The Church and the Devils 10

Over the last few days, Aelfleda had often thought that she should take Godric into the woods and, near where Andred’s blood had soaked into the earth, make him give himself to her. When she imagined it, she saw the birds looking down on them with questioning heads, and the new leaves nodding quickly and slowly. His face would be red and his hands would shift and shift. As much as she desired it, she knew she would not, not yet. It was not the sin itself that troubled her, but the spirit that urged her to do it. Poor Godric. His face always betrayed the pain he felt when she made him act out Andred’s death. To make him fill with lust close to where Andred died would be cruel.
But she felt a thrill of the pleasure of it as she pulled her long skirts through the long grass. She was searching for flowering maddder to dig up. The roots would dye red a dress that Streamas’ wife had made for Erderinca. The widow had fouled all those that she had. There was also a thrill of being out of the village, and not even the memory Father Owain’s stern tones or the whispering of “Rheda, Rheda” in the grass could drive it away.
It was hard now to remember the thought that had driven her to Godric like this. Now that Swefrith and Aethelsunne worked shoulder to shoulder bringing stones and more stones from the city, the thoughts of the village had wandered away from Andred. Only the women and the old seemed to remember Erderinca. She pushed a low branch that reached out in front of her to one side. As she let it go it sprang back behind her with unexpected savagery. What did she want from Godric?
She had been surprised by the ease of kissing him. But that was not it. She wondered what to believe about him. It was his pick in the goats’ pen. But the arms that had struck thin air had not seemed so brutal as to be able to split Andred’s flesh. And he believed in what he had seen in the city.
There! She bent down to grasp the thin hard stem beneath the dull red colour. She paused and saw the tiny weave that made up the petals. It grew paler towards the centre. With her fingers and the piece of wood she had brought from her hut, she dug the roots out of the soft ground. The tearing noise as they came out of the earth made her remember another time when she had seen the colour of the dye – hanging in threads on broken twigs in the woods. She bent her nose to the blossom and breathed in the scent of the surrounding forest.
She remembered Godric telling men how to go about building the church. Stanmode and Upheahric and others had gone to the new abbey, with, it seemed, about half the village’s sheep and goats, to trade – so they had said, though she wondered what everyone was going to eat over the hungry summer – and to bring back clay and other things to make mortar. They had gone, and Godric had become himself again, at least on the site where the church was to be built. When he was with her he was a weaker man, prey to the fears she gave him, but with the church he could be as he had been.
When he had come to her one night, she had felt the thrill of lust she felt again today and for the first time known it for what it was. Yet he had no knownt, and his hands had rubbed together without joy.
“What is it you want me to do?” he asked despairingly.
It was better for him not to know that. She did not kiss him.
The next day, when Father Owain had told them all what Swefrith had done and not done, and Aethelsunne had sworn for Leofa’s brother and Swefrith been forgiven and had sworn to do his all for the church, and men had stood in a circle round him as though he had some foul sickness, and Father Owain had gone about the village all day with eyes that were fire-embers, she had reminded him that he had been awake early on the morning that Andred had died.
He had looked at her for a long time. “So was Stanmode,” he said.
She had kissed him.
Later, he told her about the cloak found in the river that Stanmode had thrown back. “What colour was it?”
It was all faded, he said.
“Not this colour?” She had reached into her bosom, his eyes following the movements of her hand under the cloth. She showed him the madder-red threads.
“It had been all faded.”
Everywhere she looked there were madder plants. Every few steps she bent and dug out more roots. Her other hand was growing full, but it would be a shame not to get enough. Erderinca should not have to have a poor dress.
The smell of the freshness of the forest made her smile. The birds sang noisily over her head. She picked some more of the flowers to go with the roots.
The village was beginning to forget Andred. As it did so, she had begun to forget other things, like the excitement she’d felt when she heard Father Owain’s words, or at the memory of the midsummer festival, or even the fear of following Andred into the city. Perhaps the only place she could feel anything like that now was sinfully, in Godric’s arms. But she did not want to believe that.
Aethelsunne, for all his eager questions, had discovered nothing. Even he thought only about the church, when he was not with Swefrith or Leofa. He and Father Owain had spoken little since the day that Swefrith had been freed from suspicion.
That was enough roots. She began to make her way back to the village.

Terrible dreams he’d had lately. Waking at night with a parched throat, he’d been unable to call out for mercy and he would lie in the smoky dark with sweat soaking into the blankets. In the morning, his fears would have faded and he would be able to see his dreams for the phantoms they really were. He would smile and they would be overcome. He would be Father Owain again. A cold shudder shook his shoulders and his finger slipped too quickly down the words on the vellum. He had lost his place.
In all honesty, his back hurt him when he sat too long reading like this. But if it was to be done, only he could do it. All Ediscum’s sins were to ride on his hurting back. He would, if he could, bear the blame and then, if he were to die, his name would be blessed by the newly blessed village.
He ran a hand over his face. Such thoughts were the product of too long hunched up in this little place, even with the Word of the Lord spread out before him. And yes, yes if he could take the sins of the village on himself as well as his own – though his own were great enough, Dear Lord! – then all would be well… Perhaps he would lie in the centre of the church, his body uncorrupted like Saint Ninian’s, venerated, a relic by which men would measure themselves and be more pure. Purity of men was what he desired.
It wouldn’t be gained while he sat here in the fire’s smoky light. He wasn’t far from where he had dreamed so impurely during the night. He stood suddenly, knocking the stool from under him so that it fell over. The bright centre of his shaved head scratched against the underside of his roof. He was eager to be outside, so eager that he let the stool lie and left the vellum with its broad ink strokes pinioned to the table.
Once outside, his eyes struggled to see because the brightness under the clouds. Truly, the Lord made light, and it was good, he thought to himself. But his pious impulse quickly shrank as he saw a figure approach through a gaggle of children. Her left hand was dripping earth and red.
“Good day to you, Father Owain,” Then she was trying to pass him by, her head bowed.
He struggled to find his voice, which had been wrapped up in his holy thoughts. “Aelfleda.”
“Yes Father? Is there something you need?” Her eyes were wary. He remembered seeing such looks when he had first brought the Word to simple peoples. As he had then, he moved slowly forwards with a smile and did not look at what she had in her hands.
“It’s not quite that, Aelfleda,” He spoke quietly, keeping his voice just loud enough to be heard over the children’s voices and the dog’s yapping. He began to move round her, still wearing his soft smile. She turned with him, her face set in lines. “It’s simply that I haven’t seen you at our evening prayers for a while. Have you been busy with other things?”
“Yes, Father,” She didn’t flinch. He felt a pang for the days when his words made her open-mouthed and flushed, wanting more from him. Then, her soul had been pure. He wondered what she had been doing. He hoped it was nothing to do with this Andred business. It had not been much spoken of since Aethelsunne had sworn for Swefrith, but it still annoyed him to think of it. But he wouldn’t press her.
“Well, I hope to see you there tonight.”
“Perhaps, Father,” She lifted the red flowers that he now saw she held in her hand alongside earth-smeared roots. Madder, he thought. “It’s a dress for Erderinca.”
“May the Lord have mercy on her.”
“Yes Father,” Her face turned away at last from his gaze and he was left, a bundle of flawed man in whom the Word of God flowed weakly. He watched her pass between the huts and out of sight.
Erderinca's soul still hovered between Earth and Hell. She would not welcome him, but after prayer he might perhaps begin by taking on her sins. That would balance the failure he felt.
A madder flower had fallen from Aelfleda’s fingers. He bent and picked it up to smell the forest in it.

They had gathered in the long hall after a long and painful day. Stanmode’s return from the new abbey, with a load of clay piled up on an ox-drawn cart and the promise of more after the Easter-month, had drawn men in from the fields. They had watched – and Godric had watched – while, under Father Owain’s direction, Stanmode made mortar. The first stones had been fixed in position and Upheahric’s old voice had called for feasting in the hall. All through that time Godric’s thoughts had been fixed, like the stones.
What did Aelfleda see, there in the city? “Yes, yes,” she had said. Godric’s eyes searched the ground for two crossed reeds like the ones he saw the night after he had seen his vision. But there were none. They lay in groups, or side by side and there was no order to them. His heart beat faster as he caught the end of an empty bench and moved it closer to the fire, whose heat matched the burning inside him. Talk fell still and heads turned his way. They were expecting some great tale from him to mark another beginning for the church. He almost smiled.
Aelfleda had seen something in the city he had not.
He sat with his head bowed. Outside, he knew, the women would have begun listening, and the children would be shushed so that only the sound of larks and animals kept in the village could be heard. They waited and still he stared at the floor, looking for a cross. Still there was no cross. All the good spirits had left him. The villagers shifted, uncomfortable in the long silence.
Trembling, he raised his head.
“My kinsmen, I’ve lied to you all. Especially you, Aethelsunne, and you, Father Owain.” All those eyes. He heard them all breathe in and felt the movements they made in the hall’s close air. He closed his eyes against the firelight and the shadow in the roof. “I told you that Stanmode and I went straight out to the city on the morning Andred died. I don’t know what Stanmode was doing that morning –“
“Traitor!” He and everyone else flinched. He opened his eyes. Stanmode was coming closer and closer to him, not seeming to run, just coming closer quickly with one hand raised to strike a killing blow. “You swore as a kinsman, anhaga, that you and me would have our own story –“
Godric closed his eyes again and felt his body readying itself to take the blow. There was a cracking sound, flesh against flesh, but there was no pain. Then Aethelsunne’s voice, sharp and low, and Stanmode’s pained reply, calling on God as a witness.
“Go on, Godric. We are waiting,” said Upheahric in a thick voice. Stanmode was held by Aethelsunne and Swefrith. They turned his arms in towards his back and he glared furiously at Godric. But the rest were waiting.
“I didn’t accuse you of anything, Stanmode. All I said was that I didn’t know what you were doing, but I do know what I was doing. And may God have mercy on me.”
There was a sudden muttering.
“Quiet,” ordered Father Owain, stern, near the door with his arms folded. They obeyed.
“The last few nights I have spent with Aelfleda. Not sinfully – not sinfully. But with her I’ve have come to understand my sins. I came here as an anhaga, my kin and my lord killed in Mercia. Though I was alone, as no man should be, I found new kin here. But a man who has been without kin is always a weak vessel and is easily deceived. A devil did kill Andred, but that devil was not there when he died.” Aethelsunne’s face was hard and Stanmode writhed in his grip. “The vision I had was sent from hell. See what it has done to us with our fighting and arguments, even though we are doing God’s work in the church. But see what it has done to me. I have blood on my hands, lustful blood.”
He waited. They drew back from him, he thought. The fire’s heat fanned his skin, but now his heart was chill. He had said it now.
“I helped Aethelsunne to find Aelfleda when she was lying bleeding outside the city. Her wounds were Andred’s doing, and it inflamed me. I knew he was a heathen, and no kinsman of mine, and now he had summoned his demons to wound the woman I – desired. I had seen the devil in the city, but had taken it for an angel, and so it could do what it wanted with me. Angry in my lust, I killed Andred. I took one of my own picks out into the woods. I waited for him and killed him after he’d done one of his filthy rites. There, I’ve told you – you may do with me as you please. May God have mercy on me.”
“Why have you confessed to us? The feud-law demands your blood now.” What was that note in Upheahric’s voice? There was anger and sadness – but also relief. The outsider, anhaga, had killed after all.
“I went with Aelfleda to the city. She saw what I had really seen. Then she made me act out the murder and talked about it with me. She turned my conscience in to look at my self. So tonight I’m at your mercy,” He laid his hands palm upwards on his knees. His back was straight. He was a warrior and would die well.
A voice whined high over them all. “Aethelsunne, see, how could you ever believe it was me? I told you it was the anhaga.”
“Quiet, Swefrith, or I’ll pull your jaw off.” Stanmode was free now but he just stood, shaking his arms and looking at Godric in amazement. Godric smiled back, asking for forgiveness. Aethelsunne was stepping forwards, slowly, his hand reaching for the sword that he no longer carried. “So even our church is the devil’s work?”
Godric shook his head. “No. Some goodness has come out of the evil, as Father Owain said it would. In God’s house you will purify Ediscum of what I have done.”
Aethelsunne still moved forward slowly. All the others waited, their breath hanging in the air. Then he heard the sound of soft running steps behind him. People were moving aside to let the newcomer through. He turned slightly but could not see who it was.
“It can only mean your death,” Upheahric was saying.
Aelfleda’s voice was clearer and louder. “Tell them how you did it.”
He could feel her breath on his cheek.
“Aelfleda! Leave here! This is men’s business.”
“No, brother, I won’t. Tell them, Godric.”
As if in a spell, Godric stood. “I crept up behind him at dawn. I struck him once in the back and waited until his blood had stopped flowing. Then I – well, you have all seen what the other blows did.”
“And if Erderinca could speak, would she say the same things as you?”
“Yes. I speak the truth. I’ve brought death on myself by doing so.”
“And did you burn Andred’s hut and his body?”
“I did. I set the fire before dawn and let it burn slowly until it caught in the walls and the roof later on. I hated him very much.”
“Stop tormenting him, Aelfleda!”
“I will stop, brother. I’ll leave him to you now.” He felt her move away, back into the darkness outside the hall. He sat down again.
“I have stirred the icy sea…” he muttered. “Fate cannot be fought,” Now he would endure the death he should have endured long ago alongside his lord. His skin prickled beneath his clothes and chill sweat ran over him.
“Coward! You could have killed us all!” Swefrith spat like a child, “Burned us in our beds!”
“Swefrith! You are a woman! Get out of the hall!” Aethelsunne roared. When he turned to Godric, his face was flushed but the anger had faded. He crouched before Godric so that the smith could see only him and how the folds of his cloak ran in curves towards his shoulders from the bright brooch at the centre. “You will be punished for the crimes you have committed Godric. But after all you have done for the church –“
“Believe me! I have worked hard to clean my hands, but I cannot undo what I have done.”
“That’s true.” Suddenly there was a steel blade beneath his throat. Only now, it seemed, did he hear it slip out of its scabbard. He twitched away from it despite himself. “And you would have let Swefrith face trial by ordeal when he was accused?”
“I repent my sins, Aethelsunne. Let Father Owain come to me so I can be ready, then you may do your duty. I trust I will be tried as Swefrith was. Then you’ll all see me repent.”
Aethelsunne laughed. “What need will there be for a trial?” But his voice was doubtful and he looked hard into Godric’s eyes. “Perhaps you would like me to talk to Thane Berhtic and have you tried before him.” There was no menace in the way he spoke. Godric heard the villagers mutter scornfully at the idea.
But Aethelsunne did not move. Godric saw the robes of Father Owain behind the young man. They seemed very distant. Father Owain’s voice also came from far away, little more than a whisper.
“I should do the office of a holy man. Hold your hand a little while, Aethelsunne. His soul is not yet beyond the grace of our Lord.”
“Your office won’t be needed tonight, Father. This man’s blood won’t be spilt for a day at least.” This was not wholly true. Godric felt a warm trickle run down from a small sharp pain on his neck. He heard Upheahric protest.
“We should try him tonight, and have done with him.”
“We must ask Aelfleda more questions, since she knows so much about this, though she never spoke of it before now.”
“Don’t we know enough now?” growled Stanmode.
“I don’t think so. What do you say, Father?”
Godric had come to himself again now, and he could feel his heart and its echo in his neck. But Father Owain’s voice was still thin and distant. “The longer a man has to prepare himself, the better for his soul and those who spare him.”
Aethelsunne's knife was gone now and he was standing, dusting the grime of the hall’s floor off his knees. “Swefrith – oh he’s gone – Streamas, will you stand watch over him in the empty grain hut where we put Swefrith? There’ll be others to will take their turn. Let him eat and drink if he wants. If, when I return, I find that any man has touched him, they’ll answer to me. I’ll go and speak to my sister.”
Upheahric moved aside to let him leave. Godric felt firm fingers take hold of his arms. Streamas lifted him to his feet and half-carried him towards the open air.