by Troy A Hill
“Conversions happen often, son,” Mihangel said. “Is there more?”
“An Anglo king is a prize conversion,” Twm said, his eyes alight. “And the priest that travels with him says all of his kingdom shall be converted by royal decree.”
Twm’s eyes darted between Mihangel and I. Neither of us said anything for a long moment.
“But that is joyous news, good brother and sister,” Twm said, his voice hesitant.
“How would you receive a new faith if Penda put a sword to your throat and told you to convert or die?” Mihangel raised his cup and stared across it at his young protégé.
“But no one is threatening to kill the yeomen for not converting,” Twm said. “They will rejoice that they’ve received the one true faith. The people will gather and hear the priests that Oswiu has sent. They’ll hear the Word and listen to the conversion tale of their liege and rejoice that they are free at last from the bonds of a false religion.”
“No one threatening?” I lowered my chin and looked at Twm. “What will happen to any yeoman who declines the baptism? What will the king’s men with swords do then?”
Twm glanced back and forth between his mentor and me. It was clear the thought anyone would refuse had not crossed his mind.
“And four priests are supposed to educate an entire kingdom of common folk?” Mihangel asked. “They’ll need forty, or four hundred priests. How long did it take you to learn the Lord’s Prayer, or the Ave Maria? A day? How about all the proper behaviour for a mass, or even the commandments? Together, that is quite a burden for a yeoman whose days are spent in the field or in craft, and not learning religious tenets.”
“I’ve travelled across the continent and never seen a mass conversion go well, if at all,” I said. “What I’ve observed is old temples destroyed, burned to the ground. The priests give only the most basic instruction and expect everyone to understand all the intricacies of holding a mass, when and how to pray, and…”
“Four priests to educate all of Middle Anglia,” Mihangel interrupted. “That’s only enough to educate the king’s court.”
“When the peasants don’t understand or haven’t been educated in the new methods of worship, they’ll continue to do what they’ve done under the old gods,” I added.
Brother Twm was trying to slide down in his chair under our barrage.
“I’ve seen priests chastise yeomen who clung to their old ways because they didn’t know how to worship under the new way,” I continued. “Any the priests find keeping the old ways with the new religion are penalised with increased tithes and penance. If the Witch Hunters were there, they could be tortured or killed for practicing the old ways.”
Twm opened his mouth. Mihangel cut him off.
“How many times have we come across a village where they pour water on each other at every meal? Because all they were taught was baptism?” He leaned forward and stared at Twm. “Just last week, we encountered a local lord, a pagan, in southern Mercia who demanded we leave some of our magic bread with him. The last priests who visited refused to share.”
“And you gave him some,” Twm declared. “That is the body of our Saviour for the faithful to consume.”
“He was holding us hostage if we didn’t share, lad.”
“Common men don’t understand religion the way monks and priests do,” I added. “My friend Abbot Heilyn has been sending his monks into Mercia to help educate the converted and train priests here. Even with that small number of churches, the abbot says the task is huge, and his monks few. Imagine four priests taking on an entire kingdom, even a small one.”
“They’ll be receiving the true faith and abandoning their heathen ways!” Twm declared.
“At sword point, lad,” Mihangel said. “That’s not a real conversion. Better to preach and show the faith. Let them come of their own accord. Penda’s been fair in his approach. All faiths are welcome in Mercia. He lets his thegns decide their own faith and doesn’t let them push it down on the people they care for. Each man decides on his own.”
“You were an oblate, were you not, good brother?” I asked Twm.
“Of course. I was dedicated to the monastery when I was only eight winters old,” he said. “My dedication to our church and faith has won me high praise from our abbot and the fathers we train.”
“Then you know the tenets of the faith well. Your understanding of the world outside the walls of the abbey, however, is limited,” I said, trying to keep my voice soft and nurturing. “Brother Mihangel had seen much of the world with sword in hand before he took his vows,” I added.
“He only came in a year before I did,” Twm said. “He hardly has more learning than I do.”
“Perhaps in the matter of scripture and doctrine,” I said, a slight grin on my face. “Have you looked into the eyes of a man dying because a thegn or lord sent their war band out to contest a border? Have you held the hand of a widow as the dirt is tossed on the graves of her children and husband because a lord with a different religion decided to raid the unfortunate village full of heathens?”
Brother Twm looked at his hands. “This is my first mission outside of Gwent, milady,” he said.
“Then watch and learn,” I suggested. “The conversion of Paeda’s kingdom should show you much. But be cautious, not overjoyed. The people will need much more help with their new religion. A lot more than Oswiu and Paeda will provide.”
“At least with Oswiu involved we’ll have Cymry priests instead of the ones from Canterbury,” Mihangel said.
Brother Twm looked down again. “That was the other bit of news I had to share.” His voice was quiet. “Only one priest with Paeda is from Cymry lands. The other three are from Canterbury.”
“Brother, you need to share news like that first,” Mihangel said.
Loud rapping sounded then. We turned to see Lord Chamberlain lifting his hands, urging us to rise.
“Penda, King of Mercia, bids you all welcome at this meal,” he intoned. Once everyone was on their feet, he introduced several members of Penda’s royal family, including his sister.
“Royal daughters, Cynewith and Cyneburgh,” Chamberlain intoned. Two young women, old enough to marry, with light-coloured hair, walked in and stood behind the head table, towards one end of the dozen chairs.
“His Grace, Paeda, High Lord and King of the Middle Angles.”
The door behind the Lord Chamberlain opened. In strode a young Saxon. His beard was full and dark, but his eyes and face looked perhaps a year or two older than Brother Twm. Behind Paeda, two other people waited in the shadows of the hallway beyond.
“His Grace, Penda, High King of the lands of Mercia, and his lady wife, Queen Cynewise. And their son, Wulfhere.”
Penda entered the hall, his wife and queen on his arm. Penda’s eyes scanned the crowd as we all bowed or curtseyed. The king’s eye stopped a few times as he nodded at men I assumed were his top retainers. His eyes stopped on Bleddyn off to the side, and a smile of recognition crept onto the king’s face.
There was a charge to the air now that the Mercian king was present. Penda exuded authority, despite his soft smile. His eyes were much like Bleddyn’s. Calm and compassionate. Yet there was a hard edge there, too.
Then his gaze drifted to the back. The smile deepened as he spotted me and Mihangel. He nodded, almost enough that I could have counted it a bow between equals. Not quite, but close.
The question was, who was he directing the nod to? Me? Or the Cymry monk next to me?
More men entered through the door that Penda and his queen had just come through.
Four of the men headed towards the secondary table where Penda’s son Paeda stood. All the men were priests, based on the embroidered robes they wore. Three of them wore smiles that were more smirks of elation. They wore the tonsures of Roman-ordered monks. The fourth wore a tonsure like Mihangel’s, but he also had a beard. He reminded me more of Ruadh than the men he accompanied. That would be the Cymry priest.
&nbs
p; “The three Anglos look like cats that just ate a large bird,” Mihangel whispered.
Penda helped his wife take a seat, then sat in his large chair at the raised table. Paeda and the priests sat after the Mercian king. One priest stayed standing to help the new king with his chair. He turned enough that I could see his front full on.
I sucked in a breath, my teeth clenched. Mihangel shot me a look.
“Problem, milady?”
“His holy symbol,” I moaned. My hand reached down for the sword I no longer wore, and my fingers grabbed only the cloth of my sash’s knot.
It wasn’t just a normal cross on the priest’s chest. Not even the golden pectoral cross that bishops wore. His was two iron nails twisted to make the cross, wreathed with a silver circle of brambles.
“He’s a Witch Hunter.”
17
A Scent of Rose
Bleddyn came and offered me his arm.
“Sit by me, my sister,” he said, then whispered, “We have seats where we can watch the priests with Paeda.”
My teeth clenched, I managed a nod and slid my arm into the crook of his elbow.
“Brother Mihangel, you and your brother are welcome to sit at our table,” Bleddyn added.
“Diolch, Penllyn,” Mihangel said. “Brother Twm should venture to other tables, though. He has a knack for uncovering information almost as fast as Lord Chamberlain.”
Brother Twm smiled and bowed, then turned to find a seat on the other side of the room. Mihangel rolled his eyes as Twm headed off to another table.
Bleddyn led me towards a table with about half a dozen stools or chairs on each side. A few thegns and their wives already sat at the table. Bleddyn and I had seats in the centre of one side. The others made room for Mihangel across from us.
My eyes slid towards the priests. Only one of them wore the sign of the Witch Hunters. The other three had normal crosses of ivory, or for the Cymry monk, an ornately carved Celtic-style cross.
Bleddyn nudged me, so I turned my attention back and noticed one of the ladies looking my way.
“My apologies, milady,” I said in the Saxon language. Her question, which she repeated, inquired after life in Caer Penllyn. She had met Rhian once before and called her by name, not by title. She considered Rhian a friend, not just another lady of high station.
I made small talk with her, relating the birth of Enid and Cadoc’s twins. Custom here was similar to that on the continent. Women preferred not to eat in public at these state functions. That gave us time to chat around the men’s dining and helped me hide my inability to consume mortal food.
Instead I held my cup of mead and rolled it idly between my palms, occasionally taking a “sip”. Bleddyn often turned to bring me into a conversation with the thegns at the table. I set my cup on the table as I listened to their stories.
Bleddyn set his cup near mine, and I took his instead. I kept it in hand until he reached for another drink. He took a large swallow from what had been my cup, and I was in the clear for a while more.
One thegn caught my eye. He leaned in to be overhead above the loud din of conversation in the hall. “Did you really help Lord Emlyn with that army at the abbey?”
“Of course,” I said. “I couldn’t let him have all the fun to himself.” That led to another short retelling of the Battle of the Abbey. I shifted my tale to let people believe that Emlyn had led the fight. This attention on my role in the battle annoyed me. With a Witch Hunter here, I wanted to keep a low profile.
Once conversation shifted off to other topics, my eyes drifted to the Witch Hunter priest again. I had to fight the urge to grab for where Soul should be on my hip. Instead I reached out and touched Mihangel’s hand.
“Does Penda keep a weapons practice hall in the compound?” I asked. “Or do I need to go back to the lower village to get practice time in?”
“I can show you after the meal,” he said. “Do you need opponents?”
“No, just a pell, a dummy to whack at for a while.”
Thea was waiting in my room when Bleddyn and I returned. She sat by a lamp, clothed for a change, working on embroidery. That was fortunate, since Bleddyn walked in behind me.
“I should send word to Talian to meet me at sunrise,” I told him. “I’m not sure if Penda’s guards will be using the field or not.”
“Ask when you’re there tonight,” Bleddyn said. “Siors is a good man. However, Talian may learn the wrong way to gamble the coins I gave him for the journey.”
“You’re like Emi,” Thea said. “Heading off to the weapons yard as soon as dark falls.”
“We had the same mentor,” I said. By now, I could only shrug. Once anyone saw my skill with blades, that would be the first question. How did I learn? Better to inform Lord Chamberlain through Thea. That would mean less digging that might uncover other details. I glanced at Bleddyn. He shrugged too.
He strode to the door adjoining our rooms and looked back as he opened it. A faint aroma of roses drifted through.
“I’ll leave you to change your clothes and visit the weapons hall,” he said and slid into his room.
I stared at the door for a few moments.
“Problem, milady?” Thea asked.
“No,” I said, then shrugged. I knew Rhian and Bleddyn were in a political marriage. I had shared Rhian’s bed several times. She was a willing donor to my need for blood. We shared intimacies beyond just blood. This was the first time I had noticed any such activity on Bleddyn’s part, though.
“You didn’t know?” Thea asked.
“His liaisons weren’t something I bothered thinking about. I’ve been in too many courts to have not known.” I pulled my trousers and tunic out of my bag. “Brother Mihangel is waiting to show me the pells. I need to work some aggression off.”
I bit my tongue. Silly. No need to let Lord Chamberlain know I was agitated.
Thea was too comfortable to be around. That’s why the Lord Chamberlain liked her. Her natural demeanour got me to let tidbits slip through.
She helped me pull my dress off, then slid into me from behind and nestled her face into the crook of my neck and shoulder. Her lips pressed into my neck.
“Let me spend time with a blade, even a wooden one,” I said.
“Are you sure?” she whispered. “What has you troubled?”
I sighed. How much to reveal? What did Lord Chamberlain and Penda need to know?
“Tonight, I saw the priests that came in with Paeda from Bernicia,” I said and pulled the trousers on. Thea stood ready with my tunic while I cinched the drawstring tight above my hips.
“Priests are as numerous as flies from dead horses,” she said.
“One was different,” I said. “He wore the symbol the Witch Hunters.”
“You sound as though you’ve experienced them?”
“This needs to go up the chain,” I said. “If Penda hasn’t had much dealings with them, he needs to learn.”
“You’re no fun when you stop pretending I’m not a spy.” Thea stuck her lip out in a pouting jest.
“Exchange time,” I said. “I understand you cannot make promises on behalf of Lord Chamberlain. I’ll share now, and I’d like to be advised of everything Penda’s spy network can uncover about that priest and his connection to the Witch Hunters.”
“You’re right, I can’t promise,” Thea said. “But I will mention your request.”
“By now Lord Chamberlain knows that Brother Mihangel and I travelled together for a short time. Brigands attacked our caravan.”
“He might, but I didn’t,” Thea said.
“You weren’t at dinner. I found an old friend there. Anyway, I fled into the woods after a bandit got grabby with my body.”
“You didn’t slice him?”
“I didn’t have a sword. And the bandits held two of our party, priests, Anglo ones, at knifepoint,” I said. “It was better for me to flee. I didn’t realise Mihangel would even the odds that quickly. I heard his staff strike flesh, an
d the bandits ran. The one chasing me, however, didn’t give up so easily.”
Thea wrapped my belt around my waist from behind. I expected her hands to linger. Instead she stepped around me and waited.
“I eventually defeated my pursuer,” I said. “I left him alive but unconscious, then I tossed his clothing and weapon into a bear cave.”
Thea giggled. “Was the bear home?”
“No, probably hunting.” I sat on the edge of the bed. “I wandered for a fortnight. A few farmers gave me rides or shelter. The merchants I had been with were long gone. Mihangel said the Anglo priests pushed to leave when I did not return.”
Thea muttered a few obscenities about priests.
“While I wandered in the countryside, trying to find an escort back to Sussex, a few of these Witch Hunters found me. Alone in the woods. They were a basic brute squad, looking for people to make trouble for.”
“That makes you a witch, right?” Thea said. The colour had drained out of her face.
“Exactly.” I wrapped my arms around my chest to suppress a shiver as I recalled Onion Breath and his knife. Talian had told me the names of my captors once, however, I refused to remember them. Those two cretins deserved to have their names lost to time. Another shiver rippled up my spine at the memories. Thea moved to the bed and leaned into me. Comforting.
“I…” Even now, a year after the event, I didn’t want to remember the time. “They cut me, threatened to have their young apprentice take my womanhood.” Again, the urge to shiver overtook me.
“Their apprentice, a young man with a kind heart, slipped me his knife and refused to take my honour. I cut my way loose that night.”
“Did you…” Thea let the statement trail off.
“They deserved worse than what I gave them,” I said. “They had seaxes. All I had was a small knife. And I was near death myself by the time they were dead. Lady Gwen found me after the fight. She nursed me back to health. That’s how I came to serve her goddess. My goddess now.”
“We’ve heard reports that bands of Witch Hunters harassing farmers and villagers. No witnesses have come forth to stand against them.”