‘I assume you are going to tell me what it was?’
‘Indeed I am not, for Burgoyne took it to the grave with him. But whatever it was, it transformed the dignified and respectable cleric into a man in mental torment. It was a very dangerous secret.’
‘Are you saying that he was murdered to prevent him revealing it?’
‘So it appears. He was found in the Cathedral early one morning, crushed beneath scaffolding which had been erected to carry out the repairs he had forced upon his colleagues.’
‘As if he were being punished for his success?’
‘And further evidence for believing that he was murdered is the fact that the Cathedral Mason, a man called Gambrill, disappeared the same night and was never seen again. He, too, had fallen out with Burgoyne. But another possible explanation for his disappearance and the Canon’s death is that both men were killed by Gambrilll’s deputy, a young journeyman. That was the gossip in the town for many years afterwards.’
‘What motive could the deputy have had?’
‘There was some ancient enmity between his family and Gambrill. But let me tell you about the ghost since this is a ghost-story. Burgoyne’s funeral service in the Cathedral was disrupted by horrid moanings so that some of those in attendance became so frightened that they fled. Thereafter and for many years the ghost of Burgoyne haunted the Cathedral and heart-rending groans are often heard coming from the memorial – particularly when the wind is high. That is the ghost which old Gazzard fears has been roused by the recent building-works. And that is the end of the story I promised you.’
‘I don’t call that a story,’ I grumbled. ‘There are far too many loose ends.’
‘I told you there is a clue – although a somewhat enigmatic one.’
‘Does it cast any light on the secret Burgoyne learnt? Or suggest who murdered him?’
‘That depends on the interpretation. On the morning after the murder, an inscription was found on the wall of Burgoyne’s house, the New Deanery of our own day. It had apparently been carved during the night – an astonishing feat in so short a time and by the light of a lantern.’
‘What did it say?’
‘I can’t recall the exact words, so I will leave you to read it for yourself.’
‘That’s very irritating of you, Austin. I have half a mind to go out now and read it this very minute.’
‘Don’t be silly. You can’t trample all over someone’s property in the middle of the night.’
‘Who lives in the house now? Is it one of the canons?’
‘It’s in private hands. The owner is an elderly gentleman. Wait until daylight and then you can read the inscription through the gate without even going into the yard.’
‘I can’t stand peering into a stranger’s yard in broad daylight.’
‘The owner’s habits are very regular. Go between four o’clock and half past and I can promise you there will be nobody there.’
‘I wonder if there are any written sources for that story,’ I mused. ‘I suppose they would be in the Dean and Chapter’s Library. I could ask the Librarian when I see him tomorrow.’
Austin glanced at me quickly. ‘You’re seeing Locard? Why ever should you do that?’
‘Because of my work.’
‘Your work? What has he to do with that?’
‘Why, everything!’ I smiled. ‘I am relying on him to point my researches in the most promising direction.’
‘I thought you were going to tramp about over those blessed Roman earthworks out along the Winchester road? What has that to do with Locard?’
‘The barrows around Woodbury Castle, you mean? They’re probably not Roman, though that was believed until fairly recently. In fact, they are either ...’
‘But, for heaven’s sake, the point is: aren’t you going to be working on them?’
‘That was my intention when I first wrote to you. You know, they have never been properly surveyed? Consequently, we have no idea if they date from the time before the Romans or were built by them or by the Anglo-Saxons. My own ...’
‘But you have changed your mind?’
‘Didn’t I tell you in my last letter that a much more exciting prospect has come up? Why, I believe I could not have made it clear that I was referring to something entirely different. Of course! That’s why you talked about the weather interfering with my work! I believed you were joking.’ I laughed. Austin, however, asked irritably:
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I learnt very recently that there might be a manuscript somewhere in the Library whose discovery would settle once and for all a fascinating and very important controversy.’
Austin rose and went to the fire. Then, turning his back to me, he reached for something on the mantelpiece and started stuffing a pipe. I had never seen him smoke before.
I went on: ‘I have been preparing a monograph on Grimbald’s Life of Alfred the Great, properly called De Vita Gestibusque Alfredi Regis. Do you know of it?’
‘I don’t believe I do,’ he muttered.
‘Grimbald was a cleric who was a contemporary of Alfred and there is a reference to him in Asser’s much better known Life of Alfred the Great. His account is a fascinating work which brings that remarkable king most movingly to life. You’re wondering why it is not as well-known as Asser’s?’
‘I imagine you’re going to tell me.’
‘The answer is that its authenticity has never been accepted. But I hope to establish that it is genuine and to write my own biography of Alfred drawing upon it. It will be a work which, in all modesty, will transform our view of the ninth century for there is much wonderful material in Grimbald which historians have not made use of ...’
‘Because they think it’s fraudulent,’ Austin interrupted.
‘Some of them do, perhaps because their own self-serving cynicism is reproached by the portrait of the king that Grimbald offers. You see, his account confirms how extraordinarily brave and resourceful and learned Alfred was, and what a generous and much-loved man. For example, it tells us a great deal about his friendship with the great scholar-saint, Wulflac’
‘Wulflac?’
‘He was the king’s tutor when he was a boy and was with him at some of the worst crises of his life. There’s a scene in Grimbald when the king and he discuss the role of kingship the night before the crucial battle of Ashdown. And there’s a fascinating chapter in which Alfred – guided by Grimbald – visits the boys studying at the abbey here at Thurchester. And above all, Grimbald’s work is the sole source for our knowledge of Wulflac’s martyrdom.’
Seeing his blank expression I said: ‘You don’t know the story?’ He shook his head. ‘The account of his capture by the Danes?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he said almost irritably.
‘Then I will tell you. I believed every English schoolboy learnt that wonderful story.’
‘I know about the blessed cakes.’
I laughed. ‘A very late and confused tradition. But the story of Wulflac’s martyrdom is a true account and a very moving one. I remember it well but I’ll bring down Grimbald’s text in case I’ve forgotten any details.’
‘That wouldn’t do,’ he said, shaking his head.
I hurried to my bedroom and picked up the book from the side-table, noticing that lying beside it was my somewhat ill-judged gift for Austin which had been very beautifully wrapped by the young lady in the shop. I brought them both down and as I reached the landing was surprised to meet Austin coming up the stairs. As we entered the room I handed the gift to him and he thanked me and placed it beside his chair before sitting down again. My present now lay just where the package had been and, wondering what Austin had done with it, I glanced around the room. I could not see it on the shelves or on the small table by the window. Perhaps he had put it in the armoire. Or had he taken it downstairs again? But why should he have done that?
‘I’ll open it later,’ Austin said. ‘Half th
e fun of a present is the anticipation.’
I nodded, but since I now knew that the gift was highly inappropriate, I could not share his pleasure.
I seated myself and found the right section of the book. ‘You’ve told me a story set in Thurchester and now I will tell you one. As you know, the town was Alfred’s capital and the castle was his most important stronghold.’
Austin turned slowly towards me, the pipe projecting rather ludicrously from his mouth.
‘As a boy Alfred revealed a passion for learning which was most unusual at that time. It was all the more admirable in a young prince who was expected to devote himself to mastering the arts of war. Alfred did that, too, and remarkably well. But he also learnt to read, which was not customary for members of aristocratic or royal families – especially for a prince whose father was the hard-pressed king of a little backwater on the edge of European civilization, which is what Wessex was at that time. Years later, as an adult, he learnt Latin, too. Perhaps it was because he believed that he was not likely to become king since he had a number of older brothers, that he was able to indulge his passion for knowledge. Grimbald describes how Alfred’s father sent for a certain young monk from Saxony to become the boy’s tutor. That was Wulflac who was one of the most learned men in the whole of Western Europe at that bleak time. As it turned out, each of Alfred’s elder brothers was killed fighting the Danes and at a very early age he did become king – just in time to face the most serious threat his kingdom had ever confronted. A huge Danish invading force had landed in 865 with the intention of conquering and settling the whole of England. Alfred defended his kingdom with intelligence and courage, managing to hold together the faint-hearted among the English who wanted to submit and pay tribute rather than to fight.
‘By 892. Alfred had been king for nearly thirty years and had fought a long struggle to preserve his kingdom against the Danes. His old friend and tutor, Wulflac, was now Bishop of Thurchester. Although Alfred had defended Wessex successfully, the Danes were now occupying much of the north and east of England. Then in the early summer the Danes sent a huge invading army into Wessex to loot and destroy everything in its path. News of this reached Alfred while he was here in the town with his council – the witan. Grimbald writes:
The king held a counsel of war and it was decided that, although this would mean a delay of several weeks, the ealdormen would return to their shires in order to levy troops. Afterwards the king’s young chaplain secretly took the king aside and warned him that his trusted nephew, Beorghtnoth, in alliance with other thegns, was plotting with Olaf, the leader of the Danes, to kill him and become king. Alfred, though he trusted his chaplain absolutely, refused to credit such a terrible thing about his nephew. In the midst of this, news arrived that the Danes had laid siege to Exeter, and Alfred, accompanied by most of his thegns including Beorghtnoth, set off for that city leaving Wulflac in charge of the town. The king was riding his half-wild stallion, Wederstepa or ‘Storm-Treader,’ which none but he could mount and which was tended by a faithful stable-boy. And he took with him the royal treasury – three great iron-bound coffers containing the gold, silver and precious stones – which the Danes were so eager to obtain.
‘I won’t read the next sections but just explain that, unfortunately, the chaplain was right about the king’s nephew. (And, by the way, the references to that young priest are rather interesting and I have a little theory about them.) Beorghtnoth had entered into a secret agreement with Olaf and the attack on Exeter was intended to lure the king away from Thurchester. By the time Alfred left his capital, the Danes had already divided their army at Exeter: the smaller part remained near that city in order to delay the king’s return while the larger, led by Olaf himself, hastened towards Thurchester by a route that led them in a wide circle to the north. Since Thurchester was now only lightly defended, they captured it very easily. So when Alfred arrived at Exeter he found that the Danes had abandoned the city. He hurried back to Thurchester but found that the Danes had taken the town and, to his utmost dismay, that they were holding Wulflac hostage. I’ll read the next section.’
At these words Austin sighed gently. ‘No, really,’ I said. ‘You’ll see that it’s crucial:
Olaf sent a message telling Alfred that he would kill Wulflac unless the greater part of the gold and silver was surrendered to him and unless the king further agreed, binding himself by a solemn mass, to live at peace with the Danes. When Alfred replied that he had left his treasury in Exeter and that he would send some of his army to bring it, Olaf agreed to wait for ten days but said that if the gold was not handed over by dawn on that day, Wulflac would die. Now the truth was that Alfred had the treasury with him but had said that it was in Exeter in order to stall for time because the fresh levies should arrive within nine or ten days. In the witan, however, Beorghtnoth, supported by those among the thegns who wanted him to betray Alfred to the enemy, argued that the king should surrender the treasury. The king was in an agonizing dilemma and in order to resolve the situation he proposed a sudden and daring attack upon the town. The thegns refused to countenance this proposal, however, and insisted on waiting for the fresh levies to arrive. The days passed and the new troops did not appear. Finally, on the ninth day, Alfred told the witan that he would surrender himself in order to save his former tutor’s life. They were horrified – except for Beorghtnoth and his allies who were secretly delighted – and they argued with Alfred that the survival of the kingdom depended on his remaining in command. Alfred went to his private chamber and, accompanied only by his young chaplain, began praying to God to tell him what was the right course of action.
‘As Grimbald describes it, this is an astonishing moment. It’s one of the first glimpses of the inner life of an individual since the end of Roman civilization. And of course it’s a classic dilemma: the ties of love in opposition to those of duty. By the way, I wonder if you’ve spotted the evidence for that hypothesis of mine?’
Austin made no response. ‘Grimbald goes on:
The king asked the priest for his advice and the young man, deeply moved by this mark of the king’s respect for him, and alarmed by what he suspected of Beorghtnoth’s treachery urged him to hand over the gold. After that he could attack the Danes as soon as his fresh levies arrived. The king objected that that would require him to break his solemn undertaking which would be a grievous offence to God. The young priest replied that no promise made to a heathen could be considered binding in the sight of God.
‘You know, that is very shrewd advice. It makes sense both militarily and politically. And theologically the chaplain was right, too. But Alfred was obviously bound by the pre-Christian Anglo-Saxons’ code of morality for the text goes on:
Alfred, however, insisted that his sense of honour would not permit him to behave thus. And so, after three hours of prayer and discussion, the king emerged to announce to the witan that he had decided that it was his duty to negotiate in person with the enemy and, if necessary, to offer himself as a hostage in place of the bishop. The thegns were furious and now it was the most loyal among them who shouted loudest that they would not allow him to do such a thing. Beorghtnoth spoke up and offered to go to Olaf in order to try to find a solution to the crisis and Alfred trustingly agreed to this. And so Beorghtnoth went to Olaf not in order to help, but to betray, his uncle. He told the Danish leader that since Alfred had his gold with him and was waiting for reinforcements, Olaf should force the king to settle the matter quickly. Now Wulflac was brought in with his two chaplains and Beorghtnoth, conducting himself with hateful duplicity, commiserated with him. The learned bishop, however, himself had a secret design – though one that was wholly honourable and benign – and this was to convey to Alfred a message which only he would understand. So the bishop said to Beorghtnoth: Tell your uncle to be comforted and to think this very night of what the learned Pliny wrote: A man who is truly wise will find even in a moment of darkness a light that obscures the sun; while the foolish man will
be dazzled by nothing more than the mere dawn. It is a passage that he will remember well. He made the unlettered nephew repeat this message until he had it perfectly. This was the scholar’s secret design: because of his profound knowledge of the heavens and the movements of the stars therein, Wulflac knew that there was to be an eclipse of the sun at dawn on the very next day. And because he and the king had recently been reading together the works of Pliny in which those phenomena are described, he was sure that Alfred would understand. Unfortunately, however, Beorghtnoth guessed that he was trying to convey some hidden meaning and decided that he would say nothing to his uncle of the bishop’s message. So when he returned to the camp of the English he told Alfred and the witan merely that he had been unsuccessful in his attempt to negotiate with the Danes.
Meanwhile, acting on Beorghtnoth’s advice, Olaf gave orders that Wulflac be suspended from the West Gate of the city-walls in the sight of the besieging army. When Alfred saw this, he was filled with anger and grief and announced that he was determined to give himself up in return for the bishop. The thegns – joined by the hypocritical Beorghtnoth and his fellow-conspirators – pleaded with him in tears not to do so, arguing that it was certain that the Danes would kill him if he did. But Alfred answered that he was now using his authority to designate his heir and was choosing his nephew who, he was sure, would make a fine king if he himself were to die. Then the most loyal of the thegns, seeing that he was determined, went to the length of trying to thwart him by physically preventing him from leaving his private quarters.
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