Time of the Beast (22 page)

I entered the barn to find Cadroc sitting inside, staring despondently into the flame of a rush candle, then went to sit beside him, and said:

‘What are your feelings about Cynewulf? His mind is clearly unsound. Can we be sure of him? Are you content to let him join us?’

‘I cannot deny him!’ he answered, looking up at me sharply. ‘No man alive could have greater right or cause to stand with me. And yet his story…’ his voice trailed back into melancholy silence. I nodded, as I saw it was not my place to dispute with him in this. So I went on:

‘It is clear to me how conflicted you have become. That is something I might never have expected to see in you.’

‘What if I have been wrong?’ he said suddenly in an agonised tone, his eyes gaping as they reflected the light of the dancing yellow flame. ‘All these years I have believed… but what if I have been wrong and my mission is not God’s will but only my wicked pride and conceit? My own reckless presumption – a deception of the Devil!’

‘You have not been wrong,’ I told him, no doubt seeking to convince myself as much as Cadroc. ‘Surely it is God’s intention that we should sometimes come to question our faith? This is what makes the triumph of faith more glorious. But we must hold fast to our beliefs. Long ago inside that cave you witnessed the power of God bring down destruction on His enemies – whether they were demons or men it does not matter. Remember also that it is your object in this mission to bring Christian truth to these pagans and save their foolish souls. How can this be other than God’s will?’

It appeared that my words had touched him, for something seemed to gather and strengthen within him, while a spark of his old determination and zeal returned into his eyes even as he looked at me.

‘Of course you are right,’ he agreed. ‘I will reflect on what you have said. You have helped to reassure me, Brother. This is not the time to lose heart.’ Then he gazed deep into my eyes and smiled. ‘I always supposed God sent you to me for a purpose.’

Now it was I who sought to find comfort in his words. I spent a restless night, but it passed without disturbance, and in the morning I was happy to leave that miserable village. But I was encouraged as we departed to see that Cadroc appeared much restored to his normal resolute self, as I saw how deeply my own state of mind had come to depend upon his. As we distanced ourselves from Sceaf’s ford, I looked about to see that Cynewulf had silently reappeared to walk at our side. And so our journey continued.

It was later in the day that there crept over Cynewulf an air of uneasy alertness as he began to cast looks about the silent stretches of empty fens surrounding us.

‘There is a strong sense in me that we are watched,’ he said quietly. ‘That we do not walk here alone.’ His words at first did not worry me unduly. I had known this same feeling ever since I set out onto the marshes and supposed it to be only a natural deception of the mind in a place so bleak and lonely. But Cynewulf was accustomed to travelling in these Fenlands, and so I began to wonder if it might be foolish to disregard his concern. Then he said to Cadroc: ‘Our enemy lies low for now. But soon the time will come. Then your spells will defeat him, and together we will send him into the death-lands forever.’

Now Cadroc turned to Aelfric and said:

‘Where is it we are headed?’

‘To my home,’ Aelfric replied. ‘Tonight we stay with my own people and will receive warm welcome.’

‘Are there other settlements along the way that we must visit?’ Cadroc asked.

‘There is one,’ Aelfric said. ‘Local men call it the Isle of the Dead. Do not let its name alarm you. It is called so after the many old death mounds which stand thereabouts.’ He fell silent for several moments before he added: ‘It is the place where I was born.’

‘Aelfric,’ I said, ‘you should not go there. There are bad memories for you…’

‘I must go,’ he answered. ‘Others who are kin to me live there now, and their welfare is my duty. The marshes around the island are most dangerous, even to those who know them if mists should come. You must not attempt the journey without me to guide you. Do not worry. It will be well for me.’

The atmosphere grew stifling as the day progressed, while the grey monotony of the way ahead appeared to me like a hidden pathway deep into a forgotten world – to the last earthly refuge of something old and terrible which existed here far beyond the light of God. As we passed finally into the dark heart of this land, my feelings fell again into a deep and powerful imagining that it was the ancient ways that still held sway here, and that now it was the Fates which spun their unseen strands to encompass us and drive our steps ineluctably onward into the lost domain of our enemy – the Great Spirit of the pagans, which had been revered since time immemorial as a god in the hearts of my people, but was now cast down to become something vengeful and monstrous: a fallen angel transformed into a malevolent devil. Soon the veil would be torn aside, and it would come in some frightful form to face us – we who came in the name of the Church to invade its stronghold – in a final clash between light and darkness. These images came to haunt my mind, and my anxiety began to grow as I now became slowly aware of distant sounds which called out across the wetlands. Remote, chilling cries drifted almost imperceptibly upon the air and seemed to resonate in some deep and barely conscious part of me, like a voice that whispered secretly into the farthest reaches of my soul. My nerves grew taut as gradually this awareness increased. Until Aelfric suddenly pointed into the distance and announced:

‘We are approaching the island. You must follow close behind me as we draw near and not stray from my path. There are many hidden mud pools, very deep. We must tread with great care.’

To our west, perhaps half a league away, and enveloped by a grey haze of thin mist, lay the Isle of the Dead. As we drew closer to it, the faraway sound slowly gained in clarity, until at last I knew what it was I heard. It was a great gathering of cawing crows. Cynewulf gasped out as he too realised this, and I turned to see that his face had grown ashen.

‘Something is wrong here!’ Aelfric cried, abandoning his caution and beginning to run across the waterlogged ground. We hurried to keep pace with him, all of us following in his footsteps, our feet sinking into the mud as the low, creeping mist began to seep about us. Now I saw the island more clearly ahead, a wide circle of land dotted with trees which loomed eerily against the heavy sky. Our path took us past several small islets where stood some of those earthen burial mounds which gave the place its name. Then I saw the crows: the ominous sight of numerous birds as they sat on the claw-like branches of the trees. But I saw no other signs of life.

In the middle of the island stood several buildings: dwellings and outhouses. In his desperation Aelfric rushed straight to the door of the largest of these, then stopped outside, caution at once overtaking him. Cadroc and I came to stand beside him, and Cadroc drew his sword while Aelfric raised his spear, as we then became aware that a strange, rank odour permeated the air. Then there came a sound: a faint but distinct scratching or scuffling noise from inside. We stood tense as Aelfric sprang forward to fling open the door.

From the dimness within there was an instant stirring of frenzied motion, and my heart squirmed then seemed about to burst as a thing of unutterable horror, scrambling and shapeless, rose up at me in a waft of stinking foulness that felt half solid as it smothered and clung to me. For a moment my senses nearly failed as my consciousness was assailed by a screaming mass of living fury amidst a wild flurry of clawing blackness. An enraged scream split the air, then I heard my own voice shriek out in my dread, echoing up into the louring sky.

At last my stunned mind began to make sense of this erupting chaos. From out of the hut there came at us a furious swarm of flying insects, and the thrashing wings of crows as they launched themselves towards us and out through the door. Inside the air was clogged with black clouds of flies, while more of the filthy birds flapped away to escape through a rear door which hung half open on shattered hinges. The cry had come from Aelfric as he looked inside, and as my sight grew clear I saw there in the gloom a vision of ultimate monstrosity. Propped up into sitting positions around the walls, and placed in a circle around the central hearth in what was like the insane replication of a living scene, were the mangled and gore soaked corpses of an entire family – men, women and children. The decaying flesh on their faces was pecked bloody and raw, and their eyeholes gaped black and empty, picked clean by the scavenging birds. I stood and stared blankly as I felt bile burning in my throat, but I could not move, for I was simply numb with disbelief. Once more the Isle of the Dead had become a place true to its name.

Aelfric reeled away while Cadroc staggered backwards and cried out:

‘By God and all the saints, this is a sacrilege no man could conceive. A diseased mockery of hearth and home and fellowship.
It is a vile desecration of life itself!’

And so it was. I could never have imagined anything like this – this foul inversion of all that was natural and good. It was like a deed of deranged hatred against the whole of humankind. I stumbled away from it, then saw that Cynewulf stood motionless in the shadows nearby, his body rigid as he gazed transfixed at the obscenity in the hut. All around us I felt the sinister eyes of the roosting crows, like the omni-present stare of a single pervading consciousness. Aelfric had fallen to the ground, and I saw that grief and horror were rendering him overcome and insensible.

‘I know what we must do!’ Cadroc called out to me, his eyes becoming almost crazed. ‘This charnel house must be burned to the ground. Let purifying flame destroy and obliterate it totally.’

His words roused us both to something like madness: an outraged and unthinking need simply to act. We broke into the nearby shelters, ripping out timber and straw, then Cadroc struck together flint and iron to raise sparks which grew into flame. In one of the huts we discovered a supply of torches, and as our bonfire rose we took and lighted some of these, and ran into the surrounding structures, setting fire to wood and thatch. Finally Cadroc strode to the main hut to hurl a torch in among the ravaged corpses, and the polluted air ignited suddenly as the roof burst into flames.

The fire quickly grew and spread until soon the whole settlement was a roaring inferno. Cadroc and I watched in silence as it burned, and as I stood a dull feeling came over me, my mind seeming once more to become lost within a sense of creeping unreality. For in the marshes all around us, thick patches of mist were rising as the twilight began to fall, and I realised now that our path away from the island would not be safe until morning. We were trapped here for the night, and soon the darkness would come.

I knelt beside Aelfric, who lay curled up and motionless on the grass, then I spoke his name and placed my hand on his arm, as if to awaken him from his stupor. Slowly he looked up at me, but he was deep in a state of shock, his eyes blank and empty as he began to gasp and tremble, sinking beyond my reach into the darkest places of his mind before he whispered:

‘Death is here. All are lost. I cannot help them!’ It appeared to me as if the gruesome scenes of slaughter and fire on this island had cast his mind back into the terrors of his childhood, those memories rising to claw him down and devastate him. Then a frightful thought came to me. Our wild impulse to burn the blasphemy in the hut had been uncontrollable, but now I saw how the fire would have served as a beacon for many miles throughout these flatlands. If our enemy were out there – he would have seen. Now Cadroc lit a fresh torch and turned from the blaze, his voice growing harsh as he called out:

‘I cannot delay. My work must begin.’ He strode away, and unthinking I rose to follow him, drawn by his firm look of purpose. ‘Soon the darkness will rise!’ he thundered. ‘I feel it is coming. But mine is the knowledge and the power to defeat it.
To drive it back!
’

He led me to where the land bordered the marsh, standing his torch upright in the ground and driving its shaft down into the earth. Then he took out his book of arcane rites, along with a small goatskin pouch tied with a cord. From this he emptied a collection of tiny objects, and I saw that they were fragments of bone and human teeth. ‘Relics of the saints,’ he said to me. ‘Objects of great holiness and power.’ Under his breath he began to utter chants in Latin, which then lapsed into Celtic as he placed these things on the bank in a circular pattern around the torch, so that its light spread out to fill the circle as Cadroc came finally to stand inside it, while he clutched fiercely at the metal cross on his breast. Next he held up the book in both hands, as he threw back his head and cried out: ‘Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil! With the Lord at my side I do not fear. I shall overcome… I shall…’ He fell to his knees, and his body began to shake violently as his eyes rolled back into his head until I could see only the whites of them. His voice was gabbling now, spittle flying from his lips as he croaked out more words from the psalms. ‘I am filled with burning… and without strength in my flesh… I am utterly spent and overcome… I groan at the tumult in my heart… O God! Do not forsake me. The darkness rises… it comes for me. Do not let it prevail against me!’

I looked upon these ravings with growing horror, as I realised that what at first had seemed to be religious fervour was in truth a mounting hysteria – that Cadroc’s great crisis of faith had returned to reach its breaking point, and in this desperate hour of trial he had come to doubt both himself and God. He appeared to be on the very brink of insanity. I knew then that what he fought here was not the darkness outside, but truly a great conflict within himself: a struggle against a spiralling fear and madness in his own soul. It was a condition horribly familiar to me, yet in him it was suddenly more violent and extreme than anything I could have imagined. A sense of hopelessness now desolated me, as I knew that without Cadroc we were surely lost.