Forgotten Prophecies (2 page)

* * *

In the sub-kingdom of Suthrige (now called
Surrey, in southern England), c.580

Nearly ten years later, Eldred was still
wandering round southern England with Guthlaf; he now had a growing
horde of hunting men, helping themselves to whatever they wanted
from the farms that struggled to survive in those hard years.

Guthlaf had just returned from an
intelligence-gathering expedition in the neighbourhood, hoping to
hear news of places which might be worth a visit to plunder.

“Eldred, I’ve heard some news in Godhelm’s
market, from traders who’ve arrived from Canterbury.” Canterbury
(or
Cantwarabyrig
) was the chief city of the people then
called the
Cantwara
, the inhabitants of Kent. “It seems that
the old woman you met in Neustria all those years back was
right.”

“What are you talking about, Guthlaf?”

“Don’t you remember her prophecy? She
foretold how that royal whore, the lady Aldeberge, would one day
marry a prince.”

“That was a long time ago: more summers than
I can count. But what of it?”

“She’s just been married to Ethelbert, the
son of King Eormenric at Canterbury. So, when he dies and Ethelbert
succeeds as king, she’ll be queen. You’ll have to be careful if you
cross paths with her now, old man. I don’t know many people who can
boast that they’ve coupled with the wife of a king. It could be
dangerous if you step inside their kingdom.”

Eldred was astounded: he had almost
forgotten the old Frankish woman who had sought him out in the
darkness during his escape from Paris. She had made so many crazy
promises to him, none of which had seemed to come true, and her
words had been discarded from his memory years ago. Now he
struggled to recall the other things that she had told him.

Guthlaf continued. “There’s something else
about this news that tickled me. She’s going to change her
name.”

“You took a new name yourself when you
became one of us. People are always changing their name, when it
suits their purpose.”

“Ah, but she was going to change it from
Aldeberge to Ethelbertha, the female form of Ethelbert, perhaps to
symbolise her change in behaviour. But because of her past history,
the
Cantwara
court weren’t happy about her using the
Atheling
prefix. They think she has lost her right to carry
the noble title, so she’ll just be known as Bertha. And, when
Ethelbert succeeds as king, she’ll be known as Queen Bertha.”

“Is that all?”

“No. The French court has provided an old
holy man to be her guardian while she’s in Canterbury. I’m told
he’s called Luidhard of Senlis, from a big church some way to the
north of Paris. He’s here to keep an eye on her, just to make sure
she doesn’t stray again and bring the French royal family into
further disgrace.”

“And he’ll be preaching this Christianity to
Ethelbert and the king and his court, no doubt.”

“Oh, no. The word is that they’d never have
French priests over here to convert the English. It would lead to
the French kings having too much authority and influence on this
side of the Channel, and that would never do. Ethelbert is very
interested in the power of reading and writing, and Christianity
has the monopoly on literacy. So if they did decide to look at
Christianity, they’re more likely to approach their top man in
Rome, I should think. They’d feel more comfortable having his own
priests come over, so long as there aren’t too many Franks among
them.”

He had stopped listening to Guthlaf’s
ramblings; his companion seemed to have a vast knowledge of the
exploits of kings and princelings throughout the land, listening to
talk from strangers at the market, but enough was enough. His
attention was now drawn towards trying to unpick the rest of the
old woman’s prophecy. If she had been right about this royal girl’s
future, she could be right about the rest of what she had told
him.

But what else
had
she said that
gloomy, distant night? He tried to bring back the episode into his
mind: he would find a young woman with a strange birthmark, settle
down with her, and have a child who would have a fine destiny as a
great warlord and a friend of many kings.

But when? How much longer would he have to
wander from farm to farm, raiding and raping before he found her?
That night, and every night for the following week as he went to
sleep, he tried to force the crone to return to him in his dreams
and remind him of the forgotten prophecies. The woman never came
back. He realised he would have to seek out this girl for
himself.

Thus, for the next year or two – when Eldred
and his group continued raiding farms – he would have his men get
all the women of childbearing age lined up and expose themselves
from the waist down to their feet; he would inspect each of them
for birthmarks on their thighs before handing them over to his men
to do whatever they wished with them. His men joked about it,
calling the ceremony “Eldred’s Parade”.

Some women they had selected on the way
became wives to his men, but Eldred chose to take his pleasure with
women when he could, discarded them after a while and continued to
wait for the arrival of the woman with the birthmark. She was the
one whom the gods had ordained for him, and no other; he would take
her for his wife and live out the golden years with their son at
her great hall.

* * *

In the Land of the Meonwara
(now
south-eastern Hampshire)
,
in the year 589

Time passed. When the leaves began to fall
late one year, the group found themselves in the Meon Valley,
between Portsmouth and the old Roman city of Chichester. A string
of rich farmsteads ran along the valley, they had heard, untouched
by raiding folk such as them; the farms were theirs for the
taking.

They took the first farm easily. It was so
small and the few occupants had no chance to resist; sadly the
livestock and the grain harvest were already in a poor state. The
group decided to move on.

Eldred was surprised when they reached the
next farm; the house in which the owners lived was an old run-down
Roman building, with stone columns on the exterior and, he
supposed, it must have looked very grand a long time ago. His band
had hidden their horses and now laid low at the edge of the
woodland overlooking the house while Eldred decided on a strategy.
Here were oaks and elms, among the highest elm trees he had ever
seen. It was much larger than the first farm they had raided
earlier that day, and he could see nobody in the fields. This
seemed much more promising.

Suddenly, a rider appeared, advancing slowly
on a fine horse towards them from the brick and stone house. From
behind the trunk of the elm where he squatted, Eldred then noticed
a girl walking beside the figure: his woman, perhaps. She was
carrying a baby in her arms. Girl and rider stopped and turned to
each other, spoke a few words, and then the man galloped off to one
side, up the valley. She stood alone for a moment before turning
back to the house; Eldred was near enough to hear her singing to
the young child.

She looks alone and vulnerable,
he
thought.
They could move in now; it was a risk worth taking.
He waited until she returned to the building; he would allow her
time to settle, and then he signalled his men to advance with their
accustomed stealth through the bushes and long grass.

When they turned the corner at the end of
the wall and reached the courtyard, they roared as they charged
forward, inducing panic to the occupants.

It was easy work: just like the previous
farm they had raided today. A couple of farmhands, spirited but not
trained to fight, and two mature women – who were deemed too
elderly to be useful to his band – were all hastily put to
death.

The pattern worked well every time: surprise
everyone, plunder, and move on when there was nothing left to take.
The men had regarded this as good sport; few had ever been injured,
and it kept their spirits high. He felt like a giant, striding
through a strange land, grinning broadly; he was the commander, and
saw no need to help himself to anything; it would all be shared
later.

Amid the excited clamour of looting around
him, Eldred moved on, his proud sword drawn, and walked through a
grey stone doorway which led into a bright chamber.

His eyes were temporarily dazzled, and he
put up his hand to his face to shut out the sun for a moment. Here
it was silent: the noise had gone and he felt transported to a
former age, when the Great Ones had dwelt in this place. Looking
round, he noticed that the floor was richly decorated with mosaic;
the walls were painted dark red and cream – the skin flaking with
decay – but he could still make out faces of ancient men and women
staring at him: the gods themselves had come here to witness this
occasion. Confused, he wondered for an instant if he had been slain
and sent to the Next Place. But he felt very much alive, for his
heart began to race.

And there, in the centre of the room, he
came face-to-face with the young woman he had seen earlier. He
quickly realised that, after all these long years, the fate which
had been prophesied was waiting for him.

For she was standing before him naked,
ashamed, and he saw the mark – the holy mark on her thigh – that
had been foreseen by the old woman in her divination so many years
ago by the roadside in the land of the Franks. And she had a child
sucking at her naked breast.

Wigred, one of the younger members of his
gang, had arrived a moment before. Now he stood in front of her,
his knife poised at her belly, his long silence inducing fear into
this helpless girl. “Let’s look at you,” he grinned forcing her
hands away from her body.

Eldred stepped forward. "
Stop
!" he
called. "You – young woman – cover yourself!
Now!
" He
gestured to Wigred to move away from her.

Wigred and the girl were both looking
confused at Eldred. She picked up her clothes from the floor and
began to dress herself slowly as she watched the altercation
between Eldred and Wigred.

"I’m sorry, friend,” said Eldred. “But you
can’t have her. The gods have promised her to me.”

“What do you mean? I found her. We agreed
that I could go first with any I found.”

“Yes, Wigred. But not this one.”

They stared at each other, willing each
other to back down first.

She put the child back in its cradle; it
whimpered softly, and all eyes turned to the tiny, precious bundle.
Then it returned to sleep.

The silence had been broken. The men could
return to their words. The young man’s face was red with anger.

“Eldred, old man, I shall fight you for
her,” he growled.

“Hothead! You saw the strawberry mark on her
leg.” He turned to her again. “You! Girl! Lift up your skirt!”

She obeyed.

“See, Wigred!” he smiled. “The old crone’s
vision was right! At the house beyond the elms, I would find a
woman with a birthmark on her leg! It has all been foretold, and
I’ve told you about it often enough.”

“That’s as maybe,” Wigred argued. “But I saw
her first. And you’ll have to win her from me.”

They glared at each other again in silence
for a moment. “Very well,” Eldred agreed. “Now go and tell the
others to cease the looting. They are to burn nothing. The bodies
are to be buried honourably. Everything is to be left as it was
found.”

Wigred hesitated.

“You heard me! Go now!” he thundered.

The younger man left. When Eldred was alone
with her, he approached slowly. She picked up the child and again
and put it to her breast.

“What are you called?” he asked with a
strange, awkward gentleness.

“I am Oswith,” she replied nervously in a
northern dialect, her eyes down at the child feeding from her.

So I have come to my destiny,
he
thought.
At last, the gods have smiled upon me.

He offered a grin, trying to reassure her.
“I am called Eldred, son of Cenric of the
Suth Seaxne
.” He
paused again, and then added, “And I have come here to live with
you. We must talk, but later. First, I must attend to my young
friend Wigred. I must leave – there is so much to do – but you must
stay here with your baby. Do not try to run away, or I will kill
you. And that will make me angry. Very angry.” He could never kill
someone whom fortune decreed should be his wife, but it was
necessary to impress on her the need for her to remain here.

So what the old crone had said was true. But
she had said so many other things; warnings, promises of
greatness... he struggled to remember everything. He felt the
unseen gods raising his stature physically as he admired this sweet
girl’s soft features.

Oh, what else had the wise woman told him?
He could barely remember her gnarled face in the dim moonlight of
that far-off world. Would his friend Guthlaf remember everything?
He, too, would be amazed when he realised that all the other events
she had foretold would also surely come to pass now. For that woman
also knew of Guthlaf’s hidden past, of his former life in the
company of the group at Glastonbury; it seemed logical somehow that
she could correctly divine the future.

He left her in the chamber with her young
child while he walked round to supervise the reinstatement of
everything in the house, as far as was possible. There were two old
women lying dead on the kitchen floor; he ordered his men to carry
their bodies out of the house. An old man, breathing his last, was
laid to rest beside them. Nothing could be done to save him.

When he was satisfied that everything was
restored as much as possible, he returned to see the girl. She was
waiting for him, now dressed in a gorgeous crimson gown, with a
silver chain as a headband and jewels round her neck, arrayed like
a true queen.