Traveller Inceptio

All faces looked expectant as the men gathered in the grey morning light. A gentle rain fell as they hungrily breakfasted on boiled grain, scooping mouthfuls of the chewy, filling porridge with pieces of leftover crust.

The rest of the village stirred but the men had their tasks and were about to set off. Before they left, as they had the time, Michael asked Godric if the monks could convey what had happened to Brother Aldfrid and the rest of the Brothers. Some had heard their tale, but all leaned forward, eager to be reminded yet again of their hatred for a most brutal and merciless foe.

So few of the monks remained. As Abbott Aldfrid’s second, Brother Oeric was the natural leader of the survivors, with Brother Horsa as his assistant. A small monk Michael could barely recall stood to address the group. He was Brother Aldhelm and he stood wearily, still visibly distressed at the fate that had overcome his Brothers scant days before. Dark rings created hollows under his eyes as the hair of his tonsure stuck out at odd angles.

Hurley muttered, “Looks like a moth could knock that lad over. Yet here he is.”

With the rest of the village, Michael heard the wailing of the monks when they had met together. With Brother Oeric and the wounded Brother Horsa, they had crept off to a private place to share their tales and mourn for their lost brothers. Their cries so rent the night that Godric had been compelled to seek them out and quieten them lest they attract unwelcome attention from their enemy.

That morning, rising after a brisk bout of ‘morning glory’, Michael had seen the old monk as he sat and watched the sunrise. Michael accompanied him as the village quietly came to life.

“You are well, Brother?” asked Michael gently. Brother Oeric looked older, the cares of the world upon his bony shoulders. As the senior monk, his was also the responsibility for the Holy Scriptures and the relic, while ensuring the monks maintained their narrow path to salvation.

Brother Oeric nodded wearily, but gave a small smile. “I praise God for the trials he has given. So many have become martyrs, so many will now sit at His right hand.” He looked to the sunrise. “There is always a cost. When God gives his greatest blessings, he demands a sacrifice from those he blesses. We have been so very blessed,” he murmured so quietly that Michael had to lean forward to listen.

Brother Oeric turned to Michael. “I am weak, a vessel of clay, but the Lord requires much of me, Lord Michael. You came to us, an angel of the Lord made flesh, and you guided and protected us. Without you, we wouldn’t have survived the trials of our long road, and now we have so much for which to be grateful, but I miss my friend, my Brother Aldfrid.”

“As do I,” nodded Michael, struck with pity for the poor monk. He had been so concerned with the survival of each of the group, he hadn’t given a thought to how the journey had affected the monks. After all, Brother Oeric was a frail old man and he had aged, yet he had an air of increased spiritual strength galvanised through adversity. “I’m so sorry I didn’t care for you better. I did the best I could.”

Brother Oeric frowned and looked suddenly sympathetic. “Oh, Lord Michael, you are the strength of the Lord Almighty. None could have laid our enemies to waste as did you. That we were injured or fell was because we gave no heed to your admonitions, that we were weak and sinful. Now Brother Tondbert sits with our Lord as a martyr and prays for us, giving his thanks that his life is done. And now we have stewardship over three scriptures and the relic most holy. We haven’t yet been able to even look at our most precious scriptures, but they are gems.”

“You have much to read and study, it seems,” Michael agreed. “When you can, can you show it to me? I would be most grateful.”

“They are yours, my Lord. They are yours.” Brother Oeric smiled and bowed his head graciously.

“Now,” Michael nodded to the larger cave opening grimly, “we must meet with the rest of the village men. There is much to do,” he said, grunting to stand. His side was still agony, but he was sure he was on the path to healing. Hurley had examined him and merely shrugged, as further diagnosis could only take place with modern equipment.

Later, in the cave, Michael sat with Godric, Hurley and Desmond while the monks gathered together, their meagre number even more apparent.

All listened as Brother Aldhelm began his tale.

***

“We completed our prayers at Lauds and gathered together for to break our fast when Brother Cearl came running. He had gone to use the privy and we saw him run like he was mad. His face was full of terror and he wailed like a demon lost.

“Then we saw them, the Vikings. They walked as those who owned the earth, and they laughed together as they saw us and hefted their axes and spears. We just stood and looked at them, our hunger fled like sparrows, our hearts in our throats and prayers on our tongues.

“One of the brothers, Brother Immin, took it upon himself to flee and one of the Vikings speared him. As he fell, he cried out for our Lord to save him. A large Viking strode forward and struck him in the face with his axe as he lay. Once, twice, thrice he struck and what once was Brother Immin was no more but a husk of clay as he was received by our Lord.

“We were smitten with great terror and prayed for courage as Abbot Aldfrid stood forth. He welcomed the Vikings and asked if we could interest them with some food or beor for their thirsty throats. One of the Vikings told him to tell of where was the beor and Abbott Aldfrid had myself and Brother Penda bring forward the morning cask. We placed it before him and he struck me with the handle of his axe and I fell, but I know Brother Penda was slain by the axe the beast wielded.

“As I lay there, some of the Vikings reached forward and upended the open cask and took great gulps and laughed. They then told Abbott Aldfrid to tell them where was the remainder of the beor and he pointed to the place where it is—was made. Some of the Vikings left to find the beor and it was then when some of the Brothers sought to flee.

“As the Brothers fled, the Vikings ran and speared them. Our brothers fell and the axemen hewed them as if they were wood. I saw their bodies rent as they screamed. Brother Aldfrid told the Brothers to follow him to the church, and as some followed, others fled, and the Vikings became torn between running after those who fled or drinking the beor.”

“I saw young Brother Sighard struck, his arm severed and his stomach opened so his innards fell to the ground. The Vikings found this a great sport and left him as he screamed and fell to his knees. They then saw Brother Aldfrid and the Brothers flee to the church and they cried out in anger and gave chase. Brother Aldfrid comforted Brother Cearl, and as one Viking ran to smite Brother Aldfrid, Brother Cearl cried out and ran at him, screaming in fury. The Viking stopped, afraid that madness had overtaken him, then smote him in his face, cleaving it in twain.”

At this, Brother Oeric was unable to prevent a sob of despair. Michael knew Brother Cearl was the closest Brother Oeric would ever come to having his own son and his death tore viciously at the older man’s heart. Michael bowed his head a moment as tears filled his eyes. He could only remember the poor, simple Brother Cearl laughing as he farted. How could he be gone?

Brother Aldhelm paused to take a shaky breath before he continued.

“Brother Caelin and Brother Eni made to flee, and while Brother Caelin was struck down, Brother Eni here was able to make good his escape into the forest. Meanwhile I crawled to the hedge and witnessed Brother Aldfrid run to the aid of poor Brother Cearl. He held the slain brother to his heart, and for some purpose we know not, the Viking spared our father Abbott, who dragged Brother Cearl into the church where the door was shut fast.

“More Brothers sought to escape and were pursued. One of the novices ran to the hedge near to where I was hidden and parts of the hedge were hewn until he was speared as he screamed. Meanwhile, the destroyers returned with some of the beor and they drank and laughed.”

Brother Aldhelm’s voice had been of a mild, conversational tone, but it now took on a tone of horror. Michael had never heard such dread and it froze his blood. “Some of them were covered with blood, from head to toe, as if they had bathed in it. They laughed as one Viking poured beor on one of his companions to wash off the blood until the others cried out at the waste of beor.”

He closed his eyes, trembled at the memory, and continued. Around him, all were entranced, horrified beyond their darkest imaginations.

“I heard the Brothers singing in the church, in our beautiful church. Some of the Vikings carried dry straw and piled it at one side of the church walls and went to light a fire with tinder and steel, but it wouldn’t catch because of the rain. I saw burning in the village and some of the Vikings ran to collect faggots of lit wood. They soon returned and tossed the burning faggots onto the straw and piled on some wood, but God cursed the fire, as it still wouldn’t take. They set alight some of our cells and the fire spread to the other buildings. Vikings drank and cheered while others dragged out the cauldron of food that was to break our fast. They ate and laughed while others tried to build a fire for to burn the church. As our brothers sang, the walls finally caught fire and there was a great conflagration. The blaze roared as it consumed the building and our brothers. I heard some screams, but there were not many.

“I hid awhile, barely moving, and as the Vikings moved off, I fled to the forest and soon found Brother Eni. We thought all was lost until we were found by Yffi and his dogs, God bless them.”

The monks sobbed as Brother Aldhelm stood swaying, exhausted to the point that he had to be helped to sit, as he looked faint. The rest of the village men looked heartbroken and more than one wiped away a tear.

Godric growled, “May those Vikings be damned to the deepest corners of hell for this! Will our people never be free of their curse?” There were murmurs of agreement.

Brother Oeric stood and placed a hand on Brother Aldhelm’s bony shoulder. The small man sat with his wrists on his knees as his hands hung limply, traumatised, his face blank with the memory of the horrors he had witnessed.

“Brothers, we must take strength from these trials,” Brother Oeric’s voice cracked as tears ran down his seamed cheeks.

Michael felt intense fondness for the old monk. This was a true man of God and Michael was touched, like the others, by Brother Oeric’s pain and strength.

Hurley placed a placatory hand on his arm. “Careful, Hunter,” he said in modern English. “Remember we’re here to observe and assist, not kill Vikings. You know they’ll be ruling this country within the year.”

“I know, mate, but it’s getting a bit too late for me to just stand back and let this happen,” replied Michael with a murderous look.

Hurley gave a slight nod in agreement and turned back to listen to Brother Oeric, though his face was troubled.

Brother Oeric continued. “As we travelled, we suffered trials, though minor compared to yours, but on our holy quest, we’ve also been blessed. We were given the task by God to rescue the Snotengaham monastery Holy Scriptures from the marauders. Abbott Aldfrid and Abbott Anna were each told by our Lord in a dream that the Holy Scriptures must be saved. Aided by Lord Michael and Lord Eadric, we journeyed far and when we arrived, the holy Abbott Anna also gave to us this most holy relic, the finger bone of the most sainted Edmund.”

The gathered men murmured together in surprise, for the holy relic was known throughout the land as a source of miracles. As Brother Oeric lifted the bejewelled silver casket aloft in both hands, he prayed loudly and the feeling in the cave was of religious awe. Those assembled fell to their knees, overwhelmed to be in the presence of such holiness, leaving Michael and Hurley the only ones standing.

As Brother Oeric prayed, Michael murmured into Hurley’s ear, “It’s a fucking finger bone.” Hurley snorted and Michael continued, “Pilgrims walk for days and have to pay to touch the case. It’s supposed to have miraculous powers.”

Hurley muttered, “Well, these all believe it.”

In the dim morning light, Brother Oeric’s face took on an almost holy glow and he bid those assembled to come forth and touch the sacred relic’s casket, to confess their sins and be made clean so they could destroy their oppressors and gain a victory for the Lord.

Brother Horsa stood to one side, still pale and fragile from his wound. He held one of the psalters aloft while another monk stood on the opposite side of Brother Oeric holding the other set of scriptures. They chanted in Latin as the villagers approached.

Even the hunters stepped forth, eager to be blessed. The sacred relic would do much to destroy doubt and build enthusiasm. As Michael and Hurley stepped forward, the voices of the other monks joined in and soon all of the men sang together.

As a fighting force, the villagers were in good spirits despite some of their number having been murdered and their village razed, but the casket gave a visible confirmation of God’s power to their hearts and souls, adding a spring to their step and a confidence they didn’t have earlier. Yffi and his hunters wore their pagan amulets and held them as they sang along.

You just couldn’t have too many gods on your side.