Traveller Inceptio

The large cave was packed with humanity, the smell of body-odour and wool the scent that Michael associated with being a Saxon, one that conjured emotions of excitement and familial intimacy: a smell of home. The villagers had gathered and Tatae sat close, her hair interwoven with gold ribbons Michael had given because they matched her eyes. Naturally she received not a few covetous glances.

Earlier, Tatae had sat with Michael and held his hand. Sometimes she was so enigmatic, the meaning of what she said skating just below the surface, as if he should understand but instead suffered from a spiritual dyslexia. She gazed at him with her amber eyes. “Soon the path we are to tread will become known.”

Michael nodded, aware of the risks the villagers were about to take. “I know; we have to be careful in this. We just don’t know how the Danes will react.”

“My love,” her hand cupped his face, her eyes showing he lacked understanding. “Please know that I, and the old Gods, are with you. I know you’re putting yourself at risk for us, as do all warriors, but many will die. Not all of our village will survive.”

Michael turned to her, his mind on strategy and how important it was the villagers were prepared. “Oh, my love, we’ll do the best we can to make sure the village is safe. We only want to make the Vikings realise that to stay carries a cost. We want the cost to be too great, so they’ll just leave.”

Tatae looked a little frustrated, as if he refused to understand. “There are whispers. The world is changing; the old ways are fighting to survive. The men from the sea will stay in this land, then others will come. You know this?”

Michael stopped, aware that the Norman invasion would take place in about fifty years, that the Vikings, the Danes, would in the meantime rule and then be thrown off, but Aengland would never really be free. Old Aengland would become home to successive peoples and conquests whose blood would mix into the thirsty earth before it mixed in the veins of successive generations to become a people that would spread throughout the planet. “What?” he asked, distracted. “Why do you say that?”

She blinked, as if taken from a reverie, and then kissed him. “The old ways will live in us, my love, my beautiful warrior. Listen to your heart, for it will guide you. I’ll be here for you when you return,” and she placed her hand on his amulets where the symbols of the old ways, the ways of men and the mysteries of women, rested together.

“I know, my love, I know,” he said as he nodded. “This is a testing time. Hurley and I just have some things we need to do.”

“Hurley,” she muttered in frustration. “Hurley is from your world, yes? Why is he closed to me?”

Michael looked at her, mystified. “What? Sorry, love, what do you mean?”

“I saw him. He’s like you, but he is not really here,” Tatae persisted with a small frown. “He is powerful, like you, but closed to me, as if he has something to hide. I saw him holding a small box that he pointed at the village, or at you, as if he practices a form of ancient magic.” At Michael’s frown, she continued somewhat fearfully, “My love, the forest Gods flow through you, but they flow around Hurley.”

Michael smiled and held her tight. Tatae was worried about something and he couldn’t understand what she meant, so he gave her a hug to make her feel better.

They had so much to do.

Tatae simply held her amulet and prayed.

***

Brother Oeric stood as he conducted a prayer and short sermon. The villagers and monks sang the traditional hymns, taking comfort in the familiarity of worship. Not having had a religious life, Michael carefully watched their faces, the good humble folk of all ages who sought their solutions to the perennial problem of the Vikings.

Godric addressed the village as their leader, a man they knew would do anything for them. “People of Giolgrave, we gather here to speak of the perils that are upon us, of the Vikings and their desires to overtake this land.” He spoke with a rumble. “But first we’re in need to make our peace with God, through Christ, his beloved son. We, as a people, can earn his blessings to be upon us. I have spoken at length with the monks and Brother Oeric has advised that we must all become clean before him, confess our sins and make ourselves ready to receive his blessings.”

Godric looked at his people gathered before him. “I confess my sins and make restitution. My sins were in not trying harder to convince Brother Aldfrid, my friend, to leave the monastery and flee to the caves.” His voice faltered as his eyes moistened and he bowed his head a moment, his eyes closed. When he looked up again, they were red-rimmed, but he looked determined. “I also confess to greed, to the desire to become a greater leader in the eyes of men, rather than the eyes of God. My restitution is that, in accordance with our laws, I make the slaves who have served this village to be free. As village leader, they have served through my instructions and my stewardship. It is my right to free them as they have served us faithfully.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Is there anyone here who would speak against this decision?”

The villagers had been recipients of the labours of the slaves for many a long year. These diminutive people who lived amongst them were a natural part of their village, and in this rural community, were treated no differently than any other villager. Though they were required by law to have their heads shorn, and clothed according to the generosity of Godric as their master, the slaves of Giolgrave were well treated. The change in status would mean they were free to live where they would, receive pay for their labours, grow their hair like Saxons, and to have a say in village affairs. The smiles and lack of any negative response had the decision recorded by Brother Horsa, who acted as scribe.

Michael saw one slave woman, a small, dark-haired elfin girl, place her hands over her face and sob gently. The decision was well overdue.

Godric nodded, huffed a moment, and then drew himself taller. “We now have some matters to conduct for our warriors. These men have served our village and our people well and it is time for them to be acknowledged as men of the village and be blessed of God as they fight against our enemies.” He turned to Brother Oeric who stood to one side. In both hands, he held forth a scabbarded sword and bowed as Godric accepted it. There was some ceremony as Brother Oeric blessed the sword as he sprinkled it with holy water. Once this was completed, the thegn continued.

“Eadric, my son, travelled far to Snotengaham to collect this sword made for him by Desmond, my brother and renowned swordsmith, who has created swords for our King Aethelred. Eadric, my son, has already used the sword in defence of the women and children with whom he travelled. He blooded this sword and slew our enemies. This night I present him with his sword, as a man and a warrior of the Saxon people. With the blessings of God, this sword is given to Eadric, son of Thegn Godric and Hilda, my son, and a warrior of Aengland.”

Eadric stood proudly, his face stern as he strode forth. The difference between the boy who left Giolgrave and the man who returned was never more apparent. His family glowed with pride and he accepted the sword gravely, then secured it around his waist as was his right. Michael knew naming the sword would be in private and the name may never be revealed. Already there was the inscription ‘Desmond me worte’, meaning ‘Desmond made me’, on the blade near to the hilt, though a name could be added.

Normally such a ceremony would have the villagers cry out their well wishes, but due to the Viking peril, only a warm buzz of voices filled the cavern.

Another sword was then presented and blessed. Godric called Hengist to stand, and in a similar manner, Hengist had a sword presented by his father. Hengist and his family were now formally of Giolgrave.

“We all have one to thank the Lord God for. He is Lord Michael, sent by God in these troubled times to guide and protect us.” Godric looked to Michael. “Thank you, my Lord, for being here.” The big man placed his hand at his heart and gave a formal bow. “Great has been our blessing through your help and guidance, and our pleasure in your music and tale-telling.” There was some murmuring in agreement, and chuckles as the mood lightened.

Michael nodded in response, a faint smile on his face, and there were pats on his back and shoulders by those around him. He glanced to Hurley, who simply smiled in congratulations.

“We also welcome Lord Hurley and give thanks for his time with us,” said Godric, his hand still on his heart. “Of most importance,” Godric spoke normally, but in the cave his voice cut through the village banter as if magnified, “as you know the destroyers seek us and we know they will eventually find us.” There was a sigh and a sob of fear by some of the women, the mood dashed. “All of us must protect the village and aid our warriors in their efforts. Together we will continue to erect barriers as we seek out the enemy and slay them. All can help, whether in sharpening stakes or providing food. Be vigilant and careful, as the marauders will come. But we can drive them from here. God has blessed us and we will prevail.” Godric looked stern, even fierce.

Around Michael, the villagers ceased to be afraid—for the moment, at least.