‘Not as much as there’ll be at Rypum,’ Sihtric pointed out, which was probably true. I knew how much the canons loved their silver platters, their bejewelled wine cups, their gold brooches.
But I knew this wasn’t about plunder for Wulfnoth. This was about revenge. Raiding the minster was his way of getting back at the Church for the wrong it had done him all those years ago. My eyes met his, and I glimpsed in them that same glint, that same hunger for mischief that I remembered from all those years ago. Except it wasn’t quite the same. Behind those eyes of his there was a coldness, a festering hatred that I hadn’t seen before.
Until then I hadn’t appreciated just how deeply those wounds ran within him, or how powerful was the grudge he held. Right then I felt afraid like never before. Afraid for my safety in this little band of his. Afraid for my life.
What would he do, I wondered, if he ever found out that all the hardships he’d suffered in his life had begun with me?
‘It’s settled, then,’ he said, even though it wasn’t. He often did that: challenging anyone to defy him. And it worked, because none of us would.
The deeper we travelled into those debatable lands, though, the more I began to think that Gytha was right. The enemy were close, I could feel it somehow, and must surely be growing closer with each hour that passed. I was as eager to lay my hands on silver as the rest of them, and moreover I felt something of what Wulfnoth felt: that the Church owed me something for all those years of service I’d given it, patiently, without reward. But not if it cost me my life.
I voiced none of those concerns, though, gutless as I was. I could have. I should have. Maybe the others would have sided with me. But he had such a look of determination about him that I knew nothing would sway him. Now that he’d got the idea in his head, he wasn’t about to give it up.
If I’d only known what was going to happen . . . If I’d had even the faintest inkling, I swear I’d never have . . .
But the fact is I didn’t know.
It’s because of what happened that I have to keep this book and these treasures from him. That’s why I have to get to Lindisfarena.
That’s why, in the end, I fled.
I’m getting ahead of myself.
We arrived at Rypum late that afternoon, just as the sun was setting. I hadn’t been there in, well, three months. With everything that had happened, though, it seemed like longer. Much longer. The minster church, in the shadow of which I’d spent many a winter, rose from the valley as if from some half-remembered dream. Familiar and yet unfamiliar.
I suppose you’d call it a town, although it isn’t a big place, or rather it wasn’t. I doubt there’s anyone left there now. Then, it was home to some forty cottager families who paid rent to the Church, and to twelve priests known as canons, who lived in a closed community a bit like a monastery, with the church at its centre. I wasn’t one of them; I was just the humble travelling preacher who did the hard work of spreading the Lord’s word across dale and moor, in all weathers, while they lived comfortably in their new houses, discussing matters of theology. I was already there before they came, at the archbishop’s behest, with their quills and their books and their servants. It was they who decided I should be in charge of the students in the school they established. The canons foisted those duties upon me, so that they could spend more time speculating on the nature of the dog-headed men and the monopods and the blemmyae and other creatures that supposedly inhabit the distant east, and because they had the support of the archbishop, there was nothing I could do about it.
I hated the canons and their dean more than anyone.
I mention this only because all these thoughts were running through my mind as we approached Rypum. It was quiet. That far south, it seemed that everyone had already left their homes; not a single thread of smoke wove skywards from any of those houses and halls. The light was fading, shadows were falling, the wind was sweeping along the valley, gusting in our faces, but Wulfnoth didn’t seem to care. He spurred his horse headlong down the rutted road, making straight for the church, which was where I’d told him the best treasures were likely to be found, and we followed.
*
‘It was strange to see that place again after so long,’ Guthred says. His face takes on a troubled expression. ‘To see it so empty as well. That was the strangest thing. All those houses, simply abandoned. Everything as still as death. Not a soul around. Or so we thought.’
‘What about the Normans?’ Tova asks. ‘Had you seen any sign of them?’
‘No, and that only made Wulfnoth even more confident. We didn’t spy a soul anywhere in the gathering gloom as we approached. We weren’t expecting to find anyone, either. Probably that’s why we failed to realise that we weren’t the only people there.’
*