by Geoff Smith
‘The stranger confirmed to us that the devils’ den was indeed situated within a hidden cave. So it was that one morning, before dawn, I set out with my father and our men, and many staunch peasants who went with us along with Brother Albinus, his monks, and the giant stranger who would act as our guide. We returned his sword to him, and we carried our own swords, which had been blessed by the monks with holy charms, while the peasants came armed with spears, knives and clubs, and carried torches to light our way through the darkness.
‘We journeyed for more than half the day, the stranger following signs he had left carved upon trees along the way. He grew more agitated, and made signals with his hands to urge us on with greater speed – I presumed to reach and surprise the devils in the daytime when their powers were weakest.
‘The sun had sunk far beyond its high point when we came to a place above a valley between two high hills with giant rugged stones which jutted out from under the grass and bushes on their steep slopes, and I looked down upon a great round bubble of rock which lay deep in the valley itself. I remember it now as clearly as if I saw it this day. Also I remember the sinking feeling deep in my stomach as my excitement turned to apprehension when I saw the stranger point towards it and say something in a tone I knew to mean that we had come to our destination.
‘First my father and the stranger went stealthily by themselves to examine the ground about the base of the bulbous rock, and soon they found concealed there in the scrub the narrow crevice that would lead us to the gates of Hell. They signalled to us, and we re-lit our torches then crept to join them, gathering together about the rock in our full numbers. Now my father came to me and told me to gather my courage, saying we must go at the front to set an example to the others. I steeled my nerves as I followed him and the stranger down into the icy darkness, and behind us filed the monks along with the best and bravest of our warriors. We moved along a cold, dank passageway, the light from our torches barely penetrating the intense blackness, until we emerged into what seemed like a wide cavern, and I could tell from the direction of our movements that it must be located inside the highest hill itself. At our feet lay the entrance to another passage which seemed to lead downwards, deep into the ground, and since we had encountered nothing so far, I supposed the devils must lay concealed in this. But I felt a thrill of pure horror as I saw that scattered about us were many gnawed and discarded bones, from which I turned my eyes in fear I should recognise them as human remains.
‘Now the monks came forward, and began to chant. It was a terrible yet glorious sound, an unworldly cacophony of prayers and curses which rang in the air, echoing and reverberating through the great walls of stone until it filled the depths of the earth beneath us. Then there came suddenly a great thundering from under our feet as the ground itself began to shake, and the air was clogged with a foul-smelling haze which rose to blind our eyes and burn our throats as we stood blinking into the shadows. And at once all in front of us was alive, light and dark and dust swirling together into frantic motion as a hellish swarm of utterly demonic faces rose up at us. Hideous they were as they rushed upon us, their distorted inhuman features twisted and screaming, and we thrust out our swords in terror to hold back these legions of Hell. But then in their midst, through the clouds of dust, there materialised a face that was a brutish parody of the human form, a gigantic vision that rose and towered above us. Its body, half-concealed in the haze, appeared naked and horribly misshapen as its eyes burned with savage rage, and it bared its fangs to roar at us. We who were mere men shrank back, so terrifying was this manifestation, and we feared it was a horror no mortal could fight. But the monks held fast, frail old Albinus to the fore, thrusting up their wooden crosses into the demon’s face, forcing it back as it bellowed out once more, and the holy men closed upon it as they shrieked out their frantic imprecations.
‘Now there was a tremendous rumbling from all around, and the earth itself seemed to shudder. Then the cave was collapsing about us, giant lumps of stone tumbling from above, falling down to crush and bury those detestable spirits. But even in the midst of this, I saw the stranger leap forward, fighting his way through the crowd of fleeing monks, heedless of the danger, with his sword poised ready to strike as he came before that monstrous giant demon. Yet I saw him pause, in the midst of all this pandemonium, and stare deep into its eyes before he drove his blade forward, thrusting it hard into the devil’s black heart. And as he struck the fiend was simply gone, vanished back into the darkness and crashing chaos from which it had arisen.
‘All of us turned now and fled, hurtling blindly back towards the outside world. As we emerged out into the blessed daylight, the great thundering from beneath us grew louder than ever as clouds of noxious black smoke came billowing out from the cave entrance. Some of our men were lost, but I saw the stranger emerge, his face and body streaked with grime.
‘I collapsed onto the ground, and others fell beside me, coughing and fighting for breath, also gasping in fear at what we had seen. When I regained some part of my senses I rose and slowly recovered myself, and later I looked for the stranger, but he was gone. No one had seen him leave. And I never saw him again.
‘After this, the wicked attacks on our population ceased. We sealed the cave entrance with giant rocks, to be sure that nothing from inside might ever find its way back into the world of men. And Brother Albinus was never again troubled by his night terrors, knowing at last he had been absolved of his sin. You will now understand, Brother Athwold, why I have agreed to your presence here. How your words to me of omens, dreams and damnation seemed like an echo from the distant past. I would not deny a man his right to seek salvation. The story I have told was also the beginning of my own true devotion to Christ, for I had seen with my own eyes the spells of His monks defeat devils and bring down in ruins the very temple of Satan. In the book I carry are transcribed the words of those monks’ age-old rituals, and armed with them I have come to rid this Fenland of its same curse.’
As Cadroc concluded his account, told with such conviction that I dared not doubt it, my head was spinning. As I journeyed deeper into these pagan lands all I had ever believed was starting to unravel in my mind as I reflected that perhaps the world held greater mysteries than I – and the Church – had been prepared to admit. It seemed that deep and ancient feelings were stirring in my soul, uncertainties I could not define, but which grew stronger with each step I took, becoming one with the unremitting gloom which surrounded us.
We had come to a place of higher ground, thick with trees; and it was as we made our way through this stretch of woodland that we entered suddenly into a clearing. And I saw something which sent a burst of shock spreading through me. There in front, hanging by its neck from the low branch of a sturdy ash tree, was the body of a man – clearly an executed outlaw. A great hulking horror he must have been in life, raggedly dressed and caked in mud and filth. And now the body had begun to rot.
‘Ah! Civilisation!’ Aelfric beamed. ‘We are nearly there.’
I gazed transfixed at the horrible sight. The body appeared quite terrifying, even in death, with its eyes picked out by the scavengers. Like the ravaged corpses I had found beyond my hermitage, it seemed to me that this brutish-looking thing could never truly have been human. Then I saw that in the tree, directly above the corpse, there perched a large crow. My blood grew cold, for the whole scene, suddenly encountered, appeared somehow portentous and uncanny. The bird looked directly down at me, its eyes gleaming as it began to caw loudly. I grew rigid, for the sight and sound of it took me backwards in time to the days of my childhood when my grandmother, a woman of the old religion, would explain to me and my siblings that crows were the messengers of the gods. And she, a person of gentle nature, would become uncharacteristically strict whenever a crow would call, and demand we children should fall silent and listen.
This thought brought other distant memories flooding into my mind, so colourful and vivid that they felt for a fleeting momen
t almost tangible and real, as it seemed I was returned to my family homeland in Middle Anglia, to the days of my infancy when my kin would gather with all those who lived and worked on our estate to celebrate the ancient festivals of midsummer and yule, of the harvest time, and of the spring goddess Eostra – she of the shining dawn. I almost felt that I sat once more upon my father’s shoulders to look out across our fields and see the priests of the old faith clad in bright flowing robes, performing rituals to the sun and to the spirits of nature who would bring fertility to our soil. Sometimes the villagers would dress in strange costumes to enact mock battles, where they drove back into the outer darkness a villainous masked figure clad in black who was the symbol of cruel winter, whose appearance would always thrill and delight me. In my childish innocence these had seemed like events of wonder and joy, of feasting and singing, dancing and laughter: a magical joining together of everyone in our community. I could not deny they were happy memories. It was soon after this that the Christian monks came – first Irish and then Roman – to bring the light of Truth, and show us that in our simplicity we had all been as children who had not understood the true meaning of religion and life.
As I stared up at the crow I felt Aelfric’s eyes upon me, and then I saw him grin with mischievous amusement.
‘It seems,’ he said, ‘that Christians are so eager to abandon the old beliefs, but the old ways are not yet ready to abandon them.’
At once I felt foolish and ashamed. I glanced back over my shoulder at the hanging corpse to reassure myself firmly it was only a man and all that had seemed uncanny about it was simply in my own mind. Then I went quickly onward.
Chapter Nine
At last we approached the place called Meretun. In keeping with its name – the village by the mere – it stood close to a wide stretch of water, and was large by the standards of a Fenland settlement, although it would not have been considered so in any other land. Aelfric began to call out as we drew near, to announce our presence and avoid causing alarm, and soon a band of men gathered at the village entrance to meet us. On the outskirts we passed by a rough wooden shrine, old and weather-beaten, which housed a vividly carved idol of the pagan god Thunor, who sat growling at us as he clutched to his breast his great war hammer. As we entered the men exchanged greetings of friendly familiarity with Aelfric, who asked them:
‘What news?’
‘A party of our men went out yesterday on a fowling expedition,’ answered one in a subdued tone. ‘They do not yet come back.’
Aelfric hissed between clenched teeth, then said:
‘We have come here from the Crowland, where last night there was a new attack.’
‘Ahh!’ the other man’s face assumed a look of horror. ‘This devil travels fast. He does not go on human feet.’
‘You cannot be sure of that, Gyrth,’ Aelfric said. ‘Your men may yet return. But I bring this man, who is called Brother Cadroc, sent by our ealdorman to combat with Christian magic this great evil which threatens us.’
All eyes were turned warily upon Cadroc and me, their disparate looks suddenly concentrated into one of single intensity. And I sensed then the great fear which hung like a miasma over this village, along with the clear impression that our arrival inspired them with little hope. It was Cadroc’s sworn duty to win over such people as these.
Aelfric now turned to me and pointed towards a building which stood on the far side of the village, the largest structure in the whole settlement.
‘I must go with Brother Cadroc to present him to the headman and village elders,’ he said. ‘You must go to the village hall, where we will eat and sleep tonight. We will join you later.’
I left them, but instead of going straight to the hall I began to wander about the village. I sought to reacquaint myself with the noises and smells of a human settlement, which had recently grown unfamiliar to me. I walked beyond the village centre to where women worked at the looms in the weavinghouse and men laboured with mallets and chisels to cut wood to turn and shape on their lathes. Then I came to a cluster of small dwellings where the air was thick with smoke and the rich odours of cooking. Wives peered out at me through open doors as they crouched over their steaming cauldrons in the shadows, and muddy children froze in the midst of their noisy games to gape at me as I went past. Finally I came upon a small crowd of people who stood gathered outside an isolated hut. Others were now deserting their occupations to hurry over and join them, and becoming curious I went and stood among them to see what was happening there. Standing inside I saw a man of most remarkable appearance. Tall and spare, his features sharp and somehow striking, he wore a long grey cloak over a robe of dark blue into which there were embroidered tufts of fur from different animals and patterns made from many small pieces of jewel-like crystal which glittered and sparkled as he moved. He held a staff that was almost as tall as he was. It was made out of gnarled elm and carved into a thick knob at the top and decorated along the sides with strips of polished brass that were marked their entire length with elaborate runic symbols. Yet he seemed to handle this cumbersome object with great ease and dexterity. On the floor near to his feet lay a wide-brimmed hat adorned with raven feathers, and I knew this to signify that he was an adept of Woden, the pagan god of sorcery and of the Brotherhood of Shamans. This man was a heathen wizard. Such people were reckoned among those of the old faith to be skilful healers, and at present it was clear he was in the midst of a healing ritual.
Before him an injured man lay upon a rug spread across the floor. His forearm was stretched out to expose a deep, ugly gash which was bleeding badly. A strip of cloth had been tied tightly about his upper arm to restrict the flow of blood, and the man lay still and seemed to be overcome with shock. A fire burned in the hearth, and thick smoke filled the interior of the bare hut. As the shaman leaned over the man his arms were outstretched and his cloak swished about him in the growing swirls of smoke, which weaved their drifting patterns into the darkness while he appeared in their midst to become a figure of awesome and almost superhuman power. He was uttering incantations in a tone that was intense and utterly commanding.
‘I entreat the great ones, keepers of the heavens,
Earth I ask, and sky, and the gods’ high hall,
And the fair holy goddess, to grant this gift of healing.’
As he chanted the air itself was thick with the sense of something deep and powerful; and the wounded man seemed to be sinking into a state that was like sleep, except that his eyes remained open; yet they appeared blank and unseeing, and it occurred to me now that the shaman must have cast some kind of enchantment over him. As I glanced at those crowded about me it appeared they too were caught in the shaman’s spell, gazing motionless and nearly trance-like at the proceedings until it began to feel as if their minds were almost joined together in a state of collective awareness. At once it came to me that it was not proper for a Christian monk to attend and be a witness to these things within a pagan place of worship, and I tried to turn and depart. But more of the villagers had now come to stand behind me and I found myself caught up in the press of the crowd. And in truth I felt a sudden sense of curiosity at what I was observing. Now the shaman spoke to the spellbound man.
‘Beorna, son of Leofric, a spirit of sickness would enter into you, and all here must join together to cast it out.’ He brought his hand to rest very close to the sick man’s face, his fingers moving in slow and undulating motions, and the man’s eyes fell shut as the shaman began to intone another charm.
‘Spirits of Air will carry you,
Upon the falcon’s wing,
Under the eagle’s claw,
To the sky god’s realm,
Where pain is no more,
And the body forgotten.
Let your soul bathe there in light,
Until this work is done.’
Now his breathing began to rise and fall in perfect time with that of the injured man, creating the strong sense of a visible link between them as tog
ether they appeared to sink deeper into a state of entrancement.
Suddenly the shaman cast away his staff and fell to his knees, reaching out to clamp his hand about the man’s wrist, and he seemed then to become locked in a great inward struggle as his breathing came in shuddering gasps and sweat broke from his brow. He muttered more incantations deep in his throat, his voice at first a growl I could barely understand, and his eyes grew unfocused as his tone rose louder and clearer.
‘I summon you, venomous one,
I call you out from blood, flesh and bone.
Shrivel like kindling on the hearth,
Shrink like water in the pail,
Fade like dung upon the earth.
I cast you beyond,
Out into the darkness,
Out into the death-lands,
To the place of your exile.’