Ross Lawhead (6 page)

“I don't think we should go down there. It don't think it's allowed.”

“I don't care,” Daniel said. “I want to explore.” He took a few more steps and put his hand up to the cold stony wall.

“Daniel, stop,” Freya said, moving towards the dusty archway. “It's getting dark—we'll be leaving soon.”

“One more reason to check it out—when are we ever going to come back?” Daniel said. He turned to Freya and saw her worried expression. “Come on, it'll just take a second.”

Freya ducked under the small archway and they both started down the long sloping tunnel.

The walls were solid rock with little divots in them, evidence they were made with a chisel.

“We've been slowly circling around,” he said when they had been walking for a while. “If we go much farther, we'll end up right underneath the church.”

“It doesn't smell old or musty,” said Freya. “It's sort of cool and fresh.”

“The ceiling's getting higher,” Daniel said. “And the walls are moving out. Feels like we're shrinking.”

Freya forced a short laugh. “Come on, let's go back.”

“But we don't even know—hey, look at that.”

Freya leaned closer to Daniel to see around the bend. On a ledge on the cave wall was a silver lamp that emitted a pale, bluish light. It was thin and cylindrical with a wide round aperture.

Freya gave it a tap. “Where's its fuel?”

“It's electric.”

“No, there's no cord.”

“Battery then. Come on, there's an archway up ahead.”

“There's writing on it,” Freya said.

Daniel tilted his head back and saw carved above the archway the words:

Ic wordcenne æt Niðergeard
Giefe a ælch wha boga niðeweard
Gifu sprecan freolice
If beo he soþlice freondlice

“Do you think it's Latin?” Daniel asked. “It's really old looking.”

“No, my sister's studying that. This looks nothing like Latin. Those two letters—the
p
looking thing, and the
d
with the line through it—I've never seen them before.”

They gazed at the words, trying to puzzle them out, and as they did Daniel was aware of a soft sound that he hadn't heard before—a gentle rhythmic sigh, the sound of breathing. “Do you hear that?” he whispered.

“What?”

“Shh.” Gathering his courage, Daniel stepped through the arch and found himself in a perfectly square room with a very high ceiling made of rough natural rock. In the centre of the room stood a stone dais holding half a dozen of the silver lamps.

And what the lamps threw their light upon made Daniel's jaw drop. In the centre of the room lay two low, stone slabs and lying on top of each was a knight in full battle gear—not carvings this time, but genuine, authentic, larger-than-life men encased head to foot in armour.

They were dressed exactly as the knights from the archway in the church behind the altar. In their left hands they held round shields made from some sort of animal hide stretched over wood; in their right they gripped weapons—one held a spear, the other an axe. Each knight was dressed in a chain-mail shirt with long sleeves that fell low to cover the upper legs just above the knees; each shirt was cinched at the waist by a stout leather belt from which hung a short but wide sword. Their lower legs were wrapped in rough cloth and skins, joining dark, coarse-woven breeches at the top of their shins. Pointed helmets, polished to a shine, crested their heads and long beards flowed down almost past their belt buckles.

“Wow!” Daniel exclaimed.

Freya gazed around the chamber with wide eyes. “What
is
this place?” she asked. She walked closer, between two of the figures.

“I don't know,” Daniel said. “It looks like some sort of display.”

Freya stared hard at one of the knights. “Their faces look really real—really lifelike. I can see the pores. Are—are they dead?”

“No chance,” Daniel said, looking down at the knight in front of him. “Nah, they're just models. Got to be.”

“They're really good, though. Look really authentic.”

“Maybe they're for a movie, like
Lord of the Rings
. They made models like this for that. I saw the special features.”

Bending closer, Daniel gazed at the one with the reddishbrown beard and the axe, looking closely at his nose and mouth.

He thought he saw the whiskers tremble around the nose. Stooping closer, Daniel reached out a hand and touched the sword at the knight's side. It was cold, like it was made of actual metal.

“Come on,” said Freya, taking a step towards the archway.

“We've had a look around, so let's go back now.”

Daniel was still hunched over the knight.

“Daniel, come on.” She moved towards him and put a hand on his shoulder to try to pull him around. “Let's go.”

“Alright,” Daniel said reluctantly. He knew that they were pushing it now. This was definitely flying in the face of “keeping your head down.” He turned to leave.

“Look, what's that?” he said. Hanging on the wall was something he hadn't noticed when they came in—a curved horn with an ornate silver mouthpiece.

Freya rolled her eyes. “Daniel, come on . . .”

“Hold on, I just want to give it a toot.”

“No, leave it.”

“Freya, you have no sense of adventure.” Daniel went to the wall and pulled the horn off of the hook it was hanging on. He pressed his lips together, put them to the mouthpiece, and gave a strong blow.

The horn let out a thin, drawn-out
parp
and had no other immediate effect other than to turn Daniel's face red. The reedy buzz knocked around the chamber, echoing, reluctant to die. Daniel and Freya froze—waiting expectantly. But for what, they didn't know. Maybe for some caretaker to come and tell them off.

“Satisfied?” Freya asked. “Can we go now?”

“Yes, fine,” Daniel said, sighing. He placed the horn back on the hook.

“Strange . . . ,” he said, “sounds like it's still going. No, hold up—”

There was another sound in the chamber—one that was growing. A deep, rumbling groan.

“What is it?” asked Freya nervously.

Daniel crossed back over to one of the knights. It must have been a trick of his eyes, or the light, or something, but it looked like it was breathing. He raised his arm and was just about to brush his fingertips against its cheek—which looked more than just “lifelike”—when the knight's eyelids snapped open.

Daniel was so startled that he let out a shout and jumped backwards, colliding into Freya, who also screamed. With a creaking of leather, a rattling of metal, and a groan, the knight sat up and turned his head stiffly towards them. Dust cascaded from his chest, billowing into a cloud.

Daniel felt something snake around his wrist and then tighten. He looked down and saw that the hand of the knight behind him was gripping his arm. He leapt away, trying to jerk out of its grasp, but it felt like it was made of iron. “Freya! Help me!” he cried.

Terrified, Freya backed into the corner by the archway. She opened her mouth to call for help, but no sound came out. Then the first knight rose from his plinth.

The knight holding Daniel's arm shook his head and turned to the other knight.
“Cól þe, cnihtas. Liss
,
”
he said.
“Cól þe.”

The other knight said something in more strange words, and Daniel felt his wrist come free. But before he could make a move or even draw a breath, the knight lurched forward and hefted himself to his feet. Daniel, startled, lost his balance and fell backwards. “Don't hurt me!” he blurted, and began scooting his way closer to Freya.

The knight took a gigantic step forward and now stood directly above them.

The towering knight stretched out his hand. “Calm yourselves, children,” he said in a clear, commanding voice. “Peace!”

3

Daniel and Freya, frozen in terror, could only stare at the knight.

He, in turn, gazed down at them cautiously and curiously, as if they were cornered birds that might fly away at the slightest movement.

The knight with the axe, still sitting on his bier, lay down his weapon, removed his helmet, and put it to one side, bending his neck first one way and then the other. “Faith, it's enough to wake the dead, their screaming,” he said, rubbing his head, his voice a soft rumble. “Oh,
Meotodes Meahte
, my blessed bones,” he muttered. His joints popped and cracked as he let out a bellowing roar.

“
Ngya-aa-argh!
Has one ever been so stiff?” He patted himself down and coughed a few deep coughs as clouds of dust billowed around him.

“Hweat, broðor!”
The knight with the spear spoke, reading Daniel's and Freya's terrified expressions. “Would you kill them with fright?”

“Beg pardon, brother,” said the axe-knight, stretching his arms back to expand his chest, which caused a loud popping sound. “I am thoughtless on waking.”

The spear-knight took a very small step backwards and also removed his helmet. “Ah, there now, children,” he said, relaxing slightly. He leaned towards Daniel on the shaft of his lance. “Now, lad, there's a good lad. Tell me, what might your name be?”

Daniel struggled to find his voice. “D–Daniel, sir,” he managed to stammer. “Daniel Tully.”

“A fine name, boy,” he said. “Very fine.”

“Aye,” said the other knight, swinging his legs around and off the plinth. “A name for a boy to grow into.” With a heave and a loud grunt, he stood up.

“And my little lady,” the spear-knight said, turning his head to address Freya. “Your name, please.”

“Freya Reynolds,” she replied quietly.

“A beautiful name, for one who will quite clearly grow into a beautiful woman. If it would please you,
æðelingas
,” the spearknight said with a smile, “would you speak to us the year?”

“You want to know the date?”

“If it would please you.”

Daniel told him.

The knight broke into a wide grin. “Ah, do you see, Ecgbryt?” he said, addressing the other. “We have slept past the second thousand. You owe me your mother's golden gyrdel.”

“When I have found my mother . . . ,” the other replied, examining his long beard disapprovingly, “and asked it of her, it is yours, Swiðgar.”

They both broke into deep, bellowing laughter at this, and after roughly combing through their beards with their fingers, they started to plait their frazzled hair into more manageable strips. As they did, they recited a poem in a gentle singsong rhythm.

“Where goes you, little æðeling,
In uncle's leather shoes?
‘To see a holy man in Rome
And hear a prophecy.'

“Where goes you, little æðeling,
With brother's golden crown?
‘To talk to the men of the borderlands,
And share their Winter's ale.'

“Where goes you, little æðeling,
With hammer and with line?
‘To build a wall in Somerset To keep the north wind out.'

“Where goes you, little æðeling,
With father's rusty sword?
‘To split the head of a tow-haired man
Who gave and broke his word.'

“Where com'st thou, great and mighty king,
With glory, might, and peace?
‘From Wessex on the Mighty Isle,
And I rule upon my knees.' ”

The song seemed very strange to Daniel and Freya, but the tune was happy and light, and the knights' easy laughter and joy at the verses put them more at ease.

“What's an ‘æðeling'?” Freya asked, charmed by the song.

“Why, a young noble person, like yourself,” answered Swiðgar with a chuckle. “You are both æðelingas!”

“Oh,” said Freya. And then, “Who
are
you two?”

“Forgive me,” said the brown-bearded knight, picking up his axe and shield. He knelt creakily in front of Daniel and Freya. “I am Ecgbryt.”

“Etch-brut?” echoed Daniel.

“Aye, Ecgbryt—the name given to me by our warband's
heafod
. It means ‘shining edge.' I am called that for the reason that in battle, it is all that friend or foe will see of me—the blade of my weapon, twinkling in the battle-sun as it rises and falls upon the heads of my enemy.” He whacked the side of his axe against the steel rim of his shield, making a loud
crack!

“And my name,” said the other knight, kneeling also, “is Swiðgar.” He whacked his lance against his shield. “It means ‘strong spear.' My battle-brother and I have seen more fighting than many a war-chief will see in a life, even were he to live it many times over.” He raised his chin proudly and jerked it towards his weapon. “Yet the spear I hold has never been broken, nor lost to an enemy. I found this wooden shaft myself and shaped it with my two hands—it is my dearest possession.”