We all stripped off our cloaks and spread them on the hearthstones all around, and then stood as close to the flames as we might, revolving slowly front-to-back. I spread my mantle before the flames and soon my damp clothes were steaming from the heat. The fire did warm me wonderfully well.
To one side of the hearth was an enormous table made from the split log of a tree. The remains of a meal still strew the tabletop, but a command from the head man and the leavings were quickly removed. Women scurried to prepare another sitting.
“Ale!” the chieftain cried. “Ale! Tylu…Nominoé, Adso! Bring jars for our thirsty guests.”
While boys scampered for the ale jars, our host turned to us and said, “Friends, sit and take your ease. You have had a tumultuous day, I think. Rest now. Share our meal.” Placing a broad hand to his chest, he added, “My name is Dinoot, and I am leader of this tuath, as you would say. My people and I are happy you have found your way to us. Fear nothing, my friends. No ill can befall you here.”
So saying, he led the bishop to the table and bade him sit in the prime place. The rest of us found places at the benches and, since no one told me otherwise, I brought my barbarian with me to the board.
As we moved to take our places at the far end of the table, however, Dinoot noticed the man with me was not a priest. “Bishop Cadoc,” he said, putting out a hand to halt the barbarian, “forgive my curiosity, but it seems to me that a stranger has come among us.”
“Ah, yes,” the bishop said, remembering the warrior suddenly, and with some embarrassment. “Your eye is sharp, Master Dinoot.”
“Not so sharp as some,” the head man allowed, the selfsame eye narrowing slightly. “Still, I know a Sea Wolf when I see one.”
“We lost our rudder to the storm,” Brynach explained, “and were coming on to land—”
“Would have made a fine landfall, too,” said Fintán, speaking up, “if not for a most cowardly attack.” The pilot told about the Sea Wolves and shook his head with utmost regret. “Little Bán Gwydd is tied with ropes down on the strand.”
Dinoot frowned. “The storm we knew. But I was not aware there were barbarians coursing our shores.” He rubbed his whiskered chin. “Lord Marius will want to know of this.”
“Your lord,” asked Brynach, “he is not here?”
“His caer is but a half-day’s walk,” explained Dinoot. “There are five villages under his protection.” Turning to the barbarian, who stood mute and resigned beside me, the chieftain asked, “What is to be done with that one?”
“We thought to leave the matter with you,” Bishop Cadoc suggested. “We ourselves are strangers here, and are persuaded that your lord would know best what to do.”
“Then I will send someone to inform him at once.” So saying, the chieftain summoned one of the tribe’s young men, and, after a brief word, the youth left the hall, taking two others with him. “The machtiern will hear of this regrettable incident by morning.” His lip curled cruelly as he regarded the captive. “Trust this turd of a Dane will trouble you no more.”
Rising, Dinoot clapped his hands and called for assistance. Four men hurried to him, and he said, “Throw this garbage in the midden pit and keep watch over him until Lord Marius arrives.” Two of the men laid hold of the barbarian roughly and began dragging him away.
The Sea Wolf made no sound, nor offered the least resistance, but looked longingly at the table where baskets of bread and jars of ale were being laid. I saw this and my heart moved within me.
“Wait!” I shouted. The word was past my lips before I could prevent it.
The men hesitated. Every eye in the hall turned towards me, and I suddenly found myself very much the object of scrutiny. I stepped quickly to the table, snatched a loaf from the nearest platter and gave it the Sea Wolf. His childlike elation at this simple act was wonderful to behold. He smiled and clutched the bread to him. One of the men holding him reached out to take the food away.
“Please,” I said, and stayed his hand.
The man looked to his chieftain. Dinoot nodded. The man shrugged and released the bread. They led the barbarian away and I took my place at table, yearning to shrink into invisibility.
Once the barbarian had been removed, the hall took life once more. The bishop and head man sat together at one end of the table. Dugal, as Cadoc requested, sat at the bishop’s right hand; Brynach sat beside him—and all of them talked amiably with one another. It was good to see Dugal finding a little distinction. I had always known him to be a most able and proficient master of his own skills; unfortunately for Dugal, however, they were skills that were so rarely required at the monastery day by day. Thus, he was never offered opportunities to distinguish himself. Until now.
“That was well done,” whispered Ciáran, sitting next to me. “I would not have thought of that. I commend you.”
Brocmal, two places away, heard this remark, it seemed, and raised his lips in a sneer. Faolan, next to him, saw this and said, “A loaf, brother. That is all. Would you begrudge a hungry man a bit of bread?”
The imperious monk turned cold eyes on Faolan, stared hard at him, and then turned his face away without a word. He reached out and took a loaf of bread from the platter before him, broke it and bit into it.
“Let us give thanks,” called Cadoc, rising from his place. He spoke a simple prayer for the food and a blessing on our hosts.
Loaves were passed and ale jars splashed drink into wooden cups and bowls. There was a warm, filling stew of salted beef and barley. The holding owned no spoons, apparently, so we lifted the bowls to our mouths and slurped down the stew, then sopped the gravy with the soft dark bread. We washed it down with great gulps of foaming ale.
Was better food ever put before me? No, there never was any to compare with that simple, nourishing fare. I ate like the starving man I was.
And while we ate, Ciáran told us what he had learned on the way to the village. “Their fathers came from Cerniu. That was long ago, however. The land here is called An Bhriotáini now,” he told us between mouthfuls. I said the word silently to myself: Brittany.
“We are north of Nantes;” Ciáran continued, “how far north is not certain. Fin thinks the storm pushed us more east than south. Dinoot says Lord Marius will be able to tell us how far we must go to find the river.”
We fell to talking about the last day’s events, and the meal passed in a pleasant haze. I remember eating and laughing and singing…and then Ciáran was bending over me, shaking me gently by the shoulder. “Aidan—wake up, brother. Rise, we are going to our beds.”
I raised my head from the board and looked about. Some of the brothers were already rolling themselves in their near-dry cloaks before the hearth; others were moving towards the door. I retrieved my cloak and fell into step behind Ciáran. We were led to a roofed byre where new straw had been laid down for us. Not caring where I slept, I stumbled to a corner, yawned and collapsed. Pulling my damp cloak over me, I laid my head in the sweet-scented hay and was asleep again as soon as my eyelids closed.
It may have been the shouting—then again, it may have been the acrid smell of smoke—that roused me from a deep, insensate sleep. I remember coughing as I awoke. The byre was filled with smoke. Eyes wide in the darkness, I stood up, not knowing where I was.
The dogs were barking. I heard the sound of running feet pounding on the earth outside. A sharp cry echoed outside in the yard, and was answered by another. I did not understand what was said.
I moved, shaking off sleep, to the doorway of the byre and looked out. Swift shapes moved in the moonlight. Smoke drifted in the night air. Looking to the hall, I saw long fingers of flame combing the roof-thatch. A figure appeared in the doorway of the hall, looked around quickly and disappeared. Again, I heard the slap of feet on the ground and turned towards the sound. I saw the glint of moonlight hard on a naked swordblade and fell back into the doorway as the figure rushed past.
A woman’s scream scattered the silence like the fragment
s of a shattered jar.
“Wake up!” I cried. “Rise! We are attacked!”
I rushed from one sleeping form to the next, shaking my brother monks from their slumber. Outside, the dogs were in a frenzy. Shrieks sliced the still night air; the shouting increased. The first monks I roused stumbled to the doorway and out. I woke two more and then followed, darting from the byre.
A hut across the yard burst into flame. I heard screams inside, and children wailing. I raced to the hut and threw aside the hide covering; smoke billowed from the doorway. “Hurry!” I shouted, dashing inside. “I will help you! Hurry!”
A young woman, her face illumined by the quick-flickering flames, stood in the centre of the hut, clutching a small child; another brat clung to her legs, mouth wide, tears streaming down its terrified face. Sweeping the child into my arms, I dashed back outside, pulling the woman with me. Once clear of the burning hut, the mother gathered her wits and her children and, holding tight to both, made for the safety of the wood, disappearing into the shadows as she ran.
I turned once more to the yard, now seething in a turmoil of angry, shouting men—many grappling with one another, their combat hellish in the flames of burning roofs and dwellings. Someone had loosed the dogs, and the fear-crazed beasts were attacking friend and foe alike. People were streaming from the hall. I saw Dinoot dash into the open, shouting commands; Dugal emerged right behind him, brandishing a spear.
Bishop Cadoc, God save him, rushed forth, hands upraised, crying, “Peace! Peace!” Bryn and Gwilym darted behind him, desperately trying to interpose themselves between him and the attack. Heedless of his own safety, however, Cadoc darted into the thick of the fight and was set upon at once.
An axehead glinted in the confused light, cruelly swift. I heard the sickening crack of blade on bone and the bishop crumpled like a rag. I started to the place where I saw the good bishop fall, but the fight surged towards me and I could not reach him. The last I saw was Gwilym stooping over the motionless body. Then he, too, was struck down with the same axe.
“Gwilym!” I ran, shouting with all my might. I had taken but three paces, however, when all at once an enormous, broad-shouldered brute with arms as big as hams rose up screaming before me. He attacked and felled a defender with a single blow of his huge club, then straddled the body and raised the club to deliver the killing clout. My feet were already running as the heavy weapon rose over his head.
Throwing my hands before me, I hit the barbarian in the small of the back, shoving him forward as the club fell. His aim spoiled, the club struck the dirt beside his foot. Loosing a tremendous cry of strangled rage, the foeman whirled to face me. It was only then that I realized I had seen that brawny giant before, swinging from the prow of the Sea Wolves’ ship.
This thought occupied me longer than wisdom would have allowed. I stood flatfooted and staring while the braided barbarian advanced, club high, ready to crush my skull and scatter my brains over the blood-soaked dirt. In the lurid light I saw the veins bulging in his neck and arms as he swung the club in a tight circle over his head, advancing with slow, murder-bent steps.
Someone shouted my name. “Aidan!” It was Dugal, running to my aid. “Run, Aidan! Flee!”
Even as Dugal raced to my defence, another foeman met him. Dugal tried to evade the attack; he lowered his shoulder and threw the but of the spear into the man’s face. The barbarian dropped to the ground and lashed out with his legs, tripping Dugal as he struggled forward. I saw my friend fall. A second barbarian leapt onto his back, hacking at Dugal’s head with an axe.
“Dugal!” I screamed, and started to him. The giant with the club side-stepped quickly, blocking my path. The light caught the slick wetness on the end of the club; I saw the red glint as the club circled, preparing to fall.
A savage cry sounded behind me, but I could not take my eyes from the dread movement of the lumpen weapon. The club slashed down, falling with heart-stopping speed. At the same instant, I felt hands fasten on my left arm, jerking me sideways. The club beat the air beside my ear, and I had a glimpse of a filth-smeared face before my cowl was yanked up over my head.
The giant roared and a voice loud beside me shouted back. I made to fend off my attacker, but my arms were ensnared in my own garments. My cloak was stripped from me and wound around my head and shoulders. I stumbled forward, trying to run, and struck my head against something hard.
Blue light blazed in my eyes and I heard a strange loud buzzing in my ears as I fell.
13
The ground swayed beneath me. The buzzing in my ears had given way to dull, leaden ringing—like that of a poorly-cast bell. My head throbbed with a fiercely hostile ache. I could not feel my legs, nor my hands. The sky was still dark, and all was quiet. I heard the low mutter of whispered voices somewhere nearby, but they sounded like the clucking of ducks and I could make no sense of it. The air was close and warm, and breathing painful.
I made to rise. The sky burst into flaming jagged fragments of searing light. Nausea rolled over me in a wave and I slumped back again, panting with the effort.
A memory fought its way into my sluggish, half-sleeping awareness: a tiny bubble rising in a great black vat—only to burst at the moment of surfacing. What was it? What…what?
I heard a scream. The sound brought me to my senses as memory broke upon me with the force of an ocean wave crashing over a rock. I remembered the attack.
Eyes pressed tight against the pain, I struggled up. My shoulders and arms were swathed in heavy cloths. Shaking my arms, twisting this way and that, I fought free of the bindings—my own cloak and mantle—and threw off my cowl.
Daylight streamed into my eyes; throwing a hand before my face, I found myself gazing into the strong red glare of the rising sun. The scream sounded again and I looked up into a clear blue sky to see a white gull gliding serenely high above me. The ship’s mast swayed into view.
The ship’s mast! I reached for the rail above me and hauled myself shakily to my feet.
My stomach heaved again, and I vomited over the rail. When I had finished, I dragged my sleeve across my mouth and then slowly raised my eyes—this time with unutterable dread—to my new surroundings: a barbarian ship with Sea Wolves for companions. They were occupied with rowing, and paid me no attention. One brute in brown buskins, belt, and a sleeveless sheepskin mantle stood a pace or two away, his back to me. He seemed intensely interested in the distant eastern horizon where the red-risen sun was gathering its day’s strength and filling the sky with light.
One of the rowers, glancing up from his oar, saw me, and called something to the brown-belted one who turned, took one look at my gaping, vomit-flecked mouth, smiled broadly, and went back to his duty. I turned my head to see what he was looking at and saw, far away, the ragged grey coastal hills of Armorica. It took me a moment to work out that we were proceeding in a northerly direction over grey-green billowy waves.
The Sea Wolf ship was long and narrow, with a high-swept prow and stern: a strong, sharp-keeled vessel. There were twenty or so rowers, with small benches for more. Behind the slender mast a platform had been established, and this was overarched with bent poles and the whole framework covered with oxhides to form a sort of enclosed stall or tent. A wisp of smoke emanated from beneath the hides, and flattened on the brisk easterly breeze.
Pain blurred my vision but there was nothing much to see anyway—a dull expanse of slate-grey water to the right of me, a dull featureless coast to the left—so I sat down again, drawing air deep into my lungs to help clear my head. I tried to think. My brain, however, refused to respond to the small demands I made upon it; all that came to me was that I was a captive.
Captive. The word engrossed me for an inordinate time. I savoured each lonely, helpless syllable, repeating them over and over again until the word lost all meaning. What would happen to me? What did Sea Wolves do with their captives? Slaughtered them, most likely, I concluded gloomily.
Regarding my captors, they w
ere a filthy, noisome pack: smeared with mud and blood, and reeking of worse. When the seabreeze gusted, I could smell them and the stench made me gag.
There were twenty and two barbarians in sight; I made an accurate count. They were dressed in skins and leather, and wore broad belts of various kinds—leather mostly, but I saw several with copper and silver discs as well; most had knives or daggers tucked into their belts. Two or three wore short siarcs, or tunics, of close-woven cloth dyed pale yellow or brown. They seemed immoderately proud of their shaggy manes of hair: all wore their moustaches and beards long: some kept their locks in braids; some tied them back with leather thongs; others allowed their tresses to fly loose. More than half of them had some ornament worked into their hair—a bit of gold wire, a carved comb or silver trinket of some kind: a leaf, fish, bird, or hand.
A surprising number wore chains of gold around their thick necks, and everyone, from the greatest to the least, boasted other costly ornaments of various types: gold and silver rings, armbands, bracelets, brooches, and chains.
All were huge men. The smallest among them was taller than me, and the largest were bigger than Dugal.
Dugal! Oh, what had happened to him? What had become of my friends? Distracted by my own troubles, I had not spared a single thought for those I had left behind. For all I knew, the entire settlement had been slain in the attack. They might all be lying in their own blood at this very moment, the sun rising on their death-day.
Kyrie eleison, I prayed fervently to myself. Lord have mercy! Spread your loving arms around those who call upon your name in their time of need. Heal their hurt, and protect them from all harm. Please, Lord, be merciful to your people. Forgive my selfishness and pride, Lord. Save your servants…Have mercy, Lord, have mercy…
Someone shouted a gruff command. I broke off my prayer and raised my head. A fair-haired Sea Wolf with a yellow beard was standing on the platform; he shouted again, and three or four barbarians quickly pulled in their oars and hastened to where he stood. The pilot gave out a cry and two others leapt to the ropes and began raising the sail. I thought this meant that we would now be heading further out to sea, and further away from Armorica. Once under sail, the Sea Wolves shipped oars and then gathered around the tented platform. The ship held course mean-while, running parallel to the coast. After a time, however, I saw that my first judgement was not accurate for we were, in fact, heading obliquely towards land, drawing slightly closer with every roll of the waves.
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