A Man of Heart – The scribe’s story

The story so far. In the 5th century Vortigern’s attempt to hold the imperial province of Britannia together has been defeated, not by external enemies but by British rebels led by Vortimer, his eldest son. Vortimer is a devout Christian and has invited the Pope to send an embassy to restore the Church, and combat the Pelagian heresy. What follows is the second half of Chapter Ten. At Vortimer’s request, the Pope has sent an embassy to Britain to combat heresy, led by Germanus of Auxerre and Lupus of Troyes.[i] The embassy finds Vortimer’s court shrinking, his rebellion a failure. The chapter begins with Vortimer’s death, by poison, then backtracks a few days. Rowena has arrived, seeking instruction in the Christian faith. You can find chapters 2-10a on the Brazen Head. The complete story has been published as A Man of Heart, by Shearsman UK (January 2023).

Lupus offers Rowena instruction in the Christian faith

Why should I love my neighbour

when he wants to rape me?

I do not think you love yours

when he burns your house, kills your friend,

uses your women, serves your children to his dogs.

I do not think you love him then.

You will not turn the other cheek.

You carry your pride like a glass bowl.

Your Jesus was no warrior king

but he said one perfect thing.

I was hungry, and you gave me food.

I was naked and you clothed me.

I was homeless and you sheltered me.

There are stories told amongst my people:

families, without weapons, seeking land

came to these shores. They were hungry,

naked, homeless, and your good Christians

let them scrabble in the waste land,

killed the weak, abused the women,

sold survivors into slavery

then went to church and prayed.

Germanus instructs Rowena in the Christian faith

We drift on a winter sea

in the middle of a hailstorm.

                                                           And your faith protects you?

No, that’s the pagan way.

The whining, selfish child

begging for new toys,

throwing good metal in a bog

to appease the local fog,

as though tree could think

or river grant a wish.

No, faith is the destination

that disciplines the journey.

Cattle are born, eat, shit, fuck and die.

You can live like that. But

reaching for the impossible

is what brings us closer to God.

And the fact of Incarnation,

gives the church the confidence

to lecture bandit kings on the Beatitudes.

                                                            A beautiful impossibility?

She could have smacked his face with less effect.

He had been thinking aloud

not expecting this girl to understand.

Before he could reassure himself

she’d fluked the answer she said;

                                                            Your faith is not a shelter in the storm

                                                            but a way of living through it.

He blinks her into focus

seeing a new species for the first time.

Rowena and Vortimer

She is ice underfoot.

A golden symmetry,

that aches his fingertips

as he resists the need

to reach and touch,

curve, fall and flare.

Stray hair across her cheek,

tightening his throat.

In another version of this story

they are friends and wary allies

helping his father rule the country.

In another version of this story

she is his queen.

                        But she is not smiling.

She scowls, because he is stupid,

because she asked a simple question:

‘Why do you hate my people?’

and his answer was inadequate.

She is ice underfoot.

But then she smiles, and rises

fills the goblet,

‘Leofue freond wæs hæil.

For þine kime ich æm uæin.’[ii]

Lips on the goblet’s rim.

Lips glistening with wine.

Their hands touch lightly,

shocking him.

Her breath on his cheek,

her lips

delirious proximity.

He drinks. ‘Drinc Hail.’

Kisses her on the mouth.

Lingering.

She steps back, smiling.

A child, pleased with herself.

Adolf and Vortimer

They are on the same page

singing to the choir

on a level playing field

where no one’s moved the goal post.

He’s there for you.

You’ve got his back

and the wine goes round.

Best friends forever,

boozing buddies,

veterans on a park bench.

And the wine goes round.

Vortimer waiting for the pitch

for the sudden swerve

this is Adolf, who admires

the Roman art of usurpation,

who thinks the Roman way’s

a zigzag path through shadows.

Words bend, mean only

what he wants them to,

‘devious’ a compliment

sincerity, simplicity,

synonyms for stupidity.

So the wine goes round.

Knowing Adolf thinks he’s stupid

provides the King with clarity.

It rankles that he’s right.

They should have waited till the spring.

They’d all heard Gloucester’s stories.

Snowed in on The Wall,

roads you could swim over,

mud you could drown in.[iii] 

But Katiger had stumbled over Horsa

and grabbed his chance at glory.

Both men had died.

The forces Gloucester

set to spy on Thongcaester

had heard the news of Horsa’s death,

thought the revolt was underway and charged the gates.

Beaten back, then annihilated.

The survivors of the southern Saxons

had made their way to Thongcaester.

The northern tribes had stood behind his father

and all winter raiders had brutalised the lands

of anyone who challenged Vortigern,

with the vindictive precision

of the Empire in its glory days.

In the west Gorlois was sitting on his hands

ignoring every summons and command.

They had claimed a victory.

How bright had been that morning.

The thrill of cheering crowds.

Hail King of nothing.

Hail nithing, King

of Britannia

south of Watling street

and east of Tamar.

Heads.

Bags of heads.

Riders bringing sacks of heads,

spilling them in front of him,

‘til his steward said,

‘My lord, we’re running out of coins.’

Gloucester had warned him against the bounty.

Warned him that many of those heads

were once on British shoulders.

The purity of his intent;

to clear the pagans from the land,

so Christ might rule again,

polluted by self-interest.

How many private scores were settled?

How many family feuds resolved

under the banner of his leadership.

He’s seen the devastated homesteads,

the burning villas. He’d stood

in the groaning aftermath,

the smoking shambles,

and heard his father’s voice:

‘You can’t go hunting with untrained dogs.’

Only now he understands.

Soon Hengist will return

with thirty, fifty, sixty ships.

Baptise the woman,

he can’t play the pagan card.

But the card itself is false.

He wanted to establish

God’s Kingdom in this island.

A purified, united, church.

A people ruled by Christ’s example.

In your dreams child. In your dreams,

not in theirs. In theirs,

the endless whine of ‘What’s in this for me?’

Stripped of religious fervour,

his rebellion is mere peevishness.

Already his supporters

have started to remove themselves,

deaf to summons or instruction.

Come spring he will not have an army worth the name.

They’ll scatter it like leaves before a gale.

The wine is a peace offering

as Gloucester tries to save them both.

Avoiding the topic of The Woman,

he’s making an effort,

trying not to be abrasive

but water’s wet and why

this foolish boy can’t see it

is a mystery beyond his patience.

There’s a limit to the number of ways

you can explain something:

‘Without coin or office,

your only reward is land.

If you give that to the church,

how will you reward your followers?’

                                                           ‘The weightier matters of the law,

                                                           are judgement, mercy, faith.’

‘The only choice you have

is whether to survive or perish.

Power has its own logic.

You can no more

change this system

than you can push a cart and sit in it.

We live in the world,

not a cloister. Friends and enemies 

will judge you by your actions.

Your intentions are irrelevant.’

And the wine goes round.

                                                           ‘Germanus led an army,

                                                           more than once.

                                                           He’s run a province.

                                                           We could ask for his advice.

                                                           We should listen.

                                                           We could learn.’

Bit late for that, thinks Gloucester.

‘A bit too ostentatious don’t you think:

the hair shirt, the hard bed,

the hand-ground horse food?’

Soon his failure will be obvious

He will be Vortimer Nithing.

And he cannot face his father,

on the field of battle, or later,

after his inevitable defeat.

What is left to him,

except the Roman Way

for the defeated rebel general?

Best friends forever,

two lads on the piss.

You’ll buy the hangman’s drink

before he snaps your neck.

Find the Pagan Woman

It’s dark and Germanus,

is flapping between the buildings,

like a giant moth, until he finds the scribe. 

‘Boy, where is the woman?’

                                                           ‘She has lodgings by the gate.’

‘Go to her now. Tell her she must leave:

immediately. It is no longer safe.

Tell her to get out before the gates are shut.

And tell no one where you go or where you’ve been.

Or that I’ve spoken to you. Go!’

The job not the title

He dreads their silence

it disrupts logic, qualifies sense,

suggests the worst while saying nothing.

‘For your skill with words

you will join the Papal mission

you will travel to Britain.

You will record everything,’

said his superior.

He had accepted, thinking

the place was his by right

of skill and knowledge.

Only now he understands,

it was curse not compliment.

They picked the one that no one liked;

the one they could afford to lose.

Germanus had confronted Gloucester

Who has to lean forward to hear him,

thinking of the breeze

coming in over gilded water.

‘The British Lords have been in council

and through them God has spoken.

They will ask Vortigern to return.’

Before Gloucester can object.

‘God sees through you, knows

your pride and your ambition

No service, humility, compassion.

There is no Roman order

without Roman discipline.

No discipline without obedience.

Who follows someone who will not follow?’

Gloucester says nothing.

The Papal embassy is leaving,

The Boys are on the move

and they have the Pope’s support.

Germanus to the scribe

‘We go north,’ said Germanus,

‘to confront the heretics.

We will visit the shrine

of the blessed Martyr Alban.

You…’

                                                           And then that pause.

‘You will go west, to Gorlois.

Give him this. Tell him,

we admire his loyalty.’

And then

                                                           another

                                                                            pause.

‘Your time with us is over.’

                                                           The scroll he’s holding

is shaking. Terror is eating

the sentences inside his head.

‘Gorlois has need of skills like yours.

If not, stay west, find a community.

Seek God in prayer and silence.

In these alarming times…’

                                                           Another

                                                                                                                      pause.

                                                           ‘In these alarming times

So many die, nobody notices

unless they’re royalty.

One more body by the road

won’t interest anyone.

The west is safe.‘

Departure

People invest the past

with qualities they feel

are lacking in the present.

But for once in history,

those Empire days

really were that golden.

The sea was calm,

the sun was rising

the crew preparing

for the channel crossing.

They had cremated the King,

ignoring his demented order

to bury his head overlooking the coast,

convinced no raider would bother the island

while he kept watch.

‘So?’ said Lupus, standing at the bow,

enjoying the breeze, the gentle rocking of the ship,

the promise of an uneventful passage home.

Germanus watches the crew securing the last of the cargo.

Admiring the easy way they go about their tasks.

                                                           ‘So, we confounded heresy.

                                                           And The Boys are on the move.’

The nearest sailor moves away.

No one has come to see them off.

Messengers had been sent north,

seeking Vortigern to offer him the crown.

‘I’ve met The Boys, and they can’t win.

Though they’ll reclaim the island,

they might stop Hengist, not his people.’

                                                           ‘They have outlived their time.

                                                           Cheating your way to power,

                                                           only works while there are rules

                                                           and the other players follow them.’

Slipping their moorings,

the sail, cracks, grows taut.

The ship pitches then steadies

into an easy forward movement.

The grey walls of Porchester shrink,

slipping off their starboard bow.

Moving out into the Solent,

the breeze strengthening.

                                                           ‘The last legion left from here.

                                                           Roma Fuit. Urbis conciditatus.[iv]

                                                           These Britons.

                                                           These proud, sniveling rebels.

                                                           Adulterers, fornicators,

                                                           parricidal, incestuous,

                                                           assassins,

                                                           refusing to be ruled

                                                           but whining to the Empire

                                                           help us, save us, pity our distress.

                                                           We who do not understand obedience,

                                                           who will not pay the asking price.

                                                           Mouth Christians who forget their God.

                                                           He has not forgotten them.

                                                           He will fall upon this generation

                                                           and his wrath will be remembered

                                                           til the rocks melt.’

‘Then we’re agreed,’ said Lupus. ‘Britain is doomed.’

                                                           ‘Oh no,’ said Germanus, turning

                                                           to look back at the mainland

                                                           and the white chalk slash in Portsdown hill.

                                                           ‘The Church is safe. We did what we set out to do.’


[i] Germanus of Auxerre is the most ‘historical’ of all the characters in this story. He did exist and he did travel to Britain to combat heresy in 429. His miracles, described in the first half of this chapter, are in the Life of Saint Germanus, written down in the late 5th century. Typically for the Legendary History, the chronology is wayward. If Hengist landed in 449/450 he arrived twenty years after Germanus had left.

[ii] See the Wassail ceremony in Chapter Six

[iii] See Chapter Three

[iv] Rome is no more, the city is ruined. I can’t find the source of this quotation.

A Man of Heart – the scribe’s story

LIAM GUILAR continues his epic of early Britain

The story so far. In the 5th century Vortigern’s attempt to hold the imperial province of Britannia together has been defeated, not by external enemies but by British rebels led by Vortimer, his eldest son. Vortimer is a devout Christian and has invited the Pope to send an embassy to restore the church and combat the Pelagian heresy. What follows is the first half of Chapter ten which loosely follows the fifth Century Life of Saint Germanus . You can find chapters 2-9 on the Brazen Head. The complete story has been published as A Man of Heart, by Shearsman UK (January 2023), available here

At the court of Vortimer the King

Above, bare wooden beams.

The hall is badly lit, too many

shadows confuse the walls.

The candle complicates the page.

There’s a broken wreckage of a man

beyond the table, out of sight,

but he knows he’s on his knees,

the shadows can’t disguise

how uncontrolled his sobbing has become.

Two armoured men are looking carefully

at the wall behind him.


‘For your skill with words,’

said his superior,

‘you will join the Papal mission.

You will travel to Britain.

You will record everything.’

Only now he understands

it was curse not compliment.

Here words slither and slop,

like the entrails of a corpse

he has to carry to its grave.


‘Who saw the King today?’

the officer enquires.

The scribe indicates he cannot hear the man’s reply.

The guards move, the man sobs.

‘The pagan woman, the Earl of Gloucester,

slaves, attendant lords…


hand poised, aware the sentence is unfinished.

The officer leans forward. ‘Who else?’

Like a secret heard by accident,

so soft, if a voice could hide, his does:

‘Your masters.’


The two armed men stare at the wall

The scribe puts down his stylus.


They have questioned slaves

who revealed nothing before they died.

There are several court officials

who saw the King in their daily duties

but each swears he saw nothing

and no one saw him without others present.

There were still many wished to see him.


Not like that.

Remembering the last time he saw Vortimer,

writhing, frothing at the mouth,

fouling himself, screaming.


Lupus of Troies enters. ‘The King is dead.’

He indicates the scribe should write the news.

The guards remove the witness,

as Germanus of Auxerre re-enters;

Bishop, on an embassy to combat heresy,

ex-governor, ex-general, proto-saint.[i]


The scribe has travelled with these two,

has become alert to the way they rarely say

that water’s wet. Their silence has

so many meanings but they navigate

the alternatives and rarely get them wrong.

He is aware the words he writes dress

one version of the truth and send it

marching off towards the future

while other possible interpretations

loiter round the edges of the page

like unwanted slaves at an auction.


Germanus:

‘Every Lord who heard his welcome speech

has to be a suspect.’


‘It was poison.’

‘Domestic or foreign?’

‘Impossible to tell unless the vial is found.’

‘And that’s impossible?’

The drama of silence. How can there be meaning

without interpretation in what’s unsaid?

The words he writes across the parchment

have no spaces, but here so much happens in the gaps.

Face blank, he moves the words across the page

and later, perhaps tonight, perhaps at the ugly hour,

staring into nothing, curled into himself

a long way from his home,

imagining all the ways a boy can die,

he will wonder if he hasn’t just recorded a confession

and signed his name to his own death warrant.

He knows what wasn’t written down.


Germanus rests his hand,

so very gently on his shoulder.

If he touched the hand, the ink might blot,

might suggest to an observant scrutineer,

‘Here something happened.’


‘We came to root out heresy.’


They have been arguing.

Germanus is troubled by the inquest.

‘Pope Siricius debarred from holy orders

all who after baptism held administrative posts

or served in the army, the civil service,

or had ever practised as barristers.’


Lupus searches for the appropriate quotation.

He knows this man is closer to his Christ

than anyone he’ll ever meet.

But his literal reading of the gospels

is a cliff on which every ship must wreck.

His Christ never ruled a kingdom;

or had to deal with heretics and raiders;

or arbitrate between contenders for a throne.


He finds the appropriate quote

in his well-trained lawyer’s memory:

‘These powers have been granted by God

and the sword has been permitted

for the punishment of the guilty-

those who wielded it were not blameworthy.’[ii]


‘My Christ,’ says Germanus, quietly,

‘came to save the poor and wretched.

He bought a message of hope and charity.

How can I love my neighbour

and send him to be tortured?

What kind of lover sends their friends

to the executioner?’


‘A disappointed, saddened one?’


The ruthless governor, the iron fisted general,

the lawyer who could kill with words,

flashes to reanimate the bag of bones

and Lupus, despite himself, steps back.


‘Faith does not deal in dialectics.’


The scribe watches, wonders why this,

why now, and why this pause?

He watches Lupus, waiting, saying nothing,

until Germanus shrugs and they both smile.


He can hear the wooden walls

settle. He can hear the fire.

He can hear, outside, voices

and lamentations. Someone repeating:

‘The King is dead. Vortimer the King is dead.’

A gesture indicates the scribe should write again.

‘Where is the woman?’

‘Fled from the court my lord.’

‘And Gloucester?’

if you listen, and ignore the shock,

it’s there, the faintest trace?

Amusement? In the voices.

‘Outside, trying not to pace.’

‘Better bring him in then.’

Somewhere in northern France, months earlier

A young man on his knees

in the cold austerity of his cell.

Rare visitors, three much older men:

one white haired, chicken necked,

dressed only in a tunic and a mantle

despite the time of year:

his holiness, Bishop Germanus of Auxerre.

The other tall, solid, well-fed:

Bishop Lupus of Troies.


‘They are sent by our Holy Father in Rome

to combat the Pelagian disease in Britain.

They need a scribe to record their victory.

You have been chosen,’ said his superior,

who seemed small beside the others,

‘for your skill with words,

your beautiful calligraphy.’


And the sin of pride was his.

Thinking, of course, I am the best

and it is just that I am recognised

after the years of being slighted

by the other scholars.

They will watch me leave.

They will see I have been chosen.


He had not been outside his community

since he entered as a child. He had not seen

beyond the familiar sky line,

the terrifying open space

stretching before, behind, above.


They plodded towards the coast.

It was the ash end of the winter,

cold lurked in the morning

and a wind that shrank skin against bone

blew over the flat dead fields.

Reports of bagaudae made them cautious.

Incongruous discrepancies:

‘An historic Papal mission to save Britannia’s soul’

sounded grand on parchment, but

two old men, a boy, some servants

and a bunch of bored and scruffy soldiers.


They had sheltered in a ruin,

the walls liquid stains

on a darkness with no boundaries,

full of furtive noises. 

Shivering at the edge of light

scattered by their feeble fire,

he knelt for the comfort of prayer,

startled by a strange mewling sound

he recognised as his own voice.


The darkness split. Imploded.

A voice in his head screamed silence

and a vague stain appeared

suggestive of a man in chains.

Stones rose, began to pelt the travellers

who scuttled for shelter, except for Germanus.

‘What ails you? Why do you harm us?’

The stone storm falters into sounds of stones falling.

Germanus strides towards the ruin, passing the boy.

‘Follow child.’ He pauses at a pile of rubble,

speaks quietly, knowing the soldiers had come.

‘Bring light, dig here.’


Two rotted bodies, still in chains.

‘Thieves,’ said Lupus, ‘condemned men.

Dumped like the rubbish that they were.’


Germanus was offended.

‘Images of the Almighty, made in his likeness

should not be so mistreated. Find something

we can use for shrouds, bury them properly.

We will pray for their souls. ‘


The two bishops square off against each other.

One strong, virile, the other bent and old.

Neither speaks until Lupus smiles and bows.


Next morning the boy had stumbled over Germanus,

who was grinding barley for his breakfast,

dressed only in his hair shirt.

Lupus had servants to make him comfortable.

Germanus slept on the cold ground,

a faded military cloak for blanket.


But the old man was friendly,

keen to know the boy better.


‘My father left me with those monks

when I was barely five years old.

He would have sold me off to pay a debt

but couldn’t find a buyer in our village.’


Germanus sees,

bewildered, frightened and alone

a timid child in a hard bare cell.


‘God sees through you.

You were terrified of being wrong

so you learnt to be correct.

The library was home, the classroom

and the daily rituals offered certainty.

Applause substituting for affection.

Approval and your teacher’s admiration

as compensation for your peer’s contempt.’


Skewered, the boy looks away,

remembering the casual nastiness of boys

who had agreed he was the victim.


‘But you fell in love with words,’

continues Germanus.

‘The way they could be marshalled

to march away from ambiguity

and took a sour delight

watching boys who bullied you

being bullied by their teachers

because they were slow, and stupid

and didn’t know one case from another.


It’s alright child. You’ve done no wrong.

There is no grammar of divinity.

Language like the evening fire

only illuminates so much.

God exists beyond the pale glow

of human reasoning. Only fools

believe they understand his ways.

He had a plan for you and here you are.’


The boy looks beaten.

And because Germanus

can manage a robust kindness:

‘Do you have any questions?’


‘What is this Pelagius? Child, he was a British fool

who thought a man might find his way to Grace

without the help of God. Much that he said…

Much that he said was good.’ The old man’s

mottled hand moved the mortar slowly,

the rough barley crackling between the stones.

The disturbing bustle of their camp

distanced by the creased and speckled hands.

‘Pelagius said: A man must try to live a sinless life,

and if he fails, it is his own fault.’

‘But…’

‘Child, where is God in this? For Pelagius,

a man stands or falls alone. He doesn’t need

God or the Church. Nor can priest absolve the man

or give him penance. One sin damns you to hell.

Where is Christ’s charity in that?’

What manner of man is this, that even the wind and sea obey him?[iii]

First sight of the sea; a sullen border

between dark land and empty sky.

His shot nerves torn ragged.

The smell and noise and restlessness

of the wharves had no grammar, and then

the pointless rage of heaving waves

pushing and crashing and trying to erase their tiny ship.

He had clung to the rail and prayed

as the world lurched, rolled and staggered,

until, opening his eyes, he saw

right at the bow, Germanus

drenched in the rise and fall

like the saviour rising from death

shedding the green water,

hands raised, arms outstretched

and he will swear on the holiest of relics

on his chance of salvation

and on his faith in the risen Lord

that Germanus of Auxerre

ordered the sea to be calm.


And the sea obeyed him.

Arrival

They watched the riders coming down the beach

and he was frightened by the powerful grey horses;

teeth, hooves and sweating muscle,

and their armoured riders, more beastly than their mounts.

He knew their type; animals who could not reason,

or be reasoned with. A casual indifference to other’s pain.

He remembered men like this, riding through his village,

their arrogance, their twisted humour,

the ease in which they warped from indolence to rage.

Burnished armour, banners scraps of sudden colour on the breeze

and when the herald had established their identities

the riders moved aside to allow a young man on foot.

Dressed in gold brocaded silk; the kind of man, he thought,

who looks at home in silk. Not much older than himself,

but confident and eager. ‘Where is the King?’

asked Lupus, affronted by this lack of protocol.


‘I am Vortimer, ruler of this kingdom.

Vortigern is my father, a failed King his subjects drove away.

He brought in heathen people. They broke our laws,

defiled our women, corrupted our good customs.

We have destroyed their army, driven them to their ships.


In this new land we worship the true God.

With your help we will rebuild His church.

Every worthy man shall have his place,

and every serf and slave will be set free.

Church lands I will entrust to you.

Every widow will be exempt the tax

upon her husband’s legacy.

We will help you root out heresy

and crush all heathen practice.

Hengist, who will rot in hell,

has lead my father into folly, corrupted him,

used his daughter to confuse him,

until he turned his back upon the church.

You are welcome fathers,

together we will rebuild this battered island.’[iv]


‘I thank the Lord who made this world

and put such holiness herein,’ said Lupus.


But as they stumbled up the stony beach, the scribe

overheard him ask Germanus,

‘Did you see the reaction? His retainers?’

Germanus struggling on the shingle,

stopped and muttered, ‘A holy fool.

Not long for this world.’

Gloucester describing the rebels to Lupus of Troies

Champions of the church?

Don’t make me laugh.

Gobshites and wide boys

chancers on the make

jumping at an opportunity.


A patrician elite

suddenly without the power,

influence and prestige

their fathers had inherited

following a strutting fool

who talked a good war.

Men who squirm at discipline,

who dislike Vortigern’s desire

to protect the weak,

his willingness to deal

ignoring faith and place of origin.

They did not remember his ferocity.

How he stacked the corpses,

devastated towns, left nothing,

not a dog nor rat alive. They think,

he has outlived his usefulness.

Theirs is this new world

and they forget who made them possible.

They cluster round Vortimer,

like rot on an open wound.

His father’s son, and little more.

He owes his status to his name

donated, unrequested but

without that gift, incompetent.

A fool no one would tolerate.

Nice enough to have around

but not one to be followed.

The great men of the kingdom

no longer deferential,

no longer asking his opinion

have left him to his bitterness

and this pretence of a court.’

Vortimer, talking with a British bishop

‘The heretics will meet. They will debate.’

Gloucester entering the room like he’s storming a redoubt,

shattering the conversation. ‘She’s coming here?

With an escort and safe conduct?’


‘She comes seeking instruction in the Christian faith.

She asked for my permission to remain here with my father,

and for my father’s sake, I have agreed.’


‘Kill her,’ says Gloucester.


The bishop is still framing his response 

when Vortimer, sounding

so much like his father;

‘And that would be her introduction to Christianity,

if you were her instructor?’


‘She will ride through an avenue of severed heads

to reach your gates, and some of them were relatives.

You placed a bounty on her head. Is that yours?’


The bishop skilled in diplomacy,

tired of their bickering:

‘Your objection was her faith?

She comes here to be baptised.’


‘My lord the King

rebelled against his father

because he favoured pagans.

If she is baptised,

why are we fighting Vortigern?’


Vortimer, offended by Gloucester’s tone,

speaking in his own voice:


‘We will treat her with respect.

She will be baptized.

You will not harm her.’

To be continued


[i] Germanus of Auxerre is the most ‘historical’ of all the characters in this story. He did exist and he did travel to Britain to combat heresy in 429. His miracles, recorded below, are in the Life of Saint Germanus, written down in the late 5th century. Typically for The Legendary History, the chronology is wayward. If Hengist landed in 449/450 he arrived twenty years after Germanus had left.

[ii] Lupus is quoting Pope Innocent 1’s reply to an enquiry on this matter.

[iii] The Gospel of Mark, 4:41

[iv] Vortimer’s speech here, which follows Laȝamon, is one of  Laȝamon’s most astonishing additions to his sources.