The Buried Giant (19 page)

“What can you mean, sir?”

“Only that not long ago, this place was surely no monastery, but a hillfort, and one well made to fight off foes. You recall the exhausting road we climbed? How the path turned back and forth as though eager to drain our strength? Look down there now, sir, see the battlements running above those same paths. It’s from there the defenders once showered their guests from above with arrows, rocks, boiling water. It would have been a feat merely to reach the gate.”

“I see it. It can’t have been an easy climb.”

“Further, Master Axl, I’d wager this fort was once in Saxon hands, for I see about it many signs of my kin perhaps invisible to you. Look there”—Wistan pointed down to a cobbled yard below hemmed in by walls—“I fancy just there stood a second gate, much stronger than the first, yet hidden to invaders climbing the road. They saw only the first and strained to storm it, but that gate would have been what we Saxons call a watergate, after those barriers that control a river’s flow. Through this watergate would be let past, quite deliberately, a measured number of the enemy. Then the watergate
would close on those following. Now those isolated between the two gates, in that space just there, would find themselves outnumbered, and once again, attacked from above. They would be slaughtered before the next group let through. You see how it worked, sir. This is today a place of peace and prayer, yet you needn’t gaze so deep to find blood and terror.”

“You read it well, Master Wistan, and I shudder at what you show me.”

“I’d wager too there were Saxon families here, fled from far and wide seeking protection in this fort. Women, children, wounded, old, sick. See over there, the yard where the monks gathered earlier. All but the weakest would have come out and stood there, all the better to witness the invaders squeal like trapped mice between the two gates.”

“That I can’t believe, sir. They would surely have hidden themselves below and prayed for deliverance.”

“Only the most cowardly of them. Most would have stood there in that yard, or even come up here where we now stand, happy to risk an arrow or spear to enjoy the agonies below.”

Axl shook his head. “Surely the sort of people you speak of would take no pleasure in bloodshed, even of the enemy.”

“On the contrary, sir. I speak of people at the end of a brutal road, having seen their children and kin mutilated and ravished. They’ve reached this, their sanctuary, only after long torment, death chasing at their heels. And now comes an invading army of overwhelming size. The fort may hold several days, perhaps even a week or two. But they know in the end they will face their own slaughter. They know the infants they circle in their arms will before long be bloodied toys kicked about these cobbles. They know because they’ve seen it already, from whence they fled. They’ve seen the enemy burn and cut, take turns to rape young girls even as they lie dying of their wounds. They know this is to come, and so must cherish the earlier
days of the siege, when the enemy first pay the price for what they will later do. In other words, Master Axl, it’s vengeance to be relished
in advance
by those not able to take it in its proper place. That’s why I say, sir, my Saxon cousins would have stood here to cheer and clap, and the more cruel the death, the more merry they would have been.”

“I won’t believe it, sir. How is it possible to hate so deeply for deeds not yet done? The good people who once took shelter here would have kept alive their hopes to the end, and surely watched all suffering, of friend and foe, with pity and horror.”

“You’re much the senior in years, Master Axl, but in matters of blood, it may be I’m the elder and you the youth. I’ve seen dark hatred as bottomless as the sea on the faces of old women and tender children, and some days felt such hatred myself.”

“I won’t have it, sir, and besides, we talk of a barbarous past hopefully gone for ever. Our argument need never be put to the test, thank God.”

The warrior looked strangely at Axl. He appeared about to say something, then to change his mind. Then he turned to survey the stone buildings behind them saying: “Wandering these grounds earlier, my arms heavy with firewood, I spotted at every turn fascinating traces of that past. The fact is, sir, even with the second gate breached, this fort would have held many more traps for the enemy, some devilishly cunning. The monks here hardly know what they pass each day. But enough of this. While we share this quiet moment, let me ask your forgiveness, Master Axl, for the discomfort I caused you earlier. I refer to my questioning that good knight about you.”

“Think no more of it, sir. There’s no offence, even if you did surprise me, and my wife also. You mistook me for another, an easy error.”

“I thank you for your understanding. I took you for one whose
face I can never forget, even though I was a small boy when I saw it last.”

“In the west country then.”

“That’s right, sir, in the time before I was taken. The man I speak of was no warrior, yet wore a sword and rode a fine stallion. He came often to our village, and to us boys who knew only farmers and boatmen, was a thing of wonder.”

“Yes. I see how he might be.”

“I recall we followed him all about the village, though always at a shy distance. Some days he’d move with urgency, talking with elders or calling a crowd to gather in the square. Other days he’d wander at leisure, talking to one and all as if to pass the day. He knew little of our tongue, but our village being on the river, the boats coming and going, many spoke his language, so he never lacked for companions. He’d sometimes turn to us with a smile, but we being young would scatter and hide.”

“And was it in this village you learnt our tongue so well?”

“No, that came later. When I was taken.”

“Taken, Master Wistan?”

“I was taken from that village by soldiers and trained from a tender age to be the warrior I am today. It was Britons took me, so I soon learnt to speak and fight in their manner. It’s long ago and things take strange shapes in the mind. When I first saw you today in that village, perhaps a trick of the morning light, I felt I was that boy again, shyly peeking at that great man with his flowing cloak, moving through our village like a lion amongst pigs and cows. I fancy it was a small corner of your smile, or something about your way of greeting a stranger, head bowed a little. Yet now I see I was mistaken, since you could not have been that man. No more of this. How is your good wife, sir? Not exhausted, I hope?”

“She’s recovered her breath well, I thank you for asking, though
I’ve told her to rest further just now. We’re forced, in any case, to wait till the monks return from their meeting and the abbot gives permission to visit the wise physician Jonus.”

“A resolute lady, sir. I admired how she made her way here giving no complaint. Ah, here’s the boy back again.”

“See how he holds his injury, Master Wistan. We must take him also to Father Jonus.”

Wistan seemed not to hear this. Leaving the wall, he went down the little steps to meet Edwin, and for a few moments the two conferred in low voices, heads close together. The boy’s manner was animated, and the warrior listened with a frown, nodding occasionally. As Axl came down the steps to their level, Wistan said quietly:

“Master Edwin reports a curious discovery we may do well to see with our own eyes. Let’s follow him, but walk as we’ve no clear purpose, in case that old monk there is left on purpose to spy on us.”

Indeed, a solitary monk was sweeping the courtyard and as they came closer, Axl noticed he was mouthing words silently to himself, lost in his world. He barely glanced their way as Edwin led them across the courtyard and into a gap between two buildings. They emerged where thin grass covered uneven sloping ground, and a row of withered trees, hardly taller than a man, marked a path leading away from the monastery. As they followed Edwin under a setting sky, Wistan said softly:

“I’m much taken by this boy. Master Axl, we may yet revise our plan to leave him at your son’s village. It would suit me well to keep him by me a while longer.”

“I’m troubled to hear you say so, sir.”

“Why so? He hardly longs for a life feeding pigs and digging the cold soil.”

“Yet what will become of him at your side?”

“Once my mission’s complete, I’ll take him back to the fens.”

“And what will you have him do there, sir? Fight Norsemen all his days?”

“You frown, sir, but the boy has an unusual temperament. He’ll make a fine warrior. But hush, let’s see what he has for us.”

They had come to where three wooden shacks stood at the side of the lane, in such disrepair that each appeared to be held up by its neighbour. The wet ground was rutted with wheeltracks, and Edwin paused to point these out. Then he led them into the furthest of the three shacks.

There was no door, and much of the roof was open to the sky. As they came in, several birds flew off in furious commotion, and Axl saw, in the gloomy space vacated, a crudely made cart—perhaps the work of the monks themselves—its two wheels sunk into the mud. What arrested the attention was a large cage mounted on its carriage, and coming closer, Axl noticed that though the cage was itself iron, a thick wooden pillar ran down its spine, fixing it firmly to the boards underneath. This same post was festooned with chains and manacles, and at head height, what appeared to be a blackened iron mask, though with no holes for the eyes, and only a small one for the mouth. The cart, and the area all around it, was covered with feathers and droppings. Edwin pulled open the cage door and proceeded to move it back and forth on its squeaking hinge. He was again speaking excited words, to which Wistan, throwing searching glances around the shed, returned the occasional nod.

“It’s curious,” Axl said, “these monks should have need of such an object as this. No doubt to aid some pious ritual.”

The warrior started to move around the cart, stepping carefully to avoid the stagnant puddles. “I saw something like this once before,” he said. “You may suppose this device intended to expose the man within it to the cruelty of the elements. Yet look, see how these bars stand far enough apart to allow my shoulder to pass through. And
here, look, how these feathers stick to the iron in hardened blood. A man fastened here is offered thus to the mountain birds. Caught in these cuffs, he has no way to fight off the hungry beaks. This iron mask, though it may look frightful, is in fact a thing of mercy, for with it the eyes at least aren’t feasted on.”

“There may yet be some more gentle purpose,” Axl said, but Edwin had started to talk again, and Wistan turned and looked out of the shed.

“The boy says he followed these tracks out to a spot nearby on the cliff’s edge,” the warrior said, eventually. “He says the ground’s well rutted there, showing where this wagon has often stayed. In other words, the signs all support my guess, and I can see too this cart’s been wheeled out just lately.”

“I don’t know what it means, Master Wistan, but I admit I now begin to share your uneasiness. This object sends a chill through me and makes me want to return to my wife’s side.”

“It’s as well we do, sir. Let’s stay no longer.”

But as they came out of the shack, Edwin, who again was leading, stopped abruptly. Looking past him into the evening gloom, Axl could see a robed figure in the tall grass a short distance from them.

“I’d say it’s the monk lately sweeping the yard,” the warrior said to Axl.

“Does he see us?”

“I’d say he sees us and knows we see him. Yet he stands there still as a tree. Well, let’s go to him.”

The monk was standing at a spot to the side of their path, the grass up to his knee. As they approached the man remained quite still, though the wind pulled at his robe and long white hair. He was thin, almost emaciated, and his protruding eyes stared at them without expression.

“You observe us, sir,” Wistan said, stopping, “and you know
what we’ve just discovered. So perhaps you’d tell us the purpose to which you monks put that device.”

Saying nothing, the monk pointed towards the monastery.

“It may be he’s vowed to silence,” Axl said. “Or else as mute as you lately pretended, Master Wistan.”

The monk came out of the grass and onto the path. His strange eyes fixed each of them in turn, then he pointed again towards the monastery and set off. They followed him, just a short distance behind, the monk continually glancing back at them over his shoulder.

The monastery buildings were now dark shapes against the setting sky. As they drew closer, the monk paused, moved his forefinger over his lips, then continued at a more cautious pace. He seemed anxious they remain unseen, and to avoid the central courtyard. He took them down narrow passageways behind buildings where the earth was pitted or sloped severely. Once, as they went with heads bowed along a wall, there came from the very windows above sounds from the monks’ conference. One voice was shouting over a hubbub, then a second voice—perhaps that of the abbot—called for order. But there was no time to loiter, and soon they were gathered at an archway through which could be seen the main courtyard. The monk now indicated with urgent signs that they were to proceed as quickly and quietly as possible.

As it was they were not obliged to cross the courtyard, where torches were now burning, but only to skirt one corner under the shadows of a colonnade. When the monk halted again, Axl whispered to him:

“Good sir, since your intention must be to take us somewhere, I’d ask you to let me go fetch my wife, for I’m uneasy leaving her alone.”

The monk, who had turned immediately to fix Axl in a stare, shook his head and pointed into the semi-dark. Only then did Axl spot Beatrice standing in a doorway further down the cloister.
Relieved, he gave a wave, and as the party moved towards her, there came from behind them a surge of angry voices from the monks’ meeting.

“How is it with you, princess?” he asked, reaching to take her outstretched hands.

“Peacefully taking my rest, Axl, when this silent monk appeared before me, the way I took him for a phantom. But he’s keen to lead us somewhere and we’d best follow.”