Chapter Six - The Horn
What’s going on, Anna?” Ellette asked. “What’s wrong with my father? He seems so strange, like he’s in some kind of daze. ”
The children had retreated from the villa, finding a quiet glade in the woods to sit and talk.
“I don’t know,” Anna replied.
Ellette plucked a stem of grass and stuck it between her teeth. “Who is this Kendra woman do you suppose, and how did she know about the horn?”
“Yes,” Lar frowned, “and what did she say to Father to persuade him just moments after she arrived to take the men out to dig in the villa, and even worse, up at Wall,” he shivered.
“I’ve never been to Wall,” Ellette said. “What’s wrong with it?”
“You must have heard the stories.”
Ellette, always ready to hear them again, grinned at him. “Remind me.”
Lar pushed his back against a tree and lowered his voice trying to sound like Raedann. “It’s haunted by the restless spirits of a people long dead. It was a settlement built by the Romans at the junction of two of their great roads centuries ago, long before we Saxons came here. The legions had a fort there, but it’s in ruins now, just like the mouldy old villa outside Scenestane. It was our ancestors who called the town ‘Wall’, the Romans had another name for it ... but I can’t remember it ...” he stumbled to a halt.
“Letocetum was the name,” Wilburh said, looking pleased with himself, but the only response this got from Lar was a scowl at the interruption.
“Anyway, according to the stories it was already crumbling when our folk first came from across the sea and built the village eighty years ago. Our great-grandfathers built their houses of wood and thatch, but Wall, like the villa, was made of cold stone. It’s heavy and hard and lots of the Romans’ slaves died working with it – or so Raedann says. It is probably they who haunt it now, buried beneath it where they fell.”
“I heard another story,” Wilburh interrupted again, “that there was a battle near Wall a hundred years ago between the first Saxons and the Welsh and all the bodies were buried there or nearby in that old Roman cemetery. It is their ghosts who come out at night, not the slaves.”
Lar did not seem impressed. “Maybe. But whatever the story, our people have always kept far away from the place ... well, until today that is. That’s why no Saxons live there and they are building that new town up at Lyccidfelth.
“So why are they going there now?” Ellette asked in a small voice.
No one could answer.
“What about the horn? How did Kendra know it was here?” Hild wondered out loud.
“Yes and why does she want it? What does it do that makes her so keen to find it?” Wilburh commented.
“Maybe it does nothing, but she has heard of it and knows it is worth a lot,” Lar suggested with a sideways glance at the younger boy.
Wilburh sighed, “Do you really think she is after it just because it is made of gold? Surely you know it has magical powers? We all heard it speak - say that word, ‘chosen’ - whatever that meant.”
“And don’t forget that odd little dwarf, Gurthrunn,” said Anna. “Raedann says they sense magical items and there he was, sniffing around the hut the day after he saw me with the horn at the ford.”
“Raedann might tell us more if we showed him the horn,” Hild said.
“He might, but he is away at the moment,” Anna pointed out.
“Well ... we could try and speak to Iden. He might know something about all this,” Wilburh suggested. “He does not use magic himself, but I learnt some of what I can do from his scrolls and he knows more about the old stories than anyone else. Maybe he would know what the horn is. I did not see him leaving the village with the others. I think he must still be in the temple.”
Anna nodded. She could not recall seeing the priest of Woden leave his temple and join her father and the other men, so maybe Wilburh was right. She jumped up and stood looking down at them, “Very well, let’s go. But let’s be careful. With everyone acting so odd I don’t know who to trust.”
“You can trust Iden. He’s a bit stuffy, but he is a good man. He won’t harm us,” Wilburh said.
The children walked down out of the woods and through the orchard into the village. All was quiet. The men were away digging in the Roman ruins; the women were at first nowhere to be seen, but as they passed the headman’s hall Anna glanced inside and her jaw dropped at what she saw.
All the women in the village, along with the youngest children, were sitting in a circle around the headman’s high-backed chair – her father’s chair. Anna stifled a shout of outrage when she saw Kendra sitting in it as if she were the ruler of the village and not Nerian. What was even more odd was that the village women did not seem to mind. At any other time they would have taken great offence to a stranger assuming such authority and taking such liberties. But not on this day. They were quiet and attentive and just sat gazing up at Kendra with what looked like adoration - as if she were ... well, as if she were a goddess!
“Look!” Anna hissed. The others all looked inside and gasped.
Perhaps feeling the children’s shocked gaze upon her, Kendra glanced up and saw Anna. Her expression was neither welcoming nor angry, it was simply disinterested, as if Anna and her companions were of no importance. After a moment, the beautiful woman looked away and continued to stare down at her ring of admirers.
Mystified, the children hurried away, seeing no one else as they crossed the green to the wooded hill that stood at the east side of the village. A gloomy path led between the overhanging ancient oaks, elms and beeches and climbed up the gentle slope to emerge on the hill top. Here, in a sacred grove, stood the little temple where the villagers worshipped the gods. When they reached the entrance they hesitated outside. Ellette put an ear to the door.
“Is he in there?” Anna asked.
“I can’t hear anything, let me check,” her friend answered and scuttled around the corner of the temple. Here there was a hidden opening in the wall. A small crack had appeared there - a weakness in the wattle and daub. The children had discovered it when they had been sitting at the rear of the temple during one of Iden’s long and boring sermons. Picking at it, Ellette had found that she could push the gap wider from the inside or the outside, making it just big enough to squeeze through. Once, whilst all the grownups’ eyes were closed in prayer, the five of them had used it to escape the sermon and go fishing! None of the villagers had yet discovered it and the children treated it as their own secret escape route – or had until recently, but now, apart from Ellette they were all too big.
The little girl pushed at the wall and a small section creaked slightly as it opened. She peeped through the gap then ran back to the others. “He is in there all right,” she said in a loud whisper.
They peered through the doorway into the gloomy interior of the temple. As their eyes got used to the darkness inside, they could make out the figure of Iden sitting at the far end. He was bent over a table piled with scrolls, one of which he was reading by the light of the single beeswax candle that stood on the altar beside him. These holy scrolls were covered in runes that recorded the tales of the gods. Only Iden could read them fully, for apart from Wilburh, no one else in the village understood the runic symbols.
“Iden?” Wilburh called, entering the room first. The old man did not look up. As they approached they could hear him muttering, but could not make out the words.
“Iden?” Anna said, but again the priest did not answer.
“Lies ... they are all lies,” he muttered, loud enough now to be heard.
“What are lies?” Wilburh asked, but still the old man would not look at them.
“The gods are false, the holy writings are corrupt, they mention nothing of Kendra,” he continued. “They lie. Lie!” Now his voice was growing excited and angry at the same time. “All lies!” he shouted again and gathering up the scrolls thrust them towards the candle flame.
r /> “Iden!” Wilburh cried and seized the priest by the sleeve of his tunic, pulling his arm away from the flames. Iden glared at his novice.
“Let me go Wilburh. I must burn the false writings.”
The two were struggling now. The boy was pulling the man’s arm away from the flame, desperate to save the scrolls. The priest, older but more frail, fought back. Suddenly Wilburh’s grip slipped. He let go of Iden’s sleeve and with a cry tumbled back. At the same time the scrolls flew out of Iden’s hands, rose high in the air and then flapped and floated back down to earth.
The old man watched them fall and made no effort to stop them. Anna bent forward to scoop them up and as she did so, the horn tumbled out of her pouch and rolled onto the ground near Iden’s feet.
The priest looked down, saw the horn and lunged for it, but Anna was faster. Now, ignoring the scrolls, she retrieved the treasure and backed off with it cradled in her arms.
“Girl ... give me that!” Iden commanded with a gesture at the horn.
“Why? I found it. It’s mine,” she refused, with a shake of her head.
“Do not be a silly girl. Do as I say!” Iden demanded as he came towards her holding out his arms.
“I am not a silly girl, Iden,” Anna said, her voice dangerous now.
“It is not yours, it is Kendra’s. It belongs to her and I must give it back to her!”
The priest intoned the words as if he were reciting a prayer or repeating by rote something he had been told. He took a step forward and his foot landed on one of the scrolls, crushing it under his sole.
Wilburh’s face went pale. “Iden, you taught me to respect the writings. You are damaging one of the scrolls.” He reached down to pull the papers out from under the priest’s foot.
Iden gave a dismissive glance downwards. “They don’t matter. They are false. Woden, Thunor, Freya, Tiw - all of them are impostors. Only Kendra is a goddess. Only her - and he that she serves.”
Wilburh shook his head. “Iden, think what you are saying. You are our priest. You serve the Aesir. The gods speak through you.”
Iden snarled. “The gods only lie! Now give it to me!” He lunged towards Anna, his face a mask of rage. She backed off towards the door, staring in amazement at the priest. She could never recall the old man losing his temper. He was set in his ways, stuffy and a bit boring, but not violent. Yet somehow the kindness was gone and all that was left was anger. Whatever strangeness was going on in Scenestane, it was affecting Iden as well.
The other children were just as confused. Wilburh was still on his knees, having retrieved the sacred scrolls, and was now staring up at his master in bewilderment. Lar was standing beside Anna, his hands held out to Iden, trying to keep him away, but not sure that he should lay a hand on a priest. Hild and Ellette had backed off right out of the temple and peered fearfully around the door frame. All of them seemed frozen by the old man’s transformation.
“We have to go!” Anna shouted to the others. “Wilburh, leave the scrolls!”
Her words seemed to break the spell and with one look at her, they took to their heels and made for the door, Wilburh, with a regretful sigh, pushing the scrolls carefully under a bench where they would not be trampled.
“Come back here!” Iden yelled after them. “Give me Kendra’s horn. Give it to me!” he bellowed as he burst out through the door into the sacred grove.