Читать книгу The Wolf Letters - Will Schaefer - Страница 9

To his friend and lord, bishop Ecgwulf; Ohthere, priest, sends love and greetings.

My lord, I thought it best to relate to you the details of my escape from Barking. You need the truth from me, and not some liar such as Sigeheard. I will start at the beginning.

Before I joined the monastery, and was a warrior in the service of our king Sigeric, I had trouble with Sigeheard. He was lazy, and, despite his frequent boasting, he often shirked his vows of bravery in battle. It was my duty as a captain in the army to reprimand him, and I did so. Usually he would retort spitefully, citing my youth and less distinguished birth as reasons for his attitude to my commands. He would also cast aspersions on the name of my Norwegian father, and my own Norwegian name also.

As I grew older, and won recognition from the king for my prowess with the sword, his hostility began to manifest itself more overtly. He would spread lies about me. He would play meanly on my long-standing friendship with his cousin Eulalia, suggesting that our affection for each other had become improper, and contrary to the wishes of her father, who had arranged for her to marry a man of higher birth than me.

Even after joining the monastery at age twenty-one, and making vows to respect the dignity of all God’s creatures, I have found it difficult to deal with Sigeheard.

Abbess Eulalia often informed me of his desire for our monastery. It is not a simple matter of acquiring the fishing boats, fields, mills, and kilns, which, after expert care from the selfless brothers and sisters, have seen the monastery prosper. It is, I fear, as much a matter of his spite for me as it is his avarice.

Perhaps, Ecgwulf, you remember the day that he pressed Eulalia’s father, Swithbert, for control of the abbey. He claimed entitlement on the grounds that he is the king’s son. Fortunately Swithbert, a sound Christian man, denied him this particular request.

Sigeheard then threatened Eulalia directly. She informed her father, who had him restrained. But Sigeheard’s greed and spite were so boundless that he sent some of his armed companions to the monastery to take me hostage. His plan, despicable though it was, was well-crafted, for Eulalia, being the sweet, loving soul she is, would certainly have agreed to his terms to see to my safe release.

Fortunately, she heard in time of Sigeheard’s conspiracy from another of her cousins. As his men entered our monastery from the road to London, she summoned me to the window in the door between the men’s and women’s cloisters, and told me of Sigeheard’s plan to hold her to ransom with my life. She urged me to leave in all haste.

At first I was reluctant. My fighting blood rose, and I had visions of dealing blows upon the men. The years of heavy labouring here have kept me very strong, and I must confess to you, my lord, that my first instinct was to use my strength in the violent manner that I had been familiar with before joining the monastery.

I argued with her, indicating that I thought it unwise for her to let Sigeheard’s greed affect proceedings in the abbey. But Eulalia begged me to escape. She made me swear to leave England altogether for a short while; and send word of my successful escape to her as soon as I was able. To this I agreed, for her sake, and with respect for the vows that I have taken as a servant of God.

Sigeheard had sent more than a dozen men to seize me. He may have suspected that I would be warned in time to make good an escape, for he had enough men to post as guards on the gates on each end on the monastery and still conduct a search of the building. Some of these men had the nerve to search the women’s quarters.

Faithful to the word I gave to Eulalia, I plotted an escape. I propped a plank up against the high timber wall on the east side of the priory cloister so that it inclined gently enough for me to scramble up to the top. I pulled up the plank, and, as quietly as possible, rested its end in the treetops so that I had a gangway to the nearby forest. I climbed across into the trees, and, after quickly hiding my lucky plank, crept through the dark woods down to our jetties on the Thames, where I hoped to find a fishing boat to escape in.

Sigeheard had evidently anticipated this, for he had posted guards there. Turning back, with the intention of leaving the woods to the north, I heard a party of Sigeheard’s companions, who had deduced that I had left the monastery over the eastern wall, and were beating and shouting their way through the forest in their search for me. They found the plank that I had used for my escape, and their voices grew louder.

I prayed for help from the Almighty. I asked for the grace to make good my escape without violence, for I was afraid of hurting the men. I feared the harm my strength might do now that my fighting blood was up, and was afraid of the consequences this might have for Eulalia.

But God, ever listening to those with genuine faith in Him, soon sent me help. Lambswool clouds smothered the moon, and made it dark enough for me to sneak out of the woods across a field towards the river. I arrived at a beach, where a frog sat croaking beside a thick bough of driftwood. I immediately knew that I could float away on this wooden ark.

Surely, the Lord, who had inspired the frog to call me over with His croaking, did also ensure that the driftwood beached itself in good time, and at the proper spot. I praised Him and entered the water, which was so unbearably cold that the breath was forced from my chest. I had not floated far when my hands and fingers grew numb and became useless for gripping the bough. For a moment I sank like a millstone, but managed to surface by thrashing my arms and legs. My breathing was loud and desperate, and with the noise my splashing had made, the companions searching for me in the woods not far away were alerted to my presence in the water.

They shouted to the men at the jetty, “He’s in the water! Quickly, fetch the boats!” My swinging arms struck the lucky bough, which I grabbed, and wrapped my whole arms around since my hands and fingers were completely immobile on account of the chilly river.

I could now see Sigeheard’s men, about six of them, climb into a fishing boat at the jetty. I prayed again to Christ for deliverance and, although in mortal foolishness I found it difficult to imagine a favourable outcome, I remained as trusting as I could.

As it was, the Almighty Lord, in His infinite grace, had already saved me. The vessel boarded by the companions lacked a sail. It must have been tied to the jetty for repairs. The warriors, if they may be called that, for they seemed brutish and ignoble, cried out to their captain on the shore, and immediately concerned themselves with returning to the jetty. There was much profanity, and the panicked men used their hands as paddles to guide their vessel back to land.

I gave thanks, and kicked my legs so as to move me with the current down the river. I managed to recite fifteen Psalms before my body, shivering with bitter cold, demanded that I make for shore, and warmth.

I selected the south bank, for I knew that Sigeheard would be less likely to follow me deep into Kent, and made my way there, nearly slipping several times from my lucky bough into the bowels of the black water. Hoping to travel as far away from Sigeheard’s slaughter-wolves as I could, I walked south until late afternoon the following day. It rained, and I was hungry and cold. But I was elated at my deliverance, and gave thanks the whole time. Nothing cheers a man like gratitude!

As I was still wearing my cassock, I decided to seek refuge in the first monastery I could find. The monks received me kindly, and warmed me before a fire with a hot meal of stew and bread. In a moving gesture of humility, the abbot himself washed my feet and tenderly applied an ointment to them. He told me that the pagan South Saxons, who are fierce, and live sinfully in the great forests west of his monastery, made this ointment. But the ointment was now consecrated to God, and was properly fit for healing in His mighty name. From the way the abbot talked, I could tell he was eminently trustworthy and good, and I asked him if he knew of where to sail for the continent, for I had urgent need to land there.

He replied that his brother cellarman often bought fish from the Frisians who visited a village on the coast just a short walk from his monastery. The brother cellarman, who was apparently most eloquent and wise, had converted some of them to Christianity on his fish-buying trips. The Frisians who traded in this little town were therefore well disposed towards English men of the cloth. Some even spoke our tongue. The venerable abbot informed me that my chances of buying passage on a fishing boat were excellent, and that I should ask for passage to Dorestad, the vast Frisian trading port in the Rhine delta, where there is a monastery full of Englishmen.

After a good night’s rest I woke to find a new cassock on the stool beside my bunk. It was a gift from the abbot. There were three pennies resting on top of it. From instances like these, we know it is true that God works in holy and beautiful ways. I could not thank the abbot enough. I made for the village on the coast, and spoke with some men who wore different clothes and had slightly different faces from the majority of its inhabitants. They were indeed Frisians. They told me politely that on their boats, the fare to that country was three pennies. Thanks be to God and His wonderful abbot!

We set out for Dorestad the next day. The weather was fine, and the voyage most pleasant. I have never sailed in a boat on the ocean before, and was exhilarated beyond description by the simplest things, much to the amusement of my pilots. I particularly liked the slow heaving of the green waves, which seemed to wholly surround our ship at times. The ocean is powerful; she could crush the biggest vessel in an instant. I felt blessed by her good mood during our voyage.

We pulled into port that night. My gracious Frisian captain pointed through the dense chaos of ships’ masts in the harbour to the English monastery and wished me well.

At the monastery I met Duggo, who had served at our abbey until a few years ago. Like so many other Englishmen, he had heard the exciting stories of our dear Father Boniface’s missions, and left to join with them in the vast wilderness of Germany. From all accounts the work is dangerous - as you know, Archbishop Boniface was martyred here in Frisia just a few years ago. I asked Duggo what kept him interested in such work. He replied that it was a privilege to shine the light of Christ upon the heathens as they cower in the darkness of their superstition.

Duggo has changed much from the boy of twenty-one years who left Barking. His deep faith and great courage has fairly burst into the most wonderful and dedicated love for Christ that I have ever seen. He is twice the man that left our abbey. His eyes are glowing with the spirit of his trials in the dark eastern forests. I know not if you remember blessing him before his departure four years ago, but he remembers you fondly and sends his peace.

It is thus I write to you, my lord and friend. I am safe and well. I await your signal to return to England. Please pass news of my presence here to Eulalia. Tell her not to worry; that her good friend is safe, and always mindful of her. I look forward to returning once this trouble has passed.

May the Blessed Trinity, one God, guard you, glorify and reward you.

Ohthere.