Paul Kingsnorth - The Wake

great men

all in bright helm and with great sweord

all in gold and the luf of the eald ways

strong and blithe in the dyan light

stand cyng

stand

stronger was i then stronger than efer again in anglands dyan light. great in what i was gifan great in what i had toc. i gripped welands sweord in my hand as i walced through the holt in to the light

when i cum to the fyr all my men loccd at me in wundor. i stood before them in the eald war helm of my grand father all macd ofer with boars with seolfor and gold in the eald carfans of the eald cyngs. i has welands great sweord in my hand and my grene cape on my baec an eald sigil on my sculdor all of me scinan scinan brighter than the crist brighter than the bastard cyng and all his deorc cynn

what is this saes godric standan from the fyr

buccmaster saes grimcell and he stands also and gan baec locan waery at me but i has no time for these men now i has time only for one

i walcs slow to the biscop who is sittan his hands tied behind him i walcs to him all in helm and with sweord in the light of the fyr with wodens hunters at my baec gifan me sige

this is thy death biscop i saes

the biscop locs up at me. my men is standan now all around the fyr locan on but none specs

thu has cum from the sea to cwell what we is and here thu sitts afeart on anglisc ground thy frenc hands tied

the scucca saes naht

there is ways to see this world i saes. there is the way of the boc and the way of the wilde there is the god of the boc and the gods of the mere there is the way of the crist and the eald ways of this land. i is cum from the mere i specs for the wilde for the eald gods under the blaec waters in the drencced treows. i is the lands law ofer mens i is eorth not heofon leaf of treow not leaf of boc

still he saes naht

i is raedwald i is raedwulf i is beowulf i is harald cyng last of the anglisc i sceal be

buccmaster saes aelfgar but i will not spec with him

turold biscop then he locs at me slow and locs at the holt and at my men and at all he fears and he specs

then this is why we cum he saes. this is why the fathor of rome in his triewth has gifen his flag to thy cyng geeyome for in the deorc holts of angland eald satan is lifan still

there is no satan here i saes

in the deorc holts of angland the yfel engels our god cast from his heofon pleges games for dumb esols saes this fatt frenc cunt. here in the treows and in the meos and the water and in the deop ground is the eald yfel one and his fyrd and here is anglisc men callan the yfel one their god. for thy god threw satan from his heofon and he macd his ham in the wilde world in the water and the holt. he is in the call of the crow the rind of the treow the sound of the fox. he is deop in thy eald duns he hangs lic the bat from thy ac treow. in all that thu calls thy gods in the grass and in the wind in all things wilde and grene is the deorcness of the yfel one

what scit thu talcs thu frenc scucca i saes but he does not stop

now i sees in triewth he saes as i nefer has seen before that thy synn has been so deop angland. and for this thy triewe god he has sent thu a cyng for whom satan is an enemi true yes on the hylls of war and in the dreams of a cyng

he is a weosul

thu is a fuccan weosul i saes and these is weosuls words. behind this helm lies thy death biscop behind this masc lies the eald things thu wolde scit on but what now rises high lic a fyr agan thu. i is grim i is woden of the high duns i walcs the chalc roads mascd by the mona i has hung upon the treow i is cwelled and again cum alyf

thu is lost he saes that is all thu is lost in the deop grene deorcness. what wolde thu haf of me half mad man of the grene holt wolde thu haf me cepe thy sawol for it is too late for thu to be ascan

tell him

any sawol of mine will go to my folcs in anglisc ground i saes not to the sands with thy ingenga crist. in the high eald beorgs sceal i lie with my cynn

and the lord will stric down the heathen saes the biscop

he locs up at me from where he is cnelan

i has seen hereweard he saes

why wolde thu sae this to me

i has seen him he is not so mad as thu

fucc thu

thu fears him does thu not small man with thy eald masc

why does thu let him spec thus

his men follow him thy men is laughan at thu

i will not let thu spec thus biscop thu will scut thy mouth

as thu saes

we is anglisc men here and triewe and greater than any

he saes naht

he moccs thu

does thu mocc me

i does thy will great masccd man

thu will call me thy cyng

i will not

thu will call me thy ealdor

i will not

spec for angland

lysten to me biscop does thu thinc this is sum game i will slit thy fuccan throta lic a cycen

if it be his will

do not spec lic this here do not gif me thy scit biscop

spec for angland spec for angland

there is naht to spec for now naht lysten biscop lysten men i has cum from the eald gods i has been sent here we has been gifen a gift and now this biscop will gif a great wergild for the synns of his cynn and his circe for his synns agan the land and all anglisc folc

what wergild saes tofe. efen my cilde now he specs lic he does not cnaw me none is triewe none

i saes we will carf the blud earn on him

blud earn saes tofe

o thu is fuccan mad thu is craccd and broc calls grimcell who has been standan loccan on. thu is writhan lic a wounded wiht buccmaster what is this scit thu and thy sweord and thy eald masc and thy eald fuccan gods there is naht left for thu naht thu moste see this. men why is thu here with this mad man we moste go cum with me cum now

i has telt thu cunt this is not thy feoht

this is no mans feoht buccmaster none will follow thu in this thing

does thu want my fuccan sweord again grimcell this time i will not let thu lif

what is the blud earn saes tofe

there is no blud earn saes grimcell it is a cildes tale of the eald times what buccmaster thincs he lifs in still

it is triewe i saes it was done and will be done again here. the blud earn is the death gifen by the eald cyngs to ingenga enemis

the blud earn is denisc saes grimcell it is an ingenga thing not anglisc thu is broc and mad buccmaster let us go

the blud earn is the death of the eald gods i saes. thu lays down thy enemi on his nebb ties him with line weights him with stans. then thu tacs thy scramasax and thu slits his baec and thu cutts all the ban in it and thu pulls up the ban and pulls his lungs out of his baec and then he has fethras lic a great hafoc lic a great earn with a carfan beac and he will fly to the gods and woden and his hus sceal feed

o saes tofe o this is a fearful thing fearful

it is not a thing of these times saes grimcell

it is not a thing of the crist saes siward

fucc the crist i saes fucc the crist can thu men not see that the crist and the cyngs has led thu into deorcness has tacan thu from thy land from the eald ways

we sceolde go with grimcell saes aelfgar

thu will not go i saes this biscop moste die it is the will of the gods

there is no gods saes grimcell but in thy deorc heorte man

my men will stand

we is not thy men no mor saes godric we is goan with grimcell we is goan to hereweard. enough of this buccmaster now enough

well here it was here now was the weacness and the smallness of angland. these man is standan locan at me their cyng their great ealdor the man who had macd their werod all in helm and with sweord the man who had led them to sige and in the eald times all wolde haf gan with a man lic this and done his will but now all was weac lic wifmen. i locs around me at these men what had been mine at this land what had been angland. all was standan by the fyr locan at me annis was standan locan at me also and she saed naht lic the fuccan biscop still on his cneows locan on saen naht but with sum lytel fuccan smerc on his ingenga nebb