The Wolves of Dumnonia Saga Box Set by Peter Fox

Author:Peter Fox [Fox, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781912689125
Publisher: Elterwater Press
Published: 2020-06-28T22:00:00+00:00

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‘What in Christ’s name is the matter with him?’ Heremund said, not caring that he had blasphemed in the presence of the Bishop.

‘He is possessed!’ Father Donagh cried, stepping away from Saeric and making a warding sign.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Carwyn protested, clutching Saeric to her breast.

‘He spoke in tongues, Lady Carwyn,’ the Bishop said. ‘The Devil is within him.’

She shook her head. ‘He was speaking Dumnonian, your Grace.’

‘Then what was it all that about?’ Heremund demanded. ‘Did you understand any of what he said?’

Carwyn looked down at the young man she cradled in her arms. Tears streaked his cheeks, and he held her tightly, a terrified little boy again. As far as she could tell, he was conscious, but like the time she had washed him, he seemed to be somewhere else.

‘Most of it was just words of fear. He was calling a name in desperation, over and over. Bear, or something like that?’ She wrinkled her nose, frustrated with herself. She turned to the Bishop. ‘What happened at Sanctus Germanus?’

‘Terrible things,’ Heremund answered, wondering if that could be the source of the young man’s night terrors. Mention of the monastery had certainly set him off. Could he have been a novice there?

‘There was a horrendous attack by the heathens not long after the fall of Escanceaster,’ the Bishop explained. ‘The destruction was particularly extreme. The heathens killed many; man, youth and boy. They cut down our brethren monks, hacked off their limbs, and set fire to everything they could. A number of the boys were burned alive in the rectory. The devils ripped the covers off the manuscripts for their gold and gems, and trampled the pages into the blood and mud, caring nothing for the blasphemy or the wrath of God. They even nailed one of the clergymen to the cross in the forecourt in imitation of Christ. They left no one and nothing alive, and if Saeric experienced that slaughter first-hand, it is no wonder he suffers such terrible nightmares, poor child.’ The Bishop crossed himself.

‘Indeed,’ Heremund murmured, recalling with unnerving clarity the crucifixion of the poor monk, overseen by the man who had ordered it. But one thing he did know: that particular atrocity had not had anything to do with heathen raiders.

‘Well, your Saeric is clearly from a family of some note, if he was studying under Ceolburh at St Germanus,’ the Bishop said.

Heremund felt a chill tingle the hairs on his neck, as he came to another realisation. ‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘Not St Germanus.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Saeric is right. Ceolburh wasn’t the Abbot when heathens attacked that mynster. You said so yourself. Ceolburh served in Escanceaster back then. I remember now.’

‘Escanceaster?’ Carwyn said, surprised.

‘Well, was Saeric in Escanceaster or St Germanus?’ the Bishop said. ‘Surely he cannot have been in both places? I thought the attack on St Germanus occurred at the same time as the fall of Dumnonia’s capital.’

‘No,’ Heremund said, frowning at the Bishop. ‘It came a few days afterwards.’ The smith

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