“What has he done?”
“Something so unspeakably evil I wouldn’t even whisper it in these precincts.”
“I will raise a troop and they’ll hunt him down.” He turned to deal with it.
“Sir,” I interjected, and Oswy turned back to me, slowly. There was anger in his eyes at the interruption. “Sir, there would be no point. Your men would be confused and may even die at his hands, before they got within sword’s length.”
“What manner of man is this ex-friend of yours?” I hesitated before answering. “Tell me.”
“He’s a Druid. He is - or was - a Healer. A truly great one. His Gift was greater than mine. He’s fallen into evil practices and is dangerous to anyone unprepared.”
“And what has prepared you?”
“I was a Druid before I converted to Christianity. We were at school together. And my Gift gives me defence against him.”
“Where did he come from?” I hesitated. I didn’t want to answer. “Tell me, monk, where did he come from?”
“Dumbarton, sir.”
“So. Strathclyde hides behind pretty words and peaceful overtures while it turns itself into a witch-realm.”
“No, sir, I don’t believe that. I detected no evil in either King Owain or his brother. I believe them to be honest.”
“As you believed this Druid to be your friend?”
“That was my fault. I wanted him to be the same man he was when we last saw each other, years ago. I didn’t want to see through the shield he’d erected, so I didn’t try. Owain and Gawain I had no reason to trust, I didn’t know them and I hadn’t met them before. They couldn’t deceive me. Had the Druid attempted to shield them I would have known and been suspicious. Owain is honest.”
Oswy considered this before speaking again.
“Has the Druid committed any offence within my realm? Other than deception?”
“I don’t believe so.”
He was silent again, thinking for a moment.
“In that case, I have no argument against him. You will conclude your duty at the Synod.” I took breath to protest. “I will have no argument on this, Magister. It won’t take long and then I’ll give you a couple of men to help in your search for him, and to give you safe escort beyond the borders of my kingdom. This is my decision.” He turned on his heel and left.
“Don’t even think about it, Anselm,” Colman whispered. “If you defy Oswy it will go even worse for us.”
“Do you order me to stay?”
“I ask you to stay. For all our sakes - and yours in the end, I think.”
“You don’t know what Ieuan has done.”
“You’ve told me. The old blood sacrifices.”
“Children, Colman, children!”
“You know, and you will find him. You’ll stop him for good. He can do no more.”
“I don’t know what he will and will not do.”
“Your knowledge of him has broken him. He’ll never achieve a position of trust again - so long as you catch him before he gets back to Dumbarton. You must and you will. He will have to go slower than you to hide his tracks.” I was nearly convinced. “I think it was God’s Will that he was brought away from Dumbarton, where he was trusted and could weave a web of deception to confuse his king. I don’t think God will let him get away from you now.”
“Very well. I don’t think Oswy’s judgement will take long to deliver, do you?” Colman shook his head and we went to prepare.
27
Judgement Delivered
As I walked to the chapel for what I expected to be the last session of the Synod of Whitby, I saw a dog - probably from the tented village - sniffing around the kitchen, looking for scraps, or the scent of where they’d been taken. I smiled and fixed the image in my mind, a snuffling scuffling hound, hunting for a scent, eager for the chase. By the time I reached the chapel my expression was serious once more but the hound was locked in place in my mind, a little deceit against any search Ieuan may make.
*
Ieuan’s horse galloped eagerly but he could sense its confusion. He had taken the first one he had found ready - it wasn’t the one he had brought. A fair exchange. More than that, the King of Northumbria, or whoever owned this nag, had got the better of the exchange. It was sturdy but not fast. Not fast enough. Nothing would be fast enough.
He could still See but it was starting to weaken. The Power he had extended on that damned monk! Who cares wherever he lived or died?
Ciaran cared. Damn him. He had to do what he could to save that wretched bag of flesh but it had only been to impress Ciaran. He hoped to catch him unawares and finish him, once and for all. How had he escaped at the Winwaed? He had been as good as dead! How had he hidden these last ten years? What had hidden him? And now he was frustrating him again, preventing him putting into action the plan to cleanse the islands of its foreigners, their ideas and the people. He had the Power! Cromm Cruaich, the God who Walked, gave him the Power, in exchange for… Ieuan didn’t want to think about it, not right now, not in daylight.
He had to use his Healing Gift or the Sight went as well, and he needed the Sight. Needed to know what was going on, who was going to attack him. Where his enemies were. But it was weakening.
He had thought of the price his master demanded, however briefly, and now it was stirring. The hunger was beginning. Small, but was there. Just a tiny, tiny feeling in the smallest corner of the smallest portion of the most remote part of his mind. No, his body. It was physical, not mental. He needed, he felt the need for the Power.
There were so many there, in the tents and huts around the Christian monastery. One would never have been missed. Never. Never never never. There were so many. Like ants. They bred like ants, these people, these invaders, these scum. And in the village. He could have taken one easily, they played in the streets, in the fields, in the yards, in the cesspits. They were just lying around, useless, feeding, wanting more land - our Land! - to feed their brats, their useless brats. One of them, just one would have been all.
How would a Saxon taste? It didn’t matter – Cromm made no distinction, he knew that. Would he receive more Power? What would it be like?
Warm blood. A still pulsing heart.
The hunger rose. The hunger grew. He could go back to the village and take one.
No, don’t be so stupid! You must run, get away from here! He will be pursuing you, hunting you, chasing you. He tried to sense where Ciaran was. All he got was an image of a hound, sniffing around, scenting the ground. He would have his trail soon.
He would not go back. He could not go back. That would be stupid. There would be other villages, other ants.
Must you take another? Must there be more?