In the late spring of 885, strange events occurred in and around the village of Sandford, a little to the south of the Oxnaford.

As told by Father Beorhtræd

Fr Beorhtræd to the Lord Bishop, Greeting. Grace, peace and mercy from God our Father to you, my Lord Bishop. It has been just a few days since you have sent me to observe the condition of the Christian faith in that land beyond the sea, Hibernia, however, strange events near the centre part of this land, West of the Thames, such as needs reporting to you and our Lord King. I have reached the land of Gwent, and the good people here have sustained me for a night.

I was walking through a wooded area when my path coincided with a nun of a nearby monastery and a Christian healing woman, having traveled to England from her native Norway. We traveled along for a short while until we happened upon a group of men-at-arms arguing over something or another. It became clear from their attire these were a group of Norwegians and Saxons, if not of our same king, at least of our same blood. These Norwegians clearly consisted of two pagans, but included a Christian, albeit of questionable religiosity. I tried to pass around the back of the Norwegians, but they had heard me. By this point, I was no longer with the nun and the laywoman. I was caught at spear-point by the Norwegians, wanting to ransom me back to the diocese, but the argument between the Christian Saxons and the Norwegians was such that I could slowly walk to be guarded by the Saxons.

Afraid fighting would ensue, I left the two parties, again accompanied by the laywoman (both her and the nun appeared again), where we happened upon a small clearing with a relic of Our Lady left out in the open. It was such an odd spot to leave such a relic, I thought at first I beheld a way-flag for other wayfarers. After praying a Hail Mary, I was at a bit of a loss for what to do. Hearing the combatants walking up, I picked up the relic to escape, and had decided that I should bring it with me to Ireland to aid me in evangelising the Irish. I am not sure what happened to the laywoman at this point.

I made it a fair distance, but one of the Norwegians, the ‘Christian’ caught up with me and tried to convince me to hand over the relic in exchange for safety. It was clear his group was demanding the relic because they wanted to exchange it for coin. They did not even know about it, but only decided to take it when they saw me with it!

The next events are a bit hazy for cause of severe loss of blood. The pagans caught up with us closely trailed by the Saxons, who were themselves accompanied by the nun and laywoman. There was another fellow who had been around as well, constantly pointing this strange cylindrical object around the area. I believe I overheard he worked silver. As the Saxon warriors caught up, one of the pagans, clearly richer than the others, sliced me with his sword near my left shoulder. I dropped the relic, and shortly fighting ensued. I myself could not flee, but, as the fighting moved up a hill I could assist in the healing of the Saxons. This silversmith, if he can be found, may not truly hold the Christian religion, as he helped the pagans. Unfortunately, the relic was gone by this point.

After heading up the hill with the nun and laywoman, we ventured upon a camp, wherein one of the pagans was sat in a tent with the relic speaking with a Saxon trying to negotiate to buy the relic. Another Saxon was on the ground being robbed by the other pagan and the Christian. Seeing Christians robbing Christians is bad enough, but being that this robbery was for the benefit of pagans, I saw no choice but to perform the rite of excommunication, in the hope that if any Christian faith did remain, it would eventually win out over evil tendency. I may be right as well: the nun saw fit to remove his jewelry, a presentation of the Holy Cross, and he was so stunned that he let the nun take it. If he is found in repentance, I would be glad to hear of the lifting of this excommunication.

Before I left, I heard conversation about business dealing regarding sheep herding, and this was between one of the Christians and, I recall, a pagan! Perhaps the Saxons, too, do not all have as pure holy intention as I thought. The nun was insistent that the relic is regarded as holy by the locals, despite them being happy to leave it unprotected and in the open, so I returned to my journey as you, my lord bishop, had directed to me.
On the River Severn
Among the Silures of Gwent

As told by Halfdan “the Pompous” Friðgeirson

Reuniting with my foster brother and his lot has, thus far, proven an interesting endeavour. Hjalmar remains himself as ever of course, but Hauk’s once fearsome crew has rather fallen.

Currently the other travelling companion is a fellow named Signi. Signi Signison, at that, as though the forename were not odd enough alone. He is a strange man who has changed between being Christian and being Correct some 3 times this week, though he’s a good enough laugh when in the cups, and decent for a scrap.

Still, it is with this odd company, and the silversmith Alf on a trade venture, that I found myself wandering the woods of the area the Saxons call “Oxnaford” or some such. Some of said locals have gone missing of late, and far be it from me to turn down free land. Not to keep, mind you, ti’s a place of floods and winds, but a tidy profit could be made in selling it on. Not to mention rumours that some of the locals were some of those monks the Saxons seem so fond of, and fond of giving all their treasures to, and apparently one such treasure could still be found in these woods.
Now it is worth noting, a lot of the things Christians call treasures are actually bits of wood or dead people. I don’t know why they’re so important, but I’ve seen a monk or two in my day lay down his life trying to get some tiny silk lined box of finger bones to safety. I chucked the bones in the river and took the silk, only to later learn, to my great sorrow, the sort of prices these lot will pay for their special dead people bits. Probably a good scam to be had in that, but that’s neither here nor there at the moment. Regardless, while gold or silver would be preferable, I was at the very least hopeful that whatever this treasure was could be ransomed.

So it was that we was walking through the woods of this now emptied land, that Signi got himself into a tangle of some caterpillar silk, hanging all about every bloody tree in the forest, or so it seemed. But our pause to sort out this mess was what led to our hearing of another group coming through the forest. We beheld a monk!

Obviously my first instinct was to threaten him with violence for money. But apparently he had no money at that time, and was not local enough to quickly ransom, so, cunningly, I let the monk go, for I knew a fact of natural and mystickal philosophy; Monks smell relics and are attracted to them. By letting him go, we could follow him, surreptitious-like, through the woods and be sure to find our relic.

Unfortunately our quest was interrupted, by some trader, mercenaries, and a nun. Apparently on the lookout for the relic also, and the trader, named Leofdag, looking to establish sheep pastures for farming wool locally. Well one minute we discussed a trade deal with Leofdag, to guard his sheep, next minute we were battling the bastards for rights to ransom the nun and have her lead us to the relic. Everyone ended up injured and a passing healer, norse girl though she spoke in the prayers of the Christians, helped us up, so we dispersed.

But once more we had the whiff of monk, this time sighted with relic in hand! Signi gave a meandering chase, in which we once again did battle with the Christian mercenaries, apparently now out to defend the relic, but Hjalmar and I incapacitated the fools while Signi cornered the monk. Signi was trying his best to Christ him up into giving us the relic, but this was failing, and we heard the Saxons coming.

It is at this juncture that I want to address and clarify some persistent rumours I’ve heard floating around. No, I didn’t “Stab a defenceless monk”. The monk is fine. I barely glanced him with my knife! Gave him one of them stigmata his lot find so fashionable. He was fine. Honestly. Totally fine. But, relic in hand and monk in tow, we faced the Saxons.
Leofdag came to offer diplomacy and peace. Apparently the nun and such would be willing to discuss terms with us back at their encampment. Unfortunately the Saxons got apparently offended by the sight of an “injured” monk (barely a cut!) and so commotion ensued once more, in the midst of which the nun grabbed the relic and made off! Hjalmar have pursuit and snatched it back at their camp, while Signi faced some kind of ritual from the monk, and proceeded to get robbed by a nun. A viking, a drengr, a fearsome man of the north despite his name, robbed of his jewellery by a nun. Such shame can never be lived down.

As told by Sister Mildþrȳð, nun at St Frithuswith’s monastery, by the Oxnaford

Well! What a day that was, sister! As you know I travelled south at our abbess’s command to find out why the priest of Sandford has not responded to her last message. I took company with the wool merchant Leofdag, thinking he would be enough protection in these well defended lands of Wessex and so close to Oxnaford. How wrong I was! Anyway, when we reached the village indeed there was no sign at all of the villagers, and the church was deserted and the priest nowhere to be seen. As there seemed nothing to be done about that, I decided the best thing was to try to find the Sandford church’s famous statue of the dear Virgin Mary which as you will know they unveil for special feast days. As the feast of Saint Potentiana was only two days away I knew that this blessed relic must be found if possible!

Leofdag and I put our trust in the Lord and ventured through miles of trackless forest in search of the statue. Bugs and wild beasts attacked us but we were not daunted, let me tell you! And eventually we found that there were all manner of strange people in the area, mostly up to no good I am sure, including a priest who actually stole the Virgin’s statue from the church and seemed terribly keen to take it to Ireland of all places, I don’t see why the Irish would have any right to a Wessex relic. Anyway, I was actually threatened by a group of Danes who thought that any holy relic must be worth money to them – this despite one of them having the actual cheek to wear a cross and (as I later found out) pretend to be a devout Christian! Now that was earlier, of course, and later on I found they had taken the statue from Father Beorhtræd but I managed to pick it up while they were arguing about something else and I hitched up my habit and ran off with it! That’s when the Vikings chased after me which would have scared me half to death but as I say Aldhelm protected me in return for a silver brooch that I had brought in case of some emergency and I found my way back to the village where Leofdag’s mother had set up camp. I have to say that I think Dagrun may actually be the brains of their venture. But oh! I took my eye off the statue and the Danes sneakily stole her away again! Let me see, was it before or after that when I confronted that Dane with the cross and I took it from him because he proved himself to be no friend to the church and utterly untrustworthy. Did I tell you he actually stabbed Father Beorhtræd? I am sure he would have died on the spot had there not been a healer woman present, Sigrun (not sure about the name but something like that?), who though in fact a Dane is of the true faith and I’m sure that’s why she is blessed with such medical knowledge. Or was it that strange travelling silversmith who healed her. Goodness me there were a lot of strange people in the area that day and it was terribly confusing even to me and you know how clear my understanding always is.

At one point a mercenary fighter of terrifying aspect, named Aldhelm, turned out in fact to be a stout fellow and he aided me in recovering the statue, though I later lost it like I already told you. Do try to keep up.

Well it all turned out for the best of course, as we are protected by St Frithuswith AND the Virgin Mary. I exchanged the perfidious Dane’s silver cross for the statue and Loefdag had finally caught up with me so all was well. Now I think about it, maybe somebody stole her again but I kept my wits about me and was able to rectify the situation.

To celebrate this triumph of righteousness, I resolved that although a day was yet wanting to the feast of Saint Potentiana, we should strengthen our faith that very night by processing across the fields and through the woods while singing the beautiful hymn, the Ducks of the Lord. And in the church, by starlight I gently drew the veiling cloths from the Virgin Mary’s statue and the assembled company were struck dumb by her radiant beauty and air of calm holiness, Dane and Saxon, Christian and Pagan alike. Truly a miraculous evening.

We never did find out what became of the villagers, and Loefdag seemed to have some plan of weaving cloth from caterpillar silk which I am sure he’ll never be able to persuade people is genuine silk from the far east. And I don’t know what the people of Sandford will think when they do come home from whatever journey took them away so unexpectedly, or how their kinsfold of Cytingas will say. But it matters little as the Virgin’s statue is safe, discretely garbed and veiled, in her place in the Church ready to bless and protect all Christian folk.