The Abbot's Tale

by Conn Iggulden

  He was. It seemed Leofa had begun a campaign of intimidation of our people, as I had come to think of them. I could read the same outrage in Wulfric’s descriptions. My brother demanded, not asked, that I take the case to the king.

  I read with slow-building anger when I saw how many men Wulfric had hired. Two of them had been beaten almost to death and a third had been found hanged, though no one knew if that was by his own hand, or some other grievance, as it was not far from his own village. Worse news was the crop that had been burned, with tales of foxes running madly through the wheat, fiery brands tied to their tails. It seemed our Kentish friend knew his Book of Judges and the story of Samson.

  Beyond the hanged man, the damage was petty enough, though I could see how it had become a misery for those forced to endure it. Wulfric painted a picture of bullying and casual beatings that cried out for justice. I read the letter twice more. There was no evidence – and even if there had been, there would be no punishment. The families of the beaten men might ask the Witan to rule, perhaps to make a payment from the king’s purse in compensation. Such things were common enough then and hardly reached the notice of the noblemen in question. Their factors and servants paid off those who brought suit against them and the world went on.

  I was, that night, at a house in Bath. My host was a Venetian merchant who traded in glass and refined metals. I had enjoyed a most stimulating evening with all the thoughts of what new things I could make with his wares. I had already fashioned the clamp for Wulfric’s letters, a device that had him almost weeping on my shoulder – I could see the result before me that day in its clean written lines. I had plans too for both a new harp and a way of conveying the voice from one end of a hall to another, as an echo, but keeping its form.

  Instead, I found myself discussing my brother’s letter with my host. The Venetian spoke Latin as well as I did and we had both been drinking wine of such potency, a single glass made my head swim and my sight blur. We had finished a flask of the stuff. I even laid plans for vineyards at Glastonbury, but they refused to grow in a salt marsh, more’s the pity.

  By midnight, my host and I had agreed that patience was needed, not rash action. Time itself would scar the wound. In a season, in a year at most, Leofa would be distracted by some fair face, or some other grievance. If he was not, perhaps a private word in the king’s ear would suffice, rather than a formal petition to Edmund or the Witan council.

  It was the best course, though unsatisfying. Maturity is putting aside small spites, or understanding that they matter not at all. It has been a struggle for me at times. That night, I would much rather have paid men to kill Leofa in his bed, but I recognised a warlike spirit that surprised me. That drink called brandy made me quite ferocious for a time, though all my bloody dreams faded by dawn, as such things will.

  I returned to Glastonbury to discover the monks up in arms and the bridge over the marsh guarded as if we actually were at war. It seemed Leofa had continued his campaign since Wulfric had written to me. Denied an answer, the Kentish thane had set himself on a course of increasing violence and intimidation, so that his men lurked in all our villages. Barns had burned, as well as crops. No young man could walk alone without being chased – and battered if caught. No young woman was safe from their lewd comments and grasping hands. It was an appalling state of affairs.

  The abbey was in a state of siege, with monks wearing sword belts or carrying axes as they walked to chapel! We were protected by the marsh, unlike those in the town and the villages. I could hardly believe the sullen anger I saw in men like Caspar and Master Gregory. At their bidding, I went to the infirmary, dreading what I would see.

  My first reaction was almost nostalgia, when I saw my sister-in-law Alice, bustling with a pile of clean cloths.

  ‘Dunstan!’ she said, dropping them all. Wulfric has been trying to find you for weeks. Didn’t you get his letters? Where have you been?’

  I went past her, irritated at being questioned so in my own abbey – and at being addressed by Christian name rather than my title. I stopped at the sight of full pallets in the main room, a row of injured men. Aphra was there, painting some yellow muck onto a stitched wound. She looked up only to purse her mouth and glare at me.

  It made me shudder to see masons with broken hands, to the point where I wondered if Leofa had heard some rumour of my own past. No, it was just deliberate cruelty, meant to hurt us. Still, I was relieved Master Justin was not among them. We needed him, though even then it was not to build, so much as to plan and design.

  I wondered if Leofa had bound himself so tight in rage that he’d forgotten all good sense. He was a fool. Even a cur will bite, if it is tormented long enough.

  I realised I could not just bow my head and endure, not that year, not for him. Leofa’s malice was too clear, his casual blows too much like a child. We had ignored him and he had raised the stakes.

  Wulfric came in a few days after my arrival. I’d sent letters to Lady Elflaed, asking her advice, though she was ailing then and I thought she would not survive another winter. That was a grief to come that I dared not touch. She had saved me at my lowest and I’d repaid her with my youth, raising an abbey from the earth with my hands and my dreaming thoughts – and my faith, poor thing that it was.

  When Wulfric returned, the cry went up for the abbot and I rushed out of the school, almost tumbling down the steps as I saw he was bloodied. They had broken his arm. I could only imagine the horror of that, though I saw it in his eyes.

  Alice came past me, wailing at the sight of him, pressing her hands to each side of his face and pulling him down, so that he could kiss her. It made me think of my Beatrice and I felt a pang of envy. Wulfric was exhausted and in pain, so that he almost fell as he slid from the saddle to a mounting block, steadied by his wife. He cried out as his arm came loose, flopping from where he had held it nestled in his lap.

  I looked at him and at the bruised and battered men who had come back. Their scabbards were all empty and they bore the marks of battle.

  ‘Where is the quarter rent?’ I said.

  Wulfric shook his head, made pale by pain.

  ‘Leofa’s men took it.’

  He began to smile as he spoke, despite the pain. I matched him, though Alice looked from one to the other of us in confusion.

  ‘Have you gone mad? Why are you smiling like fools?’ she said.

  I ignored her.

  ‘Are you sure it was his men, Wulfric? Be careful now, as you answer. You saw fellows you recognised?’

  ‘I did,’ he said. ‘From a dozen times when they threatened me before. When they did not mind telling me their master. I knew them today.’

  My brother was grim with satisfaction and right to be. He turned to answer his wife.

  ‘I know his men, love. They stole silver from us. We can go to the king now – and, by God, put an end to this.’

  ‘And what about your arm?’ she said, running her hands over the swollen flesh so that he hissed.

  ‘Injuries are nothing, love. I’ve said before we can’t go to a magistrate or the Witan like children, saying they hurt us, they chased us. We could prove nothing, until today. The king won’t stand for robbery on his roads. Believe me, Leofa will know he is finished when they bring that silver back to him.’

  A thought struck him and he turned to me.

  ‘We should not delay, Dun. The sooner we can put this grievance before the king, the sooner Leofa is in irons. I’ll ride to London with you right now.’

  ‘What about your arm?’ I said. I must admit, I admired him then, for his stern manner. It is a strange and wondrous thing watching a brother grow up to be a man. It took long enough, mind.

  ‘I’ll have Alice splint and wrap it.’

  ‘I mean, you can’t gallop . . . with one arm, and that broken.’

  I saw his excitement fade to frustration. It was all very well ambling along on a horse that knew its way home, but a three-day ride over rough country was imposs
ible.

  ‘By sea then,’ I said. ‘We’ll put you in a cart for the coast. It will just have to be fast enough.’

  Alice led him away to be splinted and fed. I watched them go, feeling rather sorry that there was no one to look after me in the same way.

  24

  When Wulfric and I had presented our tale to Edmund, Leofa was summoned to Winchester, to appear no later than Pentecost. He left it as late as he could, of course. Lady Elflaed died while we read our evidence into the records, so that I had to ask for a delay in the proceeding to preside over her funeral.

  Edmund could hardly refuse my request. Lady Elflaed had been a great friend to his family and to the city. The king came himself to honour her, though he stood at the back of the cathedral in quiet dignity, leaving as the choir breathed the last verses. The benches were not filled, though they should have been.

  Perhaps it did not hurt to remind King Edmund of my supporters, even as one of them fell away. Before the formal hearing with Leofa went on, I took an afternoon to visit the royal archives to read her will. The contents of it still make a shiver run through me. I had known the dear lady was wealthy. Elflaed had owned sheep farms in Somerset and a quarry of good iron ore in West Cumbria. It seemed she’d owned a number of ships and merchant businesses as well, a true fortune that had come to me. Not, you will notice, to the Church, or even to the abbey, but to Dunstan of Wessex himself, to spend as he saw fit.

  Inheriting so much could not balance the grief I felt in losing her, but it eased some of the pain. I had taken a vow of poverty, which was awkward. I gave it a great deal of thought over the next few days, as witness after witness came to give evidence to the king on our behalf. I had not resolved the problem to my satisfaction by the time Wulfric and I were called in once more.

  I put such thoughts aside as King Edmund entered the petition hall, walking slowly down the aisle to the throne. This was to be a more intimate event than the giving of evidence, with the king’s interested subjects kept away. My brother and I had to be present throughout as accusers, giving oath that every word of it was true. Leofa might have done the same if he’d cared nothing for his immortal soul. Yet he had not challenged our account in a single instance, except to blame his men for their youth and rash action. He claimed no knowledge of any of it. I suspected the king knew very well by then where the truth lay, but I did not know how he would make his judgement.

  Edmund had refused to allow my uncle Athelm to administer the oaths of our petition, given his relationship to us, so instead, a bishop I did not know had been summoned. Bishop Oda of Ramsbury was of Danish stock, though he grew to manhood in Wessex. He seemed a solid sort, of much the same build as myself and not one of those clerics who looked as if they’d never gone outside in all their lives.

  On that last day, Oda and I bowed to each other when I entered, a courtesy between professionals. Wulfric leaned over to whisper something as I seated myself. I shook my head in answer, feeling the dignity of the moment and the king’s presence strongly.

  Edmund had found a new champion by then, a fellow who would have loomed over old Egill Skiallgrimmson. I’d love to have watched them fight bare-handed, mind. It would have been a rare bout. This John Wyatt was enormous and brutal, so he served King Edmund well enough. Even scornful, angry bastards like Leofa were respectful with Wyatt’s gaze on them.

  I felt Wulfric turn his head at the sounds of doors cracked open behind us. I kept my gaze forward, though I heard every step Leofa made as he came in. No one walked at his side, as he was only accused and no prisoner. Yet I felt his glare pass over me like the heat of an oven. He had listened to our complaint with no expression showing at all, beyond a slight boredom. It occurred to me that if we had failed to convince King Edmund, if Leofa was allowed to go free from that place, Wulfric was in real danger. As I considered the bullish quality of the man who knelt before the king as a penitent, I considered that I might be in danger as well.

  Bishop Oda blessed the proceedings. He had a good voice, I noted, very rich in tone. We knelt and said the Pater Noster, then Wulfric and I rose to hear the king rule. Leofa remained on his knees, waiting for judgement with his head bowed. Oda finished with the sign of the cross cut in the air to us all.

  Edmund let the silence swell. I saw his breath plume before him, showing the coldness of the air. When he spoke, it was without rising from his seat.

  ‘My lord Leofa, Abbot Dunstan, Reeve Wulfric of Glastonbury, I have summoned you to this place to hear my judgement on this matter of disputed land.’

  I hid a wince at ‘disputed’, feeling my stomach drop away and hoping it was not a prediction that things would not go well. I was only too aware that Edmund had fought alongside this thane at Brunanburh. One solution would be to give back the land to his friend. Leofa would be satisfied – and gloat at a victory. I wondered how long it would be before some rough fellows came in the night for Wulfric and me after that.

  ‘I have heard testimony under oath, of violence, of destruction and of theft. It grieves me that men I respect could find no way of settling a dispute without bringing it to me. So I will rule on it. Dunstan, see my clerk. Sign over to me that portion of the land that Leofa claims. I will find an equivalent for you, of equal worth.’

  My heart sank, though I bowed my head and did not dare look at Leofa.

  ‘Thank you, Your Highness,’ I said.

  ‘And you, Leofa? Your men stole rents and broke the arm of an abbot’s reeve.’

  ‘I have had them punished, Your Highness. And I have offered to return the sil—’

  ‘Do not interrupt me, sir!’ Edmund roared at him.

  Leofa dipped his head like a whipped cur, as well he might, with John Wyatt bestirring himself at the king’s side.

  ‘I cannot leave the terms of your punishment to you, Leofa. In your foolishness, you have brought my judgement upon you – and made sure that hundreds of my subjects are waiting to see if you are set free, if their hurts and losses will be ignored by their king. It cannot be so, Leofa.’ He paused and took a deep breath before speaking again. ‘Therefore, you are, by this judgement, banished from the realm and my kingdom for the period of five years, not to enter home or crown port, whether in storm or fair weather. I will give you six days to see to your affairs, then I will consider you oathbreaker if you are still in England. That is my judgement–and you have brought this on yourself in your childish rule. I thought better of you. Of you all.’

  I gaped at that last part, feeling myself included. Neither Wulfric nor I had wanted to petition the king! We’d wanted to be left in peace. I half-wished I’d hired men to waylay Leofa on the way to his summons, but it was hard to keep such things from coming out. Tongues do wag and secrets spill.

  Leofa bowed as Edmund rose and left. I was pleased to see the king’s champion remained behind, as I was practically alone with a man banished from the realm. Wulfric and I could hardly have defended ourselves, if Leofa had run wild. It occurred to me to pour a little oil on those waters while I had the chance.

  ‘I am sorry it came to this, my lord,’ I said. ‘I wish we could have settled it in peace between us, as the king said.’

  I will not repeat his reply, spat in anger. He too glanced at John Wyatt, resting his hands on the haft of an axe as he grinned at us. Leofa decided not to provoke that monstrous man and stalked out instead.

  I heard Wulfric breathe in relief, though I was more worried than before. The problem with banished men is that they come back – and five years was not too long. It was why I’d been so reluctant to go to the king at all.

  ‘I hope we have not stored up more trouble, Brother,’ I murmured to Wulfric. For once, he was silent, his worry as clear as mine own.

  That summer, King Edmund married a young woman of the court, making her his queen. He seemed happy and Elgifu was radiant, though she had either put on a great deal of weight or the wedding was more urgent than it first appeared. I was a little disappointed not to be asked t
o officiate at the ceremony. Bishop Oda was again the king’s choice, as my uncle Athelm was then too ill to attend. It seemed a time of change was upon us all, though I was at least given a seat near the front and next to the king’s own brother and two of his sisters.

  I had not seen much of Prince Eadred, though he stayed close enough to his brother in Winchester. Eadred was a weak-looking, sallow creature. Every time I met him, I thought he would not last a month, as he coughed into a little cloth he tucked up his sleeve. Honestly, I have seen a dozen people die from ailments of the lungs, but Eadred somehow went on, coughing and spitting, but present all the same.

  I tried not to play the toad-eater to him. I had Lady Elflaed’s great fortune at my disposal, after all, never mind the abbey that was taking shape and growing greater and more expensive each year that passed. I did not need the favour of the king’s half-grown brother, so I was merely polite to him. I felt his gaze on me and I suppose he was a little envious of my strength and size, my fine big lungs like bellows, compared to his little wheezing ones. I know now that very small men can be resentful of stronger, taller fellows. It encourages a spite in them, not a properly sanguine Christian outlook. Of course, we are all weak in the end, but some are never strong at all and grow quite bitter about it.

  ‘Prince Eadred,’ I said, bowing my head in greeting.

  ‘Abbot Dunstan,’ he said. ‘How pleasant to see you once more. I heard about your trouble with Leofa.’

  I frowned at the odd tone, almost of mockery, though I’d hardly said a word to him in the past.

  ‘All forgotten now, I hope,’ I said, though perhaps my worry showed.

  ‘I suppose so. He was a very violent man, mind you. I recall he beat some poor seller of shellfish almost to death for giving him short weight. What a temper he had!’

  I agreed, though I could see by then he was amusing himself at my expense. The trouble was that I could hardly prod Eadred in return, the king’s own brother. I may have loomed a little over him, to remind him how much larger I was. I saw his gaze rise past me and I flinched as I realised I was being loomed upon in turn. The king’s champion took a seat beside us, making the whole bench creak. My change of expression seemed to have amused Eadred, so that he coughed and laughed and ended up almost choking into his little cloth as I eyed him.