The Abbot's Tale

by Conn Iggulden

‘My name is Dunstan of Baltonsborough. I give you honour and I am pleased to meet you. I have never seen such a . . . contrivance before. Please forgive any hurt I may have caused.’

will see you again at Christmas,’ Heorstan said sternly to us. ‘Work hard in the meantime. Behave. Pray every day and do not neglect your souls, though your flesh withers. Tell the truth, boys. Do as you are told.’

I didn’t know I would never see the old man again.

Heorstan was too old to survive another winter, that was just the truth of it. He did not live to see the next Christmas. He gave me a good start. A man cannot ask for more.

‘The shaking sickness is fascinating, is it not? My own brother was overtaken and made senseless by fits, not too different from yours, I believe.

Though I was barely fourteen years of age, they assumed I was the head of my house. That was natural enough, except that my father had four older sons as well.

‘I saw a great abbey risen from the land around Glastonbury, a collection of towers three times as high as the one here! I flew like a bird to see them all, as if I rode the wind itself.’

I was beaten raw in full sight of Abbot Clement, of Encarius and Masters Florian and Gregory, Brother John in the gardens, Guido of the boats, my brother, the other boys of all ages, and, of course, the grinning Godwin. The prior’s son always sidled around to the best viewpoint while Caspar laid on with his switch, just so I would know he was there.

I made my bargains, as men do. Lord, if you can find it in your heart, I will raise a great house in your name. I will make you a cathedral. Some men promise the world and cannot deliver it. Yet my word was good, I think. I have broken some oaths, but not that one.

There have been moments in my life when I truly believe I have been touched by God, despite my best efforts. Though I may be unworthy, he does love a sinner and always has.

Wulfric had been the last thread holding me at the abbey, keeping me back. Now that he had woken and was recovering, I knew I could leave him, that I could leave them all like a chrysalis, dead and flaking on the branch.

You never saw such cruelty as I witnessed on those closed, blank faces.

there they were, sitting in judgement on me, without trial. I have known hate since, but, by God, I learned it then.

He was born to rule. Why not? Like his brother Æthelstan, Edmund was the grandson of King Alfred, the son of King Edward the Elder. When I think of a king, I always mean him.

I began to consider ways of using levers to make it easier on us. Archimedes said that if he were given a lever long enough, and a place to stand, he could move the world.

There would be something embarrassing about going into battle with just an eating knife, that much was clear.

the boundary of Mercia and Northumbria. The memory of men will never forget that place and all its horrors.

They were ready for us and unafraid. I knew for the first time what it meant to face such men. To my marrow, I understood I might not leave that place.

Walking towards your own ending was hard, and there was always a chance our nerve would fail. We wanted it to begin, so that we could be free. When we could make out the individual faces of the berserkers, when we were close enough to see the trefoil of Anlaf’s banners waving in the centre, Æthelstan’s harper began to slap his hand on his wooden board.

I knew by then that we were badly outnumbered. There must have been eighty ships at anchor and as many boats beached on that shore, as far as the eye could see. This was no mere raid. Anlaf had brought men to meet Æthelstan’s armies and to take his kingdom.

My presence was marked, of course. It did not go unnoticed that a Benedictine was among the line of axemen. For years, I had to deny any knowledge when I was asked about it.

Five small kings died that day and some half a dozen earls. Æthelstan had lost much, but he’d gained peace and reminded all those who might rebel that we were strong.

Æthelstan and his brother Edmund enjoyed that summer. Not only had they fought and won, but there were no other contenders for the throne of Britain then, not one. It would be a long time before Anlaf had the strength and gold to find more men.

Very well. You are freed of your service here, your oaths to me. Glastonbury needs an abbot. Go and do God’s work in that place, far away from here. Far away from me.’

‘I do not expect to see you again, Brother Dunstan. Do you understand? This is mercy from me – and the favour that comes from having such advocates to speak on your behalf.’

Build the abbey Lady Elflaed desires. Grow into the role as abbot, as father to a community. Above all, do not make me regret my appointment. I sense overweening pride in you, Dunstan – and perhaps greatness, if you can master it. Either way, you will not return to Winchester.’

Edmund’s England began to thrive. I will not say the whole realm, as we heard nothing from Scotland

A week after Edmund’s funeral, a huge wall fell at Glastonbury, killing poor Brother Guido.

It seemed almost fitting, that my beloved abbey broke in the same year Edmund fell. My friend should have ruled for decades, like his father.

In the end, I should be ashamed how long it took me to see what I needed to. The Roman arch is in every aqueduct and bridge, every window and door, every church and stone guildhall. I learned early on how they built their arches in equal sides, then lowered in the capstone, so that mere bricks became as strong as any natural shape, as an egg is hard to break in the hand.

In May of the year of our Lord 946, Prince Eadred was crowned king by Archbishop Oda of Canterbury, as Rome had made him. I grew to like Oda the Good, despite his Danish ancestors and strange customs.

I tuned my harp strings to make music – and the wind brought forth the notes. It was a wonder. King Eadred was certainly entranced by it, so that I made it a gift to him. If the abbey was my first great work, the harp was my second. I had made a dozen of them over the years, but that was my last.

I remained the royal treasurer, and as I entered my thirties, I was well known at court, in Winchester and in London. The sheer weight of coin that came from my efforts to root out corruption made me a favourite every time King Eadred spent time in his treasury.

My cathedral was finished in Canterbury, so that choirs sang day and night in constant prayer for the realm and the king.

I put my crown on Edgar and I said Mass, with heads bowed as far as I could see. I anointed him with holy oil, as Æthelstan and Roman emperors had been before him.

when I look back, I wish I had been taken then, struck down at that moment of happiness. Yet I had one more tragedy ahead, one great error. If I have lived a life of five great works, some have had their own shadows.