Chapter 3 - The Long Road Out Of Eden

Wooden, thatched-roof buildings are clustered around the new Christian church at the heart of  Cantwareburh . Many look like they haven't seen more than a single winter. The earthy scent of livestock hangs in the air, together with the pungent odour of wood smoke from cooking fires and the sour note of ale brewing. Most folk around the village are out working the fields.

Hrothgar steps forward with a mighty smile, "A bunch of us walking into a Christian town, one open to murder, and another hoping not to be murdered, it seems. I'm coming just to keep you all out of trouble!"

Egon cocks an eyebrow at Hrothgar, and runs his fingers through his beard to roughen it up more. Hopefully, he looked nothing like the man people here would recognize. 

"Does that make sense to any of you?" Calix inquires, making no secret of his path toward the church through the village. "Saxon is not my mother tongue." 

"I believe he's excited at the prospect of more violence," Egon says, glancing dubiously up at the church.

Muireann tightens her grip on Little Thunder's reins as they draw ever closer to the church. The structure looming over them was oppressive, and she has a sudden desire to turn around and find the nearest grove of trees and hide. I made a promise. And I'll keep it.  "I miss Ireland," she mutters under her breath in lilting Irish. But she couldn't go back. There was nothing there for her. Not anymore. 

As the strangers enter Cantwareburh, the soft chatter amongst the nearest villagers goes quiet. Old Roman streets run between the buildings closer to the church and a few of the buildings are even built atop the ruins of what was once a Roman town. The church is one such specimen, standing proudly on its solid, stone foundation. "'fternoon," one man greets the travellers as he passes them on the way in from the fields.

Hrothgar stares down at the man - an unfortunate condition of his nature, sadly - and beams a friendly smile, "Good day, friend!"

"And a good day it is indeed that brings travellers to fair Cantwareburh, friend," the villager replies, marching Hrothgar's smile with a toothy grin. "Have y'come to see Augustine's church?"

Hrothgar barely gives a look to the others before he answers the man eagerly, "That we have! Our friend here has wanted to make this trip for so long. Though we have our differences, I wouldn't feel right if he never made it here at least once."  The big man grabs Calix's shoulder and pulls him in close for a brotherly hug.

"O'course, o'course," the man agrees with a nod of understanding. "The Lord welcomes all who would accept 'im into their 'earts. Where d'you an'your friends 'ail from?"

Calix almost loses his balance as a meaty arm grabs around him, and he pushes himself off Hrothgar as soon as he's able. "A bit of everywhere, as you probably hear," he replies to the local. "I trust we're in time for vespers?"

"Aye, folks'll all be headin' in from the fields soon enough," the man confirms. "Name's Tunstan," he introduces himself, offering a hand in greeting. "Follow close an' we can find an ale or two while y'tell y'stories."

Muireann frowns at the back of Calix's head. Vespers? She had an immediate mistrust of this place, and it had everything to do with the oppressive structure looming on the horizon. But a drink would be nice, she supposed. Easy enough to forget there were Christians all around her if she couldn't think straight. No, that's a terrible idea! What if they decide to execute you when they find out you're not one of them? Then you're well and truly trapped. No. Keep a clear head. Just a sip or two.  "What...kinds of stories do you tell around here?" Muireann says, slowly working her way through the foreign words to the best of her ability. 

"The kind everyone's'eard a thousand times before!" Tunstan laughs friendlily as he leads the way towards some logs that have been fashioned into benches. "Visitors tales make for a welcome change. How many cups'll it be?"

"None for me, thank you," Egon says, his voice coming out as a breathy rasp. His stomach leaps at every step, and every gaze directed his way seems to be one of recognition. A cold shiver runs down his back, his skin breaking out in goosebumps. 

"At least one," Calix responds, sliding onto one of the seats with more ease than he's felt in months. It's difficult, even with the peril his companions face, not to feel safe here in the shadow of the cross. Or, at the very least, safe r . "Is Augustine himself here? Or has our luck run out, to hear him give Mass himself?"

Muireann dismounts Little Thunder, giving the horse a reassuring pat on the neck, before sitting down on one of the rough-hewn benches. And in spite of her reservations, of her certain hatred of Christians, she finds herself asking, "What is...Mass?" The word makes no sense, and she can't seem to find one that makes sense in her native Irish. 

Egon shoots Muireann a concerned look, then attempts to cover for her. "She's...er...new to the faith," he explains.

Muireann opens her mouth to argue, but stops when she realizes what she was asking and where she was asking it. She closes her mouth, pressing her lips together in a flat line. She taps her fingers together nervously, then awkwardly mimics the crossed movement that she'd seen Calix do on several occasions. It wasn't a very good imitation. Gods, I can't stand this place.

Hrothgar's bravado faded at almost the instant he crossed the threshold of  Cantwareburh. The big man was suddenly quiet, closed, and reserved. While the others sat, he chose to make himself comfortable leaning against the first thing he could find. He seemed, however, as inconspicuous as a tree fallen on a roof during a storm. Hrothgar also felt a strange foreboding in the air. It was easy to shout at wolves in the distance, but another thing entirely when they have you surrounded. So, he kept close to a way out with a close eye on Goewyn, Muireann, and Calix. Egon seemed his best bet in helping to force a way out, so best to plan for making a hole so the others can get out.

"Aye, the bishop can be found in  Cantwareburh," Tunstan confirms. "Not always 'im that gives Mass though." The man potters off into a nearby building and returns moments later with a skin of ale and a few wooden cups. "All are welcome in the Lord's flock," he tells Muireann warmly as he pours her drink, "and most 'ere are new to it too. What brought you into 'is light?"

Muireann stares blankly at the man, panic rising in the back of her throat, a hundred different answers rolling through her mind. Make something up. Just think..... A memory comes to mind of Christian monks that had once visited her village when she was just a little girl, attempting to convert her people. Now she wished she had paid attention to the things they had said. It would've been useful in this moment.   How was I supposed to know I'd end up surrounded by....these people? All of these thoughts happen in an instant, and she finds herself speaking again, and gesturing at Calix.  "He...said some things. And...they sounded nice..." I'm far too Irish for this.... 

It is all Calix can do not to grimace, and he looks back to Tunstan simply to cut short his incredulous stare at Muireann. "I have long since stopped questioning what brings them into His arms, only thank Him for helping me guide them from their misled path." He lifts the cup he takes from the villager toward the man in gratitude. "And you? Were you brought to the faith, or born into it?"

Muireann still isn't quite sure if her response was bad or good, but she buries her confusion in a very long drink from her cup, looking anywhere but at Calix or Tunstan.

"It feels like a lifetime since Rome first sent the bishop to show us His way, but, in truth, it has been little more than a year and a day," Tunstan admits. "We all have walked a long, dark path to be here, but by God's will we are saved," the man tells Muireann with a smile.

Goewyn half listens as her eyes move around the area, taking in the people around her and how they move, how they pay attention to her group... but mostly she looks for any signs of where her brother might be kept; any longhouses, stockades, etc. She knew nothing of the Christian religion, hell, she barely knew anything about her own gods and so she just wouldn't speak. It was probably better that way. 

These people are psychotic, Muireann thinks to herself, but plasters a smile on her face and just nods at the man. 

It has been little more than a year and a day . Egon had lost count of the days he had spent in that cage. Had it really been that long since his exile?

"What of the unrest in Wessex?" Tunstan asks aloud of anybody else at the table. "You all seem to have escaped it unharmed."

"We travel quietly, so as to avoid unrest in general," Egon says, hoping the man didn't press for details. Undoubtedly, he spoke of Magan's army.

"Oh, aye. Tha's wise to be sure. Seen enough of the like, 'ave ye then?" Tunstan probes. "'Ow far 'ave ye come?"

The sun was well past its zenith, and could now be seen coming within a few hours of the horizon. Hrothgar's leg taps anxiously to break away from such small talk when their mission relied on a façade. He only wished they had a chance to get food and drinks, then discuss their plans in a quiet- Hrothgar jumped up as the thought finally hit him, "S'cuse me, we've been on the road three days now, and we're a bit worn. I'd like to get set up at an inn; would you know where one is here?"  He gives a beckoning glance to the others, not knowing a good way to justify them all leaving at once.

"The bishop likes to receive guests in 'is 'all," Tunstan tells Hrothgar with a slack-jawed grin. "I can bring ye t'im after vespers. Shall we 'ead on up?"

Egon stiffens. "I am afraid that I will have to meet the bishop at another time," Egon says. "I'm not feeling terribly well."

"I'm not surprised - you've barely touched your ale!" Tunstan protests with a laugh. "Does wonders to settle the stomach after a day on your feet."

Muireann looks from Tunstan to Calix and back again. It was the second time she'd heard that strange word. Vespers. Lugh help me, these words are incomprehensible! She swallows nervously.  "I am still...new," she says, emphasizing the word and barely resisting the urge to glare at Egon, but thinking it better to play off of his earlier deception. "What are...vespers?"

"Evenin' prayers," Tunstan tells Muireann with a warm smile. "Come, we'll show you," he beckons, rising to walk towards the church.

Evenin' prayers. Muireann has a horrible feeling that she's going to end up in that large, oppressive building looming over them. But there's nothing she can do about it without compromising the rest of them. She gets to her feet, downing the rest of her ale, her fingers shaking slightly as she sets the empty mug down a little too hard.  "What do we pray to?" she asks, keeping her eyes fixed on the local man. 

"The Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit," Tunstan intones slowly, as though the mantra itself is a prayer of its own kind. Up ahead, the church's tower casts a long eastward shadow in the late afternoon sun.

Muireann blinks at the man, then looks at Calix. "I thought you said there was only one god in this religion."

"There is," Calix retorts as they walk, quick to answer lest the pagan think his religion anything like hers. "They're one and three. God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit. All three are one God. But they are not each other."

Muireann nods, keeping her mouth shut with difficulty. Three in one wasn't hard to comprehend, it was reminded her of the stories of the three Morrigna  her mother had told her when she was a small child. But something else was bothering her. "So...you have a father, a son, and a ghost who are all part of the same being. In my...old religion, we have a father god. But we also have a mother goddess who protects our lands," she says, hating the part of her that thought pretending to be a Christian was a good idea.  "Is there no mother here?" 

"You cannot have a son without a mother," Calix replies as if it were obvious. "Her name is Mary. She was human, like us. Not a goddess. There  is only God and His saints."

Muireann glares at Calix, irritated at his self-righteousness. "It makes little sense to me, but I suppose that is part of learning," Muireann says reluctantly, wanting to claw her tongue out for betraying her. She had no desire to learn anything of Christianity. But yet here she was, trapped with a Christian and converted pagan. "How long do these prayers usually last?"

"Not quite an 'our," Tunstan tells Muireann congenially, as they approach door to the church. The man strides up to the heavy wooden door and swings it open with a heave. The nave is lined with simple wooden pews, but all the basic elements of the church are familiar to Calix. Other villages begin to file into the building as they congregate for vespers and at the heart of the chancel stands a man clad in green robes and a tall hat. He has a his back to the door as it is opened, but then turns to greet his flock, revealing a middle-aged man with long dark hair.

As the others begin filtering into the church, Goewyn looks around and then quickly rolls around the outside of the door towards the nearest corner, then slips quietly around one side of the building. Once she feels that she is away from the christian, she begins looking around at the general lay out of the town in hopes of finding anything  that might tell her something of her brother's fate...

Cantwareburh is in large part comprised of wooden familial halls surrounding the king's royal hall and the newly constructed church. As Goewyn slinks off down one side of the cross-shaped building, her keen senses pick out two details: the sound of children talking further ahead and footsteps following behind her.

As he follows the others towards the church, Hrothgar does a quick pass-over to make sure all are still present. It's then he catches sight of Goewyn's hair ducking away, Why? Why did it have to be her?  he ponders in frustration. "Excuse me a minute, everyone, I'm feeling a more forceful call, if you take my meaning. I'll meet you all back in here as soon as I'm finished."  Without much hesitation for response, Hrothgar rushes off around the side of the church, then wanders the alley looking for his missing companion. "Can't get away that easy, and you're a fool for going alone in such a place. I won't let you go wandering without a friend close." Hrothgar beams a toothy smile as he crosses his big arms over his chest.

Glancing back at Hrothgar, Goewyn can see a muscular, young man dressed in the same shabby, brown fabric as Tunstan and the other farmers. He seems to be doing his best to look inconspicuous, but without much success.