The Fighting Man. Adrian Deans

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ glanced again at the sun and prepared to leave.

      ‘Very well … but wait not overlong, and do not let me down Ulrik. There is more at stake than you have wit to understand.’

      Ulrik laughed, as he spat the last of the bones into the river.

      ‘Fear not Malgard. You will be prince of your shithole town by sundown.’

      For the first time, Malgard indicated his companion.

      ‘This is Angdred. He is loyal to me and will lead you to the village via hidden paths so your presence will not be known until it is too late for the rats to escape the trap.’

      Ulrik and Angdred half nodded at each other with the wary mistrust of warriors recognising each other’s prowess.

      And with that, Malgard disappeared back down the ramp and climbed onto his horse.

      ‘Farewell Ulrik,’ he called. ‘I go to celebrate my nephew’s wedding … to which you are uncordially invited.’

      ∞ ∞ ∞

      I had always hated the smell of shit.

      Most men seemed not to notice it, going about their lives as though thousands of turds, both of animals and men, were not heaped in the street or piled in the tanner’s yard. But they were, and I was constantly aware of them. Only on cold winter’s nights did I get relief from the creeping miasma that seemed to permeate all of God’s creation.

      At least my father’s house was a half mile from the town and the worst of the stench, but the wedding feast was to be held in a pavilion on the green outside the church. And while fresh latrines had been dug for the occasion, they were never deep enough. I knew from experience that vast quantities of rich food and heady ale would soon have the pits overflowing with shit, piss and vomit, and as it promised to be a hot afternoon, my head was swimming in advance with the noisome prospect.

      As if to somehow magically emphasise my foresight, a horse in front of me lifted its tail and shat copiously, the coincidence reminding me of Brother Waldo’s words that God spoke in mysterious ways and I found myself wondering if this was His idea of a joke. Then the hair rose on the back of my neck with the awesome realisation that God was indeed aware of me and was privy to all my thoughts.

      The horse shat again.

      ‘Brother Waldo?’

      Waldo and I were at the very back of the procession, making its way slowly towards the little town for the mass and midday wedding, accompanied by players with pipes and tambors.

      ‘Yes Brand?’

      ‘Are men animals?’

      ‘Animals?’ he asked aghast. ‘Of course we’re not animals … we’re men! Created in God’s image.’

      ‘But we’re made of flesh and do all the same things as animals.’

      ‘Do all the same … ’ he began angrily. ‘Do animals pray? Do animals know grammar or geometry?’

      ‘Perhaps not,’ I allowed, ‘but they eat, root and shit, the same as we do.’

      ‘Animals eat, root and shit wherever they please,’ whispered Waldo furiously, anxious not to disturb the procession with our profanity. ‘Men have rules about such things … rules ordained by God himself, to signify that we are His chosen ones … made in His image.’

      ‘So that we might eat, root and shit in His image?’ I asked, strangely wilful, and laughed despite the look of thunder that crossed Waldo’s face.

      ‘Take a care not to utter such blasphemies in the presence of the Abbot, young Brand. There are rules … those of the blessed Benedict, and yet others. And there are punishments that will teach you piety and humility if the Abbot deems those qualities lacking.’

      I had the sense not to press the argument further and, as we passed under the high stone walls of the monastery on the edge of town, I felt the cold shadow and shivered.

      ∞ ∞ ∞

      The church at Stybbor was a cool, stone building with a window on the west through which the first slanting rays of the afternoon entered in a flash of red and green through candle smoke. Saint Ybbor, after whom the town was named, had been dismembered hundreds of years previously by earlier occupants of East Anglia who had known not the scriptures and resented Ybbor’s efforts to illuminate their vacant souls. The window on the west was supposed to show the various body parts of the martyred Ybbor lying on a field of green, but to me it just looked like a red and green pattern, which no more resembled severed limbs than the stars in the sky resembled a scorpion, or a lion, or a set of scales.

      But I did like the window and the way the green and red beams played over the congregation as the sun moved westwards. It seemed to me once again, like the shitting horse, that I was on the brink of understanding something of the mood of God and His way of sending messages to the faithful. Dutifully, I listened to Father Maynard singing the Latin and it seemed that I understood him better than before, as though I had made it to a new level of understanding. That thought should have made me eager for the seminary, as mastery of learning was within my grasp, but strangely I felt more anxious than ever about leaving behind the familiar pleasures of my home for the solemn house of God, even if there was less need to worry about my arse.

      I found myself staring at my brother, Gram – four years older than me and already a man with a reputation. He had twice killed Danes as a member of the fyrd which had been assembled by King Edward to stem the raids on Lundene and the Temes Valley. Indeed, he was only home for his wedding to Fyllba and would shortly return with my father and uncles to the king’s army encamped near the mouth of the Temes. And suddenly I knew what I wanted. A red beam of light struck me full in the face as I knew with sudden certainty that I did not want the seminary with its learning and its prayer. I wanted the battlefield and the company of men.

      The first part of the mass droned to its conclusion and then the marriage ceremony commenced. It was harder to understand the words that were less familiar to me, but I understood that marriage was a kind of sacrament – less lofty perhaps than holy orders but still an honoured place in the sight of God and the proper place for a warrior. For the first time, I found myself jealous of Gram – tall, strong – about to be married to the golden-haired Fyllba and then return with my father to the fyrd, while I must stay close to the shit stink and learn prayer and abstinence and celibacy.

      In that moment I found myself in the grip of terror and it was all I could do not to cry aloud at the prospect of my entire life, the possibilities of which I was only beginning to appreciate, being utterly wasted in God’s house. Surely there were others more worthy, whose tastes and aptitude were more fitted to that role than I. Perhaps I could go to my father before it was too late and have him agree to me becoming a page, or even just a foot soldier in the fyrd. Anything was better than—

      ‘Brand!’ hissed Waldo, and I realised to my embarrassment that I was still standing when the rest of the congregation had knelt for the benediction. I fell to my knees, whacking my kneecap against a part of the stone floor unsoftened by rushes as Waldo glared and Father Maynard stared bleakly, and I found myself wondering whether they were as aware of my thoughts as God seemed to be.

      ∞ ∞ ∞

      Holgar was proud of his son.

      Gram СКАЧАТЬ