Time of the Beast (6 page)

‘Behind me I heard the household start to wail and lament. I suppose I did too, although I do not remember it. But in my distress I did not believe it was the bishop who had won. I knew it was rather we who had lost, and broken faith with something deep and old in ourselves – the beliefs and traditions of our people which had served us since time beyond recall. The voice of our past had called to us, but for lack of courage we did not heed it, and so brought its wrath and vengeance upon us. It seemed to me then that in Oslac we mourned the lost spirit of our race. We had dispossessed them both together.’

Lady Hild fell silent, and her head nodded as she struggled to resist the soporific effect of her potion, clinging to consciousness as her eyes stared with a fierce intensity into the empty gloom behind me. At last she went on.

‘For a long while in my heart I would not accept the new Faith, for to do so felt like a betrayal of Oslac’s memory. But as time dulled my grief the world about me became wholly Christian, and gradually I lost the will and the rage inside to resist. So I tried to become a good Christian. But now, at the end, I doubt the wisdom of what I have done. I fear we have denied all that was once powerful and true in ourselves. And so it waits for us, beyond the veil of death, demanding
restitution.
’

Now I understood how she longed in death to be reconciled with the husband she believed she had failed. But he had died an unrepentant pagan and was therefore damned – on this the word of the Church was unyielding. I feared that guilt and remorse now brought her close to a lapse of faith. This was surely the reason she had sent for me.

‘I assure you, lady,’ I said, ‘that the heathen deities and ancestral spirits we once revered were never real. They are illusions of the mind, false images sent by Satan to lure us far from the truth…’

‘So you churchmen always say,’ she answered with sudden vehemence. ‘But you have lied to us. You cannot persuade me, Brother. I know the spirits are real. I see proof of it before me
now!
’ She gazed out into the shadows beyond me, and I felt an icy thrill rush through my veins as I resisted a fearful urge to look over my shoulder. ‘He comes to me,’ she said fervently, ‘each night, clothed in black, his face dark with anger and rebuke. It is he…
Oslac
… made bitter by my betrayal.
He has become the wrathful spirit!
’

‘No!’ I cried in desperation, reaching out to grip her hand. ‘It is not Oslac. It is something demonic… a deception of the Devil! You must renounce it –
for the sake of your soul!
’ Her sunken eyes stared past me into the dimness, but whatever she saw there now felt hideously real to me.

‘I have heard such words before,’ she whispered, ‘from men like you. But you are the real deceivers.’ Her voice rose suddenly. ‘Husband… forgive me! I renounce my Christian faith… I set your spirit free!’

I looked on appalled as I clung to her hand, but I was losing her as she sank exhausted into a sleep from which she might never wake, her mouth creased into what was like the faint suggestion of a mocking smile. Was it for this she had summoned me – to stand as a witness to her terrible recanting? The sense of something imminent and utterly malefic filled the air and was now unbearable as blind panic gripped me and I turned and fled from the chamber in terror. And it seemed I heard the Devil laugh at me as I blundered lost and disorientated into the labyrinth of dark corridors outside.

I stood shaking as my fit of fear – whether real or imagined – subsided into deep feelings of mortification and defeat. At last I called out for the serving women, who came to return to their mistress and continued singing their dirge – which strangely I now recognised as a Christian psalm.

The next morning I asked to be admitted once more into Lady Hild’s presence, hoping in the light of day to find her in a more sound state of mind and to persuade her back from her dreadful apostasy. But I was told that now she lay insensible and close to death, and that a priest had been summoned on her behalf to perform the last rites. As I departed with my companions my mind was heavy with grief and shame at the memory of my abject conduct the night before and of how wretchedly I had failed both the lady and myself.

We reached the coast that morning, located a boat and loaded it with our items, and stabled our horse. We then set sail when the high waters came, and the boatmen rowed us inland to a place where the river diverged, navigating us along a winding tributary which meandered deep into the brooding marshes. Along the banks were the dirty huts and smallholdings of the sedge-men and reed gatherers, where we bartered to procure our materials for thatching.

At last we approached the dense woodlands which were the territory of the Crowland, and the boatmen leapt down into the water to steer the vessel onto the bank. From here we must drag our heavy cart across the marshes into the nearby woods. It was a gruelling task, and evening was upon us when finally we set up our camp among the trees close to my island. We ate our provisions in weary silence, then slept soundly in the open air, wrapped in our blankets as we lay around the fire.

The next day the two workmen – their names were Aelfwin and Ecfrith – cut down several tall trees and constructed from these a crude but functional log-bridge across the stream to carry our tools over onto the island, digging into the ground on either side and laying bases to make the structure secure.

Our work progressed quickly, and within days a simple dwelling took shape against one side of the solid burial mound. The two men at first seemed averse to using this old monument for their building foundation. I had expected this, for common men, even Christians, still carry in them the remnants of pagan superstition with regard to these mouldering barrows. But they soon became so absorbed in their work, and in overcoming the various difficulties which arose, that they seemed to forget about this.

My new habitation consisted of one main room, with the uneven protrusion of the mound as its far wall. Adjoined to this was the small room: my chapel, where I planned to spend most of my days, a plain cubicle with only a simple wooden cross fixed to its wall. For my furniture I had just a stool, and a palliasse and blanket in one corner as well as a spare robe, a wooden plate and cup, an iron pot to boil water and a knife, along with pumice stones to maintain my tonsure. These were my worldly goods.

We dug a hole into the mound and rearranged several of the heavy stones which lay upon it to construct a rough fireplace and a flue. We excavated nearby to create a covered pit, a cellar in which to store my supplies of grain.

One evening at sundown, when the dwelling was almost complete, I was sitting inside it when there came a sudden loud cry, a scrambling noise from above, then the sound of something outside striking the ground hard. I ran out to find it was Aelfwin, lying winded and dazed on the grass. He had been attending to some fault with the thatching when he slipped and fell. He was not hurt, but he was clearly frightened and distressed. As I helped him to his feet, he told me that from his vantage point on the roof he had looked across to the bank beyond the far side of the island and had seen there in the fading daylight, amidst the trees and the rising mist, a face that stared back at him, whose eyes, he said, had seemed to pierce his soul. He was white and trembling as he spoke.

I did not doubt that the isolation of this place and its gloominess, along with any irrational fears he might still harbour about disturbing the tumulus and angering the dead, were combining to work on his mind. So I attempted to reason with him.

‘How can you be so certain of what you saw, in the darkness of the woods and in the mist?’ I said. ‘And I suppose even here we are not completely alone. There must be some others living on the fen, and I am sure our activities must have aroused their curiosity.’

‘No, Brother, no!’ He spoke as if I failed to understand. ‘I tell you this was not like a man’s face. It was something old. Something evil.
And it is watching us!
’

I could talk no sense into him. And I do not think he slept at all that night, for when I woke for my night-time prayers, I found him sitting upright and shivering in the dark.

The next morning the men started their labours even before I awoke, and they finished their outstanding tasks with great haste. Before noon they informed me their work was completed, gathered up their tools and wishing me God’s blessing departed, heading back towards the river.

So now at last I was truly alone.

My first consideration, I supposed, should be my bodily sustenance. So I decided to make bread. To grind grain, make dough and bake bread is a laborious task, and not one I wished to repeat often, since it would distract me from my other concerns. So that day I made many loaves, but took only one to eat before sundown – I determined to allow myself no more than one loaf each day – storing the rest away. It would not bother me to eat stale bread.

But now my time of darkness truly began. In the weeks that followed I passed my hours in relentless contemplation and prayer, seeking to understand what it was that God asked of me. I knelt day after day in the confinement of my tiny chapel as the grim reality of a life of absolute solitude became clear to me. For now there were no others about me to be blamed for what I saw in myself, as I sank ever deeper into the agonies of inward terror and self-doubt. I was gone from the monastery, but its turmoil yet remained in me. I sought in my mind to balance the sins of anger and pride against the virtues of honesty and justice, and I asked myself what my true nature was. Was I at heart a man of goodness and inner strength, or just a weak, base creature of rage and resentment? But increasingly I could see only a blur, and I did not know.
I did not know.
Every certainty I had ever held was unravelling within me, and entirely alone I was losing all sense of myself. I only knew that if I could not tell the difference between virtue and sin, then I was truly damned.

Often I would fall to the ground in the midst of my devotions, beating my head there again and again, attempting to still the raging chaos within. But it seemed that God had abandoned me, and my demons were winning the battle, as I came to realise I was becoming a thing almost insane.

Once I reflected long upon those last words Abbot Adelard had spoken to me: that some monks concealed fleshly cravings behind their cries of love for God and deceived even themselves. Then I remembered my own confused feelings when Wecca had pulled me into his embrace. Filled with horror, I stripped off my robe and went to tear off a sapling branch, scourging my wicked flesh into the night.

I guessed it to be about the time of midsummer, when there came one of those occasional days when the mists cleared, the gloom lifted, and the sun shone. Shortly before sundown I emerged from my chapel after a day of torment, feeling so weary that I had become dull in my senses and almost calm. I took my daily repast of one dry loaf and a cup of water to sit and consume them by the bank of the stream. But as I settled there I became aware of the sound of a vigorous splashing somewhere in the water nearby. This was the first sign of any life I had encountered since coming here.

Curious, I began to walk along the bank, looking out into the stream. But I saw nothing until suddenly a human head burst up out of the water. I stared in startled astonishment, for I saw then the face of a dark-haired and pretty young woman, perhaps seventeen, who smiled over at me unexpectedly. Without thinking I smiled back – the first time I had smiled at anyone for as long as I could remember. Her eyes sparkled at mine for several moments, then she plunged back under the water, and I glimpsed her bare white skin as she dived. After a few moments she resurfaced, now closer to me. I reached forward, holding out my loaf of bread to her, for this seemed a friendly gesture, and the bread was good and fresh that day. She stared for a few moments at my offering, then swam towards the bank, and for an instant she pulled herself up out of the stream to take the bread from me. I felt a sudden sense of shock, then a fluttering sensation in my stomach and a quickening of my heart as she rose naked before me, her breasts small and firm, her body lithe and glistening with the droplets of water running down it. Then she slid back under the surface.

I stood feeling restless and awkward as she crouched in the stream and grinned at me between mouthfuls of the bread. When she had finished, she spoke a few words to me in a light, almost laughing voice, in a language I did not understand, yet which sounded somehow familiar. I felt then that I must try to communicate with her, to tell her and make her see that it was not proper for her to show herself to me in this way. But in that moment it did not seem to me so very wrong, but only a natural lack of inhibition and self-consciousness that suggested no awareness in her that it could be wrong. Perhaps I was simply too exhausted to respond as I felt I should. And anyway I could think of no innocent way for me to try to make her aware of her own natural state. But my casual attitude surprised me, for I had been taught to regard young women – even fully clothed ones – as the Devil’s temptresses. Yet this girl appeared simply wild and innocent, and her presence charmed me. There definitely seemed to be nothing of the Devil about her.

She giggled slightly, then gestured to herself and said ‘Ailisa’. This was clearly her name, so I tapped my own chest and answered ‘Athwold’; and she repeated it back to me. We remained there for a time, simply seeming to enjoy each other’s presence. Then, too soon, she waved her hand at me, swam back out into the stream, and was gone.

I sat for a short while and felt lighter in spirit than I believed I had been since I was a child. And I realised now that Ailisa’s speech had seemed recognisable to me because it had resembled a dialect of the Celtic tongue that I had occasionally heard spoken in my younger days. But of course this confirmed my idea that native Britons still inhabited these Fenlands in small groups, descendants of hidden tribes or perhaps runaway slaves. I was happy to see that Ailisa did not seem to fear me or bear me any animosity, since normally the Britons show much hatred towards the Angles and Saxons. I was also relieved to have seen at first hand that these people were certainly in no way monstrous or deformed, as Wecca’s fearful ramblings had seemed to suggest.