The Purple Thread

Part One

Chapter 1

April, 733 AD

A murder of rooks flapped heavenwards startling Begiloc while he sowed beans in the Near Field. In the trees edging the woodland, they perched, cawing while he marvelled how the tender branches bowed but did not break under their weight. The earthy smell of the harrowed soil pleased him as he sought to discover what had startled the sullen sentinels.

Ealric!

Was something wrong? A command to stop the headlong rush before he broke a limb died when his son skidded to a halt on the ox-trail before a rainwater-filled rut. The boy, heedless of the mud, dropped to his knees.

Constant and fierce this love because Gerens, his father, drowned when he was Ealric's age and the wound never healed. Setting these thoughts aside, Begiloc stepped over the furrows and strode down the path.

A whitethroat hushed its song when he passed and the sun slid behind the clouds to cast a shroud over the land, but Begiloc, taken with Ealric, did not care about the bite in the April air. What was he up to? A sleeve rolled up, he plunged an arm into the puddle. What's slithering from his upraised hand?

Frog spawn!

With a smile, Begiloc bent over and ruffled the mane of wavy hair, different from his own chestnut curls. How it spilt down like ale froth! A gift of his Saxon wife. His hand lingered.

Ealric jumped up and took a deep breath but Begiloc dammed the flood of words.

Why would a man risk his bones for a dollop of frog spawn, is what I want to know?

Squatting next to him, he stared into his face. Amused, he watched the boy take in his meaning and the pale blue eyes change to solemnity. Under his hand, the skinny shoulder shivered.

Come, let's walk!

The words tumbled out, Mother says come at once. Meryn's waiting at the Monks' Trail. Be fast, she said!

Why was Meryn not digging the ditch by the Far Field? Why the Monks" Trail?

At the entry to the village, he squatted, face level with his son's. Ealric leant forward pressing his nose against his father's, who rocked back and tweaked the impertinent snout.

Here, take the basket home. Do you think you can get there without stalking beetles? Don't stop for anything. Tell your mother I'm off to meet Meryn. Got that?

He gave another ruffle of the tousled locks and then he rose. Ealric, eyes wide, grasped the handle with both hands and set off on his mission. The boy's straight back and earnest march warmed his heart and he left, whistling, to meet his friend.

Better not be another of his foolish jests.

Propped against a tree, Meryn said, What held you up? Our Lady Abbess will not be pleased to wait on two labourers. Before you ask, no, it's not a joke.

The Abbess? What's all this?

Hands on hips, Meryn stood, elbows raised.

All I know is two monks came asking for Meryn from across the Tamar, and when I confessed they told me to bring you to the abbey.

Men like us don't enter Wimborne Abbey, it's not done. Let alone meet the Abbess …

A careless shrug and Meryn inspected his hands before wiping them on his breeches. Don't worry, old friend, she may want to reward us for hard work – or make monks of us!

Up the track they trudged toward the religious settlement.

Did they say why?

No.

A mystery.

The walls of the abbey compound made a familiar sight since the villagers brought their harvest tithe at Lammas. Yet Begiloc never passed through the heavy gate where he and his comrade stood exchanging lowered glances. Did his companion share his longing to be elsewhere? Not that Meryn struck him as a deep thinker – his beard the only neat thing about him, plaited with wooden beads. Nobody else in the kingdom of Wessex wore such an arrangement. As for the rest of him, he looked like he had been dragged behind an ox.

Typical Meryn!

A fine pair to stand before royalty! Why would a warrior like Ine give up the throne for a pilgrimage to Rome? Seven years past. Abbess Cuniburg was Ine's sister and sister-in-law to the new king, Aethelheard. The year after he, Begiloc, was born she founded the abbey. A thumb stuck up to represent God and a finger for the royal family serving Him, thus he ticked off a chain of service on his other fingers: earls and thegns, ceorls and slaves.

The likes of us are a long way off God, Begiloc murmured.

What? This isn't the Pearly Gate?

Trust Meryn to ease the tension. At odds with his wiry frame, his friend's deep laugh rumbled as Begiloc pummelled the barrier. A panel slid back and blue eyes studied their faces. Purpose stated, a monk admitted and invited them to follow him. Arranged like two villages, to the left of the compound nuns went about their tasks and to the right monks led a separate existence; in the centre, topped by a cross, stood a large thatched building.

The abbey church!

Twenty times bigger than the one in the village, a thousand trees had gone into its construction Begiloc reckoned. Passing by, they approached a well where Meryn seized the monk by the sleeve.

Brother, I dug ditches all morning. May I have a drink?

The brother lowered a bucket and Meryn poked Begiloc in the ribs, gesturing toward the monk winching up the pail.

When I get back home, I'm going to take a vow of silence. Not that anybody listens to me overmuch …

Stifling a laugh, Begiloc bit his lip. Meryn, wordless? As likely as silent rooks at seeding.

Those scavengers! Why are we here with work to be done?

The proffered ladle in hand, Meryn slaked his thirst while Begiloc contemplated the scattered stones around the base of the well. Offered the tin scoop, he shook his head.

Let's get on with this!

The monk led them to where seven buildings ranged in a row. The aroma of fresh-baked bread wafted from the second. Between this and the next, they glimpsed nuns weeding between rows of onions. The monk indicated the way to the smallest house. The roof was covered by dried sods not thatch and the structure appeared no larger than Begiloc's own home.

Can it be the Abbess lives here – the Mother Superior in so humble a dwelling?

The monk knocked.

Come!

The brother indicated to step into the room, where with difficulty in the dim light, Begiloc discerned two nuns stationed either side of the door. Mixed smoke of wood and tallow made him want to pinch his nose. On one side, a pallet served as a bed over which hung a wooden cross. Nearby a table bore a leather-bound book. On the beaten earth floor a fire burned inside a ring of stones and his eyes followed the wisps of smoke to a hole in the roof and back down to a table covered in documents, beakers, bottle and food, some spices and another tallow candle. The spices were the only luxury in this austere setting.

Nor had he seen anyone like Abbess Cuniburg. Though small, she seemed to fill the room. Judging by the lines on her face she was fifty, but the wrinkles were gentle and added to her beauty.

Under no delusion, Begiloc caught the shrewdness in the deep eyes weighing up the two men from Dumnonia.

Can she read our innermost thoughts?

No trace of wealth about her in spite of her regal bearing. A wimple covered her head and a hood draped her shoulders. Under it, a burgundy cloak overlaid a grey tunic, at the waist, a wooden cross tucked in a belt.

Cuniburg smiled and a dimple formed.

Welcome, my sons. I thank you for the haste with which you responded to my summons. After your work, you must be hungry and thirsty.

A wave of her hand and the two nuns glided to cut bread and cheese and pour ale from the leather bottle. The Abbess murmured words in Latin and made the sign of the cross, the gesture imitated by Begiloc while Meryn's eyes moved from one to the other before making his own clumsy attempt.

It is plain fare, but God provides for our simple needs.

Her throaty voice bore no hint of pride.

Curious, Begiloc bit off a piece of cheese, appreciating its tangy saltiness. The eyes of the women never left him as he tried not to devour the food. No such inhibitions for Meryn. Tearing at his bread, he reached for his beaker, a series of gulps, smacked his lips and wiped his sleeve across his mouth. Instead, Begiloc savoured the malty taste of the ale, likely twice brewed, not watery like that of the village. When he looked up he read approval in the lady's eyes. Even so, he refused another measure. In spite of the kindness of the Mother Superior, he was tense and needed a clear head.

There must be a serious reason behind our presence and it bodes ill.

Not sharing his reserve, Meryn rubbed his hands together when a nun refilled his cup.

He sees no trap in anything it'll be his ruin one day.

Meal over, the Abbess reached across the table to select a parchment.

A messenger bore this from overseas. She moved nearer the candle, her eyes roving over the Latin script. She translated: … Holding you above all women in the innermost vault of our hearts we desire your graciousness to know that, after the death of our parents and other relatives, we went to the people of Germany, were admitted into the monastic rule of the venerable archbishop, Boniface, and have become helpers in his labours in so far as our humble incapacity allows … The Abbess halted but her unwavering gaze admonished them for attention. She resumed, …we beg also that you will send on by the bearer of this letter two young freedmen, named Begiloc and Meryn, whom I, Lull, and my father released on our departure for Rome and entrusted to my uncle for the welfare of my soul – if this should be their free act and if they are within your jurisdiction. And if any one shall unlawfully attempt to impede their journey we beg you to protect them … Cuniburg paused, … Well, the rest of the letter does not concern you. The sender is Denehard, the son of your late lord.

The colour drained from Begiloc's face and his head pounded. Heels close together and head bowed, he frowned. A flippant remark occurred to his comrade, but from under his brow Begiloc noted the gravity of the situation dawn on him, hence Meryn crossed his arms, planted his feet apart and stared at the nun.

Tone imperious, she said. Prepare for your departure after daybreak on the morrow.

The air heavy, his head began to spin, but Begiloc found the courage to say, In the letter is writ, 'if this should be their free act,' My Lady … He lifted his head and stared into the grey eyes. Had they grown darker? … I have a wife and son and land to—

Fear not on that score, the Abbey will tend to their needs till your return. The brothers will work your land and your family will be safe here. Your boy will study and she will serve. As for you, you will be answering God's call, so rejoice!

Her face shone and Begiloc understood that Meryn, he and his family were of no importance to the Abbess other than as teeth in the cog of a mechanism he did not understand.

Like motes, unseen until a beam of sun illuminates them.

Breaking off his reverie, Begiloc's voice quavered, M-may I not take my wife and child with me?

Indeed not! Among pagans? Must I repeat myself? her tone sharpened, They will be safe here till your return.

Careful to keep his voice reverential, Begiloc made one last effort at defiance. And should we refuse this 'free act', My Lady?

No sign of the sweetness that had greeted them, Need I remind you that you were a slave? Her voice rang like the knell of the convent bell: You were raised to a freeman, as I hear tell, because of your prowess in battle eight years ago on behalf of my brother against Ealdbert of the South Saxons. Still, it is a simple act to return a man to slavery.

The eyes of the Abbess were iron, but she lightened her tone and the dimple reappeared. Come, we need not disagree! Your warrior's arm is needed once more and Our Lord's will is you shall go to the German lands. Your family will be here to welcome you on your return. God blesses those who labour in His name.

The regal woman, like a whirlpool drew him into the depths of her will. As for you … she turned a cold gaze on Meryn and placed a forefinger to the tip of her chin, … you have no family to leave behind. There are no objections I presume?

A tug at his beard, Meryn said. Far away across the Tamar, My Lady, I'll be a slave no more.

Wise. Hark, these are my plans. In addition to the request of Denehard, after prayer for guidance, I acceded to the supplications of my sister in the Lord, Leobgytha … the voice of the Abbess mellowed, '… since her seventh year she is with us and will leave for Franconia to be Abbess at Bischofsheim under her cousin, Archbishop Boniface. They corresponded and I consent to her departure with some sisters and brothers."

The Abbess placed a hand on Begiloc's sleeve, The Lady Leobgytha is as a daughter to me. Your task is to deliver her. Protect her with your life, her gaze switched to Meryn, both of you.

Such skill in blending plea and authority, Begiloc marvelled – she the potter, we the clay. Do this for God and our Lord Jesus Christ and your reward will be great. Kneel!

The Mother Superior blessed them, adding: Go home, ready your weapons, gather warm clothing and sleep well. Be here at dawn to meet your charges. There will be ten armed men at your command.

At my command? Forgive me but will Saxons be led by a Briton?

In silence, she scrutinised the scar over his left eye. At last, Cuniburg said, I chose well. God has guided my choice and my men are sworn to obedience. Until the morn! A hand waved in dismissal. Dazed, Begiloc hesitated but Meryn tugged at his arm, pulling him toward the door. Out! While we can, he whispered.

Outside, Begiloc squinted against the brightness his head reeling at the bite of the air. In silence, they hurried to the gate.

On the Monks" Trail, he slowed. Shaken by the reality of the charge placed upon them, trembling with repressed anger, he halted. Unaware of this, Meryn strode on, stopped, spun round and glared. Curious, Begiloc approached him, his chest tight. Head pounding, he stared at his friend. What of the usual cheerfulness? In its place a flat, sour look. A finger pointed and jabbed the air with every word.

We must go and the sooner the better.

In return, Begiloc gave him a blank stare. You heard the Lady, we leave at dawn.

Eyes narrowed, Meryn bunched a fist, I mean we must go home, to Dumnonia. Now!

Home?

Yes, home, to our people.

Eyebrows meeting, Begiloc said, Never make it. My home's here.

Challenge in his eyes, Meryn said, Think about it. They won't miss us till morn. A day's start–

Impossible! With a woman and boy. The Saxons have horses—

Well, I'm going with or without you.

The edge to Meryn's voice, unrecognisable as that of his happy-go-lucky childhood friend, shocked him. Born of an awareness of future bloodshed cloaked in the Lady's command?

Begiloc's shoulders sagged and he rubbed his forehead. Meryn's words plunged into his entrails like a seax and his stomach clenched.

Does he mean to flee without me?

On a wayside marker, he sat head in hands but Meryn shook his shoulder, words distant as from the next valley.

Come! Don't waste time! We can be three leagues away by nightfall.

With a glare, Begiloc clamped Meryn's wrist, I listened to you once before and it cost me my brother's life. Victory turned into humiliation, remember, Meryn? The battle at Hehil when we drove the Saxons back across the Tamar, tails between their legs? Look! Here's a reminder, he pointed to the scar above his eye. And Keresyk, only sixteen. Dead these eleven years. Death and enslavement – our reward for heeding you. Did you learn nothing? Head bowed, he muttered, We followed you – ever headstrong – straight into a trap—

We were all young and foolhardy. Not only me, Meryn let his hair fall forward to cover his face.

Nobody's forcing you to come.

Temples pounding, Begiloc jumped to his feet. No, and I didn't have to save your wretched life eleven years ago, it cost me Keresyk.

No sooner had he spat out the words than he regretted them. Wounded, Meryn stomped off down the trail.

I didn't mean that! Begiloc called.

Damage done, words cut deeper than a knife and having struck, he sagged back down on the stone, once more head in hands.

A while passed before thrush song invaded his consciousness. A soothing balm, he absorbed the lilting notes. By instinct, Begiloc clung to the belief of his forefathers – the interweaving of everything in nature in a community of being. Hence, the birdsong, the yellow ox-lip next to his foot, the limestone marker, the earth, the sun and the scudding clouds melded to connect in fellowship with him. This – other than the demanding God of Abbess Cuniburg – raised his spirits. At last, he set off home.

In no hurry, he considered Meryn's scheme. Even if the four of them reached the nearest port, they had nothing to offer for passage. A Saxon crew would never risk mooring in Dumnonia. Overland, they were sure to be captured and enslaved. Not for nought had he shed blood to gain his freedom and win a bride.

The Devil take Meryn!

He must consider Somerhild and Ealric, and what had the Abbess said? 'Your reward will be great.'

Overcome by regret for those harsh words to Meryn, he nonetheless had made up his mind. No doubt he would miss his friend, his humour, his fine singing voice and his interest in everyone and everything. In the abbey his family would live well while his land would be farmed without the sweat of his toil. The thought brought a wry smile.

Why had God freed him from slavery? There must be a purpose. Trust the Mother Superior.

Irresolute, he surveyed the house Meryn and he built and they must leave. Twelve trees felled. The crucks next to the door frame pleased him, more so the shuttered window with its transparent scraped pig-skin pane. Somerhild kept it closed today because the wind was sharp, but with such a fine fit little draught entered. The thatch would last for years yet. Satisfied, he pushed in through the door.

On her knees, his wife stirred a pot over the fire. The smoke made his eyes smart and he coughed. With a cry of joy, she leapt up to hug him. How he loved the smell of her hair – rosewater and smoke. Burrowing his face into the fine strands, he kissed her and embraced her tight. She gazed up into his eyes.

What did they want up at the abbey?

Her concern upset him as he released her. The necklace of glass beads he had given her sparkled – Talwyn, his mother, had pressed them on him against the day he found a bride. Somerhild, conscious of his scrutiny, smoothed down her blue dress, creased from kneeling at the hearth.

Well? Instinct warned her of bad news.

Voice even, he said, Fact is … he studied the upturned nose over her full lips.

How I love you.

… you and Ealric must go and live in the abbey—

The abbey? Why? Her eyes widened.

I have to go away – overseas. Only for a while … her stricken expression tugged at his heart, … I-I'll come back…maybe a year—

How can—

There is no choice, my love, the Abbess needs me … I mean she commands me. No more to be said.

A year? A year! You make it sound like a week!

No more than a twelvemonth he hoped as he held a rush taper over a chest by the wall where his face did not betray his feelings. Out came a linen cloth with ties attached which he spread on the floor. From the tail of his eye he regarded Somerhild. Still, she stood hands over her mouth. Out followed a woollen cloak to fold for his bundle. At last, she unfroze.

Here, let me do that! Where is it you go?

To the German lands.

You'll need warm breeches.

Nose in the box, she began to sob. Folk told fearsome tales about the 'German lands'.

We're a-feared of settlers as close as yon side of the river, so why risk your life for others a world away? she said.

Dismayed at her tears, he held her for a while till she calmed but did not meet her eyes; instead, his gaze fixed on a tiny pulsing purple vein at her temple until she buried her head in his chest.

Hush! he implored her, voice catching, Not for ever. For all he knew, it might well be for ever – the irony – warrior of the Church for an early meeting with its saints.

Where's Ealric?

In a whine hard to understand, she said, Gone to check the eel trap, but there's bean soup in any case …

Be brave for Ealric, he can't see you like this. A boy doesn't know how long a year is. Raising her to her feet, Begiloc smeared her cheek with his hand. Tell him I'm off to the coast … three leagues or so – the truth, up to a point. That's all he needs to know.

The bundle of clothes occupying her, Somerhild nodded.

Can't I stay here with Ealric? I don't want to go to the abbey.

Enough, woman! His voice harsh, It's dangerous here for a man. What of wolves or raiders? Do not disobey your husband and worse, our Lady Abbess. Cease your prattle before the boy gets back. Ah, here he is!

Someone knocked, so not Ealric. Curious, Begiloc lifted the door latch to find Meryn, his expression strange. I thought you gone to Dumnonia.

The familiar grin creased Meryn's face. What leave all those pretty nuns to you? Oops, only joking, Somerhild! You know me … but … he noted the red-rimmed eyes and his face fell, but the impish smile returned, … mixed-up Saxon, you should be jumping for joy to be rid of the old bear for a while … and I'll wager you shed tears. I could tell you a story about …

He saw she had wept, so he picked her up by the waist and swung her, her feet clearing the soup pot by an inch. Everyone was laughing when he put her down.

First to speak, Begiloc said, I was wrong—

I'm sorry. Say no more! You're my best friend. I won't let you down. I came to say that – and I'll be off. See you in the morning.

Begiloc seized him, I'll give you old bear..! and they were all laughing again. Meryn had the gift of turning disaster on its head. At that moment, Ealric came in holding an eel snare.

Did you get one? Somerhild took the elongated willow basket.

Clever boy! she passed the trap to her husband who reached for a small axe.

Well done! Meryn said, I once showed my father a clean pair of 'eels!

A laugh at the joke and Begiloc insisted on his friend staying.

To his relief, no more work awaited except to feed the dark-skinned, bristle-haired pig. Heat from the decomposing straw in the pit under the floorboards and from the clay-lined hearth made the room cosy. After they had eaten stew washed down with cider, Begiloc reached for the hearpe he had carved from yew wood.

Come, Meryn, recognise this? After strumming a few notes he said, The tale of Drustanus and forbidden love for his brother's wife, the queen?

Course I do! Meryn's rich voice blended in perfect harmony to sing of the tragedy that tore apart the royal family of Dumnonia two centuries before. Preoccupied, Somerhild packed their belongings, caring not for the melancholy song of a race not her own.

At daybreak, they made a strange sight on the Monks' Trail: Somerhild with a pack on her back leading the long-legged pig on a rope; Ealric with his mother's dog skipping and yapping beside him; spear and shield in hand, Begiloc tramped with helm and seax at his belt, his six-stringed instrument strapped across his back and in his other hand a roll of clothing.

As they approached the palisade enclosing the abbey, the oak gate swung open. A different scene greeted Begiloc from the previous day; confusion reigned, including Meryn gesticulating to a monk leading off his pig and goat. Opposite them, at the well, a band of armed warriors exchanged banter over the water ladle.

My men.

The Abbess shouted orders to servants and pointed toward the stables. There, a group of monks – Begiloc counted six – stood around a cart on which two men were piling packs. A few paces apart, seven nuns whispered and smiled among themselves and the eyes of a young nun bored into him. When he met her gaze she lowered her head and stared at the ground.

Unkempt as usual, grumbling about damned monks, Meryn ambled over. In greeting, Begiloc threw an arm around him.

Uncle Meryn! Uncle Meryn, can I hold your axe, please, please?

Dour expression melting, he unslung his double-headed battle-axe, handing it to Ealric. The boy seized it with both hands but to his dismay, he could not hold it upright. The axe head sliced into the ground and Begiloc laughed.

Men! Typical! Ealric could have chopped his foot off!

Ay, Somerhild, as well he didn't – though if he had, there'd be one left! Eat up all your food, young man so as you can wield a battle-axe. Meryn ruffled his hair and reclaimed the weapon, hoisting it back into its harness, winking at his friend's son.

Have you chopped many heads off, Uncle Meryn?

Hush! his mother said as a monk approached. The brother invited Begiloc and Meryn to load their packs on the cart before backing an ox between the shafts and yoking it. Two horses were brought for a couple of nuns to mount. Curious, Begiloc noted one, in her twenties and the other twice her age hoisted into their saddles. The Abbess, a warrior in her wake, hurried to halt before them, bestowing a smile on Somerhild and Ealric.

Welcome, soon we will have you settled and happy. She stroked Ealric's cheek. Her warmth made Somerhild smile though her heart ached. Cuniburg became brisk and efficient, addressing Begiloc while half-turning to the huge Saxon beside her. The Mother Superior indicated the man, This is Caena, she said, her tone firm, he will be your right hand. He obeys you and his men follow him.

The Saxon, stood three hands taller than Begiloc, his beard and moustache long, the latter covering his upper lip. In spite of the cold, his shield arm, bearing a livid scar, was bare under his leather jerkin. The man's eyes, hard, scrutinised him.

The Abbess passed Begiloc a document with a wax seal. Keep this for your safe conduct in the Frankish lands. Today you travel four leagues to Werham. Spend the night at the priory. In the morning, board the ship to the Frankish lands. Out of her mantle came a bag of coins. Take this! The shrewdness returned to her eyes. Do not give the steersman more than three scillingas, the sum agreed. A nod of the head. There is more money for the journey. Come! I shall present you to your charges.

The Abbess led him to the younger woman on horseback. Sister, this is Begiloc who will lead the men. With raised hand, she indicated the nun in a black cloak. The Lady Leobgytha. Obey her in all things! Hazel eyes in a pale, oval face appraised him.

Like an angel.

The nun smiled at him, smiled a greeting and lowered her gaze at once. Dumbstruck, he forced his gaze from the lovely countenance.

Go, make your farewells for it is past Prime, the Abbess said, and you must be away soon.

The Mother Superior approached the horse. Leoba, this parting tears at my heart, child. But it is a sin, for the Lord means it to sing with joy, for you take the Word to the heathen—

Leoba? The Abbess' name of endearment?

Leoba, he repeated under his breath. Joining Somerhild and Ealric, he planted his spear in the ground.

Somerhild, my love, he approved of her brave face, pray for my wellbeing, as I shall for your happiness. He embraced her while Ealric attached himself to his thigh. She whispered, How can I be glad without you, husband? Leaden-hearted, he kissed her, stroking her hair.

Sing every day. Your love will speed my return. A warrior cannot march with a boy clinging to his leg. Lifting Ealric level with his face, his stomach tightened at the sight of wet eyes.

I'm counting on you Ealric. While I'm away, you're the man. Look after your mother, behave for her! Resolution chased away the boy's tears; satisfied, he lowered him and kissed his head, took his shield and spear and turned his back on them.

God willing I'll see them again.

Voice harsh, he called Meryn. The Briton left off stroking the ox behind its ear and strolled over.

Find Caena, the one with the scar down his shield arm. Tell the lumpen oaf to fetch his men to the abbess.

Accustomed to Begiloc's descriptions, Meryn hurried off grinning, looking back and calling, The Saxon's a big 'un, even for you!