Chronicle No. 2
January 19th 798, 6am.
The bitter cold of winter hangs over Cookham, like icicles of iron, like dagger icicles hanging from the willow trees over the freezing, beaver brown, river Thames. Silver Serpent wakes after another freezing night.
As I lie in bed with my freezing toes and crimson nose, my breath looks like the thunder clouds over our village, heavy with rain, snow, or maybe, the terrible fire and brimstone of the Bible [1].
My wolf skin cover may keep wolves warm at night, but not me.
When Wilfrida reads from the bible every Sunday morning, in the dark, holy Abbey, I fear the power and wrath of God. Or is his son, our Lord Jesus, going to save us all from our sins, whose face is so mournful and merciful on the cross in the apse of our solemn Abbey.
Will he save us from the attacks of the brutish men of Wessex?
Will he save us from the famine which eats away at us?
Will he save us from flood and drought?
Well, enough of that for now, it is time to get up and face the day.
I creep out of bed and quickly put on my clothes and shoes, and eat my breakfast. There is nothing but bread, honey and cold, cold water. I leave the damp of my house for the shore of the Thames, not forgetting my knife, called Eofor-Tūs ,or Boar’s tusk [2] and my magic flute called Ylfete Sang or Swan’s Song [3]. They are my close companions.
Down Hedsor Hill I walk to the river to take my small boat, named Mære Nebel) [4] or Marsh Mist, to set off up the river to the marsh.
Just as I am about to step onto my boat, there are my faithful friends, the eels, sliding around the jagged pieces of ice by my feet. I stop and greet them with a wave, and a morning greeting from Swan’s Song. They form the shape of a large hand and wave back at me, and then they form the shape of an ear, which always means they have a message for me. I close my eyes, and listen to their single voice echoing around my head.
“Silver Serpent, the ice will melt away and spring will soon arrive. Be brave, be strong. Silver Serpent, today you will meet a new friend from far away. Open your heart to him.”
“Thank you my eel friends for your message of hope on this bleak winter’s day”, I reply.
And with that the eels disappear into the glassy, icy Thames, hoping to avoid the frightening, river beast for another day.
Not for the first time, I spot an unusual piece of stone on the shore. It looks like flakes have been chipped off it by someone, and it is as sharp as my knife. [5]
What is this? Could it be from another age? An age when the warmth of the sun always shone on our backs. Or could it have been from an age of ice, when there was no autumn, no spring and no summer, just endless Ice and darkness?
I put the strange little stone in my pocket to keep with my collection of precious items I have found by the river.
And now I make my journey up the river to empty our fish traps.
I paddle past the tip of Sashes Island, and notice a swarm of boats at the jetty by Cookham Abbey.
It is a scene of wintry, grey motion, the movements of people unloading goods, the boatmen shouting instructions to each other to get the best berth.
And then a flash of regal red, it is the Queen, dressed in a long claret cloak, blue stockings and a pure white headdress, our Queen Cynethryth [6], wife of our now deceased, noble warrior-leader, King of Mercia, Offa.
She is stepping along the jetty towards the Abbey precinct to meet Wifrida, her confidante.
The Queen is followed by a long line of servants and nuns, all dressed in dark robes and with their heads bowed against the soul chilling wind, blasting their faces.
What must it be like to be Queen Cynethryth?
Does she rejoice in her power and glory, and the obedience of her followers?
Or does she feel the weight of being our Queen, and repaying the faith and trust of the people of Cookham and far beyond?
Is she comforted by our merciful Lord Jesus, or terrified by the descriptions of hell in the Bible?
And what of Offa, did he love Queen Cynethryth, like my mother and father love each other, or is he a man of war, whose heart is as cold as the steel in his murderous sword?
But I have to paddle on to reach our fish traps.
My hands are now the colour of the grey Thames in the chilling wind.
I paddle alongside the marsh, until I get to the hill, the Winter Hill, so well named today.
And there, between the river Thames and the Winter Hill, stand the high mounds, three times my height. [8]
People say these are burial sites of Kings and Queens, from long before we Mercians lived here. My parents told me that they were not Christians, but rather believers in strange gods, who came from a distant time and place.
I moor Marsh Mist, and climb onto the riverbank, intending to collect fish from our fish traps. But it is not a good fishing day because the fish hide from us on cold days like this, and there are few in the traps. So it will be dried fish tonight for supper again.
As I prepare to walk back to my boat, I glimpse a flash of red hair of a boy hiding behind a burial mound. But the figure disappears as soon as I spot him. Has he been watching me, I wonder, but I don’t feel safe and know I need to get back on the boat and speed back to the Abbey and home. So I run back to the riverbank, but just as I am about to step aboard, I feel a spindly, skeletal hand on my shoulder. I spin round and there looking me right in the eye is a long haired, wild eyed, ragged boy, with desperation in his eye. I have never seen him before and he looks so different from me, both terrified and fearsome.
“Please help me, I am starving and the blood has frozen in my veins”, says Flame Fox.
I am friendless, and have no family. Please help, there is no sanctuary here on the marsh, and I will not get through another night without your help.
Please, please help me!”
Footnotes
[1] The first mention of fire and brimstone in the Bible is in Genesis 19:24, where God destroys the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah with a rain of fire and brimstone.
[2] Saxon knife found at Cookham Abbey.
[3] Bone flute found at Cookham Abbey 2024.
Ylfete sang means Swans song, and appears in the poem The Seafarer. http://www.anglo-saxons.net/hwaet/?do=get&type=text&id=Sfr at 16a
[4] The Godney Saxon canoe (not from Cookham Abbey), Credit to: https://glastonburyantiquarians.org/site/survey.php?level=town&page_id=1
[5] Handaxe found in Reading. Palaeolithic handaxe found in the Forbury Gardens, Reading (REDMG : 1978.7.64). Credit to: https://www.readingmuseum.org.uk/blog/readings-earliest-settlers
[6] Queen Cynethryth coin. https://www.cookhamabbey.org.uk/archaeology/
Cynethryth coin image credit: https://www.cngcoins.com British Museum object ID 00030519001
[7] Offa of Mercia coin. Credit to:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Offa_of_Mercia
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Offa_of_Mercia#/media/File:Offa,_King_of_Mercia,_silver_penny;_(obverse).png
In the National library of France.
[8] Bronze age mound at the Cock Marsh, Cookham by Winter Hill. Credit to: https://www.themodernantiquarian.com/site/518/cockmarsh
Cookham Chronicles logo background courtesy of the British Library.