Traveller Inceptio
10

10

Michael woke to the staccato rapping of a stick on a wooden board, a most irritating yet efficient admonition against slumber that roused the monks for another day. He listened as the shuffling feet proclaimed the wending of the righteous to morning prayers, or Lauds, in the small church. In the dim pre-dawn, he lay quietly to observe a large, brown rat wander nonchalantly through a hole gnawed in his hut’s wicker wall. Twitching its whiskers, the rat strode jauntily to Michael’s sleeping pallet and placed its front paws on the timber frame to raise its self to almost touch noses in greeting as Michael watched over the side of his hard bed. Unperturbed at the new resident, the rat dropped back to its pink feet and sauntered off.

Michael cast aside his blanket and rose to stretch his aching back. With the monks at prayer, he decided to find a private place where he could engage in morning sword practice. He would then return to attend the morning service, which Brother Aldfrid told him was just before breakfast.

The heady, yeasty smell of the morning bread as it baked in the cooking shed’s large clay oven was, to Michael’s empty stomach, very inviting. In his wanderings the previous evening, Michael had discovered the bread dough, a mixture of grains and dried peas combined with sludge from the beer, or beor, as it was called, to create a heavy bread dough that was left in a cauldron to rise overnight. Michael feared the bread and stew would be similar each day and was likely to vary only as any ingredient became particularly plentiful.

At the morning service, Brother Aldfrid led singing while the brother monks exercised their underutilised voices in their worship and praise. Their singing was mournfully pleasant and thankfully in tune. Villagers joined the monks and took turns to stare curiously at Michael, who tried without success to stand inconspicuously off to one side. About thirty villagers, including children and monks, crowded the building to capacity. They were dressed in a similar fashion to Michael in light woollen cloth, the men in breeches over which a thigh-length tunic was worn, while the women wore at least two layers of colourful dress with a light veil. Leather thongs tied some of the women’s long hair while most of the men had their hair hang untidily. Without exception, all adults and youths wore a leather belt where a bone-handled knife, their seax, rested at their back. The knife gave the people their name, Saxons, and was used in their daily life.

Brother Aldfrid led a liturgy chant in Latin:

“Come Forth ye blessed of My Father, Alleluia.

Inherit of the kingdom, prepared for you from the foundation of the world, Alleluia.

Glory be to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Ghost. Come ye forth!

As it was in the beginning is now and ever shall be world without end. Amen.

Come ye forth!”

The people chanted with a deeply ingrained familiarity. The Abbott then read passages from the monks’ most valued possession, a set of Latin scripture. After the service, Brother Aldfrid invited Michael to inspect the tattered, poorly illustrated and ancient book constructed of leather bound with timber to maintain its shape. The Abbott explained that the carefully hand-copied scriptures were as written by Christ’s disciples: Mark, Luke, Matthew, Judas and Mary, and others of whom Michael had never heard. There were also a few Psalms and a guide on how a Benedictine monk should live. When given the opportunity to peruse the tome, Brother Aldfrid made it plain that he was astonished that Michael could even read, though Michael found some pages illegible at best. The treasure was then carefully wrapped in a fine woollen cloth and placed into a carved timber chest for storage.

After the morning service, there was a hurried repast of boiled oats and then Michael assisted Brother Oeric and Brother Cearl as the villagers gathered at a small monastery market where a brisk trade in bread and beor took place. The monks ladled beor from the barrels into each family’s leather beor skins, little more than a sheep or goatskin stopped at an opening by a plug of soft wood and wax. All took place with lively chatter and convivial mingling between the villagers and the monks.

Each villager made a point to observe Michael curiously. He and Brother Oeric handed out slabs of bread while Brother Cearl and one of the younger monks filled the skins. In exchange, the villagers offered grain, vegetables, or food gathered from the forest. Michael recognised the women he and Brother Oeric had seen in the forest the previous day. The older woman had removed her head covering and it draped around her neck, while the younger woman still wore her veil, a gauzy, yellow drape that framed her pretty face. A younger girl and two boys, obviously siblings, stood by and all stared at Michael who, because he had met the woman in the forest, inclined his head in greeting. This set off a buzz of giggles and conversation among the younger children before the woman, obviously their mother, shushed them curtly. They all inclined their heads in polite greeting before hurrying off with their bread and beor which an older, teenage lad carried slung over his shoulder.

A few other children stood by and watched Michael with unabashed curiosity. Barefoot, they were dressed similar to their parents and had their hair freshly combed and tied back with strips of leather. He smiled at one pretty little thing with the gaps of newly lost baby teeth, to which the children all giggled and poked each other playfully before they ran off.

In the course of this busy, early morning activity, Michael watched as Brother Aldfrid approached, accompanied by a bear of a man with a brown, flowing, grey-flecked moustache and long hair, silvered at the temples. He wore a finely woven tunic and carried himself with authority.

“Lord Michael,” spoke Brother Aldfrid quietly, “this is Thegn Godric, the village leader.”

The thegn gave barely a nod and the curious stare to which Michael had become accustomed. To his consternation, Godric then spoke in his native tongue, but Michael found the pronunciation and speed too difficult to decipher. He determined that Godric had welcomed him and asked of his purpose here, to which Michael made a stumbled reply. Seeing his guest at a loss, Brother Aldfrid came to Michael’s rescue. “Our friend Michael will stay with us at the monastery while he becomes more fluent with our daily speech. So far, we only converse in the holy language.”

At this Godric snorted, unimpressed, and nodding curtly, strode away.

After the morning market, Michael was finally able to speak at length with Brother Aldfrid. They sat together in the cloister to enjoy the peace. A chorus of birdcalls echoed from the surrounding forest and the morning sun was warm as they relaxed against the wicker wall.

Michael broke the silence. “Brother Aldfrid, I have a boon to ask of you.” Michael looked to the monk and noticed his faint smile, whiskered face and intelligent eyes which glanced at his guest brightly and then calmly closed again. He nodded for Michael to continue. “I ask if I can stay a while. My purpose is to learn your ways and your speech, the speech not of priests, but of the people.”

Brother Aldfrid remained with his eyes closed in a brief doze or in prayerful contemplation. As Michael waited, a large, yellow bumblebee buzzed noisily near the monk’s nose and then darted off on its busy way. Brother Aldfrid raised his head sleepily and he looked to his guest. “The brothers will be grateful for your help around the monastery. Brother Oeric will be your guide. He dispenses the beor and bread to the villagers. I will release Brother Oeric from his vow of silence. No doubt he will be delighted to assist your learning.”

Over the next few days with these gentle men, Michael found that a Benedictine monk’s life, a life of prayer, service to God and service to their community, was an exhausting one. Much of their prayer and private reflection took place in the monk’s own cell.

Brother Oeric eagerly explained, “The closest relationship to God comes from personal prayer. This is the basis of faith. We have eight prayer times throughout the day, starting with Matins at around midnight and ending with Compline late at night.”

It seemed the monks were always on their knees, for they prayed before work, before they went to sleep, and upon waking. Michael wondered how they could exist without sleep until he discovered monks catching an afternoon snooze by the fields in which they worked.

Theirs was a simple life, though they were not isolated from the outside world. Besides contact through the bread and beor market held each morning except Sunday, some monastery oblates had families and lived both in the monastery and in the village. Traditionally, families baked their bread on the hot stones of the home hearth, but these villagers, being of the village of Giolgrave, enjoyed an arrangement where they traded ground grain and pulses for their daily bread as baked by the monks.

In return for the monks’ hospitality, Michael threw himself into assisting Brothers Oeric and Cearl in their daily work in the gardens and beor making. While the well water was clean and cool, beor was certainly the favourite. Freed from his vows of silence, Brother Oeric enthusiastically encouraged Michael to become fluent in the local language. Michael knew some of their tongue but Brother Oeric made no secret that he and the other monks found his pronunciation appalling. While they worked, Michael was compelled to continually recite the Lord’s Prayer and other passages of scripture, so it was not long before Michael’s pronunciation markedly improved. In return, Michael told his companions more about himself, soon learning that they were starved for any tales of the world beyond the hedges and forest. Sometimes he feared he told too much, such as when he regaled them with his attack by the wolves, for Brothers Oeric and Cearl’s excitement seemed boundless. Brother Cearl was particularly entranced, reacting with horror or excitement at each rendition, but he never spoke. The old monk was curious to know more about his guest, but seemed afraid to ask.

Days swiftly flowed into weeks and Michael took to a daily routine of exercise while the priests engaged in their morning prayers. Each morning, in a quiet area in the forest near to the monastery, he practiced his sword and fighting skills. Following his exertions, he washed in the clear water of a nearby pool before returning for the morning meal and service.

Giolgrave was a community that existed far from other villages. Brother Oeric told him they were largely isolated from the outside world because of their location deep within the dense forest. Originally a camp for woodcutters, the village had long ago welcomed the presence of the holy men and, after generations, had become known as a holy refuge.

“Aye, our isolation gives us strength in the Lord and we have been greatly blessed. Travelling pedlars tell us of trials and travails upon the land. The Danes have brought misery, terror, and death,” he explained as they spread manure on the monastery vegetable patch. “Through the efforts of King Aethelred, may God’s light shine upon him, has some peace been enjoyed, but our village is especially blessed as we are so far from anywhere important.”

“Pedlars?” asked Michael, as if familiarising himself with the word.

Brother Oeric grunted, “Aye, pedlars. They give us news of the outside world—when there is anything to tell.”

Michael’s linguistic coaching included proficiency in the hand signals the monks used in their silent communications. It was only a matter of days before he not only knew what was being signalled, but could also silently communicate in a way that best suited their lives. Brother Aldfrid was tolerant of Brother Oeric’s vocalisations for the moment, though all knew the old monk’s freedom to speak would not last forever.

Brother Oeric and Michael engaged in the daily chore of filtering the beor to remove the mash through a coarse, woollen cloth into a number of well-used wooden barrels where the liquid cooled and fermented. Later in the day, elderflowers, or on some occasions crab apples, were cut up and added to the mix before being covered with a cloth until the next day. After filtration, the remaining mash was fed to a few hardy, domesticated pigs or included in the bread mix prepared each afternoon. Left in the barrels, the beor became quite drinkable, though if drunk too soon, it had the most alarming effect of causing spectacular flatulence. Brother Cearl seemed to take great delight in farting his way through the afternoon, often to Brother Oeric’s consternation.

This particular morning, Brother Cearl was up to his usual antics of farting and laughing uproariously. It took some days before Brothers Oeric and Cearl had become used to Michael, though most of the others still treated him with the greatest deference, accompanied by curious stares. Often Michael caught the tail end of conversations that involved him, but he failed to catch their meanings. But it appeared he had become too familiar with Brother Cearl, for the monk paused to drop a really long, noisy and smelly fart right next to Michael.

“Brother, surely now you have finally shit yourself like a babe?” Michael laughed as he let go of the filter enough to give Brother Cearl a playful shove.

Brother Cearl’s reaction was unexpected. The young man went from playful laughter to cringing and crying in terror with a long mournful wail, which so surprised Michael and Brother Oeric that they dropped the filter cloth into the barrel. Brother Cearl cowed on the floor next to one of the barrels, his arms crossed over his bowed head. A puddle of urine pooled on the packed earth floor before soaking the hem of his robe.

Brother Oeric was instantly at his side, gently hugging the distraught man’s head and shoulders as he cooed comfortingly. Michael crouched with them, utterly baffled as to how he had hurt his friend, and he wondered if the man’s badly broken nose was a clue. As he leaned forward, Brother Cearl cried out in abject terror, which troubled Michael even more, for he wanted to be trusted. He reached out and gently ran his hand through what remained of Brother Cearl’s greasy, lousy hair and patted him gently on his stubbly pate.

Another of the monks, Brother Horsa, ran to the hut and offered assistance. Michael knew Brother Horsa was the monastery healer and barber. Though they had briefly met, they hadn’t had the opportunity to converse. Brother Cearl sobbed into the arms of his brothers as they helped him to his feet. He seemed ashamed that he had wet himself and Brother Oeric took him to be cleaned and changed into his one spare garment. A mystified Michael was left to ponder on the monk’s reaction. Using gestures, he requested discussing what had just happened with Brother Horsa.

The monk suggested they wait a moment. To divert their attention, he showed great interest in a frame Michael was making to simplify the process of filtering the beor. The process normally took the efforts of two to hold the filter cloth in position, while one used a spare hand to ladle the raw beor through the cloth to drain. Michael demonstrated how his frame would hold the filter cloth in place as it fitted onto the top of a barrel, so one person could easily filter the beor.

“If we filtered the beor twice, it will remove more of the grit,” he explained.

Brother Horsa nodded and helped Michael remove the used filter cloth in the barrel. They had to begin the filtration process again. With the warmer weather, there was an increased demand for their highly valued beverage, so they’d decided to make more than usual to satisfy the villagers’ needs. Brother Horsa was friendly, and as they worked, his bright eyes betrayed a sharp intellect. The healer was known to have an expansive knowledge of medicinal plants and fungus in which Michael was most interested. He was also the monastery barber, a skill Michael was grateful not to use. He had no desire or need to have his head shaved by a seax especially sharpened for the task.

Brother Oeric soon returned with Brother Cearl in tow. The simple monk walked with his head down, as if afraid to look up at the world, let alone at Michael. Michael walked up to him and, as was the custom, gave Brother Cearl a hug. The monk looked as if he wanted to flee, but relaxed when Michael showed him the simple frame he had made for the filter cloth. It wasn’t long before Michael left Brother Cearl happily engaged in helping Brother Horsa lace a spare filter cloth onto the frame while he and Brother Oeric walked to the shade of a large pear tree. The only way the woody pears could be eaten was if cooked and, as they ripened, the fruit would also flavour the beor.

When alone, Brother Oeric began. “Brother Cearl has lived with us for some seasons, ever since he was a lad. He came to us barely alive. It seemed, like many of our people, he had been attacked by Danes, the destroyers who slay many and bring great tribulation upon this land.” His lips worked as if to spit, his mouth twisted into an uncharacteristic down-turned bow, his eyes baggy with unshed tears. He looked stricken with memories that weighed heavily upon him. “Brother Cearl was badly beaten, his head broken and his face gravely hurt. When Brother Horsa and I found him in the forest, he had other hurts all over his poor body. Praise be to God that the beasts of the forest hadn’t found him first. We feared he would be taken to our Lord, but he was strong and the Lord blessed Brother Horsa to give the aid that would help save his life. The Lord blessed us all here in Giolgrave, for the Vikings didn’t visit us with their axe and their flame.” Brother Oeric shivered and looked haggard and aged.

Michael placed a comforting hand on the older man’s bowed, bony shoulder and thanked the small monk for his painful tale. Brother Oeric simply nodded, his thoughts far away.

That afternoon, after one of the many prayer sessions, Michael called Brother Oeric and Brother Cearl over to the pear tree. The had completed their work with the beor, and as he still felt badly about how he had upset Brother Cearl, Michael hoped to repair relationships with a show of gratitude. As the monks approached, Michael revealed a stringed instrument, the body made from a large gourd, with a neck beautifully fashioned from polished timber. His strong fighter’s fingers lovingly caressed the instrument and plucked a few musical notes. Brother Oeric and Brother Cearl’s curious stares immediately transformed into delight. Brother Cearl clapped his hands as Michael played a few tunes, at which the normally reserved monks jumped to their feet and joyously danced a jig. Their bare feet kicked up dust under the shade of the pear tree and they laughed joyfully, which soon attracted other monks who had been working in the vegetable gardens nearby. Before long, a crowd of monks clapped and capered. With each new tune, there was an outburst of delighted shouts, laughter, and dance until Michael noticed Brother Aldfrid walk from the direction of the church. As he arrived, the Abbot clapped his hands to restore order, giving an uncommonly curt ‘stop and be still’ gesture to Michael, which immediately killed the music and the festive air.

The monks slunk guiltily back to their duties, hands rapidly gesturing while suppressed laughter was heard from more than one corner of the monastic grounds. Brother Aldfrid sat with Michael, who felt utterly sheepish. Fearing his attempt to make amends with Brother Cearl had upset the Abbott, he expressed his regrets.

Brother Aldfrid smiled and asked, “Who would have known you play so well, Lord Michael? Are you a scop?”

Michael smiled. “No, Brother Aldfrid, I am no scop, though I do play for enjoyment and to encourage dance and laughter,” he explained as he strummed the strings and smiled at their harmony.

The Abbott nodded. “Ahh, yes, a scop is a rare treat. Those are well known as they travel from village to village, telling tales in return for food, lodging, and even money. It has been many a summer since a scop has seen fit to travel to Giolgrave,” he said with a sad shake of his head.

“I’m no scop.” Michael smiled again. “I understand a good scop is a poet and storyteller and you won’t hear the tales you know from me. I bring the joy of music, that’s all,” he explained.

“Ahh, another miracle in the riddle which is you, Michael,” mused the Abbot softly. He thought a moment as he looked at Michael and the strange instrument, and gave a wry smile. “Lord Michael, I’m not yet to understand your full purpose here, but it is doubtlessly a blessing we can’t refuse.” He looked resigned. “My Brothers are good men and followers of the Blessed Mother, and the Son, our Saviour. Yet, through all of their dedication to their prayers and their strict adherence to the path to salvation, they are children of men, and on occasion, deserve more earthly pleasures.” His smile broadened. “Play for us, Lord Michael. Your music will bring us joy. It will be a rare treat for us all and I ask if you would bless us with your music after our poor meal as the day ends. However,” he emphasised with his hands raised, “I ask that the music not be so lively as to have our brothers covet more sinful pursuits.”

“I’d be delighted, Brother Aldfrid, though I crave your guidance as well as your forbearance. If my music causes the brothers to become too boisterous, I ask that you let me know.”

Brother Aldfrid nodded. “The brothers can dance and they can sing at the appropriate times, as long as prayerful contemplation fills their lives.”

Michael inclined his head in agreement, but suspected such a lofty standard was unlikely to be observed.

The evening meal was held a little earlier than normal and prayers completed in record time. Brother Aldfrid didn’t object. The monks gathered in the cloistered courtyard, breathless in anticipation. Michael noted with interest that even the oblates, who mostly ate with their families in the village, were in attendance. The atmosphere was thick with excitement as Brother Aldfrid stood and addressed them. “Brothers, as you know, we’ve been blessed with the presence of our guest, Lord Michael. He has learned our tongue and our ways, and we’re grateful for his time at our humble monastery. He’s a man blessed with many talents and has agreed to play music for us this night.” His normally placid face took on a sterner mien. “Remember our vows, brothers. Let the spirit of our Lord always be with us in whatever we do.” He nodded to Michael, who took his place on a rough bench set aside for his use.

Michael watched the brothers as they leaned forward with expectant, eager faces as he strummed and tuned the instrument until he was happy with the sound. The press of the gathered monks smelled of sweat, dirt, and the ingrained reek of body-odour, but he could not help but smile at their childlike eagerness. He began to finger pick and strum the instrument to make a catchy tune. The reaction was a roar of unrestrained joy and delight as they clapped hands, stamped feet and laughed. As Michael warmed to his performance, he played jaunty little pieces as his fingers skilfully raced up and down the strings. Soon all monks, even Brother Aldfrid, danced and clapped as feet, sandal-clad or bare and calloused, scuffed and jumped. Spontaneous laughter rang around the courtyard and a few of the brothers became boisterous as they leaped and cried out in their joy. A few tunes were quickly established as firm favourites and were requested again and again as the men, old and young, capered and laughed.

The sound of their celebration obviously reached the village, for Thegn Godric and a few of the beefier lads ran, breathless, to see what caused such a commotion. Michael saw their astonished faces and imagined their thoughts. The monks were always silent, but now, as twilight settled and the land moved into darkness, here were the monks dancing and laughing. Whoever heard of such a thing?

Brother Aldfrid warmly welcomed the villagers and they watched, open-mouthed, as Michael played to the cavorting brothers. Their surprise seemed as much about Michael as the dancing monks. The villagers sat to one side to observe the proceedings with great interest, but before long, they were stamping their feet and clapping, laughing along. Even Godric, the solemn village headman, stood to join the brothers as he stamped out exuberant steps while the other villagers laughed uproariously.

As the evening wore on, Brother Aldfrid gave the expected signal and Michael slowed the tempo to tone down the exuberant mood. Weary faces shone with sweat and delight. First one, and then the remaining monks began to sing hymns. Michael suspected the evening’s festivities could have lasted until daylight had Brother Aldfrid not finally signalled the music to end. With the unexpected festivities over, the monks soon scurried into the dark to prayers and bed while Godric and his companions wandered back to the village with chuckles and murmured discussion.

The next morning’s market was busier than usual. Brother Oeric smiled as he muttered quietly, “There are more here than ever before. I think the whole village has heard of your wonderful music. One of the oblates told me their families had been informed that a musician stayed at the monastery, right under their very noses.” He chuckled as they handed out the loaves of rock-like bread.

Godric later cornered Michael to speak with him for the first time since they had met over two weeks previously. The village women and children took an even greater interest in the visitor, the children gathering around curiously until scattered by Godric with a hiss and a wave of his beefy hand. Michael watched the headman struggle with his thoughts. Not a subtle man, he got straight to the point. He grimaced a moment and his massive moustache bristled before he asked bluntly, “Um, Lord Michael, can play for the village on the morrow’s eve?” It was apparent that Michael was a conundrum to Thegn Godric.

Brother Aldfrid had earlier told Michael that, like scops, musicians were known to travel the land for the festivals of the saints. “But they rarely venture to Giolgrave. Good thing too,” he sniffed, “for they are untrustworthy scoundrels who lack the skill of the scops and bear careful watching. Especially with the young women,” he added severely.

Godric’s invitation was for the night before the Sabbath’s eve, so would meet with Brother Aldfrid’s approval. The planned entertainment should not affect the Sabbath with weary, hung-over villagers and monks. Michael accepted the thegn’s invitation with a nod and a smile. Godric simply nodded, and without a backward glance, purposefully strode off.

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