We weren’t the only guests that evening; a company of soldiers was overnighting in the Inn itself. We were happy enough to make our beds in the stables. We gathered to pray and our voices rose sufficiently to disturb the peace of our fellow guests - one of them at least. A large and dirty fellow who had drunk enough to excite his already belligerent nature came out to demand silence. Some others followed to watch whatever fun might develop.
“That wailing and moaning sounds like a choir of randy tomcats. How is an honest man to get his rest?” he demanded. Colman apologised and promised that we would be quieter. He turned to instruct us so but the man was bent on trouble. He grabbed the Abbott’s arm. “But it’s too late for that. You have already woken me from my hard-earned sleep,” Unlikely, I thought. I could see the fellow was spoiling for a fight and took position close to the Abbott. Cuthbert was in close attendance as well. “Aye, hard earned so that you can ride the king’s highway in peace. What sort of men are you? Men? You are no men! You dress like women, you ride up and down as if you own the place, you pay no tribute or courtesy and treat us honest folk like your slaves!”
Colman apologised again but the man would not be calmed. A snicker ran through the audience at the gate and Mungo made to intervene on the Abbott’s behalf. Cedd stilled him with a hand on his swordarm and a nod towards me. I was preparing to intervene although my weapon was in the stable. I wouldn’t need it.
“And none of you will stand up for yourselves! Well, it’s about time you honoured the men who risk their lives so you can ride around in peace and safety. What have you got in your bag?” So saying he pulled Colman’s small satchel so violently its cord snapped. Finding only the remains of a small loaf, a piece of cheese, a prayer book and a small wooden Celtic Cross he was further enraged. He threw it on the ground and stamped on it. “Nothing! Nothing but totems of your dead god! Your weakling god who went to his death without taking any with him! What sort of a god is that? How does he compare with Wodin, the great god who gives his followers strength in battle and has contempt for the weak! How does your weakling compare with him, eh?” and he thrust his filthy face into Colman’s. The Abbott was unconcerned at the loss of his food - he would have given it to a beggar ahead of eating it himself anyway - but he was outraged at the insult to his Lord.
“How dare you! How dare you trample on the One who died for your sins!” he would have given his provoker the satisfaction of taking a swing at him had I not stepped between them. I addressed the ruffian.
“Sir, we wish you no harm and have done you no harm. We would continue our devotions quietly and peacefully if you will accept our apologies for disturbing you.” There was a guffaw in the audience and the only response I got was a swinging fist that started low, had the brute’s full power behind it and would have broken a jawbone had it connected. I was ready for it and swayed back to let the blow pass. The ruffian nearly overbalanced, which helped his temper not at all.
“So, we have a dancer. Let’s see how well you dance with a girdle of steel!” He pulled a dagger from his belt and lunged at me. I stepped out of the way and turned quickly, feet apart, arms outstretched and well-balanced. He had no idea of what he was facing; my Gift of the Sight gave me a distinct advantage. I could See into his mind; I knew what he was planning and every step he was going to make, the moment he thought of it.
The aggressor charged, looking to enfold me and put the knife between my ribs. I stepped aside again and let the rush go past. I was manoeuvring my opponent into an open space where I could utilise the old training and the newer techniques I’d picked up on my travels.
“Stand still, girly, and fight like a man, hand to hand! I’ll kill you first and then find out if you are as much use as a girl under your frock.”
He charged and I let him pass again. He ended up in a straw heap and came up spluttering, furious but prepared to fight with more thought. He advanced slowly, tossing the dagger from hand to hand and grinning. Although the fight was more than he had expected it would still be easy to kill this monk, he was sure. He came within striking distance, feinted to one side, tossed the knife quickly to the other and stabbed straight for where my heart would have been had I not moved as fast as thought.
Again the assailant had to turn. He was breathing stronger but not heavily: he was very fit and, clearly, a veteran of several bar-room fights as well as full-pitched battles. He’d never been on the losing side and had no intention of being so now. The confrontation had started with roars of encouragement from the spectators but now there was near-silence, just the whispering of wagers being placed: mostly on the Englishman but some early money was going on me.
The fighter circled, switching the dagger from hand to hand, grinning with anticipation and taking his time, now. Victory would be the sweeter for the contest I’d put up. I shuffled round to stay face to face with him, always balanced and always ready, my eyes never leaving the attacker’s face.
Again the Englishman feinted, seeming to come with his right arm but switching to his left in a flash. I stood till the last possible moment, seeming to be confused by my enemy’s skill and a strangled shout of alarm came from the monks: my attacker was on me.
Or thought he was. I skipped out of the way to my right, turning left and catching the arm with both of my own. I brought my knee up and my arms down: the knife skittered away on the stones of the yard and the Englishman collapsed to the ground, clutching his dislocated shoulder in agony.
Money changed hands reluctantly among the spectators by the door and the winners went back into the Inn to spend their gains. The monks helped the Englishman over to the pile of straw and I then added to his pain by relocating the arm in its socket while Cedd and Mungo held him down. Then we made a sling to help ease the strain on his (unavoidably) broken collarbone and assisted the invalid back to his quarters and settled him for the night.
As we left him, as comfortable as we could manage, Cedd was unable to resist the impulse to give him the benefit of his learning.
“I think the One True Risen God compares very well with your empty wooden totem, don’t you?” The Englishman moaned and fell into a troubled sleep. I put my hand into my pocket quite absently and felt the amulet again. I remembered my Vision: Strathclyde, shrinking away to nothing, its lifeblood being drained from it. Lucius was dead but was one of his disciples in Strathclyde and spreading his dreadful poison?