For an instant, I wondered if he might suffer an apoplexy on that yard. He grew quite swollen and his men became restless, though I smiled at them still, partly to infuriate their master. I was not surprised when Leofa turned and led them away without another word, leaving just dust rising in their wake.
Wulfric wiped sweat from his face.
‘He’ll make life hard on the farmers and villages there.’
‘Pay for armed guards then, if he does,’ I snapped. ‘This is your labour, Wulfric, not mine. I brought you in because I have other work. It is your concern! All I ask is that you make enough to pay the bills, as they arise. I do not care about the rest, nor how much you pay yourself. Live like a king, for all I care, as long as there is gold and silver for the abbey.’
‘What if he makes trouble for our people?’
‘We have the king’s ear, Wulfric. Our Kentish lord will not dare to interfere in Wessex business.’
Ah me, it hurts to recall some days. If we had raised a hand against Leofa in that yard, he would have been within his rights to defend himself. Wulfric and I would not have lived, and I don’t doubt his men would have rampaged then, looting and raping. For the life of me, I cannot see how I could have done anything differently with what I knew at the time. Yet my desire to see him humbled laid a seed of destruction that makes me want to weep in memory.
I spent a great deal of my time in Winchester and London over the next year, leaving the abbey to rise without my constant supervision. Even with the incomes from new land, I needed to make bonds of friendship with rich lords and churchmen, like any other worthy beggar with his hat in his hand. It was a little more subtle than that, but at times, not very much so.
I missed two letters from Wulfric as they followed me around the country for months. I moved with a small group of servants, taking road or ship up into the north or west into Wales, to hills so beautiful they might well have been Eden. When wealthy families offered funds for my abbey, I would leave the actual coin with moneylenders in York, say, knowing I could redeem the sums in London or Winchester. That is a nation, there, in trust for our institutions.
King Edmund had redeemed and proven himself. Anlaf was dead. York was ours once more. The Witan council were very quiet in those days – abashed for their lack of support of him. He’d nearly lost the north, it was true, but because he had won it back, they would never refuse him again. We had Jews arrive from Flanders and France when they heard how peaceful our land was becoming. They have always been a weathercock worth watching, those fellows.
Edmund’s England began to thrive. I will not say the whole realm, as we heard nothing from Scotland – and no one wanted to poke the wasp nest by sending men so far north. Yet the new king’s reign looked to be a golden age. My abbey was rising from the foundations, built row upon row by hundreds of artisans, trained on the job by our masters and journeymen.
My good mood lasted as long as it took for my brother’s letter to reach my hand, a much-oiled packet by then, though still with his seal. I frowned at the Wessex wyvern, wondering if he was using our father’s old code for trouble.
He was. It seemed Leofa had begun a campaign of intimidation of our people, as I had come to think of them. I could read the same outrage in Wulfric’s descriptions. My brother demanded, not asked, that I take the case to the king.
I read with slow-building anger when I saw how many men Wulfric had hired. Two of them had been beaten almost to death and a third had been found hanged, though no one knew if that was by his own hand, or some other grievance, as it was not far from his own village. Worse news was the crop that had been burned, with tales of foxes running madly through the wheat, fiery brands tied to their tails. It seemed our Kentish friend knew his Book of Judges and the story of Samson.
Beyond the hanged man, the damage was petty enough, though I could see how it had become a misery for those forced to endure it. Wulfric painted a picture of bullying and casual beatings that cried out for justice. I read the letter twice more. There was no evidence – and even if there had been, there would be no punishment. The families of the beaten men might ask the Witan to rule, perhaps to make a payment from the king’s purse in compensation. Such things were common enough then and hardly reached the notice of the noblemen in question. Their factors and servants paid off those who brought suit against them and the world went on.
I was, that night, at a house in Bath. My host was a Venetian merchant who traded in glass and refined metals. I had enjoyed a most stimulating evening with all the thoughts of what new things I could make with his wares. I had already fashioned the clamp for Wulfric’s letters, a device that had him almost weeping on my shoulder – I could see the result before me that day in its clean written lines. I had plans too for both a new harp and a way of conveying the voice from one end of a hall to another, as an echo, but keeping its form.
Instead, I found myself discussing my brother’s letter with my host. The Venetian spoke Latin as well as I did and we had both been drinking wine of such potency, a single glass made my head swim and my sight blur. We had finished a flask of the stuff. I even laid plans for vineyards at Glastonbury, but they refused to grow in a salt marsh, more’s the pity.
By midnight, my host and I had agreed that patience was needed, not rash action. Time itself would scar the wound. In a season, in a year at most, Leofa would be distracted by some fair face, or some other grievance. If he was not, perhaps a private word in the king’s ear would suffice, rather than a formal petition to Edmund or the Witan council.
It was the best course, though unsatisfying. Maturity is putting aside small spites, or understanding that they matter not at all. It has been a struggle for me at times. That night, I would much rather have paid men to kill Leofa in his bed, but I recognised a warlike spirit that surprised me. That drink called brandy made me quite ferocious for a time, though all my bloody dreams faded by dawn, as such things will.
I returned to Glastonbury to discover the monks up in arms and the bridge over the marsh guarded as if we actually were at war. It seemed Leofa had continued his campaign since Wulfric had written to me. Denied an answer, the Kentish thane had set himself on a course of increasing violence and intimidation, so that his men lurked in all our villages. Barns had burned, as well as crops. No young man could walk alone without being chased – and battered if caught. No young woman was safe from their lewd comments and grasping hands. It was an appalling state of affairs.
The abbey was in a state of siege, with monks wearing sword belts or carrying axes as they walked to chapel! We were protected by the marsh, unlike those in the town and the villages. I could hardly believe the sullen anger I saw in men like Caspar and Master Gregory. At their bidding, I went to the infirmary, dreading what I would see.
My first reaction was almost nostalgia, when I saw my sister-in-law Alice, bustling with a pile of clean cloths.
‘Dunstan!’ she said, dropping them all. ‘Wulfric has been trying to find you for weeks. Didn’t you get his letters? Where have you been?’
I went past her, irritated at being questioned so in my own abbey – and at being addressed by Christian name rather than my title. I stopped at the sight of full pallets in the main room, a row of injured men. Aphra was there, painting some yellow muck onto a stitched wound. She looked up only to purse her mouth and glare at me.
It made me shudder to see masons with broken hands, to the point where I wondered if Leofa had heard some rumour of my own past. No, it was just deliberate cruelty, meant to hurt us. Still, I was relieved Master Justin was not among them. We needed him, though even then it was not to build, so much as to plan and design.
I wondered if Leofa had bound himself so tight in rage that he’d forgotten all good sense. He was a fool. Even a cur will bite, if it is tormented long enough.
I realised I could not just bow my head and endure, not that year, not for him. Leofa’s malice was too clear, his casual blows too much like a child. We had ignored him and he
had raised the stakes.
Wulfric came in a few days after my arrival. I’d sent letters to Lady Elflaed, asking her advice, though she was ailing then and I thought she would not survive another winter. That was a grief to come that I dared not touch. She had saved me at my lowest and I’d repaid her with my youth, raising an abbey from the earth with my hands and my dreaming thoughts – and my faith, poor thing that it was.
When Wulfric returned, the cry went up for the abbot and I rushed out of the school, almost tumbling down the steps as I saw he was bloodied. They had broken his arm. I could only imagine the horror of that, though I saw it in his eyes.
Alice came past me, wailing at the sight of him, pressing her hands to each side of his face and pulling him down, so that he could kiss her. It made me think of my Beatrice and I felt a pang of envy. Wulfric was exhausted and in pain, so that he almost fell as he slid from the saddle to a mounting block, steadied by his wife. He cried out as his arm came loose, flopping from where he had held it nestled in his lap.
I looked at him and at the bruised and battered men who had come back. Their scabbards were all empty and they bore the marks of battle.
‘Where is the quarter rent?’ I said.
Wulfric shook his head, made pale by pain.
‘Leofa’s men took it.’
He began to smile as he spoke, despite the pain. I matched him, though Alice looked from one to the other of us in confusion.
‘Have you gone mad? Why are you smiling like fools?’ she said.
I ignored her.
‘Are you sure it was his men, Wulfric? Be careful now, as you answer. You saw fellows you recognised?’
‘I did,’ he said. ‘From a dozen times when they threatened me before. When they did not mind telling me their master. I knew them today.’
My brother was grim with satisfaction and right to be. He turned to answer his wife.
‘I know his men, love. They stole silver from us. We can go to the king now – and, by God, put an end to this.’
‘And what about your arm?’ she said, running her hands over the swollen flesh so that he hissed.
‘Injuries are nothing, love. I’ve said before we can’t go to a magistrate or the Witan like children, saying they hurt us, they chased us. We could prove nothing, until today. The king won’t stand for robbery on his roads. Believe me, Leofa will know he is finished when they bring that silver back to him.’
A thought struck him and he turned to me.
‘We should not delay, Dun. The sooner we can put this grievance before the king, the sooner Leofa is in irons. I’ll ride to London with you right now.’
‘What about your arm?’ I said. I must admit, I admired him then, for his stern manner. It is a strange and wondrous thing watching a brother grow up to be a man. It took long enough, mind.
‘I’ll have Alice splint and wrap it.’
‘I mean, you can’t gallop … with one arm, and that broken.’
I saw his excitement fade to frustration. It was all very well ambling along on a horse that knew its way home, but a three-day ride over rough country was impossible.
‘By sea then,’ I said. ‘We’ll put you in a cart for the coast. It will just have to be fast enough.’
Alice led him away to be splinted and fed. I watched them go, feeling rather sorry that there was no one to look after me in the same way.
24
When Wulfric and I had presented our tale to Edmund, Leofa was summoned to Winchester, to appear no later than Pentecost. He left it as late as he could, of course. Lady Elflaed died while we read our evidence into the records, so that I had to ask for a delay in the proceeding to preside over her funeral.
Edmund could hardly refuse my request. Lady Elflaed had been a great friend to his family and to the city. The king came himself to honour her, though he stood at the back of the cathedral in quiet dignity, leaving as the choir breathed the last verses. The benches were not filled, though they should have been.
Perhaps it did not hurt to remind King Edmund of my supporters, even as one of them fell away. Before the formal hearing with Leofa went on, I took an afternoon to visit the royal archives to read her will. The contents of it still make a shiver run through me. I had known the dear lady was wealthy. Elflaed had owned sheep farms in Somerset and a quarry of good iron ore in West Cumbria. It seemed she’d owned a number of ships and merchant businesses as well, a true fortune that had come to me. Not, you will notice, to the Church, or even to the abbey, but to Dunstan of Wessex himself, to spend as he saw fit.
Inheriting so much could not balance the grief I felt in losing her, but it eased some of the pain. I had taken a vow of poverty, which was awkward. I gave it a great deal of thought over the next few days, as witness after witness came to give evidence to the king on our behalf. I had not resolved the problem to my satisfaction by the time Wulfric and I were called in once more.
I put such thoughts aside as King Edmund entered the petition hall, walking slowly down the aisle to the throne. This was to be a more intimate event than the giving of evidence, with the king’s interested subjects kept away. My brother and I had to be present throughout as accusers, giving oath that every word of it was true. Leofa might have done the same if he’d cared nothing for his immortal soul. Yet he had not challenged our account in a single instance, except to blame his men for their youth and rash action. He claimed no knowledge of any of it. I suspected the king knew very well by then where the truth lay, but I did not know how he would make his judgement.
Edmund had refused to allow my uncle Athelm to administer the oaths of our petition, given his relationship to us, so instead, a bishop I did not know had been summoned. Bishop Oda of Ramsbury was of Danish stock, though he grew to manhood in Wessex. He seemed a solid sort, of much the same build as myself and not one of those clerics who looked as if they’d never gone outside in all their lives.
On that last day, Oda and I bowed to each other when I entered, a courtesy between professionals. Wulfric leaned over to whisper something as I seated myself. I shook my head in answer, feeling the dignity of the moment and the king’s presence strongly.
Edmund had found a new champion by then, a fellow who would have loomed over old Egill Skiallgrimmson. I’d love to have watched them fight bare-handed, mind. It would have been a rare bout. This John Wyatt was enormous and brutal, so he served King Edmund well enough. Even scornful, angry bastards like Leofa were respectful with Wyatt’s gaze on them.
I felt Wulfric turn his head at the sounds of doors cracked open behind us. I kept my gaze forward, though I heard every step Leofa made as he came in. No one walked at his side, as he was only accused and no prisoner. Yet I felt his glare pass over me like the heat of an oven. He had listened to our complaint with no expression showing at all, beyond a slight boredom. It occurred to me that if we had failed to convince King Edmund, if Leofa was allowed to go free from that place, Wulfric was in real danger. As I considered the bullish quality of the man who knelt before the king as a penitent, I considered that I might be in danger as well.
Bishop Oda blessed the proceedings. He had a good voice, I noted, very rich in tone. We knelt and said the Pater Noster, then Wulfric and I rose to hear the king rule. Leofa remained on his knees, waiting for judgement with his head bowed. Oda finished with the sign of the cross cut in the air to us all.
Edmund let the silence swell. I saw his breath plume before him, showing the coldness of the air. When he spoke, it was without rising from his seat.
‘My lord Leofa, Abbot Dunstan, Reeve Wulfric of Glastonbury, I have summoned you to this place to hear my judgement on this matter of disputed land.’
I hid a wince at ‘disputed’, feeling my stomach drop away and hoping it was not a prediction that things would not go well. I was only too aware that Edmund had fought alongside this thane at Brunanburh. One solution would be to give back the land to his friend. Leofa would be satisfied – and gloat at a victory. I wondered how long it would be b
efore some rough fellows came in the night for Wulfric and me after that.
‘I have heard testimony under oath, of violence, of destruction and of theft. It grieves me that men I respect could find no way of settling a dispute without bringing it to me. So I will rule on it. Dunstan, see my clerk. Sign over to me that portion of the land that Leofa claims. I will find an equivalent for you, of equal worth.’
My heart sank, though I bowed my head and did not dare look at Leofa.
‘Thank you, Your Highness,’ I said.
‘And you, Leofa? Your men stole rents and broke the arm of an abbot’s reeve.’
‘I have had them punished, Your Highness. And I have offered to return the sil—’
‘Do not interrupt me, sir!’ Edmund roared at him.
Leofa dipped his head like a whipped cur, as well he might, with John Wyatt bestirring himself at the king’s side.
‘I cannot leave the terms of your punishment to you, Leofa. In your foolishness, you have brought my judgement upon you – and made sure that hundreds of my subjects are waiting to see if you are set free, if their hurts and losses will be ignored by their king. It cannot be so, Leofa.’ He paused and took a deep breath before speaking again. ‘Therefore, you are, by this judgement, banished from the realm and my kingdom for the period of five years, not to enter home or crown port, whether in storm or fair weather. I will give you six days to see to your affairs, then I will consider you oathbreaker if you are still in England. That is my judgement – and you have brought this on yourself in your childish rule. I thought better of you. Of you all.’
I gaped at that last part, feeling myself included. Neither Wulfric nor I had wanted to petition the king! We’d wanted to be left in peace. I half-wished I’d hired men to waylay Leofa on the way to his summons, but it was hard to keep such things from coming out. Tongues do wag and secrets spill.
Leofa bowed as Edmund rose and left. I was pleased to see the king’s champion remained behind, as I was practically alone with a man banished from the realm. Wulfric and I could hardly have defended ourselves, if Leofa had run wild. It occurred to me to pour a little oil on those waters while I had the chance.