To collect the necessary tools and writing materials from the Abbey didn’t take long, except that they wouldn’t let any of their precious parchment out of their sight. Father John, he was the Abbot now, but we still called him father, produced some thin sheets of smooth, wax covered wood and a pointed stylus instead. We would, he said, transcribe my notes into a more permanent text at a later date.
It was with some misgivings that I set out for the barracks’ prison cell to find Deaks. No longer the bullying acquaintance, but Deaks the captive.
I had expected to find a cowering, frightened wretch and was very shocked to be faced with an aggressive madman whose mouth overflowed with a flood of filth and abuse. His face and body bore the marks of many savage beatings, so it was obvious that violence or depravation would not work. Maybe patience and kindness might.
I spoke quietly to the burly gaoler, who, shaking his head in disbelief went off to fetch warm water and a towel so that the prisoner could wash away the grime of travel and fear. Gagging from the stench of the place, I also slipped away on an errand of my own. When the stooped gaol keeper eventually returned, I had him place the bowl just out of reach of the hissing, spitting, pitiful human wreck. My own errand had included fetching the half chicken, a clean shirt and, carefully wrapped in a piece of fine leather, my prized musical instrument, an Ocarina. I had brought this rather versatile little wind instrument with me from home, it was full of memories, which often coloured the tunes that I chose to play.
I sat on a step in front of the open room in which Deaks was chained, and laid the clothes and food beside the bowl of water and towel, all carefully out of spitting range. I could plainly see the hungry expression in his face as he saw and, no doubt, smelt the portion of cold roast fowl but he hardly skipped a beat in his aggressive ranting. Resting my back against the autumn cool dampness of the rough stone wall I took up the Ocarina and, shutting out the grisly surroundings, began to softly play a series of melodies from one of the new suite of stately dances known as the ‘Pavanne’. The sweetly clear notes of the bone-white, egg-shaped instrument filled my mind with memories of home and my dear maman. The last notes fell away into the silence of my day dreams when I was rudely brought back to earth by a voice that had become hoarse from shouting.
‘What do you want then.’ he spat in my direction. ‘You come to torment me before they spill me life’s blood.?’
My homely dream dissolved. I looked up into the bruised and swollen face of our prisoner. Now that his screaming invective had stopped I noticed that one of his eyes was swollen blue-brown, and practically closed. It made it easier to speak to him, without the need to decide which of the crossed-over eyes to look at.
‘I’ve come to talk, Deaks.’ I answered, simply.
‘My life, miserable as it is, dangles from the executioners belt. And you come here to talk!’ he snorted, anger, once again beginning to colour his face.
I shrugged and lifted the Ocarina again, this time producing a few lively chorus lines from a popular Galliard jig.
‘For God’s sakes man. Show some mercy, damn you.’ He had his filthy hands pressed against his blood crusted ears. ‘I hate music, tool of the devil the Abbot always said.’
Sympathetically, I smiled at his forlorn, hopeless position. ‘Alright...I will do as you ask.’ I stood and moved towards him. ‘I can do much more if you will be co-operative.’
Deaks was about to start lashing me with his tongue once more, when he seemed to suddenly run out of energy, or resolve, and slowly he dropped to his knees in the filth and rotting straw.
‘What would you know of it, Mister Prim and Proper.’ he sneered. ‘The treatment that has been given me since we were so basely taken would have killed you and many like you.’
The words held a venom but the voice lacked his recent consuming violence. With a toe, I pushed the bowl of clean water towards him.
‘Here, wash yourself, and put on the clean clothes that I have brought for you.’
‘That shows just how little you understand.’ his tone was sneeringly aggressive. ‘Water, this clean, is prized in here and I would have sold my soul for just a cup, let alone a bowl full.’ he said.
He cupped his filthy hands and sucked some of the water over his few remaining teeth.
‘Wash yourself and change. I will see to it that you have spring water to drink...even if I have to bring it myself.’ I said and left the cell.
I was away no longer than necessary, collecting a leather bottle of drinking water and a carved bone beaker. When I returned I could hardly believe my eyes. Deaks was lying in a corner of the small cell, a bubbling moan came from the lips in his pain contorted face as he clutched at his groin.
Leaning over him, wiping the remains of a fatty, thin grey porridge from his tunic, was the hunched form of the gaoler. A hook on his broad belt held a jangling ring of iron keys, the hair above his warty face was lank and greasy, falling in twisted tails to his shoulders. His hands were callused, the misshapen fingers gnarled and with long yellowed finger nails that seemed hooked like talons. In one set of claws, wiping his filthy tunic, he held the clean linen shirt that I had brought for Deaks. In the other he held a viciously knotted, short length of rope. Below the knot, the rope strands had been carefully plaited into tails, much like those on the repulsive man’s head, at its other end, the rope was woven around a short, sturdy piece of wood to form a handle.
‘What, in God’s name are you doing!’ I shouted at the leering hunchback.
Deep in the roots of my mind, I felt the unbidden, uncontrollable, rise of the ancient warrior wildness.
‘I was giving this ungrateful pig his dinner. A plateful of the finest mutton stew, when he threw it over me.’ he whined.
‘Back off.’ I answered, the wildness surged as I watched the sadistic gaol keeper drive the wooden handle of his rope flail into the unprotected belly of the man beneath him.
‘Leave him!’ I shouted above Deaks’ howl of pain. ‘From now on he will be under my guard.’
‘Says who.’ the Gaoler shouted back. Smiling as he began slashing viciously downwards at Deaks’ naked back with his knotted bundle of blood stained lashes.
‘Says me!’ I shouted. ‘Stop that.’
He ignored me and the torrent of wild energy inside me wrenched itself free, my heartbeat made a deafening thunder in my ears as my striding legs carried me across the slippery, rotten straw. From within the shell of my person, it seemed as though someone else was in control of my body. A demon that was becoming familiar.
The flash of polished steel from Wolfbane changed the twisted expression of glee on the gaoler’s ugly features to a contrasting one of alarm.
Through the eye of the wild rage, I saw the shining blade stained a translucent pink as its keen edge opened the merest scratch in the belly of the grotesque little man.
With an effort that brought rivulets of sweat to my back, I managed to stop the sword before it fulfilled its terrible prophecy. Turning the edge, I brought the flat side of the whistling blade down onto the back of the sadistic bully. The effect was spectacular. The gaoler must have thought that the stinging pain was a mortal wound, for he fell to his knees and squirmed away into the farthest corner of the small cell. His shrill whimpering voice hoarsely begged for a mercy, which, if he had really needed it, wouldn’t have been deserved.
I loosed the reins of my wild demon, just slightly, and with the sword purposefully poised, I strode across to stand over the quivering brute.
‘You are not hurt.’ I nudged him with a toe. ‘On your feet you stupid worm. Perhaps you will pay heed to your ears in future and obey the commands of your betters.’
He didn’t offer a movement, but the needle sharp point of my sword brought the response I wanted and he shambled to his feet propping himself against the rough stone wall.
‘Move my prisoner to somewhere more comfortable, while you clean this hovel and make it fit for the scholarly duties that we have the honour to perform for our King.’ I stood to one side to allow him to pass. ‘Take the shirt and clean it. And look sharp about it, or I’ll have you replaced by a younger man.’
The gaoler staggered to the door, picking up the soiled shirt on his way. At the door he turned, his grimy fingers clutching the frame and his eyes on a point by my feet.
‘I shall need some note of authority young sir.’ he muttered thickly.
‘Very well, I will get you one. In the meantime, let Wolfbane be your guide and my authority.’
I strode across the dank cell towards him, sword point levelled at his eyes. He vanished quickly, lurching his way along the dark passage.
I carefully wiped and sheathed my sword, I was about to turn back to help Deaks, when a movement in the shadows at the side of the passageway caught my eye. Hand on the sword’s pommel, I peered into the gloomy recess. The murky outline moved forward into the glimmering flicker of the poor torch light.
‘It’s me, Ranulf.’
And the outline flowed into the form of Devlac, the white haired King’s councillor. He came forward to glance into the cell behind me. With a softly gloved hand he took my elbow and led me into the passage.
‘Your temper burns brightly young warrior. You must learn to bridle its impulses so that you may put it to your service with confidence.’ Devlac advised quietly. ‘You have of course made a dangerous enemy by your humiliation of Gault the gaol keeper. His short arms reach deeply into the dark lairs of the criminal fraternities. Take care Master Ranulf, you will need someone reliable to watch your back.’
‘Thank you for the warning sir. I’ll be careful.’
I bowed my head in deference to the old man’s lofty position in the court. I had forgotten that the King was going to send a member of the Witan to help our enterprise.
I gestured around the area.
‘Particularly after the recent happenings, I could use some more amenable surroundings in which to work. The light is so poor, without the aid of a window, and the air is dank and nauseous.’
‘I will see to it, or at least try. I’ll also have a Royal Order drafted for our friend Gault. It will flatter him and maybe buy his more extreme urges for revenge.’
As silently as he had appeared, he left. A swish of silk and a soft perfume of sweet herbs the only witness to his departure. Search as I might I could not see a concealed opening in the passage recess. Yet there must be one, unless his wisdom gave him the magical powers to infiltrate stone. Where there is one secret entrance, there may be others. I must bear this in mind, both here, and in other fortresses of the household.
Deaks had dragged himself across to the pallet of rotting straw where I found him lying face down. His back looked painful, across both shoulder blades was a swollen slippery mess of broken skin and blood. This was going to need some specialised help to heal. I shrugged off my woollen cloak and as carefully as I could, covered the shivering body. Reaching behind me I found the leather bottle and the beaker. I poured a little of the cold water into the cup and, supporting his head, offered it to his swollen lips. He gulped as best he could, his one bright eye staring at me from under a bushy eyebrow.
‘Thanks. He was going to kill me you know.’ his words came huskily.
‘I don’t think he’ll trouble you too much anymore. Lie still while I fetch something for your back.’
‘It’s not me that he’ll be interested in now sir, at least not firstly. Take care.’
With those few words in my mind, I made my way out of the seemingly deserted cell block, and into the very welcome fresh air of the late afternoon. The sky was a pale, chilled blue and the branches of the newly naked trees stood out darkly as they spread across it. Here and there a bird fluttered amongst the bushes searching for food and a pair of plumply fluffed doves surveyed the scene from the branches of a red-studded, viridian holly.
I had studied the application and use of the healing herbs while I was with Master Styg, the gardener, but right now, I hadn’t the time to collect and prepare what I needed. I knew that old Master Styg would have a plentiful supply and I would beg his assistance.
I found him in the potting shed, soundly sleeping in front of a glowing brazier. He had aged a lot over the time that I had known him and now it looked as though the sand in his timer had almost run its course. His hair was thinning so that it was wispy over the temples, at the border of the shining baldness of his crown. “Moss won’t grow on a busy street” he’d once laughingly confided. In sleep, his face was relaxed and the jaw had swung open, a streak of saliva dribbled down his cheek to a spreading dampness on the collar of his coarse woollen over-tunic. The woman’s nimble fingers, that had once applied the still colourful embroidery to his old grubby shirt, had long ago passed into the next world. So fulfilling had their love been, that old Styg had never taken another woman as wife. His apparently long lonely hours were peopled by his memories, which instead of becoming faded with age were becoming more poignant and vivid.
As I watched, an inner voice must have told the old fellow that he had company, for he clutched his wrinkled fingers together and struggled to sit up and focus his eyes. He wiped the dampness from his cheek with a sleeve and turned his head to gaze at me through the light smoke from his warming fire.
‘Well now, who’ve we got here.’ he rubbed his swollen arthritic knees as he struggled to his feet. ‘Bit of a warrior I hear.’ he put a hand on each of my shoulders. ‘I hoped you’d drop by, we’ve heard such stories, that’s not my Ranulf I told ‘em....You look tired, come and sit by the fire. I’ll make you a good hot drink.’
I spent a short while telling the old chap of my adventures while I sipped from a steaming infusion of herbs that had been sweetened with a dollop of tasty wild honey. He was a good listener and didn’t interrupt except for the odd tut-tut or sigh. In due course, without unseemly haste, I confided in him the reasons for my visit, the probable fate of Deaks and his urgent need of some knowledgeable help. Without argument or question, the old man put a few jars and packets into an old bag and, giving it to me to carry, ushered me out into the last hours of a chilly afternoon.
It didn’t take many moments to get back to the silent and still dirty cell. Styg seemed to ignore the surroundings and plunged straight into the job of tending Deaks’ injuries. While he was busy, I occupied myself by sweeping the filthy straw floor coverings into the empty passageway and cleaning the roughly made sparse room. I loosened my double edged dagger in its scabbard, made my way up the passage and went into Gault’s deserted quarters where I helped myself to a couple of stools, a coarse blanket and a surprisingly clean chamber pot. From the direction of the small guard room I could hear the rhythmic chatter punctuated by the unmistakable rattle of dice. So that’s where everyone was I thought, Gault too most likely.
When I got back to the cell Deaks was sat up and looking very much better.
‘Of course, many years ago.’ Styg was talking as he worked with ointments and bandage. ‘These were the Royal apartments.’
‘Nah.’ answered Deaks, in disbelief. ‘Get away.’
‘I tell you, it was so. Of course, that was back before they built the upstairs floor of the Great Hall over yonder. It was said that they were once connected through some natural cave. But I don’t know.’
Styg stood up and eased his knees.
‘Well there we are young’un, be as good as new in a week or so.’ he handed me a small jar. ‘You must make sure that this is smeared on the cuts every day until they heal over. I’ve done all I can for now, I’ll look in later.’
Deaks mumbled his thanks and with a rattle of his chain manacles, settled himself onto his pallet to sleep. The old gardener bent to cover him with the blanket that I had liberated and stood creakily upright, massaging his back with his hand as he moved.
I walked up the street with the old gardener, it was colder now so I draped my blue woollen cloak about his shoulders. His fingers felt the fineness of the soft wool and he tried to give it back, but not very insistently. He was in a thoughtful mood so we walked silently until we reached the porch of his crooked little cottage.
‘Of course.’ Styg sounded as though he may be musing aloud. ‘Young Deaks seems as sly as a greased weasel. But on the other hand he’s had a very difficult young life, and maybe we confuse his sly ways with a certain aptitude he has developed for shrewd calculation.’ he was quiet for several moments. ‘Ah, well. Of course it’s up to you, I don’t think you’ll change him, but his talent could be useful. Either way he seems to be set on being a loyal supporter of the realm’s newest, and probably youngest, nobleman.’ A fondness twinkled in his eye and the old man put his arm around my shoulders. ‘You have made many friends by your open and honest ways, and I’m sure you’ll make many more. But you will also collect an enemy or two, as you have today. Try not to give them the advantage of your openness.’
It had been a long speech. Perhaps the longest that I’d ever heard from the master gardener.
‘Thanks for your advice and your help this afternoon master, I’ll call to see you soon.’
‘You’ve a nursing job to do, and, for a few nights at least, he’ll also need guarding if he’s to remain alive. I’ll be down later to see how the patient is progressing and to maybe change one or two of the dressings.’
I was about to argue, but with a shake of his head he stepped into his house and closed the door.
I walked quickly back to the gaol block, my breath showed as white steamy billows in the cold air of a fading dusk. The last rooks called to each other from the tree tops and the first few stars pierced the purpling sky with their ice-chip stares. Beyond the walls, a thin pearly mist had begun to gather, making small translucent pools that levelled the land, low bushes and dark hedges protruded like islands in a magic sea. We were not far now from the first of the new winter’s frosts which would mark the end of another productive season.
Perhaps it would also mark the final edge in our preparations, where a united military thrust would surge out to drive back the vicious pagan hordes that dominated fully two-thirds of our rich land. We were building towards it, slowly but surely, Alfred was having almost daily meetings and high level talks with many of the leaders of our shrinking western kingdom. The financial burden of the Danegeld had become more and more significant over the years and the heathen’s greed had boosted the blackmailing payments to a level where they were crippling.
Somehow, my work with Deaks was connected with Alfred’s plans. I could only guess at how, but one thing was certain, because of the Gaoler’s overzealous and savage attack there would be little or no progress to report to him later this evening.
As I approached the low stone buildings, the strong smell of cooking fires hung in the still air, smoke tumbled from roof-holes to defiantly rise again like the saplings from which the warming fires were born. The game of dice had claimed its victors and its whining losers and all was quiet from within the guardroom.
Gault had obviously been back, a brazier burnt steadily in the entrance to the cell and on the floor. A fresh, but frugal, scattering of rushes had been laid, although the stinking mound of straw was still where I’d left it, in front of the shadowy recess in the passage. Another blanket, of the same coarse material as the one I had taken, was placed next to the still sleeping prisoner patient. I placed a stool in the corner opposite the doorway and, putting the blanket about my shoulders, settled down against the wall and began to mull over the happenings of another eventful day. The morning had begun with a feeling of remorse at losing the company of a friend and the day was ending with an uncomfortable feeling of an impending misfortune.
I must have dozed off, for the rattle of Deaks’ chains broke through my web of dreams. The young man had eased himself stiffly into a sitting position. It was probably his groan of pain that had prodded me awake.
‘How are you feeling?’ I asked from my shadowy corner.
Deaks started and squinted into the gloom. ‘Is that you sir?’ he asked, as he focused his one good eye in my direction. ‘Dreadful. I feel like I was dragged through a thorn bush.’ he pulled the blanket closer, chilled he shivered from his body’s feverish heat.
‘What is it that you want with me sir?’ he asked quietly.
I explained that I had been given the job of writing down a list of as many English words with their Norseman translation as we could. Truthfully, I added that I did not know why it was required, just that the King required it as soon as we could start.
‘How did you come to learn the language in the first place?’ I asked him.
‘Well...it’s a long story but, my sire, damn him to hell, was a Viking. Mother was raped during a raid and her young husband was killed while he tried to protect her. Not long after, but still a long while ago, when I was just knee-high, I lived in a village on the coast with my widowed mother. The Vikings came again one stormy night. We all feared the worst, but the waves smashed their ship and they forced themselves on us.’ his expression became, momentarily wistful. ‘The brute that came to live with us was a chieftain, a little better than the rest I suppose, by their standards. He treated mother well, most of the time anyway. His name was Halfdan.’ he shuddered.
Deaks recited his story as though it was the first time that he’d put it all together. It was punctuated by long silences and half remembered incidents. He told me of the various attempts by the Vikings to leave, they tried unsuccessfully to build a ship but the local area could not provide the materials they needed, let alone the tools. He described the dreadful rages that possessed this man, when each time their plans were frustrated.
The beatings, which eventually killed his mother, had left him disfigured and partially sighted. The barbarian was as strong as two normal men and one night he’d returned drunk with mead and had punched and slapped his mother until she became unconscious. He had then focused his attentions on the small boy that whimpered with fright as he tried to hide in a corner. The brute had picked him up by the heels and thrown him against a wall. The smashing impact had been lessened by a pile of sewing his mother had taken in to earn food, but there was no doubt in his mind, that the big man had intended dashing out his brains. Altogether the savages stayed for nearly two years, in which time Deaks became adept at keeping out of trouble and, to increase his chances of survival, had learnt their language and customs.
Tearfully Deaks reached the end of his story. His intention at the beach, his first and only visit to such a rendezvous, was to kill the ship’s master who, he had been told, was the very same brute that had made his infant world such a hell on earth.
But I had got there first and had sent the master to the care of his Valkyrie, and anyway it hadn’t been the same man. He’d been misled and had found out that Halfdan was now a rich lord that ruled the western part of the Norseman’s territories.
It was quite a tragic story, if it were all true. I made a mental note of one or two features and would have them checked. Deaks’ emotional reminiscences were interrupted by the arrival of master Styg who was still tightly wrapped in my thick blue cloak.
‘Goodness me, but you’re looking better than when I last saw you.’ he said to Deaks with genuine pleasure. ‘But don’t you let this man keep you up all night talking. You must rest. It’s the only way to get better.’
He turned to me. ‘If you’d like to go and get something to eat I’ll stay here for a while. I’ve got to change a dressing or two.’
The old chap had really taken charge, bless him, and until he mentioned it, I hadn’t realised how hungry I was. With a grumbling in the roots of my stomach, I gratefully set off in search of supper and to make my report to the King, if he was available.
Almost as soon as I had found myself a plate of fresh new bread and some of the smelly, vintage cheese, a messenger came to find me.
‘If you please sir, but the King would see you.’ he said.
With a glance of regret I laid the wooden platter on a side table and hurried off to fulfil my summons.
The King was in a familiar position, sat at a large desk surrounded by maps and weighty documents. I took a few steps forward from the doorway, a guard lowered the heavy leather curtain behind me.
A fire blazed in a corner chimney-piece set into an alcove just out of sight from the doorway and a girl musician played gently on a small harp. Beyond the King’s desk stood the usual array of food, cold meats, cheeses and fruit, I hoped that I might be lucky.
An eyebrow raised and he looked up.
‘Ah, I hear you had a successful day.’ he rose, and smiling beckoned me towards the fire. ‘Where clubs and fists had failed, you managed to quell the aggressive anger of our prisoner with some sweet music from the little Ocarina. Your talents seem boundless.’
I bowed, my cheeks burning with pride and embarrassment. ‘Thank you Sire.’ I managed to mumble.
‘Come, tell me what we have.’ he stood before the fire, warming his bottom and watching me expectantly.
It was difficult to start, but eventually and with little interruption, I managed to describe the happenings of the afternoon and early evening. He stood in thought after I had finished.
‘Strange, but Devlac didn’t mention anything of this. We will speak to him later.’ in a few strides he was back at his desk. ‘Guard.’ he called, as he sat down.
‘Your Majesty.’ answered the Guard immediately.
‘Look into the hall and see if my Lord Devlac is there would you.’ he turned his attention to a sheet of new parchment. ‘I will write an order, commanding that master Deaks will be removed from the prison and will be entrusted to the care of one Ranulf ap Odda, for him to use as he sees fit. You’ve lost Edmund, a gentleman must have a servant.’ his eyes peered into mine. ‘Can you manage him?’
I was about to answer when the guard returned.
‘Begging your pardon Sire, but mi’lord Devlac is not in the house. Do you wish me to send a messenger?’
‘Not at the moment. I’ll catch up with him later.’
When the soldier had gone, Alfred dismissed the young musician as well, asking her to leave her harp, this left us alone in his private office. Again we moved across to the fire and I was directed to a seat. While Alfred paced, he told me of a daring plan to infiltrate the enemy homesteads and raider settlements posing as a wandering minstrel. He told me that he’d done it before, and providing you could give a good display and raise some laughter, you would be safe and even well fed into the bargain. I was aghast that he should have done such a thing. Even more so that he should show his trust and confide in me. But it was not idle gossip or boasting.
‘So, when I next go, I would take a musician with me. Who, is the problem...Can you use the harp.’ he stopped his pacing and handed me the well made little instrument, his brows arched with a critical concentration.
I stumbled through a couple of scales, then, feeling my way, played a soft melody for a melancholy ballad.
‘Stop. Stop or you’ll have me in tears. A sweet song and no doubt.’
He took the harp from me and sat on the opposite side of the cheerful blaze. ‘Will you come with me?’ he beamed. ‘I’d much rather have a musician that could wield a sword. I would teach you a few tricks to amuse the ignorant heathen and we would be in demand at every camp from York to Caleva’
‘I should be honoured Sire.’ I answered.
‘Right....Good, very good. We must get busy now, and aim to be in their midst by the turn of the year at the Pagan festival.’ he stood and returned to his desk. ‘I’ll draft the order for Deaks immediately.’
I was on the point of standing when the curtain was flung aside and Devlac came striding in. Being at the fire, slightly behind him, he hadn’t noticed me, so I stayed where I was. I felt a tingling sensation in the middle of my back as I noticed that on the shoulder and back hem of his deep red cloak were pieces of blackened yellow straw. He was breathless and excited.
‘My apologies your Highness. The traitor swine has killed Ranulf. Drove a knife into his back as he tended his wounds. My servant boy just brought me the news.’
Before anyone else moved, I crossed swiftly to block the door. ‘Sire have your guard detain this man. I beg you.’
Devlac wheeled around at the sound of my voice. ‘You, but...I’ve.’ his face turned deathly pale and his eyes dropped to the floor.
The guard stepped up to the councillor at a sign from the King and without a sound removed the old man’s double edged seaxe.
‘See the straw on his cloak. He has either been dallying with a maiden in the hay. Or he has again used a secret passage through to the Gaol.’ I turned to make for the door. ‘I must run Sire. I’m sure it’s Master Styg.’