wound. What she saw seemed to startle even her. I learned later that he had a deep wound to his side, probably from an axe. Ingar told me that even as she looked at him she knew he was beyond saving but, undeterred, she bathed the wound then tried to tell them that she required herbs which could be gathered from the forest. They couldn’t understand what she was saying and, by a cruel twist of fate, had destroyed the very remedies their chieftain needed. It was then that the stout fellow next to me was dragged over and made to translate for them. When he explained what she was saying, Ingar was taken off under guard to search for what was required.
Whilst Ingar was away our bonds were checked and we were all made to sit on the ground to wait, though we were offered neither food nor water.
At length Ingar returned and set about her ministrations, cleansing the man’s wound again and then examining it even more closely. I could see she was worried. She mixed a poultice by crushing whatever herbs she’d gathered and pressed it into the wound directly before stitching the flesh to seal it. She also mixed some form of elixir with which she wetted his lips, though he seemed too badly wounded to actually drink it.
With that she got up as if to say she’d done all she could. The raiders seemed to understand but instead of dragging her back to join us, they took her to tend the two men I’d struck when they attacked us. They were both complaining about their wounds. One was still bleeding from his jaw and the other kept stretching himself as if to relieve the pain in his back.