by William Peak
I looked at my lord prior.
His voice softened. “The stranger?” he said. “The man with the scar and all the rings? He’s your father, your natural father.”
The relief was so great I almost laughed. Father didn’t know I knew who the visitor was. He’d just been preparing me for the shock.
“This is good? You are pleased the man is your father?” Knowing that I wasn’t supposed to be, I shook my head and bit my lip, trying to appear serious. But I was overjoyed. They weren’t going to throw us out after all!
“Well,” Father went on doubtfully, “he is your father and, right or wrong, he has asked to see you.”
“Sir?” I said, forgetting myself.
“Your father has asked to see you. He’s waiting for you now in the abbot’s lodge.”
I didn’t say anything.
“It’s all right, you have my permission to speak.”
“Now?” I asked.
Father nodded. “But it’s all right. You don’t have to see him if you don’t want to. You are a member of this community with the same rights and privileges as anyone else. This man has no claim on you. As far as the Rule is concerned, he is just a visitor to the abbey, a guest like any other.”
I looked back down the path toward the cloister. He was there now. He was waiting for me now.
In my memory of that morning there are two small, unrelated things that stand out. The first was a bowl of soup Ceolwulf’s man was eating. In those days children fasted during Lent like adults. I hadn’t had anything to eat since collation the night before and I was very hungry. I wonder now if the man knew this. In my memory he was sitting on the ground by the door to the abbot’s lodge and he looked at us when we walked up. Later I would find out he was my older brother but I did not know this then. He was just a very tall, very hard-looking man sitting on the ground next to the door to the abbot’s lodge. There were two spears and a shield leaning against the wall beside him. And he was eating. It was still early, the sun just coming up over the Far Wood, and the light was very pure. The man’s soup looked good. Its surface glistened. When the man noticed where I was looking, he smiled. He pulled a chunk of bread from his blouse, dipped it in his bowl, and brought it, dripping and soggy, to his mouth. My stomach turned at this extravagance and if Father Prior hadn’t shoved me through the door I think I would have fainted.
I also remember the fire someone had lit in Father Abbot’s private chamber. It’s funny what you focus on when you feel confused, and I was feeling very confused that morning. Things were happening that weren’t supposed to happen. Father Prior had invited me to walk on the furnace path. I had been given a choice as to whether I wanted to meet the man who was my father and was not my father. A stranger had looked me directly in the eye. And now there was a fire in Father Abbot’s private chamber. Everyone knew there weren’t supposed to be any fires in Father Abbot’s room, the lord abbot himself had forbidden it. And yet someone had lit one. The man I was about to meet? If Ceolwulf had lit the fire, would he get in trouble for it? Could a man who was a guest (but was also my father) get in trouble for breaking a rule?
There were no introductions. Or, if there were, I don’t remember them. All I remember is myself on the floor, kneeling, the sound of Father Prior’s feet receding through the front room, the heat of the fire on my down-turned head. For a moment I knelt there, terrified, wondering what would happen next, and then, roughly but quite easily, a large hand pulled me to my feet.
I tried to look down but the hand wouldn’t allow it. A finger caught my chin and forced it up. Red face, pale scar, big eyes, shining teeth. “There now,” said the man who was my father, “we’ll have none of that. If there’s one thing I hate about these baldpates, it’s the way they’re always looking at my feet.”
I tried to smile but I could feel the tears coming. I wasn’t used to being handled so.
“That’s a boy, that’s a boy!” The big teeth got bigger and my father’s face broke into a lopsided grin. “You’re your father’s own son!” The hand released my chin and for a while I could feel where a ring had pressed against the skin. The man who was my father noticed that I had to stop myself from looking down. He nodded to himself “Uh-huh, uh-huh,” he said, and then, as if he’d decided something, he turned and sat on Father Abbot’s bed.
“There now,” he said, smiling again, “warm yourself by my fire. You know there was no fire in this place when I arrived! Cold as a dead man’s backsides!” Ceolwulf laughed and when he laughed it was as if his teeth would fly from his head. I had never seen anyone laugh indoors before and it frightened me. I wanted to step back, to assume custody of the eyes. I wanted to explain why there had been no fire in Father Abbot’s chamber. There were many things I wanted to say, do, but, instead, I was polite. I kept my mouth closed and extended my hands toward the fire. I tried to look like someone who liked so much heat.
Ceolwulf smiled and rubbed his hands back and forth on his legs. “There now, there now. So, are they treating you well?”
I glanced at the door through which Father Prior had gone but could find no help there. I wanted this man to like me, to know I was a good boy, but he had asked me a direct question without first giving me permission to speak. How did he expect me to respond?
Ceolwulf’s eyebrows rose, inviting me to get on with it.
Again I glanced at the door. No one had told me what to do. No one had taught me anything about this.
“Come on,” said Ceolwulf, “I have a right to know. I’m your father.”
I stood up straight. If I went slowly, very slowly, he might understand.
Ceolwulf waited.
I pointed at myself. I placed my hands back at my sides. I smiled. I pointed at my smile. Still smiling, I raised my right hand and rubbed my belly contentedly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” said Ceolwulf, jiggling his fingers at me. “I’m no monk.”
Despite myself I looked at my feet.
“Come on boy, don’t be shy, speak up!”
I took this as permission. “I am Winwaed,” I said, “oblate of the monastery at Redestone.”
“Yes, yes, and I am Ceolwulf, son of Beornwine, companion of kings, slayer of Ethelhere and Tiowulf.... What of you, boy? What of you?”
Slayer of Ethelhere and Tiowulf.
“You look terribly thin.”
I looked down at myself, embarrassed.
“Do they feed you enough?” Ceolwulf glanced toward the door. “Because if they don’t, I will speak with them. You are my son, you should be treated with respect.”
“They feed me enough....”
Ceolwulf looked at me. I had almost called him “Father.”
“All right, all right,” he said. “And what of your work here? Do you enjoy the life that’s been given you?”
For a moment I just looked at the man. No one had ever asked me a question like that before.
“The praying, the Church, do you like it?”
I thought about Waldhere and Ealhmund, Father Prior and Father Gwynedd.
“It’s not a hard life, now is it? No one, I think, would call it a hard life.”
“There was a sickness. I had to help bury people.”
“Um-hmm, um-hmm, and so you should. When people die, you have to bury them, don’t you?” My father had a habit of playing with the whiskers next to his scar when he was thinking about something. I tried to keep my attention on his eyes.
“You’re very fortunate you know. You know that don’t you?”
Again I thought about Father Prior and Father Gwynedd. I nodded: Yes, I was very fortunate.
“Never having to worry about anything, never having to make any decisions; it’s a nice life you have up here, a great gift I made you as well as God.”
I had never thought about it that way before but, yes, I supposed he was right. I smiled.
“Of course your mother fought me every step of the way.”
My mother.
“Yes
, yes, I know it’s hard to believe. Most of the women are so caught up in this,” Ceolwulf indicated Father Abbot’s room with his hand. “But when a man wants to do something, show he cares too, what do they do?”
I didn’t know.
“‘He’s too young, wait another year.’ ‘Not this year, but the next....’ And then another and another. Before you know it, you’d have been as big as Oisc out there.” My father nodded his head toward the door. “Think they’d have wanted you then?”
My mother had wanted to keep me.
“Of course not, of course not, and that wouldn’t have been right would it? I mean, Lord knows, you can’t do any better than a monk, can you? I mean living life as a monk’s the best thing you can do, isn’t it?”
The scar formed a sort of crease on the side of my father’s face. His whiskers bent in toward the crease so it looked as if they were being sucked into the scar.
“Of course it is, damned priests telling you all the time. And the woman going to deny you that, her own son! Can you imagine?”
I tried not to look at the scar.
“And of course a promise is a promise, isn’t it? Especially a promise made to God.”
I nodded. I knew the answer to that one.
“Well of course it is.” Ceolwulf smiled. “And I had promised you to God. But I suppose they’ve told you about that haven’t they, about Oswiu and me, Gaius Field?”
The question caught me offguard. I could tell from the way he asked it that I was supposed to know, that apparently everyone was supposed to know, but he had already struck me with so many new ideas—whether I liked it here, my mother, my work, Ethelhere, and now somebody’s field—it was all too much for me.
Ceolwulf shook his head. “Silly priests. Well, sit down boy, sit down. You’ve a right to hear. No, not there. There, by the fire. Make yourself comfortable.”
The fire was big, too big for the room, and I was already overwarm, but the man was a guest and my father so I did as I was told. I sat by the fire and looked up at Ceolwulf.
“There, how’s that?”
I smiled at him. It was nice that he was so concerned for me.
Ceolwulf nodded to himself then placed his hands on his knees, sat up straight and looked at me. “You will have heard of Penda,” he said.
I nodded, happy to show myself knowledgeable.
“A bastard. But did they tell you it was Deira he attacked, that it was sweet Deira caught the worst of Penda?”
I shook my head. Of course I had been taught about Deira, Deira and Bernicia. We lived in Deira and the bishop lived in Bernicia. But beyond that I knew little.
“Yes, I didn’t think so. Twenty-two years Penda ruled Mercia and every one of them hell for us.” Ceolwulf looked at me. “Killed your mother’s people you know, wiped them out. Had their way with the women, stole what they didn’t eat, then burned everything to the ground. Afterwards, when I knew they were gone, I took her there. Thought there might be something left but there wasn’t. Postholes, trash pits, nothing else. Not an animal alive.” Ceolwulf shook his head. “Never seen your mother like that. Didn’t cry, just got pale, white, all the blood gone to her feet. She picked something up—I can’t remember what, piece of wood, a broken pot, something—and carried it around with her for a while. I don’t think it really meant anything to her. After a while she dropped it again. The place stunk of fire. If you walked close to the house, little clouds of ash puffed up around your feet.
“Of course I was angry. Everyone was angry, but what could we do? Penda had friends, didn’t he? Simple as that. Don’t see why everyone has such a problem understanding it. Painted devils to the north, Cumbrogi to the west, Penda south, the sea behind. Simple.” Ceolwulf looked at me. “Never go into battle with water at your back, boy”—he smiled—“we taught them that. But in those days everyone wanted to be Penda’s friend, Penda’s companion, even Ethelwald. We didn’t stand a chance.”
Ceolwulf got up and walked away from me. For a moment I was afraid the story was over but then I saw he was just getting more wood. It had been a wet winter and the wood was damp. When Ceolwulf placed it on the fire, the flames died down a little and, however momentarily, the air around my face grew cooler. “Don't know what’s wrong with these people,” said Ceolwulf. “Don't give you enough wood to cook your porridge then look at you as if you’d spat when you ask for more. Whole damned place surrounded by wood! Where was I?”
“You didn’t stand a chance.”
Ceolwulf smiled. “Right. We didn’t stand a chance. So Oswiu did the only reasonable thing, offered treasure. Brooches and rings, dyes and salt, enough iron for fifty swords, a gold and ivory comb that had belonged to Queen Ethelberga, two hundred hides of land (most of it cleared), and his daughter, Alchfled, as bride to Penda’s son. And what did Penda do?” Ceolwulf’s grin grew fierce. “He waited a year, then burned half Deira to the ground. Bastard.
Accepted our tokens, gave his pledge, then invaded anyhow, boasting of what he would do. He loved fire, Penda did, fire was his favorite. He’d as soon torch a field as harvest it, burn a virgin as do her. You could smell him coming on the wind, the smoke and the burning. Sometimes, when the air was very still, the ash would fall like snow when Penda was coming.”
Ceolwulf looked toward the window and for a moment I could see only the left side of his face. He was handsome, at least that side, straight nose, thick hair, dark eyes. Of course the hair looked wrong—there being far too much of it—but otherwise I thought him handsome.
“But you have to give Oswiu credit. He didn’t hole up at Bamburgh as some have when Deira burned. No, he raised an army and....” Ceolwulf paused, smiled to himself. “Or maybe the army raised him. We were all going up there of course. Puch and Tond-here, Beornhæth with what was left of his band, Ingwald and even Guthfrid. Anyone not cut off by Penda’s march left Deira that year for Bernicia. It was late autumn when we arrived and I should imagine Oswiu didn’t like the looks of us, camped around his walls like so many beggars. But he put a brave face on it. Cried out against the destruction, promised revenge, brought in his priest to pray for us. The priest probably wasn’t such a good idea.” Ceolwulf poked at the fire with a piece of wood. “Called Penda a pagan, all sorts of names, then, as if it were nothing, pointed out that the bodies of the burned now stood little chance of resurrection. That stirred ‘em up.” Ceolwulf glanced around the room. “Put up with all this, then lose it anyway because some bastard likes fire.” Ceolwulf looked at me for a moment. “Do these priests know what they’re doing?”
Again I was caught between two worlds, the one wanting to be agreeable, the other loyal.
But Ceolwulf didn’t wait for an answer. “Anyway,” he said, “Oswiu stepped in before the idiot made a complete balls-up of it. Reminded everyone Christ could do whatever He wanted, greatest prince of them all, the usual, could heal anyone, raise anyone, even someone as horribly burned and disfigured as their poor wives and children—the priest all the time nodding in the background, suddenly afraid of what he’s done, all the murmuring, the ugly looks. So Oswiu convinces them they weren’t complete fools to have become Christians (this having been his policy), and to show them how powerful this new God is, how He can do anything, defeat anyone no matter the odds, he offers to prove it with a bargain. If Christ will march at the head of his army and wipe the enemy from the field, then he, Oswiu, like the good king he is, will grant a boon in return for the favor performed.” Ceolwulf held his hand up and made his rings glitter in the firelight. “Always a good idea to remind people of the gifts you can bestow when you’re about to take them into battle. And Oswiu was no fool. No miser either. For us, gold; for Christ, a woman. Or at least a little girl. It was his daughter Ælffled, I think her name was Ælffled.
“So, anyway, in those days, when a man made a gesture like that, especially when he did it in his own hall, his guests were expected to do likewise. Especially when war was afoot. So, soon enough, everybody’s drinking and b
oasting, promising to give Christ their daughters, their sons, what-have-you. Hell one fool even offered his ox.” Ceolwulf laughed, shook his head. “Of course no one’s as generous as a young man with his whole life in front of him. I thought I was immortal in those days, no one could touch me, no one.” Again Ceolwulf shook his head. “I stood up, proud, all eyes on me, and promised my next-born and two hides of land. My next-born turned out to be you.”
I smiled, pleased to be made part of the story.
Ceolwulf looked at me as if I’d done something wrong. “That was good land,” he said. “Fine land, belongs to your abbot now. A little rocky perhaps but nothing wrong with it. Shame really. If he’s not going to use it, you’d think he could.... You know what I’m talking about Winwæd, the land beyond the two oaks? Don’t know what they call it around here but you might want to talk to the good brothers, see if....” Ceolwulf stopped and looked at me, shrugged. “Hasn’t been cleared anyway. High ground, rocky, probably not worth the trouble.” He glanced toward the door. “Though the baldies haven’t done so badly with rocks, have they?”
I smiled. Guests always complimented our church.
“So, anyhow, pledges made, songs sung, we marched south to find Penda. Not hard really. Stay downwind, follow the smoke. Supposed to have been something in the old days, Penda, a real warrior, but I wasn't so impressed. Couldn’t have been easier to follow, no rear guard, no one left alive to put up a clamor, raise the alarm.” Ceolwulf pulled at a thread on his sleeve. “Of course you can see what he was thinking. Thirty commanders. Called 'em ‘legions!’ Thirty commanders leading thirty legions. Must have thought he was invincible. Oswiu’s own nephew to lead them in. But that was where he made his mistake.” Ceolwulf looked hard at me. “Never fight with water at your back and never trust a traitor.”
I nodded, pleased the way he taught me things while he told his story. It reminded me of Father Prior.
“If a man has betrayed once, he’ll betray again. And Ethelwald was leaving his backdoor open. Oh I’m sure he told Penda it was because the valley was better, straighter, easier to keep his army together, plenty of water, provender. And of course he was right, more settlements along a river, always are. But he was keeping his options open too. You don’t need a horse when you’ve got a river, one side safety, the other hell. When the battle finally came, Ethelwald was on the opposite shore. A traitor but no fool. Almost got away too. Would have if we hadn’t been so quick.