In the years since the invasion I had grown to trust few Englishmen. ?dda was one of those that I had taken a liking to, and I confess that I was taken aback by his tone. The stableman was a solemn and private character who rarely showed much cheer, but this was the first time I could remember that he had challenged me so openly.
He was around ten years older than me, I reckoned, though he had long since lost count. His skin was weathered from many seasons spent in the sun, the wind and the rain, and he had the look of one who had witnessed many hardships. In fact he might once have been a warrior, for while he was not especially tall he was ideally built for the shield-wall, with broad shoulders and powerful forearms that I imagined could once have sent many foemen to their graves.
‘You could defend them,’ I said. From the little I had seen, he was a capable fighter, if not an exceptional one. He was at ease in armour and helmet, and proficient, too, with both the spear and the long style of knife called the seax that the English favoured, which was more than most men could claim.
‘You would abandon us,’ ?dda said.
I bridled at his directness, but managed to hold my temper and instead cast him a warning glare. ‘If the summons comes for me to fight, then I have no choice but to go. You know that.’
His one good eye bored into me defiantly, but I held his gaze and eventually he turned away.
‘You fought well the other day,’ I said, and again I spoke honestly. He had killed more than his share of Welshmen that evening. ‘If it came to it, the villagers would follow you.’
Indeed he commanded a strange sort of respect among the peasants of Earnford, partly on account of his missing eye and disfigured face, which seemed to intrigue and intimidate them in equal measure. But he was also single-minded and forever had an air of determination about him that inspired confidence, much as they feared him.
‘They would not follow a cripple,’ ?dda said. ‘They scorn me.’
‘They would if I told them to. Who else could lead them as well as you?’
The Englishman gave a snort of derision. ‘Those days are behind me, lord.’
I regarded him for a moment, wondering what he meant. If he had led men into battle before, it was the first he had told me about it, though it would not surprise me if he had. Perhaps that was how he had come to lose his eye, too; so far as I knew he had never let the whole story be known, and no one had ever dared to ask. Nor was I to find out then, either, since he did not speak after that, but instead spent every mile of the journey back home in silence, as if he had already told me too much.
For the first time in a while, then, life in Earnford began to return to something like normal, until the memory of the Welsh raids seemed as distant as a dream. The villagers took care of their animals and tended their crops, which were growing taller by the week; it would not be all that long until the harvest. A week before midsummer, a pedlar came by way of the bumpy tracks from Leomynster and Hereford. With him he brought his tired, grey mule and a shaky cart decorated with streamers of cloth in scarlet and green. As usual it came laden with more than it seemed it should be able to bear: timber planks, fishhooks, iron cooking-pots, flasks of oil, stout candles and other useful things, as well as jars of honey and spices, casks of wine, pots of ointment and herbs and other remedies, which he said would cure all manner of complaints.
The pedlar’s name was Byrhtwald and he was well known both to me and to the people of Earnford, for he had visited the manor many times in the past year. As well as the various goods he brought on his cart and in his pack, he often carried smaller trinkets on his person, among which this time was a bronze pendant inlaid with a golden cross, which hung by a leather thong around his neck.
‘This?’ he said, when I asked him what it was. He looped the string over his head and held it out to me. ‘I bought it some years ago from a Flemish merchant who acquired it on pilgrimage in the Holy Land. I like to think it has given me protection on my many travels.’
Carefully I undid the catch and opened the two halves of the pendant. Into my palm fell a bundle of cloth little larger than an acorn, with some kind of hard object inside. A thin strip of parchment was attached to the cloth, which was finely woven and might even have been silk, and on it in tiny letters something had been written, though the script was difficult to read.
The question had just formed in my mind when Byrhtwald answered it: ‘The toe-bone of St Ignatius.’
I had no idea who that was or when he had lived, so I sent one of my servants to find Father Erchembald, who had more knowledge on such matters.