Death of Kings by Bernard Cornwell

Author:Bernard Cornwell
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: HarperCollins US
Published: 2011-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

Eight

Alfred was buried.

The burial took five hours of praying, chanting, weeping, and preaching. The old king had been placed in an elm coffin painted with scenes from the lives of the saints, while the lid depicted a surprised-looking Christ ascending into heaven. A splinter of the true cross was placed in the dead king’s hands and his head was pillowed by a gospel book. The elm coffin was sheathed in a lead box, which in turn was enclosed by a third casket, this one of cedar and carved with pictures of saints defying death. One saint was being burned, though the flames could not touch her, a second was being tortured yet was smiling forgiveness on her hapless tormentors, while a third was being pierced by spears and still was preaching. The whole cumbersome coffin was carried down to the crypt of the old church, where it was sealed in a stone chamber where Alfred rested until the new church was finished, and then he was carried to the vault where he still lies. I remember Steapa weeping like a child. Beocca was in tears. Even Plegmund, that stern archbishop, was crying as he preached. He talked of Jacob’s ladder, which appeared in a dream described in the Christian scriptures, and Jacob, as he lay on his stony pillow beneath the ladder, heard the voice of God. “The land on which you lie shall be given to your children and to their children’s children,” Plegmund’s voice broke as he read the words, “and your children shall be like the dust of the earth and they shall spread abroad to the west and to the east and to the north and to the south, and by you and your children shall all the families of the world bless themselves.”

“Jacob’s dream was Alfred’s dream.” Plegmund’s voice was hoarse by this point in his long sermon. “And Alfred now lies here, in this place, and this land shall be given to his children and to his children’s children till the day of judgment itself! And not just this land! Alfred dreamed that we Saxons should spread the light of the gospel through all Britain, and all other lands, until every voice on earth is lifted in praise of God Almighty.”

I remember smiling to myself. I stood at the back of the old church, watching the smoke from the incense burners swirl around the gilded rafters, and it amused me that Plegmund believed that we Saxons should spread like the dust of the earth to the north, south, east, and west. We would be lucky if we kept what land we had, let alone spread, but the congregation was moved by Plegmund’s words. “The pagans press upon us,” Plegmund declared, “they persecute us! Yet we shall preach to them and we shall pray for them, and we shall see them bow their knee to Almighty God and then Alfred’s dream will come true and there shall be rejoicing in heaven! God will preserve us!”

I

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