Alys Clare: Out of the Dawn Light

He laughed, but it was a kindly laugh. ‘No, no, I recovered quite quickly.’

‘Why did you not stay to join us in the celebration at our house, then?’

He reached down and picked up something from the floor; something that had been hidden by the folds of his long robe. ‘Because of this.’

He held it up high and the flames of the fire glinted on the smooth surface of the Drakelow crown.

I could barely believe my eyes. ‘ You’ve got it!’ I stared at him. ‘How did you manage to take it?’

‘As soon as I knew you had survived the fire pit unhurt I left you in Edild’s care and slipped away to Lord Gilbert’s manor house. There was nobody about; everyone was still standing open-mouthed staring at your pretty feet.’

‘How did you know where it was?’ I demanded.

‘It called to me.’

I did not begin to understand.

‘But I thought — I mean,’ I stammered, ‘when I suggested to Lord Gilbert that Baudouin had taken it, he agreed with me and said he wasn’t going to do anything about it because he’d decided Baudouin ought to have it anyway!’

‘He has not got it and he must never take possession of it!’ Hrype said passionately.

I thought I understood. ‘It’s yours, isn’t it?’ I said eagerly. ‘Your ancestor made it — Sibert said so.’ I looked at Sibert to back me up but he said nothing. ‘You’re going to keep it, which is right as it surely belongs to your family, and-’

‘I will not keep it.’ Hrype’s almost savage hiss cut across my words. He said something else; it sounded like, ‘I do not dare.’

Without my volition I found that my gaze had slid from Hrype’s impassioned face to the crown that he still held up. I became aware of its power. It was humming quietly and the sound was waxing steadily stronger.

I was suddenly very afraid.

I said in a whisper, ‘ What is it? ’

And Hrype told me.

This is the story he told.

‘My ancestors were men of importance in our homeland,’ he began, ‘for among our number runs a strain of magic-workers, and the kings of old trusted us and depended on us. So it was that when the waters rose and our lands were flooded, the king who led us here to England took the precaution of surrounding himself with protective magic. My forefather Creoda was his close adviser, ever at hand to warn him of unsuspected perils and provide the means of dealing with them. Thanks to him, the king and the people settled safely in their new homes on the coast. The king built his great hall, the people settled nearby in their round houses and the land proved fruitful, so that the people prospered and the children grew healthy and strong. Creoda, whose invaluable place at the king’s side had won him both favour and wealth, asked for a parcel of land on which to build his own hall and when the king readily agreed, Creoda selected Drakelow, for he knew it was a place where the power that is in the land and the sea manifested itself with unusual force.’

‘That’s why they built the sea sanctuary there!’ I whispered.

‘Creoda did not build it,’ Hrype replied. ‘It was there years, centuries, ages before Creoda’s time.’

‘Yes, I know. I meant that the ancient people who built the sanctuary recognized the power.’

Hrype stared at me. ‘Yes,’ he said. He went on staring at me and then, as if coming out of some inner place of contemplation, picked up his tale.

‘The king and the people lived in peace and contentment,’ he said, ‘but then came the dread threat from the east, and in helpless horror our people heard tell of how the dragon-prowed Viking ships advanced out of the dawn light, grinding on to our shores and discharging their cargoes of ruthless fighting men. Settlement after settlement fell, the people cut down, the dwellings and the long halls burned, the wealth of the people plundered. Our king, fearing for the very existence of the new realm he had carved out for his people, called on Creoda and asked him what should be done. Creoda said there was a way to defend the king’s realm, but it involved great peril. “Do it,” said the king. “Whatever it takes, do it,” and he gave Creoda free rein, offering gold, offering men, offering a secluded place in which to work the magic.

‘Creoda did not need the men and he took only what gold he needed for his purpose. He went quite alone to his secret place and there he built a fire so hot that it turned solid metal into molten liquid. He put the king’s gold on to the fire and watched as slowly it melted. Then he used his magic arts and out of it he formed three crowns, putting into them the essence of his soul so that they turned into objects of power, each one bursting with strong enchantment. As he weakened — for he had used almost all of his strength and was now little more than a shadow — he spoke the words of the spell. Then, laying aside the crowns while they cooled, he wrapped his burned hands in clean cloth and lay down to sleep.

‘When he was partially recovered — and he never regained more than a small portion of his former vigour, having poured it into his creation — he rose up and returned to the king, seeking a private audience. “Behold what I have made for you,” he said, and as he unwrapped the crowns from their protective linen, for the first and only time their magical voices were heard in the king’s hall. The king covered his ears in abject fear and quickly Creoda replaced the linen wrappings.

‘Slowly the king recovered from his terror and asked, “What must I do with these dread objects?” “You must bury them on the shores of your land,” replied Creoda, “where their power will blend and combine to form a defensive shield that will repel those who would invade and rob you of what you have won.”

‘The king and his sorcerer talked long into the night as they pondered the best locations for the crowns, and at last the king made his decision. “One shall I bury here at Rendlesham,” he declared, “for here is my hall and my high seat, the heart and the centre of my realm. One you, Creoda, shall take with you to Drakelow, for your power is in these objects and it is fitting that one part of what you have freely given should remain close to you, hidden where its force shall guard my port of Dunwich. The third we will take north and bury at Bran’s Head, so that the northern shore of our realm shall also be defended from the men who come out of the east.”

‘It was done as the king decreed. Creoda and his king took a strong bodyguard and they went secretly and by night. Keeping to the ancient tracks along which run the lines of power, they went first to Bran’s Head, where with solemn ceremony and deep magic Creoda called upon the old gods and buried the first crown on the margins of the realm, where the land meets the sea and the forces are strong. Then they proceeded to Drakelow, and Creoda buried the second crown on his own land. Finally they returned to the king’s hall and on the long shore below Rendlesham, Creoda donned the horned headdress and, in the light of the crescent moon, buried the third crown. Then he took the fly-agaric potion and, with a winged horse and a goose to guard him, set out on his last and greatest spirit journey, using what was left of his magic power to spark the three crowns into everlasting life. Creoda, greatest of all sorcerers, had interred the crowns and it is not for any man to undo what he did.’

It was some time before I realized that Hrype had stopped talking. My eyes were closed and my mind was alive with images. I saw a magical flying horse with a woman on its back and she whispered her name to me: Andrasta . And there beside her was Epona riding her giant goose; my granny Cordeilla flashed across my inner eye and I recalled how she always called on Epona and her goose when she embarked on a tale, for Epona is the mother and patron of all storytellers. I saw the Goddess of the Sacred Grove, and she was holding out her sword arm straight and true as with the tip of her great weapon she blessed all those who accepted the challenge and fought, in whatever way was their particular talent, to protect the sacred homelands of the people.