‘Well met in this land of the Welisc, Eadulf the Christian,’ the young man grinned. ‘I am the Eorl Osric, thane to Eanfrith, king of the Hwicce.’
Eadulf dismounted from his horse and took a few steps towards the eorl. ‘Then well met, Osric of the Hwicce. Pax tecum!’
Osric grinned again. ‘I have no Latin, Eadulf. Speak in good Saxon. I am not Christian. The gods of my forefathers are good enough for me.’
‘I was going to ask you for a quid pro quo, but as you speak no Latin, I shall translate. Something for something. I have told you there are no Welisc warriors here. Now you tell me something.’
Osric chuckled. ‘Were you a merchant before you joined this curious brotherhood of Christ, my friend?’
‘I was hereditary gerefa of my people,’ Eadulf assured him.
‘A lawgiver. I might have known,’ replied the young thane with a wry grimace. ‘Then we shall cease to bargain. What is it that you wish to know?’
‘What are you doing on this shore? Do you mean to harm the people living here?’
Osric pointed to the woods beyond. ‘We are here to cut down the tallest tree we can find.’
It was a totally unexpected reply and Eadulf’s face showed it.
Osric was still chuckling. ‘My gerefa friend,’ he said, ‘it is quite true. Our ship has been demasted and we managed to make it into a bay beyond that point.’ He waved a hand over his shoulder. ‘We need to get a new mast. But as this is the land of Welisc we came prepared to fight for it.’
‘And that was why you were shouting your war-cry?’
‘We thought that it might frighten people off long enough for our purpose.’
He turned and snapped an order which sent his men racing towards the nearby wood searching for a tall tree.
One of the men, obviously the chief carpenter, pointed to a tall, fairly thin oak. Two axemen came forward and set to work with a will, the smack of their metal blades into wood echoing across the landscape. They did not waste time. The work was done quickly and efficiently.
‘Was it your ship that was anchored down the coast some days ago?’ asked Eadulf.
Osric turned to him with an amused grin. ‘Another question? I thought your Latin merchant’s term was question for question?’
‘If you want to ask me questions, I’ll be happy to answer them,’ Eadulf offered, feeling suddenly comfortable with the young man. Hwicce or no, pagan or no, these were his own people and he felt at ease with them.
‘Well, you are right. We have been up and down this coast during this last week or so. We have been chasing a Welisc ship.’
‘Did you by any chance raid the Welisc religious community near here . . . to the south?’
Osric shook his head firmly. ‘We had better things to do.’
Eadulf was surprised by the answer. ‘You did not?’ he pressed.
‘Why do you ask? Do the Welisc claim that they were raided by us?’
‘Some do. A Saxon ship was observed moored in a cove in that direction some days ago.’ He indicated the position with his hand.
‘That was my ship, the Wave-Breaker,’ agreed Osric.
‘Not far from where you anchored, Osric, there was a religious community called Llanpadern. The Father Superior was hanged and the community were taken. Several of the brethren were found slain on the foreshore and some Hwicce weapons were found nearby.’
‘I was not responsible,’ insisted Osric.
Eadulf decided to be bolder. ‘There was also a body of a stranger found at the religious place.’
Osric’s eyes narrowed. ‘I have a feeling, my gerefa friend, that you are going to tell me that this body is significant.’
‘It was the body of an Hwicce.’
Osric regarded him with a serious expression. ‘Describe the body to me.’
Eadulf did so, and the young thane let out a long, low sigh. ‘It was the body of Thaec.’
‘Who is Thaec?’
‘One of my crew. The night that we anchored in the bay you have described, he went ashore with another man. They both spoke the language of these Welisc and offered to attempt to pick up some intelligence. Only one man, Saexbald, came back.’ Osric suddenly glanced around at his warriors. ‘Saexbald! Come here!’
A tall warrior detached himself from the group and came running forward.
‘Saexbald, tell the gerefa here what happened on the night you went ashore with Thaec.’
The warrior turned to Eadulf. ‘We had scouted along the shore when, without warning, a group of Welisc horsemen came on us. We fought but Thaec was swiftly overpowered, even though he did his best to get himself killed rather than be taken as captive. I was separated from him in the fight and forced to abandon him. I only just managed to get back to the safety of the ship.’
‘Thaec is dead,’ Osric told the man.
‘May he have met his death with sword in hand and the name of Woden on his lips,’ the warrior intoned.
‘Did you know who these Welisc were?’ asked Eadulf.
‘Warriors, no doubt. They fought well.’
‘Did you hear any names shouted by them during the encounter?’
‘Names? No. The only shouting I heard was . . . actually it was strange, come to think of it. One of the Welisc warriors seems to have been stung.’
‘Stung?’ queried Eadulf.
‘There was some shouting about a wasp.’
A slow smile of satisfaction spread over Eadulf’s face.
There was a resounding crash as the tree was felled. Almost immediately, the warriors started to strip the branches and the bark, using their powerful axes. Osric signalled the tall warrior, Saexbald, to return to his comrades.
‘Did they torture poor Thaec before he died?’ he asked.
‘He was not tortured. It seems that he was stabbed in the chest with a sword.’
Osric rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘Do you think he died fighting?’
‘I am sure of it. I also know that he sorely wounded his assailant.’
‘It would be good to tell his parents that their son died with sword in hand and the name of Woden on his lips, so that he could be gathered up into the Hall of Heroes where the immortals live.’
Eadulf looked disapproving. ‘I cannot subscribe to pagan beliefs.’
‘A man of principle, gerefa? Yes, I suppose you are. But did you see or hear anything which would contradict the story?’
‘Nothing. But why would he have been taken to the community and killed?’
‘Are you trying to tell me that the Welisc religious would not have killed him?’
‘They would not have harmed him unless in self-defence. It was the Welisc warriors who captured him who killed him.’
‘I know nothing of this religious community. We anchored in the bay because it was nightfall and we did not know these waters.’
‘Did you not make a search for your missing crewman at first light?’
‘We do not abandon our own unless we are forced to. You know that, gerefa. Of course a search was made at first light. From the shoreline we saw that a Welisc peasant had spotted us and, finding nothing, we reluctantly abandoned the search. It was madness to continue after we had been spotted, for we did not know how many enemy warriors were in the vicinity.’
‘Just a minute,’ Eadulf said. ‘You knew that there were some. What of the band of warriors who took your man Thaec? Why did they not attack you at dawn?’
Osric made a gesture with his hand as if dismissing them. ‘They had disappeared. Taken Thaec and vanished.’
‘So what did you do then?’
‘We put to sea again.’
‘That brings me to another question. What are you doing so far from your own country?’
There was a pause and the young thane examined Eadulf’s expression for a moment as if searching for something there.
‘I answer because I think I can trust you, gerefa. I believe that you are a man of principle. We are chasing a Welisc ship. Have you h
eard of a prince called Morgan ap Arthyrs? He is the king of Gwent, a territory which borders our kingdom.’
‘I know little of affairs in this part of the world,’ confessed Eadulf.
‘Well, this Morgan is an enemy worthy of our steel. He is cunning and ruthless. He has ruled Gwent for many years.’
‘Morgan?’ Eadulf tried to remember where he had heard the name recently.
‘We are chasing one of his ships. He raided on our side of the River Saeferne which marks our common border. We gave chase and a long chase it has been. But the ship has eluded us. Now we must return to our own land to prevent our families mourning the loss of more than Thaec and Wigar. Wigar was lost overboard in a storm: the same storm which snapped our mast.’
He indicated where his men had finished stripping and trimming the tall oak tree.
‘It’s not the best of times to cut a tree,’ he observed, glancing to the sky, ‘but we cannot choose our seasons. So long as it gets us home we shall be happy.’
Eadulf nodded absently. ‘I still do not entirely understand. Ships often raid and chases occur. That I comprehend. But you have chased this one many a mile. Why are you so dogged in the pursuit of the Welisc, Thane Osric?’
Osric frowned momentarily. ‘You ask a lot of questions, Eadulf the Christian.’
‘It is because I hate mysteries,’ Eadulf replied spiritedly.
‘I will answer you, then. During the raid the Welisc took several hostages. Among them was Aelfwynn, the ten-year-old daughter of King Eanfrith. That is why I have pursued this ship of Morgan’s so closely.’
One of Osric’s men came forwarded and saluted him. ‘We are ready, lord.’
‘That is good. Let us prepare.’
The man turned and barked an order. The trunk of the tree had been rolled onto the long axe handles of the warriors and now they bent and picked up their burden as easily as if it had been a light branch. At another sharp command, the warriors began to move as one, returning on the path in the direction they had come from.
‘You are welcome to continue your journey with us as far as the land of the Hwicce,’ Osric offered, then added, glancing slyly at him, ‘although I think you have other plans.’
‘That I have,’ agreed Eadulf. ‘I will ensure that Thaec has a Christian burial.’
Osric shook his head as he shouldered his shield and took up his war axe again. ‘That would dishonour him. No, let him lie where he is. Do not bother to find out how he died. His family will rest content that he now plays dice with the Immortals in the Hall of Heroes. Old men will sing of his courage around the fires in the evening. His memory will become immortal too. That will be more than poor Eanfrith will boast of lost little Aelfwynn. Alas, I can pursue the Welisc ship of Morgan no longer.’
He raised his axe above his head in salute. ‘Farewell, Eadulf the Christian, sometime gerefa.’
Eadulf felt a sudden panic. He was sure that Fidelma would have asked more questions, discovered more facts, but his mind was blank. All he could say was: ‘God send you a good wind home, Osric of the Hwicce.’ He stood watching as the warriors, bearing their load and followed by Osric, went trotting down the hill.
Behind Eadulf, Fidelma emerged from the woods on foot, leading her horse. He turned to meet her. There was relief on her face.
‘It seems that the Saxons were friendly after all,’ she observed.
‘Their ship was demasted and they were looking for a new mast to replace it,’ he explained.
‘That much I could see.’ She smiled. ‘Did you learn anything else? You spoke a long while with the young man who led them.’
‘Osric was his name; thane to Eanfrith, king of the Hwicce.’
Her eyes widened slightly. ‘So these were the Hwicce?’ She stumbled again over the pronunciation. ‘Then it was . . .’
‘It was their ship that Goff the smith told us of. And the dead Hwicce at Llanpadern was one of their crew, a man called Thaec.’
Fidelma said quietly: ‘Then you’d better tell me exactly what passed between you and Osric.’
Eadulf did so, keeping as close to the actual words as he could remember. Fidelma nodded from time to time, asking a question merely to have a point explained. When he had finished she was looking troubled.
‘This information merely adds to our mystery,’ she finally said, unable to keep the frustration from her voice.
There was a mournful smile on Eadulf’s face. ‘The Fidelma I once knew would have said, Vincit qui patitur.’
There was an angry flash in Fidelma’s green-grey eyes, gone in a moment. ‘Indeed, he prevails who is patient, Eadulf,’ she replied tightly. ‘I did not know that you judged yourself a paragon of patience?’
Eadulf flushed at the waspishness of her reply. ‘I meant--’ he began, but she interrupted.
‘You have added another small piece of the picture but we do not know where it fits, that is if we are to believe your Saxon friend. We have an Hwicce warship chasing a ship of Gwent. It anchors in a cove at night. A crewman goes ashore to reconnoitre and is captured. The ship continues on its way, abandoning him. He then is found in a sarcophagus at Llanpadern having been stabbed to death. Does knowing this bring us any nearer an explanation?’
Eadulf had never heard Fidelma’s voice filled with such frustration before. He tried to think of something to say that would be helpful, but could not and so retreated into silence. He was troubled on another level. Ever since they had arrived in this land of Dyfed they had been arguing with one another and he could not understand why. What had gone wrong with their relationship since they had left the shores of Laigin? Or had there been something wrong before?
He had persuaded Fidelma to join him on his return to Canterbury. Had he been blind? Had it been against her will? After all, she had left him at Cashel to proceed to the Tomb of St James while he had set out to Canterbury by himself. It was only in order to save him from the unjust accusation of murder that she had returned to defend him. Now he was confused. Anger grew out of his confusion. He realised that she was speaking again.
‘Let’s return to Llanwnda and stop the panic that must have set in among Gwnda’s people.’
He suppressed a sigh as she mounted her horse, expecting him to follow. ‘No,’ he said abruptly. She stared down at him in astonishment.
‘No,’ he repeated, as he mounted his own horse. ‘I shall ride to the point first and check whether they erected their new mast and told me the truth about their intention to sail south.’
She stared at him for a moment or two and then, without speaking, jerked the reins of her horse, turning it to ride off to Llanwnda.
Eadulf sat astride his mount for a few moments, watching until she had disappeared among the trees. Then he turned his horse and headed after the Saxon warriors. When he reached the point overlooking the small bay, the Saxon ship was immediately discernible below. The main mast was indeed missing, and warrior-seamen were hard at work clearing the tangled ropes and rigging, preparing for the new mast to be set in place.
Osric and his men were already rowing their small boats towards the vessel, bearing their newly cut mast with them. Eadulf admired the ease, born of a lifetime at sea, with which they propelled their craft towards the long, low warship. He could admire their skill, for he considered himself something of an expert on seamanship. Not that he had ever been a seaman, but he had made many voyages now. Four times he had crossed the great sea between Britain and the land of Éireann; four times had he crossed the seas on his pilgrimages to Rome. And he had sailed along the turbulent eastern shores of Britain to attend the great Council of Whitby.
Eadulf liked the sea and yet, at the same time, he feared it. Was fear the right word? No; he did not take the sea for granted. He respected it. The sea was cruel and had no charity. Yet without the sea man would be insignificant, for the sea was like a great road between peoples and without contact with one another men would be isolated and there would be no progress between them. But the sea was p
atient, watching and waiting and ready, like a murderer on a dark night, hiding in an unilluminated lane with a knife to strike at the unexpected moment.
Eadulf broke off his thoughts with an impatient sigh. He dismounted and tethered his horse, seating himself on a boulder from which he could observe the warriors repairing their ship. The late autumnal sun was lukewarm in the cloudless sky. For the first time in days Eadulf felt that he could relax and give his thoughts to the matter which was worrying him.
Fidelma.
Where lay the fault for the deterioration of their relationship? What was it that he had once been taught by a sage of the South Folk? No one can understand anyone else unless, while being true to his own nature, he respects the free will of the other. Well, he had once thought, perhaps arrogantly, that he understood Fidelma. Yet he had to admit that seven languages were more easily mastered than the understanding of the woman.
He heard a distant shouting and looked up from his revelry, glancing down to the bay. Something moved in the corner of his eye. He looked towards the northern headland and saw a second ship under full sail sweeping round into the bay. It was a sleek-looking fighting ship, and across its taut sails was the image of a large red dragon.
Chapter Eighteen
Eadulf leapt to his feet.
The shouting had come from the Saxons, who had spied the oncoming vessel. There was no mistaking the intention of the other ship, nor that it was manned by Welisc. The dragon battle flag seemed common to most of the Britons. It had been the symbol of the great Macsen Wledig, whom the Romans had called Magnus Maximus when he was declared emperor of the western empire by the legions stationed in Britain. It was curious what thoughts came in moments of adversity. Macsen was betrayed and put to death. His wife, Elen, returned to Britain to become the most influential figure in the Christian movement, her sons and daughters founding many kingdoms of the Britons.
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