Time of the Beast (17 page)

‘I stood for a moment, entirely shocked, for whatever the maid’s offence it surely could not warrant such a brutal punishment. I stepped behind Elswith, and as she raised the scourge to strike again I caught her wrist to restrain her. She turned on me, her teeth clenched and her lips curled instinctively into a snarl of anger. And in that moment I saw for the first time how my wife’s eyes had come vividly to life. But I saw something more. I saw the momentary rage and frustration of thwarted pleasure.

‘I threw her from me as a feeling of pure revulsion began to rise, then I drew my knife and went to cut through the maid’s bonds.

‘ “Dress yourself,” I told her, “then go and get your wounds tended.”

‘As the maid stumbled away, I turned to face Elswith. Her eyes blazed at me.

‘ “What concern is it of yours,” she spat, “how I chastise my servants?”

‘I did not answer but reached out and grabbed her by her hair, then dragged her after me across the courtyard as she yelped and cursed and clawed at my hand. I took her to a cellar and flung her inside, telling the servants she was not to be released until I ordered it. Then I went to find my father.

‘He was attending a meeting with a delegation of his tenants, but I was so angry I burst in on them and insisted I speak with him immediately. Furiously he ordered me to leave, but I bluntly refused and repeated my demand until at last he rose, glowering at me, and followed me into his private chamber.

‘ “I intend to renounce my bitch of a wife,” I told him at once. “I want the marriage broken.”

‘ “That is impossible,” he growled at me. “The dowry lands are already passed over, and I presume the girl is no longer a virgin?”

‘ “The girl is a monster,” I said. “There is something wrong with her.”

‘ “Well, well,” he laughed unpleasantly. “Then it seems I have a talent for matchmaking.”

‘ “What is that supposed to mean?” I demanded in a rage. And I began to understand that I had long been spoiling for a confrontation with my father. But he waved his remark aside, then asked me to tell him what was the matter. I explained to him what I had seen, but as he listened he only began to shake his head and assume a bewildered look.

‘ “What are you complaining about?” he said. “Your wife is entitled to discipline her own domestics.”

‘ “In secret?” I looked back at him in astonishment. “Bound and gagged?”

‘ “Let me give you some fatherly advice,” he sneered. “If your wife has offended you, then give her a beating. Although it sounds to me as if she might enjoy it. I have no time to discuss your childish quarrels. There are more important things for me to attend to.”

‘I understood that the tale I brought was of no great concern to my father. He had not been there in that dreadful moment to see the truth of my wife’s vile nature revealed in her eyes. And it was difficult for me to speak to him of the travesty played out in our bed, for my father and I were in truth almost strangers. But it was his sheer refusal even to listen that enraged me most. I turned from him, clenching my fists as I sought to contain my anger.

‘ “I will not live with her as my wife,” I said. “And I will no longer lay with her.”

‘ “Then sleep apart,” he answered. “What is that to me? But the marriage must stand.”

‘At once I turned back, glaring into his face, and what I saw there in that moment was unmistakably a look of cold satisfaction. And I knew then simply that
he had known.
Known all along the truth of my wife’s nature. Now I saw clearly revealed the twisted reality of his hatred for me: to have schemed to find a wife he knew would be detestable to me, and I to her. But it was a thing that seemed to go beyond even a desire to destroy my happiness, or an act of revenge against me for my mother’s death. It was still worse. For it appeared to suggest in him an insane wish to extinguish his own legitimate blood line.

‘ “You knew it all from the start,” I said with disbelief. “You are mad.” And I watched his body stiffen as he realised what I had finally understood. Then I roared at him: “I will have this mockery of a marriage broken!”

‘ “
You will do as I command!
” He burst suddenly into an explosion of rage, and all his self-control, every semblance of his sanity, was instantly gone. For the first time I saw the true madness of the man exposed. “You were always wicked!” he ranted. “A monster… an unnatural brat… a
thing
of evil omen. I should have strangled you at birth.
I was warned!
”

‘ “What?” I answered in sheer disbelief. “Ah! The prophecy of Urta, that you never thought fit to tell me. Now I have seen the truth of your insanity revealed, will you share that secret with me as well?”

‘ “Get out!
”
he screamed, and lurched away, covering his face with his hands as his body began to shake. “Go away and banish yourself. I cannot bear to look at you!”

‘It was now at last I began to understand that all the hatred and bitterness locked inside him was not for me, but truly for himself. That for all these years I had been merely its object.

‘ “I am going!” I yelled back at him, turning and bursting through the door. “Why would I stay, with a raving lunatic for a father?”

‘In the chamber outside the group of petitioners still stood, silent with shock at the terrible scene they had overheard. The servants came running to me in fear to ask what had happened, but I did not answer them, just shouted that I was leaving, but that I would return if only to take my revenge, for I had seen, even if I did not understand it, that my very presence was the cause of some dark torment and self-loathing in my father, and in my present rage I meant to come back to torture him further with it.

‘But first I had a mission to undertake. For I was now determined I must learn the truth of this whole dreadful matter. And I saw only one way in which to do it. I must seek out the seeress Urta.’

‘It might be difficult to trace the whereabouts of Urta – if indeed she were still alive – but I knew I must make the attempt. I rode first to our local temple to make enquiries of the priests there. They were uncertain, until the elderly chief priest came to inform me that he had been told she had retired in old age to the village of her birth, a place somewhere on the western tip of the Fens. If I rode there, I might seek further information from local sources.

‘The weather turned bad, and for the next two days I journeyed in perpetual rain until I came to the edge of the great marshes, where the ground grew boggy. As I rode there I started to feel feverish and my head began to ache. I still had a weakness there from my injury in battle, and soon I found myself overcome with feelings of intense dizziness and sickness, and was unable to ride on. Nearby I found a lonely cottage, and leading my horse I stumbled up to it to seek help.

‘The cottage was only a bare and abandoned shell, and looked as if it had stood uninhabited for some time. But the remains of the hearth were still intact, so I tore away lumps of wood and straw from the driest parts of the inner structure and roof, and built a fire there. I had brought with me some supplies of food and water, and for several days I remained inside, only stumbling out occasionally to attend to my horse, otherwise shaking and sweating at the hearth-side as my condition gradually improved, until finally I felt sufficiently recovered to continue at a slow pace on my journey.

‘Information gained from settlements and temples along the way now gave me strong hopes that Urta was indeed still living, and on a damp cloudy morning I rode at last into the village where she was said to dwell. It lay upon the very edge of the Fens, where a narrow strip of firm ground led like a pathway onto what was otherwise an island entirely encircled by the marshes. I led my horse into the main village, and soon the head-man, along with several others, came respectfully to meet me and ask my business. He pointed to an outlying hamlet in the distance, and told me that Urta’s cottage lay there, then sent a slave to escort me along a muddy track towards it.

‘The cottage itself was a run-down structure, its timber nearly hidden beneath a sagging, rain-soaked roof of reeds and straw that sank almost to the ground. It stood at the farthest end of the settlement, close to where the marshes began. As I approached it a woman emerged, middle-aged with dark hair and a severe expression – surely too young to be Urta herself.

‘ “What is it you want?” she said to me abruptly.

‘ “I must speak to the shamaness,” I said. “On a matter of importance.”

‘ “Mother Urta rarely agrees to see anyone any more.”

‘ “I am Lord Cynewulf,” I told her. I had expected my rank alone to gain me entry, and I was tired, and angry to be questioned by a servant in this way.

‘ “You do not understand,” she insisted firmly. “I see you are a man of position, but such things do not matter to our Mother Urta. Her mind is distant, and these days she lives much in the Otherworld, far from all earthly concerns. A man’s rank is of no consequence to her.”

‘ “Inform her that Cynewulf of the house of Imma waits upon her,” I said, “or I will go in and announce myself.”

‘She paled slightly as she looked up at me and saw my anger, then motioned to me to wait, and turned to go back inside the cottage. Soon she returned with a disconcerted expression to announce that Urta would receive me. I bent down to squeeze beneath the low doorway, then prepared myself to show due deference to this old harridan, whose name had always seemed to haunt my very existence.

‘She sat deep within, upon a rug on the floor, ensconced in the gloom beside a faintly glowing hearth, while candles burnt eerily all around her. It felt truly like I was stepping into the Otherworld. Gradually my eyes accustomed themselves to the dimness, and I saw that everywhere around me was a chaos of magical paraphernalia: strangely shaped plant roots, animal bones, a human skull which stood upright upon a pole, dead shrivelled snakes, the wings and limbs of birds, odd figurines carved from stone, crystals with runic symbols scratched upon them, and much more. All were scattered about the room in no discernible pattern or order. Urta sat in the midst of all this confusion, looking down at the floor while she played with a collection of rune sticks, tossing and then studying them where they fell, craning down her neck to focus her bleary eyes on their upturned symbols, then gathering them up to throw them again as she hummed softly to herself. She seemed to be oblivious to my presence.

‘She was ancient: shrunken and wizened, her cheeks hollow and her white hair hung in lank strands, with patches of flaking scalp visible beneath it. Her green robe, far too voluminous for her withered body, was covered with dirt and stains. She looked like an animated corpse.

‘ “Greetings Mother,” I said, now wholly intimidated as she looked up at me. She was truly a dreadful sight, her eyes sunken into their sockets, her mouth shrivelled and toothless as she leered at me. “I have come to ask your help. I need you to remember an event that happened more than twenty years ago. But I am sure you will recall it. It took place at my home, in Imma’s ham, and it was on the night of a great blizzard – the night of my birth. My mother Aelswyn died that night. You were there, and gave the birth prophecy to my father Beornwulf. I must know what happened on that night. Please will you tell me what you can remember of it?”

‘ “I cannot do so!” She blinked at me, and her head began to jerk in a birdlike way as her shrill voice rose, and her face assumed a look of wariness. She regarded me as if I were only a distraction from other more real concerns. “I cannot repeat any prophecy I may once have given. The words I speak are sacred and secret, and it would anger the spirits were I to reveal them.”

‘ “But the prophecy was given for me,” I implored. “I must explain. Over the years the memory of what happened that night has driven my father to madness. He will not speak of it, but I must know what has done this to him. You, Mother Urta, are my only hope.”

‘ “It cannot be done… cannot be done. It is more than my powers are worth!” She squinted and frowned at me. Then she said: “Do you know that I am much honoured by the king?” Her withered body seemed to puff itself up with pride. “Oh yes, King Ceorl holds me in high regard.”

‘I looked at her in dismay. King Ceorl had been dead for ten years. This woman had lost her wits. Old age and the spirits had stolen them away. I reflected hopelessly that my journey had been a wasted one.

‘But suddenly there came upon her ravaged features a look that was deep and powerfully intense, as her eyes glared defiantly into mine. And then I felt that something strange was happening. I found myself fixed to the spot, while all her anger and indignation seemed to melt away. It felt in that moment we became locked together in a kind of deep and silent struggle. Then her mouth fell open, and her eyelids began to flutter, then drooped shut. She seemed to fall instantly asleep, her head sinking down as her breaths grew deep and stertorous. As I watched her I became oddly affected by this, as my own breath caught in my throat, and the deathly stillness and the acrid smell of burning wood which filled the air in the hut felt at once suffocating and overpowering – as it seemed now my senses were elevated to a level of incredible sharpness. I knew then a distant stirring of fear and alarm, as I felt myself alone, confused and helpless. My flesh grew cold and I began to tremble, and for the first time, I started to doubt my own purpose in coming here and entering this horrible place to learn forbidden secrets which perhaps it were better to remain unknown.

‘Suddenly the coldness about me became so intense it was like an icy wind which chilled my skin and froze my blood. A profound dread had come upon me – the creeping sense of some other time and place – robbing me of the power of motion: a feeling that I had entered into some dark unearthly realm or sphere, which instilled in me a rush of shock and fright beyond anything my mind was able to resist or oppose, while the frail tiny figure of the witch now seemed to my eyes to have become one of awesome and terrifying supernatural power.

‘Now I heard a voice begin to drone in the distance, and I supposed it must come from Urta, although its tone seemed light and girlish, like a child speaking a nursery rhyme, but in a way that was mocking and sly. But my heart was stricken with fear, and I found I could not stir but only listen as the voice began to recite a verse that was distantly familiar to me: some lines from one of the grim old poems I had sometimes heard spoken by the
scops
at the ealdorman’s hall: