Page 237 of The Evening and the Morning
That’s it, Wynstan thought; now there’s no turning back.
He turned to see Wilf waking up. Carwen’s grunting took onfresh urgency. Wilf’s eyes opened wide. Even with his reduced mental capacity he could grasp what was happening in front of him. He sat bolt upright and reached for the knife beside his bed.
But Wigelm was quicker. He reached the bed in two strides and fell on Wilf just as Wilf grasped his weapon. Wigelm brought his knife hand down in a long overhand swing, but Wilf raised his left arm and knocked aside Wigelm’s blow. Then Wilf thrust at Wigelm, but Wigelm dodged.
Wigelm lifted his arm for another slash, but suddenly Carwen moved, surprising Wynstan, who did not have her restrained as tightly as he had thought. Still gagged, she jumped on Wigelm, pummeling him and trying to scratch his face, and it took Wynstan a moment to tug on the belt and jerk her back. He jumped on her, landing with both knees. Keeping hold of the belt with his right hand, he drew his own dagger with his left.
Wilf and Wigelm were still grappling and it seemed neither had struck a telling blow. Wynstan saw Wilf open his mouth to yell for help. That would have been disastrous: the plan required a silent murder. Wynstan leaned over as a roar began in Wilf’s throat. Using all the force he could muster in his left arm, he plunged the dagger into Wilf’s mouth and thrust it as hard as he could down Wilf’s throat.
The roar was cut off almost before it began.
Wynstan suffered a moment of paralyzed horror. He saw the panic of extreme pain in Wilf’s eyes. He jerked the knife out, as if that would somehow mitigate the atrocity.
Wilf gave a strangled grunt of agony and blood poured out of his mouth. He writhed in pain, but he did not die. Wynstan had been in battle, and he knew that men with fatal wounds might suffer a longtime before they died. He needed to put Wilf out of his misery, but he could not bring himself to do it.
Then Wigelm administered the coup de grâce, plunging his knife into the left side of Wilf’s chest, aiming accurately for the heart. The blade sunk in deep and stilled Wilf in an instant.
Wigelm said: “May God forgive us both.”
Carwen began to cry.
Wynstan listened hard. He could hear nothing from outside the house. The killing had been done quietly and the guards had not been disturbed from their drunken slumbers.
He took a deep breath and pulled himself together. “That’s only the beginning,” he said.
He climbed off Carwen, still holding the gag tightly, and pulled her to her feet. “Now you listen to me carefully,” he said.
She stared at him with terrified eyes. She had seen two men stabbed to death and she thought she might be next.
“Nod if you understand me,” Wynstan said.
She nodded with frantic energy.
“Wigelm and I are going to swear that you murdered Wilf.”
She shook her head from side to side vigorously.
“You could deny it. You could tell everyone the truth about what happened here tonight. You could accuse me and Wigelm of cold-blooded murder.”
He could tell by her expression that she was bewildered.
He said: “But who will believe you? The oath of a slave is worthless—doubly so against that of a bishop.”
He saw understanding dawn in her eyes, followed by despair.
“You see the position you’re in,” he said with satisfaction. “But I’m going to offer you a chance. I’m going to let you escape.”
She stared at him incredulously.
“In two minutes’ time you’re going to leave the compound and walk out of Shiring by the Glastonbury road. Travel by night and hide in the woods by day.”
She looked at the door, as if making sure that it was there.
Wynstan did not want her to be recaptured, so he had prepared some things that would help her. “Take that bag on the table beside the lamp,” he said. “It contains bread and ham, so that you won’t need to find food for a couple of days. It also contains twelve silver pennies, but don’t spend them until you’re a long way away.”
He could see from her eyes that she understood.
“Tell anyone you meet that you’re going to Bristol to find your husband, who is a sailor. In Bristol you can get a boat across the estuary to Wales, and then you’ll be safe.”
