Forgotten Prophecies by Robert Coleman Page B

nightfall.
    “What did that woman say to you?” asked
Eldred. “Who is this Dewi that she spoke about? An old friend of
yours?”
    “Dewi is a teacher: an old Christian. And I
helped him build a house. A church, you could call it. But it seems
a very long time ago now. And if I hadn’t met you, I might still be
there.”
    “With the Glestingas? At Glastonbury?”
    “Yes. But what did the woman tell you ? She wouldn’t say anything to you until I left you alone
with her.”
    “It all seemed to tumble out of her mouth,
and there was so much. I’m still struggling to remember it all.” He
summarised the bare facts; he would meet a young girl with a
birthmark, they would have a son who would be a great leader and
have many friends in high places, and they would settle down
together and have a good life in her hall.
    “That sounds a bit too good to be true,” his
companion grinned.
    “Maybe. But she knew about your friend –
David, she called him? – and also she knew about my little
adventure with Clothilde the farmer’s girl. Except that wasn’t her
real name.”
    Eldred stopped speaking when he called to
mind everything else the old woman had said. He began to reflect on
its import, and was astounded. He had lain with the lady Aldeberge,
daughter of Charibert of Paris, the dissolute king of Neustria who
had died some three years earlier.
    Guthlaf, who had a gift for remembering
gossip, recalled that she had been married to the Lord Ansbert of
Moselle and lived in the city of Metz, but he died the previous
year. It was commonly held that she had inherited some of her
father’s ways, for Charibert had never been able to resist an
opportunity to take any woman he fancied. Thus, as soon as
Aldeberge’s husband was dead, she was in the care of her uncles,
together with her two children from the marriage. But the kings had
more pressing affairs to engage their attention in their own
territories, and there was nobody to control her behaviour...
especially in the company of men.
    So the girl – a dissipated princess – would
marry a prince one day, the crone predicted. I pity that man,
Eldred thought. But Aldeberge had been charitable to him: she had
given him a few coins in thanks for the romp they had enjoyed. They
were three gold tremisses – tiny coins that were in circulation
among the wealthy – minted from the remains of Roman plunder left
behind after the collapse of the Empire. She had probably guessed
he was a fugitive. And she had a seemingly limitless source of
money, happy to bestow it upon anyone she pleased. He had been
astonished, but made no attempt to quarrel with her. The coins came
in useful when they reached the end of their long road; they could
afford to be generous to the boat captain who took them back across
the Channel to Bosham, ready to make their new start in the
homeland of Eldred’s original people, the Suth Seaxne –
South Saxons – or, as we say now, Sussex.
     
    * * *
     
    In the sub-kingdom of Suthrige (now called
Surrey, in southern England), c.580
     
    Nearly ten years later, Eldred was still
wandering round southern England with Guthlaf; he now had a growing
horde of hunting men, helping themselves to whatever they wanted
from the farms that struggled to survive in those hard years.
    Guthlaf had just returned from an
intelligence-gathering expedition in the neighbourhood, hoping to
hear news of places which might be worth a visit to plunder.
    “Eldred, I’ve heard some news in Godhelm’s
market, from traders who’ve arrived from Canterbury.” Canterbury
(or Cantwarabyrig ) was the chief city of the people then
called the Cantwara , the inhabitants of Kent. “It seems that
the old woman you met in Neustria all those years back was
right.”
    “What are you talking about, Guthlaf?”
    “Don’t you remember her prophecy? She
foretold how that royal whore, the lady Aldeberge, would one day
marry a prince.”
    “That was a long time ago: more summers than
I can