22: Ashes for the Cross 22: Ashes for the Cross The Isle of Man, located between Ireland, Alba, and England was a relatively overlooked area of the world.
Despite being situated between three major trading routes.
It was, for the most part, remote, secluded, and deeply traditional.
It was because of this that the island became a prime target for Cnut and his search for a scapegoat.
Time was running out, and he needed someone to face the justice of the papacy’s righteous fury.
And it was here, on this island, in its most isolated hill lands, that a village which still worshipped the old gods found themselves living a relatively peaceful day-to-day life.
Nobody knew the storms which were gathering across the sea, in the north.
Nor could the people on this island know what the King of England and Denmark had planned for them.
No, they tended their fields, baked their bread, and forged their iron, not for weapons of war, but for tools of trade.
It was a peaceful day, albeit a dreary one, as autumn came closer to an end.
And yet, the village folk were running around all the same.
A farmer was currently tending to the fields just outside the hamlet’s center.
No sword upon his hip, only a hoe in hand, and sweat upon his brow.
In fact, the weeping sky felt comfortable to him, with all of his effort.
Yet… As he was tending to the fields, something ominous stirred in the distance.
Down the old dirt road, the gallop of horses resounded in the distance.
The trodding of their iron sodden hooves clunking against the earth beneath their feet was unmistakable.
And while horses were not an unusual part of life in this day and age.
So many of them sprinting towards the town was indeed.
Because of this the farmer found himself curiously poking his head out from his field, trying to see just how many men were visiting and from where?
Unfortunately, as he stepped out from beyond his crops, and into the dirt path, a steel blade passed by his neck.
His head detaching from his shoulders and rolling onto the ground below, his blood spilled, and his face having the same curious expression as it had the moment before the farmer was killed.
Yet his death went entirely unnoticed by his fellow village folk, rather it was not until the horses stopped, and lit the fields aflame with torches did the people within the hamlet begin to panic and scream for their lives.
“Your village has been found guilty of harboring a pack of Varangian heretics!
Your judgment has come!
May god have mercy on your souls!
For we will not!” The isle of Man burned, and the world?
It barely seemed to notice.
— Cnut received word not long after his agents had concluded the task.
They had burned village after village on the Isle of Man to ash and cinders.
Searching for anyone, anything that could be used to fabricate their guilt.
Eventually, after the fourth or fifth village was massacred.
Some old runestones were found in a small settlement.
They were excavated and brought back to London.
Along with helmets, swords, and coats of mail.
Not forged on the Isle of Man or used by its inhabitants, but rather made here in England, merely brought forth as additional “evidence” of the Isle’s connection to the Varangians.
Cnut gazed upon what had come of his orders, and let the Master of Whispers speak for himself.
“There are no witnesses left to speak of what was done, and the evidence we have… gathered… Is just enough to convince the Papacy that we not only ‘found’ the Varangians, but brought them to justice along with those harboring them.
It would appear that for the time being, war with the Germans has been avoided, wouldn’t you say, your majesty?” Cnut was as silent as the dead which were slain on his orders.
He understood the weight of what he had done.
And he took no pleasure in it.
Heathen or Christian, what he had done was wrong, and he knew it.
But what he had done had also prevented the outbreak of war, a conflict that would have seen many more dead, and many more innocents to suffer.
So, he may have just committed a great act of evil, but unfortunately, it was a necessary act of evil.
Nevertheless, he remained silent, if not simply for those who had perished under his command.
And when the time finally came for him to speak, his tone was both heavy and solemn.
“Very well, as you said, the evidence is sufficient to keep the Germans off our back, and the Pope satisfied.
Send What you have gathered to Rome.
I will not give that scoundrel Conrad a chance to undo all that we have worked so hard for!” The master of whispers said nothing in response.
He simply bowed respectfully, before departing so that he may carry out his liege’s will.
As for Cnut, he remained with his steward, a man he was close to, and had been for many years.
And when the two of them were alone, only then to Cnut reveal his true thoughts on what he had done.
“Go ahead… Say it… Tell me what a fiend I am… How I have just damned myself to the depths of hell for eternity.
I deserve it!” The Steward remained silent, just as Cnut himself had done when he first heard that his orders were completed.
And the longer he held his tongue.
The more Cnut lashed out.
I’m giving you permission to speak your mind freely!
Without any recourse on my behalf!
Are you so frightened by the man that I have become that you won’t even tell me the truth!?!” Finally, the steward spoke, after a long and heavy sigh.
“It’s not that sire… Rather, you already fully understand the weight of the decision you have made.
In fact, I’m quite pleased to see that despite having committed such a wicked deed, you are so burdened by it… Had you not been, perhaps I would have found myself fleeing your court this very evening.” Cnut sank back in his chair as the aging steward continued with his speech.
“I have known you since you were a young boy, your highness.
The fact that you punish yourself so severely over doing such a necessary act is proof enough that you are not the monster you fear yourself to be.” A slight pause, and an inflection in the man’s tone.
Followed by the end of his statement.
“Yes, you condemned a few hundred innocent souls to death.
But you saved thousands in the process… Perhaps even tens of thousands.
And that is not something I would rebuke you for.
You have done the best you can, with the circumstances you were dealt, and all we can do now is wait for Rome’s response…” Nothing more needed to be said, the Steward simply patted the King on his shoulder, before walking out of the room altogether, leaving Cnut to drink by himself as he truly reflected on this whole situation, and what had led him to make such a horrific action.
In truth, the Varangians had sacked Bobbio, but the Pope and Conrad were no less complicit.
Their demands were both unreasonable and manipulative.
Since their real goal was to create a casus belli which saw the North full under Conrad’s control, or at the very least their influence.
They had tasked Cnut with an impossible task.
And when they realized he had succeeded, they would naturally be suspicious.
Now, however, the only thing he could really do was ensure they did not find proof that he had lied.
In fact, the only thing that could truly ruin his plan was if those damned raiders had returned.
But they had not been spotted in close to a year now.
Perhaps they had died at sea… As unlikely as that was, Cnut sincerely hoped this was the case, and put the matter to the back of his mind for the rest of the evening.
— South Connacht, near modern Kinvara, on the southern coast of Galway Bay, within a few kilometers inland lie the monastic site of Kilmacduagh.
Within this was a convent, a young maiden knelt in prayer within her private quarters.
Her room was locked, but not from the inside.
Rather, it was the exterior of her doors, which were barred.
Keeping her inside these old stone walls.
Barely enough firewood in the hearth to keep her warm.
The windows, slightly cracked, allowing a draft to waft within, ever present, and chilling, especially on a rainy autumn night one.
Nevertheless, she, dressed in her nunnery robes, prayed to the old, rotting wooden cross above her hearth.
Asking the lord god almighty and Saint Brigid for the prosperity and the safety of the people of Connacht.
It was then, amidst her silent prayers, she heard the words spoken by her fellow sisters.
“I don’t care what Mother Superior says… It’s not acceptable that we are forced to keep sister Róisín locked away all hours of the day, save for mass, and mealtime!” Yet, the other voice was shrill and accusatory.
Almost even fearful as she slapped the woman who had dared suggest unbarring Róisín’s doors.
Have you seen that woman?
And her unsightly appearance!
She’s clearly been touched by the supernatural!
She’s the last of a tainted bloodline!
She’s to become one of us, so that she doesn’t spread her legs and breed more devilspawn!” “No!
Róisín is to stay in her quarters unless given expressed permission by the mother superior otherwise!
Your job isn’t to be her friend!
And I won’t hear anything more about this nonsense!” There was a brief retort, and then silence.
Only the sound of footsteps as the two women moved beyond Róisín’s quarters.
Allowing the young maiden a sigh of relief, as she continued with her prayers.