* * * * *
Queen Cynethryth was alone in her chamber when there came a scratching at the door. She swept across the rush-strewn floor and flung it open to reveal two guards holding between them a bedraggled figure.
‘What is this?’ she asked haughtily. The two men looked awkward.
‘Begging your pardon, madam, my lady,’ coughed the older guard. ‘But this man appeared at the gates at sunset. Said he’s your servant.’
‘Captain of the guard told us to bring him here,’ added the other guard.
‘Sorry if we’re intruding,’ added the first.
Cynethryth gave the figure a second glance. He seized it by its forelock and titled its head back. It was Grimbert.
‘Ugly bastard,’ the younger guard said. ‘Uh, begging your pardon, my lady.’
‘Shall we take this vagrant away, then, my lady?’ asked the older guard. She was silent for a second, then looked up.
‘No,’ she replied. ‘Your captain is quite right. This man is my servant. Carry him in, and put him in that chair.’
Once they had left the room, the queen walked over to the silent man. She slapped his face, hard.
‘Wake up, wake up,’ she hissed. ‘Why are you here, alone? What has happened?’
Grimbert’s eyes flickered open, and intelligence slowly seeped back into his face. His eyes widened.
‘My lady!’ he said. ‘Is it you?
Cynethryth put her hands on her hips.
‘Of course it’s me,’ she said. ‘Who else would take you in?’ She stood back. ‘What has happened to you? What has happened to our plan?’
Grimbert shook his head despairingly.
‘Come to nothing,’ he said. ‘We are defeated.’ His head drooped.
‘Defeated?’ demanded Cynethryth. ‘What of the dragon?’
‘Slain,’ replied Grimbert.
‘Killed?’ Cynethryth glared down at him. ‘But how? Puck had the sword!’
‘Oswald regained it,’ Grimbert replied. ‘He killed the dragon, and it destroyed the cavern. I escaped only by fleeing deeper into the goblin kingdom, without Puck’s protection.’ His eyes grew wider, as he seemed to gaze beyond the queen, into vast vistas of horror.
‘Oswald?’ Cynethryth hissed. ‘Oswald? He has defeated us?’
Grimbert nodded. Cynethryth turned to stare fixedly into space.
‘The kingdom will remain in the bungling hands of my fool husband! My chances of supremacy - gone!
‘But Oswald will pay,’ she vowed to herself. ‘Oh yes, Oswald will pay.’
EPILOGUE
The chapel doors slammed open, and the noise cut harshly through the sweet voices of the assembled monks and nuns. As one, they turned to see a savage, heathen figure silhouetted in the doorway. Brandishing an axe, it advanced.
Two more figures followed it on either side, one brandishing a drawn sword; the other, an archer, was training an arrow on the assembled ecclesiastics.
The abbot rushed forward.
‘What is this?’ he demanded, and immediately answered his own question: ‘It is an outrage!’ The three men halted in the centre of the nave and surveyed the nuns and monks.
‘Out!’ the abbot bellowed, when his words had no effect. He halted, and his eyes narrowed as he studied the three figures. ‘I remember you...’ he said slowly, scratching absently at his crotch.
Suddenly, one of the nuns broke from her fellows, and ran forward. The abbot turned at the flash of movement.
‘No, Sister Godiva!’ he cried. ‘Stay back!’ The nun ignored him, and flung her arms around the swordsman.
‘Oswald!’ she said happily. ‘Oswald!’
‘I’ve come back for you,’ Oswald replied, grinning down at Godiva. He reached forward, and slipped back her wimple. Her long blonde tresses flooded down over her sombre kirtle.
The abbot strode forward.
‘You shall not take her,’ he grated. ‘She belongs to the Church – to me!’
‘Keep him away from me,’ Godiva said, staring hatefully at the man. ‘Keep him away!’
‘Come, Godiva!’ Oswald said. ‘Let us leave!’ He grabbed her hand, and together they ran through the arch, out into the sunlight beyond.
Edwin glanced at Bork, who was looking around the nave with a speculative expression.
‘Hurry, heathen,’ he said. ‘No time for looting.’
‘You’ll pay for this!’ the abbot shouted impotently as they strode from the chapel. ‘I know you now, Edwin the Lawless! Your name is known to us, and one day you will suffer for your crimes - in this world or the next!’
But his threats fell on deaf ears.
Outside there were five horses, two mounted; a young woman on one, an ageing priest on the other. Godiva’s gaze flickered from them to the two robbers.
‘Who are your friends, Oswald?’ she murmured. The thane leapt up onto his steed, then reached down and pulled her up behind him.
‘I’ll introduce you later,’ he replied. ‘Right now, we need to get riding.’
The Dane and the thief mounted their own horses, and together the riders trotted from the abbey courtyard.
Soon Stow was far behind them, and they were cantering down the open highway. Godiva pressed her cheek against her lover’s muscular back.
‘Where to now?’ she shouted over the whistle of the wind.
‘Eastwards,’ he replied, ‘to East Anglia - and to freedom!’
They rode on.
* * * * *
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Gavin Chappell was born in northern England and lives near Liverpool. After studying English at the University of Wales, he has since worked variously as a business analyst and a college lecturer. He is the author of numerous short stories, articles, poems and several books.
Already published:
Celtic Dawn
Wirral Smugglers, Wreckers and Pirates
In production:
The Work of Wayland
The Bones of Wayland
Forger of the Runeblade
Bearer of the Runeblade
Wielder of the Runeblade
The Doom of the Norns
Going Underground and Other Stories
Street Fighting Years
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