A Vengeful Wind: A Novel of Viking Age Ireland (The Norsemen Saga Book 8)

by Nelson, James L.

  At that point Bécc, apparently, had had enough. He took a step forward and the arms that had been folded across his chest dropped to his side as if he was going for a weapon. That, at least, was not possible. Bécc was dressed in the long, brown cowled robe of his order, a heavy rope belt knotted around his waist. It was the dress he preferred, Columb knew, though he had found himself more and more often wearing the mail and weapons of his earlier life. Columb wondered—and worried—whether or not the man was starting to think he could better serve God with a sword than a cross.

  When Bécc stepped forward, Guaire’s harangue came to a quick and awkward stop, as did the general murmuring that had accompanied the drumming of the rain. Bécc glared at the man with his one intact eye. The light of the candles that lit the space around the altar made strange shadows on the hard, smooth scars that formed the ruined portion of his face.

  “The abbot did what he thought best to protect the monastery and the lands around,” Bécc said, his voice menacing as a growl.

  “Oh, I have no doubt…” Guaire stammered, glancing right and left for support.

  “Brother Bécc, you too played a part in this,” another voice called out, more assured and less intimidated than Guaire. This was Faílbe mac Dúnlaing, the rí túaithe of the lands to the west of Ferns and one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in the area. As he took up the argument, Guaire, with evident relief, sat once more.

  “You fought the heathens but you failed to beat them,” Faílbe continued. “And for some reason known only to God and the abbot, and perhaps you, they were allowed to return to this fortified place they’ve set up on the beach. Allowed to repair their ships in peace and even provided with cloth and sustenance. At a fine profit to the monastery, I’m sure, but still, one might wonder why.”

  Abbot Columb frowned. The heathens had been trapped in the church and surrounded, and it would only have been a matter of waiting until hunger and thirst drove them out. But in the end he had allowed the heathens to go in order to protect a secret mine, a gold mine about which the Northmen had somehow learned. But Columb could not say as much. The mine’s existence was a secret, one that, miraculously, had been held for fifty years. He did not wish to bring that miracle to an end.

  But Brother Bécc had no qualms about speaking out, at least not about the decision that had been made. It was his nature, and now that he owed allegiance to no one but God and Abbot Columb he felt even less constrained. “You might wonder why the heathens were allowed to leave, Lord Faílbe. You might wonder at the abbot’s decision. But do you know why you are so ignorant of the truth?”

  “Please, do enlighten me, Brother,” Faílbe said.

  “You don’t know because you were not there. You and the fifty warriors in your house guard, and the hundred or so men you could have called up in your levy. You were so busy guarding your own rath and cattle that you couldn’t be bothered to come to the aid of the monastery. You left us to be sacked by the heathens.”

  Bécc shifted his one eye from Faílbe and let it move slowly over the rest of the seated men. No one spoke, because every one of them was guilty of the same crime. When the monastery had been under threat from the Northmen who landed near Beggerin, each one of them had retreated to their own ringforts to protect what was theirs, rather than bring their men and arms to protect what belonged to God.

  Faílbe cleared his throat. “We rí túaithe, and the others here, we have many responsibilities,” he argued, his voice calm and even. “We have obligations to protect those who live on our lands. As well as an obligation to the monastery. We do not command great armies. There are choices that need to be made.”

  This was greeted with a general murmuring from the others, an unspoken agreement, and relief that Faílbe was willing to counter Bécc’s arguments when none of the others were.

  Bécc opened his mouth. Abbot Columb raised his hand and the undercurrent of sound from the gathered men fell away, leaving only the sound of the rain beyond the church walls.

  “Please, I beg of you,” Columb said, trying to give his old voice more power than he felt. “We do no good by arguing here. Whether the bargain that I made with the heathen Thorgrim was wise or not, only God can know. But so far the heathens have done what they said they would do, and they’ve caused no mischief. These heathens that are newly arrived, we don’t know about them. Brother Bécc, what can you tell us?”

  Bécc looked at Columb, looked at the others, and seemed disappointed that the arguing had been cut short. “We’ve been watching them, of course,” Bécc said. “They’ve been five days on the beach by Beggerin. They seem to be making repairs to their ships, as Thorgrim says he’s doing.”

  A voice from near the back called a question. “Are they in league with this Thorgrim?”

  “Ah,” Bécc said. “It does not appear so. My men have seen no one going from the one camp to the other. These newcomers seem to have just arrived out of nowhere.”

  Silence followed this statement, as each man considered the implications. Faílbe was the first to speak.

  “What this means, of course, is that these heathens who have just arrived will not feel bound by any agreement Thorgrim has made. Even if Thorgrim sticks to his bargain, there’s no reason to think these new whores’ sons will not attack us.” Abbot Donngal clucked at Faílbe’s coarse words, but Columb hardly noticed. He had much greater concerns.

  “I suppose,” Bécc began, “that we could just wait here and see what they do. Pray to God they don’t attack us.”

  “We will pray to God regardless of what the heathens do,” Abbot Donngal said in his scolding voice and Bécc nodded his agreement.

  “Wait to see if the heathens attack?” It was Guaire speaking now. “I hardly think that’s the wise thing to do.”

  Well, you have managed to muster both wisdom and courage today, Columb thought. It has been a productive afternoon, eh, Guaire? But he did not say that. Rather, he said, “What course of action would you suggest?”

  “Well…” Guaire said, faltering now that he was asked to make a decision. “Well…I suppose we should attack them first, should we not? Attack them on the beach before they march to Ferns.”

  “Or to your rath?” Bécc asked.

  “Well, yes, I would like to prevent that as well. And why not?” Guaire protested.

  “Of course. And certainly we would be best to attack them first,” Bécc said. “Every soldier knows you’re better off choosing the ground on which you fight. But there are only a handful of men-at-arms at Ferns, and the heathens have more than twice that number.”

  “Oh, dear Lord!” Faílbe said, loud enough to make several men jump. He stood up, looked around, looked back at Abbot Columb. “Yes, yes, yes, we will send men. We’ll send our house guards, we’ll raise our levies! Anything so we don’t have to endure any more of this contrived little bit of playacting that you and Brother Bécc are forcing us to witness.”

  Abbot Donngal huffed in indignation, but Abbot Columb was forced to suppress a smile. It was true. He and Bécc had worked the whole thing out, planned how to steer the talk around until the rí túaithe agreed to send men-at-arms and think it was their own idea.

  Faílbe alone was clever enough to see through that. But it did not matter. Not as long as the soldiers were sent and Bécc allowed to drive these newly arrived heathens back into the sea.

  “Very well, Lord Faílbe,” Abbot Columb said. “We would welcome your generous and quite unexpected offer.”

  Chapter Six

  [E]ither illness or age of the edge of vengeance

  Shall draw out the breath from the doom-shadowed.

  The Seafarer

  Early Anglo-Saxon Poem

  Nothwulf had a great deal on his mind, and it distracted him mightily. He tried to concentrate on the business at hand, the girl in his bed, her smooth, white skin, her slim body, her lovely breasts. He wanted to please her. Nothwulf was not usually very concerned with his bedmate’s pleasure, certainl
y not at the expense of his own, but this girl was different.

  She ran her hands down his flanks and guided him on top of her and he moved easily, never putting undue weight on her small frame. Her neck arched back and her legs spread wider and Nothwulf thrust himself inside her. She let out a muffled cry and Nothwulf took great encouragement from that. He began to work in earnest, letting his steady rhythm build in speed while she squirmed and writhed beneath him as if she was trying to push him off, which he was pretty sure she was not.

  Finally, with cries that were likely heard throughout the big house, they finished and lay panting, their skin slick with sweat. They stayed like that for a moment, then Nothwulf rolled over onto his back and the girl rolled onto her side and put her head on his chest. Nothwulf wanted nothing more than to climb out of bed now and attend to business. He had a great deal to do. But this moment was the most important of all, and he could not rush it.

  He reached his hand down and began to play with the girl’s lovely brown hair. “Now, Aelfwyn, my love, won’t your lady be missing you?”

  Aelfwyn gave a soft chuckle, then rolled over and rested her chin on Nothwulf’s chest so she could look into his face. “Lady Cynewise thinks I’m at the market, and she won’t look for me this morning. Truly, she’s probably forgotten that I’m gone.”

  “Nonsense, how could anyone ever forget you? I don’t. I think of you night and day.”

  Aelfwyn smiled. “That’s sweet, Lord Nothwulf. It’s a lie, I know it, but it’s sweet of you to say. But my lady, I don’t think she’s able to think any clear thought at all.”

  “Is she so simple-minded as all that?” Nothwulf asked. Now they were working around to the information he wanted. They always did. In the past few months, since she had arrived in Dorset with Cynewise—the soon-to-be bride’s special companion—Nothwulf had used his charm, position and wealth to lure her into his arms and then into his bed. He found the fornication to be most excellent. Even better, the girl was a flowing spring of information about the goings on in his brother’s home.

  “No, my lady is not simple-minded,” Aelfwyn chided, giving Nothwulf’s chest a slap for emphasis, her palm smacking loud on his bare, sweat-covered skin. “But she’s had a great shock, her husband brutally murdered by her side, and his killer struck down as well.”

  “I recall. I was there, you know,” Nothwulf said.

  “Then you know what a shocking thing it was. So of course, Lady Cynewise doesn’t know what to do, who to turn to.”

  Nothwulf nodded as if thinking deeply. “You know, my brother’s death was a great shock to us all. Me mostly. He was my brother. No one loved him more than I did. Not even Lady Cynewise. She might have come to love him as I did, had she known him more than a short time. But they were husband and wife for a few moments, no more.”

  Aelfwyn laid her head down again and shuffled closer. “It must be very, very hard on you, my beloved,” she said, her voice muffled a bit by his skin.

  “It is, I won’t try to hide that fact,” Nothwulf said. “But I have my duties, you know, and they cannot be set aside in my grief. Cynewise is my sister-in-law now, and I have my duty to her. I have my duty to lift the burden of the ealdormanship from her weak shoulders. I wish she could see that, see how I might help her.”

  Aelfwyn looked up again. “It’s hard for her to see anything now, lord,” she said. “Her mind is quite addled, and the thegns, they are all there to tell her some story or other, all looking to find favor with her and get her to do this or that just for their own benefit. Oh, lord, I fear my lady will go quite mad.”

  Nothwulf nodded and looked grave. “I fear that as well. That’s why I want my sister to know that I’m ready to help her, ready to take the cup from her hands.”

  “I can tell her that, lord? Should I tell her?”

  “No, no…” Nothwulf said. “Not like that. I don’t want her to get the wrong idea, think I’m trying to usurp her place. Perhaps if she thinks it comes from you. Perhaps if you suggest, as her dear companion, that she should turn to me for help in these matters, for direction, perhaps that would be best.”

  Aelfwyn smiled. “I’ll do that, lord,” she said. “You are the soul of kindness.”

  “And I’ll see you rewarded,” Nothwulf added.

  “Oh, lord, the pleasure you give me when I share your bed is reward enough.”

  Nothwulf smiled as well. “Well said, wench,” he said. “Now, I have much to attend to, and you had better get to the market and buy at least one thing to show you have done what you said you would do.”

  “Yes, lord,” Aelfwyn said. She kissed his chest and rolled out of bed and began to pull her clothes back on. Nothwulf indulged himself a moment, watching her dress. She did not try to hide her nakedness from him.

  Not a bit of modesty in you, is there? he thought. Then his thoughts moved on to other things and he rolled off the other side of the bed and began to scoop his own clothing off the floor.

  Twenty minutes later Aelfwyn had gone off to wherever she was going off to and Nothwulf was stepping into the courtyard of his home, pulling on his leather gauntlets as he walked. The stable boy had his horse, a portion of his hearth-guard were mounted and waiting. Nothwulf swung himself up into the saddle and the gates swung open and he walked his horse over the soft ground and out to the crowded streets beyond.

  Once again he was not going far and had no real need of a mounted guard, or indeed of horses at all, but Nothwulf believed that an ealdorman, or even a soon-to-be ealdorman, should not be walking on the filthy streets with the common folk. So once again his horse plowed a furrow through the crowd as he and his men rode to the cathedral, which was less than half a mile from the ealdorman’s house in which he was raised.

  Bishop Ealhstan and his cadre of priests were there at the door to greet him. Nothwulf had sent a messenger ahead to warn the bishop of his coming, a thing he debated a bit before doing. He would have preferred to catch Ealhstan unawares, speak to him before he had time to think on the subject, and that argued for a surprise visit. But if he did not tell Ealhstan of his coming, then the bishop might not be there when he arrived, and he would be humiliated having to return home after a pointless quest. In the end, the fear of humiliation won out, and he had sent word.

  It’s not like the old man hasn’t been thinking on this already , Nothwulf mused as he slid down from his horse. I’ll venture he’s thought of little else.

  “Bishop Ealhstan,” Nothwulf said, with all the subdued melancholy one would expect from a man whose brother had just been killed before his eyes.

  “Lord Nothwulf,” the bishop said, extending a hand so that Nothwulf might kiss the great bejeweled ring on his finger, which he obediently did. “Kind of you to visit us here. Pray, come in.”

  Ealhstan turned and led the way in through the big door and across the long knave. Nothwulf had not been inside the cathedral since the day his brother enjoyed both the sacrament of marriage and extreme unction , the final anointing, all within a few moments’ time, though in truth the latter had come a bit too late. As they walked up the dais he could not help but glance down at the floor, but the copious blood that had gushed from Merewald and his murderer had been thoroughly cleaned, and not a trace remained.

  The priests trailing behind the bishop departed as Ealhstan led Nothwulf across the dais and into the sacristy. A heavy table with half a dozen chairs around it took up most of the small room. A bottle and two silver goblets, ornate with gold filigree and studded with jewels, sat on a silver tray at the center of the table. The bishop gestured for Nothwulf to sit and he did. Ealhstan picked up the bottle, filled the two goblets with red wine.

  “Blood of Christ?” Nothwulf asked.

  “No, just wine,” Ealhstan said. He sat with a soft grunt and lifted the goblet to his lips.

  “You’re here no doubt to discuss your brother’s funereal mass?” Ealhstan asked when he had swallowed his drink.

  “Of course,” Nothwulf said. In
truth he was not there for that reason at all, had not even thought about it, but he realized in the moment that that was not what he should be telling the bishop.

  “All is in hand,” Ealhstan said. “Lady Cynewise has made her pleasure known, and we’re making the preparations now. It’s all something of a rush. Your father, well, he lived to a great age, and his passing was no surprise. We were quite prepared. But a young man like Ealdorman Merewald…” The bishop’s voice trailed off.

  “Shocking, shocking…” Nothwulf said. “A great shock to all of us. Why would such a thing happen? What might drive a man like Werheard—a man we thought loyal to my brother—to do such a thing?”

  “Satan was surely whispering in his ear, just as he did in the garden, and Werheard with no more wit than Eve to fight back.”

  “I have no doubt Satan’s hand was in this,” Nothwulf agreed. “But there might be other devils as well. Some who walk among us. I’ve tried to discover the truth, Bishop. I sent my man Bryning to question Werheard’s household, but he discovered nothing.”

  Ealhstan nodded, drained his goblet, filled it again. He glanced over at Nothwulf’s cup and saw that it was still nearly full so he set the bottle back down. “Werheard’s folk do not seem to have much to say, but Oswin might get them to talk, by one means or another.”

  “Oswin?” Nothwulf said, trying to keep the curiosity out of his voice. “He spoke to them already, I thought. Didn’t get any more than Bryning did.”

  “That’s true, as far as I hear, and I hear only scraps of rumors, you know,” Ealhstan said.

  You hear more than that, old man, Nothwulf thought. There’s nothing going on in three shires that you don’t know about.

  But that was not what Nothwulf said, of course. Rather, he said, “The truth gets more rare by the day, I fear.”

  “Indeed it does,” Bishop Ealhstan said. “But as I hear it, Oswin has arrested the whole household. He’s holding them in the cells at the back of your brother’s house.”