In Two Minds

by K T Findlay

  ‘The King has always said he wants my brother to succeed him. Ecgfrith is a fine man, wise, with a good soul. He will make an excellent king, and I will be proud to serve him, and do whatever he asks of me. I don’t need miracles to do that. I just need to be myself.’ said Wulfstan simply.

  ‘Then,’ said the Archbishop, ‘perhaps as God has seen fit to return to you the gift of life, you should think about joining the Church?’ He smiled unctuously.

  ‘This is a trap!’ warned Thomas. ‘Once you’re in the Church, you’ll be under his control, to be used against your father!’

  Wulfstan nodded thoughtfully. ‘Does anyone really know the mind of God? Perhaps I’m back for some other purpose? I think I need more time before the answer becomes clear, so thank you, but no, I do not wish to join the Church. At least not now.’

  Jaenberht stared. ‘You are a most remarkable ten year old, even for a prince of so great a king as your father.’

  King Offa growled past the Archbishop’s shoulder. ‘Remember Wulfstan, that as a prince you have the choice of warrior or priest. That’s all. Do you think you’re up to being a warrior? You’ve shown no seriousness about anything up to today, and not much ability either. Not like your brother here.’

  Wulfstan stiffened in shock and shame, stunned into silence. In an instant Thomas was back in the body, and Wulfstan was watching miserably from the ceiling. Thomas was extremely glad he’d been paying attention!

  He took a deep breath, deliberately relaxed his face to a gentle smile, and met the King’s gaze. ‘Your Majesty, I am but ten years old, a child still. My voice has not yet broken. It is true that I have played, and not yet been very serious, but watch the young of any animal play and you will see it learn. The kitten catching a grasshopper is learning to hunt real prey. A lamb playing jumping jacks with its fellows is learning to dodge a hunter. A puppy wrestling its littermates is learning where it stands in the pack, and how to fight for its place. Children are no different, other than that each child has to learn based on where in society its parents lie. As the son of the King I have more to learn than most, and so yes, I played.’

  King Offa was looking perplexed. ‘But…’

  ‘I have not finished yet Your Majesty.’ smiled Thomas. ‘I am ready to take my place if you are ready to allow it. I can run a manor more effectively than any man in this room. I can lower the sickness and death rates of the people who work in that manor to lower than anywhere else in the kingdom.’

  ‘Hah!’ spat the King. ‘And can you defend it boy? Against all comers?’

  The hall was completely silent now.

  Thomas marshalled his thoughts. This was serious. It wasn’t a word game, but it was a game of some kind. Where would it lead? Well, nothing for it now. ‘If I can select my own warriors, have a year to train them, have them properly equipped, then yes, against all comers of an equal number.’

  ‘Excellent!’ boomed the King. ‘In that case you and I will have a bet. You and your chosen ten will have your year. I will pay for everything you want, then you can fight Grimketil and his ten best warriors. Winner takes all. If you win, you take Grimketil’s lands. If he wins, he takes yours.’

  Thomas frowned. ‘And what would happen to the loser?’

  Offa smiled ‘He dies in the battle of course.’

  Again the room fell completely silent, only the crackle of the flames was evident.

  ‘Of course you could withdraw your boast,’ added Offa, ‘but then you would be no Prince of mine!’

  Wulfstan had recovered his fire and snarled at Thomas. ‘Say yes!’

  Thomas forced a small laugh. ‘Then we have a deal. When do I get to choose my ten men?’

  ‘You can start any time you like.’ came the reply. ‘But who said anything about men. You can have slaves. Your pick of any you want, and I will pay for them.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ said Thomas, glancing at Hengist who was smiling at Grimketil fixedly.

  ‘Not so fast. Now it’s my turn to not be finished, my young clever clogs.’ The King’s smile was truly malevolent now. ‘Female slaves only! You can have girls if you are so truly wonderful. Do you still accept?’

  Wulfstan wailed in horror. ‘My God!! What have we done? You must renounce it! Say you were joking! Anything! My honour will be thrown in a pit of filth and trampled!’

  ‘And that worries you more than dying?’ snapped Thomas.

  ‘Yes of course!’

  The whole room was now in an uproar of laughter, hoots, catcalls and the crashing of knives against tables.

  Grimketil’s redhead was reaching past him to place more mutton onto his trencher. Out of pure spite he lifted his hand and prepared to smack her face down into the table.

  She’d seen it coming though, and ducked back out from under his arm. The hand flew past its target and smashed into edge of the table. Grimketil’s knife spun into the air with the impact, spattering dark sauce over his face and shirt. Thomas laughed loudly. Grimketil glared at him, then deliberately picked up his knife, and moved purposefully towards the girl. She watched him carefully, spread her feet a little further, but did not retreat or attempt to run.

  Grimketil’s men rose from the table, and moved out to either end, blocking the gaps between the table and the wall, leaving no obvious escape. Grimketil lunged, his blade flickering wickedly on its way to its target. And struck nothing. The girl had once more dodged his blow, this time dropping to the floor and rolling out from under the table into the centre of the hall. With the fire at her back she rose to her feet.

  ‘How brave you are my Lord, with all that strength, and that knife of yours. Brave enough to attack a noblewoman half your weight, and unarmed.’ The sarcasm dripped like candle wax, searing his ego. She smiled mirthlessly, ‘So come on great warrior, finish it, or are you too frightened to try now?’

  But by now Thomas was on his feet and between them. ‘That’s enough! No more violence in the royal hall!’ Then he grinned at Grimketil, before turning towards the King. ‘It looks like the slaves in your realm are even better than your thegns, father. I think perhaps I could beat this man Grimketil with ten female slaves against him and his ten best men. I choose this lady as my first companion, if she’ll have me.’ He held out his hand to her.

  The whole room erupted into gales of laughter. Grimketil himself slapped his thighs in mirth, and grabbed a fresh beer horn from the brunette serving girl behind him. Thomas waited for the laughter to die down, ‘Well?’ he asked her. ‘If you say yes, and we win, you shall have your freedom. And if we lose, well anything’s better than being under that oaf’s control!’

  She smiled for the first time since he had seen her, a true smile, warm, as warm as the flickering of the flames dancing off her hair ‘I would be honoured Your Highness.’ she said. ‘I would rather die in your service than spend another day with this nothing of a man!’

  Grimketil snarled, and hurled his knife at her. In mid-flight she knocked it aside with her hand, sending it spinning into the flames.

  ‘When you kidnapped me, you took me by surprise, like a ferret, not a warrior.’ she said, the softness of her speech catching everyone’s attention. Then her expression hardened. ‘From now on you will face me armed, and I will be ready. The next time we clash, it is you who will die!’ she spat.

  ‘Do not be a fool Rowena!’ Grimketil cried in return. ‘You have no chance against me. Withdraw your offer to the Prince and I will accept you back, with only a beating for your rudeness. But if you join him, I will certainly see you dead, and slowly at that!’

  Rowena, hair flashing in the firelight, turned away from him, knelt in front of Thomas, and said but a single word. ‘Please?’

  Thomas took her hand, and raised her to her feet. ‘I would be honoured to have such as you by my side. And also your friend,’ he nodded, indicating the short haired brunette behind Grimketil. ‘I sense she is something special too?’

  ‘Yes Your Highness. She is Berthilda, a girl of great char
acter, and a childhood friend. She would serve you well.’

  Thomas held out his other hand to Berthilda. ‘Would you also like to join me?’

  Grimketil grabbed her shoulder. ‘No! She would not! And she is not for sale!’

  Thomas laughed. ‘My father said any slave, and I want her, if she’ll have me. Do you want to join me?’

  Offa nodded slowly, and reluctantly Grimketil released his hold. She smiled, ducked under the table, and joined her friend. ‘Thank you Your Highness.’ she smiled.

  Thomas turned to the King. ‘Well, that’s my first two sorted out. Thank you father.’ And then returned to his seat as if everything was as it had always been. ‘Hengist, Ravena, please make arrangements for any property they may own to be moved here.’

  ‘They own nothing but their lives,’ growled Grimketil, ‘and even they are on loan! A loan I will collect in a year’s time. But you’ll have nothing else from me today!’

  ‘Do you have anything?’ Thomas asked the girls.

  ‘No Your Highness.’ replied Rowena. ‘Even our clothes are his.’

  ‘Which I would like back this instant!’ came Grimketil’s riposte. A loud coarse laugh erupted again from his table.

  Thomas nodded, and whispered into Ravena’s ear. ‘Ravena, will you please go into mother’s linen box, and look for the dresses she is not going to wear again. Find one for each of these two ladies, and some shoes if possible. If you can make them both look really glamorous, bring them back in to me. Otherwise, they can stay in my room and have their dinner there. Tomorrow we can make arrangements for clothes of their own.’

  Ravena, who was looking stunned at everything that had happened, nodded and began to turn away, beckoning to the two girls to follow her.

  ‘Ravena?’

  ‘Yes Your Highness.’

  ‘Would you like to join me as well? I know you’re happy in your position, but if you want to join me I will set you free after the fight in a year’s time, with money and a position. You don’t need to answer now, but I mean it. I would be honoured to have you, if you’re game to try.’ He smiled. ‘If you accept, find a third dress, and come back in wearing it.’

  Ravena gasped. The Queen looked at her questioningly. Ravena moved quickly behind the royal table and whispered into the queen’s ear. The Queen smiled, nodded at Thomas, and said ‘With my blessing, whatever you decide Ravena.’

  The three women and Hengist left the hall to a hubbub of conversation, a mixture of hushed chat, soft laughter, and earnest debate.

  Wulfstan was still steaming mad. Thomas could feel the waves of disapproval radiating through his body. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked.

  ‘They will have no chance against Grimketil and his men! We’ll have a year of being laughed at by everyone, and then we will die! How could you be so stupid?’

  Thomas thought for a moment. ‘And the alternative was?’

  Silence.

  Thomas spoke again. ‘Your father made it quite clear that there was no way to refuse his challenge. He basically said you were no son of his if you didn’t accept.’

  More silence.

  ‘In any case, don’t think for a moment that we are going to play by the accepted rules. I have knowledge about weapons, tactics and strategy that they have never even imagined. We will win, and when we have, your name will be on everyone’s lips, for the right reasons. You may even become King yourself!’

  No silence this time. ‘What do you mean? What do you know?!’

  ‘Your people fight on foot. We will not. Your people fight with spear, axe and sword. So will we, but we won’t fight in the same way. Plus, we will have new and different weapons that Grimketil will never have seen.’

  ‘But we can’t do that! Father will never allow it. He’ll force us to fight as our people expect us to fight, or there will be no honour in winning!’

  ‘Our victory will be so overwhelming, that the people will think you magnificent!’

  Wulfstan swore. ‘You’re not listening! The King won’t let us fight differently. We won’t be allowed to use your new ideas!’

  Thomas laughed. ‘Oh I think he will. If he tries that, I will ask him in public, if this is the way a great king behaves, to change the rules of the game after he has made his wager, to guarantee he wins. He will have no choice.’

  More swearing. ‘He is the King! He can do anything he wants to do! And that includes beheading his own son when he has gone far beyond acceptable bounds! We… will… lose!’

  There was a short pause. ‘Well,’ said Thomas, ‘the die is cast now. If you continue to think we’re going to lose, then we probably will. How about trying to think about the possibility that we might actually win? Then it becomes possible. What do you say?’

  This time the swearing went on for much longer. Thomas let it burn itself out. Eventually there was silence again.

  ‘Well?’ asked Thomas.

  ‘Alright.’ came the rather sulky reply. ‘I don’t have a choice do I?’

  ‘Of course you have a choice.’ said Thomas ‘We all have this choice, every day of our lives. What the world gives you each day is what the world gives you, and there isn’t always much we can do about that. But how we respond to it is a choice, our choice, and we can always control that if we want to. Look at Hengist. He has been treated so unfairly today that he’d be justified in being miserable, depressed, or screaming with rage, or running away, or taking his own life. He could have done any of those things. Instead he chooses, and I emphasise that word, chooses, to behave with dignity and grace, and to look forward to a better future. I am certain he finds that hard to do, but he chooses to do it because he believes it is the best way to respond. So yes, you do have a choice. But it has to be your own free will.’

  Again there was silence. But this time the waves of disapproval and anger diminished, and a sense of tranquillity entered the body. The silence continued. Gradually Thomas could feel different sensations flowing through his frame, an excitement building in the pit if the stomach, his right arm trying to give a victorious arm pump, and finally, the full on wash of warmth that comes with an endorphin rush.

  ‘You're right. I’d never thought about that before. I thought it was all just the will of God, and that was it.’

  ‘Let me tell you a story.’ said Thomas. ‘Once upon a time there was a deeply religious man who lived in a hut on a small island. One day a storm arrived, and the river began to rise. A man came galloping downriver on a horse, and called out that there was much rain upstream and that there was going to be a flood. He said the man should come off the island now, while there was still time. The man refused, saying that God would protect him. The river continued to rise. The village folk came to the bank of the river with a long rope. They offered to throw it to the man so that they could pull him to safety. Again he refused and said that God would protect him. The river continued to rise, and the man had to climb onto the roof of his hut, which shivered and shook with the water hammering into it. An enormous tree trunk came sliding down the river, and by great good fortune, hit the largest bit of the island still above water. It juddered to a halt, before spinning slowly around, and sliding parallel to the walls of the hut. The watching villagers urged him to jump onto it and be carried to safety. Once more the man declined, saying that God would save him. The tree floated free, and washed away. A few minutes later a great wave came down the river and slammed into the hut. The little building crumpled with the blow, broke up, and was carried into the torrent. For a few seconds the man floated on the thatch roof, his face a mask of terror, and then he fell through into the water. The last the villagers saw of him was one arm raised in appeal to the heavens.

  ‘When the man arrived in heaven, God greeted him warmly, but the man was bewildered and confused.

  ‘“My Lord, why did you not save me? I thought you would come to my aid.”

  ‘“My son,” said God, “I gave you eyes and a mind that could see the river was rising. I sent a horsem
an to warn you with words. I sent the villagers with rope and advice. Lastly, I sent you a tree, even placing it so you could step easily onto it and be carried to safety. Just how much rescuing do you need?”’

  Wulfstan laughed ‘And the moral of the story is?’

  ‘Easy.’ said Thomas. ‘God helps those who help themselves. A big part of that is choosing how to react to things. And it is always a choice. Even when there is no apparent good choice, there is still a choice, the choice to be true to yourself and to those you love. I believe I can feel the choice you’ve now made?’

  Wulfstan laughed again. ‘Yes. I am with you now. What a difference it makes to have done it too! I actually feel different! I am excited about what we are going to do!’

  Then suddenly they swapped again, and Wulfstan’s grin became real on his own face.

  ‘I’m off to listen in on what Grimketil and his men are talking about.’ said Thomas. ‘Have fun.’

  Sensing Thomas’s departure, Wulfstan looked across to Grimketil’s table. Grimketil’s face was, well, grim. That was the best word for it. He was deep in conversation with Ward, his right hand man. Wulfwynn was silent, nibbling on a pigeon leg, eyes staring into space. She seemed very much alone.

  Looking around the rest of the room, he could see a lot of animated discussions going on. No need to guess what most of that was about. Here and there he could see hands slapped or shaken, indicating wagers being made, almost certainly on the fight to come.

  For the next ten minutes he talked exclusively with the little girls, who wanted to hear every tiny detail about his adventure. Jaenberht did his best to eavesdrop as much as possible, but he missed a lot when he had to turn away to talk to the King.

  Then Rowena and Berthilda walked back in, followed by Hengist and Ravena, silencing everyone. Despite the short hair style denoting their slave status, they looked glorious, majestic even. Rowena was wearing a long flowing dark blue gown, trimmed with white fur. Even without jewellery she looked stunning. Berthilda wore a deep red gown that poured over her shoulders, hiding her perfectly toned arms. Yet despite the sumptuousness of their clothes, it was their carriage and bearing that made the real difference.