The Viking Menace: The Adventures of Wulfbertie, #4

By Amanita Peridot Festoon

Vikings threaten the land and the king (or sub-king anyway) has been sending letters to Wulfbertie.  As you would if your kingdom (or sub-kingdom) was in peril.  The monks are too distracted by the rebuilding and a new bell and an old Bishop and other unimportant (but quite interesting) things.  So is it only Wulfbertie who can see the nefarious and secretive plottings and danger?  Probably. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tilebury Books
• Release date: Apr 29, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223055051

Amanita Peridot Festoon

Amanita is a seventeen-hundred year old Geo-architectural Fungiphile and harpsichordist.   Throughout her long life Amanita travelled widely in all the known lands of the globe (and some unknown ones). Along the way she recorded the interesting stories of people she met. One of those people was Wulfbertie.  Amanita met Wulfbertie when he was an old man living in the Palace at King's Holm, Glewcaster. He remembered all the events of his youth with crystal clarity and Amanita wrote them down for posterity.

Book preview

CHAPTER  I  -  THE KING'S LETTER

Wulfbertie had his head and arms deep inside the porridge pot, scraping out the black gunge at the bottom.  Somehow the porridge had burnt itself while Wulfbertie was practising his Roman javelin-throwing with a wooden spoon.

Brother Odda leaned through the doorway of the kitchen.  Brother Fretful wants you in the abbot's office, Wulfbert.

'What could it be this time?'  he thought.

Abba had left Fretful in charge of the abbey for another month, and the result was that Wulfbertie was in trouble several times a day.  It seemed that Fretful, having identified the fault of pride in himself, was determined to root out all the faults he found in others.  Bertie wanted Abba back.

He trotted along the corridor, pulling globs of oatmeal out of his hair, and knocked at the office door.

Brother Fretful was standing behind Abba's desk.  His hands were stretched out, gripping a small wooden casket which was held just as firmly by a young man on the other side of the desk.  Iron bands circled the box and a lock fastened the opening.  As the box moved back and forth in the struggle, Bertie heard the chinking of coins.

My orders are to deliver this to Abbot Pacific in person, argued the stranger.  He wore expensive leather leggings and boots.  Attached to his broad leather belt was a satchel decorated with branded letters spelling 'Ernest'.

Oh, very well, said Fretful.  But the abbot has been ill, so you may spend only a few moments with him.  He is in the infirmary garden.  Ah, this is the person you asked for.

Wulfbert of Dene? asked the stranger, giving Wulfbertie the once-over, with the merest twitch of a smile.

Ah, yes, King Baldrat told me what to expect.

Wulfbertie stood up straight and adopted the handsome and brave pose expected of a soldier/catapult man.  This Ernest would know who he was dealing with!

I am charged to deliver this to you.  Ernest pulled a scroll out of his satchel.  You must write a reply and deliver it to me before Compline, as I depart at first light.  The king is ready to leave Tibbywell Spa.  Information about the location of the bandits has arrived.

Held out to Bertie was a parchment, rolled up and tied with a dark blue cord, with a blob of red wax over the flap.

Wulfbertie reeled back as if stunned by a blow to the head.  His mouth dropped open.  Someone very important had sealed the scroll.  There must be a mistake.  Who could be writing to him?

Yes, it is for you, Postulant Wulfbert.  Please take it and do not keep the King's Envoy waiting for your reply,  said Fretful, taking a long envious look at the scroll.

Ernest, the King's Envoy!  Bertie reached out a trembling hand.  He had never imagined he would ever receive a letter from anyone.  But from the king!  He held the scroll by one end and tucked it carefully into the pocket in the front of his habit.  He turned and left in a daze.

Moments later he found himself in the brewery, staring at a vat of bubbling ale.  He could not remember how he got there.  The scroll in his pocket seemed to be burning a hole right through to his chest.  What should he do?

He ran to the infirmary garden to find Abba, but the abbot was talking to Ernest, and heading towards his office.

He threw open the door of Uncle Eddlinbert's house.  But Eddlinbert had gone into town to consult with Grendal.  Bertie remembered now:  School was cancelled this week, because Marcus and Penryn were in trouble.  Marcus had smashed a Celtic altar stone and Penryn had lied for him.  They had been given latrine duty at the north gate.

He turned and sped out to the stews.  He ran along the east wall and dodged through the trees in the orchard.

Then he found himself in the far corner of the cemetery and there was nowhere else to run at all.  He took a deep breath.

Running in circles was no way for a man to act.  A letter was something special.  It had to be treated with respect.

Wulfbertie went back to the cloisters and dunked his head in the lavatorium trough.  He raked all of the remaining globules of porridge from his hair.  He scrubbed his face and hands.  He changed his habit for a fresh one.  He placed the scroll in the clean pocket.

Then he walked up the steps to the Librarium.  He knocked on the door, and opened it a jar.

Please, Sir,  he whispered to Brother Libro.  May I sit at Uncle Eddlinbert's desk and read my letter?  He drew out the scroll, but held it close to his chest, merely turning it so the seal showed enticingly through his fingers.

Brother Libro glanced at the scroll.  His eyes stayed for just a fraction of a second longer on the seal.  An eyebrow travelled half way up his brow.

You may,  he said, in his low breathy echoey voice.

Wulfbertie settled himself at Eddlinbert's table.  He moved the quills and inkpots and placed the scroll in the middle.  He rolled it over to study the seal.

There was the king's profile in the red wax, and the letters 'B*R'.  Wulfbertie knew this stood for Baldrat Rex.  What would the letter say?

And then he knew what it must mean:  The king was begging him to join the army.  He would be expected to accompany Ernest the Envoy tomorrow morning when he returned to the king's spa.  This was what he had yearned for all his life.  By the end of the week Wulfbert of Dean would be a true soldier.

The time had come at last.

He was heading for a glorious future.

Everyone would be so proud of him.

It was Wulfbertie's best dream.

With trembling hands Wulfbertie slid off the cord and reached for the letter opener.  He carefully sliced around the seal.  He opened the parchment and rolled it out on the desk.  Bold black letters swam before his eyes.

He placed a small stone on each corner, as he had seen Uncle do many times to keep the scroll from rolling up.  There was a greeting at the top, several lines of words, then a signature at the bottom.  Beside that was another seal in red wax.  It was large and flat, with the figure of a man's head and a crown.

Wulfbertie's lungs forgot to breathe.  He punched his chest to stiffen his heart and began to read from the top, letter by letter.  Some manuscripts were crowded with swirly curly letters that gave you eye-ache.  This one was reassuringly plain.

Half way through, he was startled by the sound of the dinner bell.  Oh, Brother Celeriac will be angry.

Wulfbertie jumped off his chair, but Brother Libro called him back.  I sent a message to the Kitchener that you had important work here in the Librarium.  He expects you to help him with the washing up instead.

Wulfbertie laughed.  He could imagine what Celeriac had really said.

Libro gave Wulfbertie a long piece of grey linen.  It had various stains and a large black smear in the corner.  It was the old altar cloth, ravaged, but still treated with reverence.

Place this over your work and no-one will disturb it.

This was a great honour, allowed only when someone was working on a project of great secrecy and importance.

When Bertie returned to the Librarium, he knew that his letter was untouched, for he had placed one of his sling pebbles over the top of the seal.  Wulfbertie then felt ashamed of himself.  Some of the monks were cranky, some lazy, some proud, one or two were even greedy, but not one was a sneak, except possibly Brother Yestyn and he never spent any time in the librarium.  In fact, they had become familiar, like real brothers.

Wulfbertie went to Brother Libro.

Sir, I need to write a reply to the king.

Libro turned to a shelf.  I suggest you use some of this material.  SubPrior has stacks of it and will not miss a sheet or two.  But compose your reply on a slate first.  That is what all the best scribes do.

Writing hurt his hand and he changed his mind several times.  Of all the things racing around in Bertie's eyes and his heart, which ones should he try to write down?

After a long time, Libro approached the desk.  Wulfbert, we need to go to afternoon prayers.  A break will be good for you.  You can stretch your arms and legs.  The letters will be formed better if you are relaxed.

+  +  +

During the quiet time between prayers, Bertie wondered if he was doing the right thing.  Would