Herotica 1. Kerry Greenwood

push the succubus away, but the strong arms held him tight. ‘Begone, tempter!’

      ‘No. Have some sense. You Saxons are supposed to be sensible,’ exclaimed the succubus, exasperated.

      There was a long silence.

      ‘You’re not a succubus, are you?’ asked Brother Aelfwine, drawing the man back into his embrace. ‘That should have driven you away. I made the sign of the cross.’

      ‘And if you’ll give me use of a hand I will make it myself. There. See, you stubborn Saxon oaf? I am an escaped slave of the Vikings. I came with the ships that are presently lurking just off your island.’

      ‘What is your name?’ asked Aelfwine, very gently. His exploring hands had just found the scars of many a flogging on his lover’s back.

      ‘They call me Thrall in Dubh Linn,’ he whispered bitterly.

      ‘That is not your name,’ said Aelfwine. ‘Thrall just means ‘slave’.’

      The beautiful man closed his eyes and spoke very fast.

      ‘My mother was Welsh. A princess of Gywnedd. She called me Evan. She died young. Her master was kind enough, but she faded away in captivity. I know where her father’s land lies. I will go there tonight, and I will take you with me, if you can find us some clothes and provisions. I slipped overboard naked and swam here.’

      Aelfwine sat up, calculating, all action, now that his mind was made up.

      ‘Vikings. Right. Clothes, worldly garments. And I must rescue the Lindisfarne Gospels. They are in a jewelled box. They can have that. But not Eadwin’s work. I will be back,’ he kissed Evan, sweetly. ‘I will be back soon, my Evan.’

      The candle had not burned down more than half an inch when Aelfwine was back with a bundle of garments, a sack, and something folded into an oilskin bundle.

      ‘Dress, my honey,’ he said to Evan. ‘I raided the kitchen, I stole some coins from the treasury, I roused the monastery, I have the Gospels. If I leave them here, no one will think them valuable. The Danes don’t usually kill. The monks will be re-housed. They will take them to their new home and make them a new cover.’

      Aelfwine pulled on hose and shirt, and dragged over that a shabby jerkin and a worn cloak of dark green cloth. Evan wore much the same in dark blue, with his black cloak over all. Both wore monk’s sandals.

      ‘But the problem remains,’ said Aelfwine, ‘how are we to escape?’

      ‘The way I entered. The builders left themselves a way out to the mainland,’ replied Evan. ‘Look.’

      He pressed a corner of a lintel, and a doorway gaped in what Aelfwine had thought was a solid stone wall. Evan took his hand. Aelfwine looked back at his cell. He had been very happy there, drawing uninterrupted, with someone to feed him, and no possessions except his vellum and his paints and inks. He observed that Evan had packed up all his painter’s colours and added to the box the pages he had been illuminating.

      ‘You shall have a place,’ said Evan, holding up his free hand in pledge, ‘where you can write and draw, and a door you can lock. And my love,’ he added, pressing a sweet kiss to Aelfwine’s mouth. ‘My love, always.’

      ‘And mine,’ swore Aelfwine. ‘My dearest succubus.’

      They left Lindisfarne, and the door swung silently shut behind them, as the crashing and shouting started outside.

       ILLUMINATED BOOKS OF THE BRITISH ISLES

      The Princes of Gwynedd were always considered patrons of the arts. Singers and musicians were particularly welcome in their courts, or llys. However, the Book of Merlin is unique even amongst that royal house’s treasures. It is a folio consisting of twelve twelves of vellum, stitched and boxed in oak with a jewelled inlay. The pages are lettered in oak gall ink, which has etched the vellum. Every page of text has a corresponding picture. The painter is only identified as EAE. The free pictorial style and the rich use of colours is strongly reminiscent of the best monastic work, and is dated by an inventory as being completed in A D 820.

      The text is an early version of the Mabinogion, with only one surprising addition. This is a verse from the Song of Solomon. The figures are partly concealed by flourishes of ivy leaves, but appear to be a fair figure lying in the lap of a dark figure with curly hair. The verse is ‘Stir not my love nor wake him till he please: he feedeth amongst the lilies’.

      This may have been a make-up page to complete the twelve, or maybe a favourite verse of the patron prince, Owain the Blessed. The Book of Merlin has survived as a treasure of the Welsh ever since and may be found in the National Library of Wales in Cardiff.

      The survival of the Lindisfarne Gospels through two Viking raids can only be explained by the thesis that the book was housed in a decorative box, from which the text was taken and hidden somewhere dry. It has been rebound twice, and the pages are in excellent condition, the colours as bright as when Eadwin drew them circa A D 700. Robert Cotton collected it, and it resides in the British Museum.

      DEVIL’S BARGAIN

      I expected the demon Abraxas to be ugly. Demons always were, in my admittedly minor experience. The one we had called up as students was Apophis, an amalgam demon: body of a hippopotamus and head of a crocodile. He was the principal executioner for the God Osiris, with an inexhaustible appetite for the hearts of the sinful. He was contained in a triple circle of salt, mercuric oxide, which we call demon’s blood, and pounded lapis lazuli, so well known for its ability to repel evil that every child has a blue bead strung around its neck from birth. Unless someone scuffed it, not even Apophis could reach out and indulge in his favourite pastime. And not only did he look frightful, but he smelled frightful: stagnant water and old blood.

      Abraxas, however, was beautiful. He was an amalgam too, male and female. The Greeks call such people Androgyne. The round breasts, long hair and soft features of a girl, the genitalia of a boy. He was perfectly and splendidly naked. His skin was black; not in the way of the vile Kush, but black as a night sky. If it wasn’t for that and the burning red eyes, which all demons have, I would have thought him human. Also, the fact that he had appeared in the middle of my carefully constructed triple circle was a strong indication.

      He blinked, tossed back his black hair, and smiled at me. Then he sketched around himself and conjured a throne, onto which he sank, very gracefully. He waved again and clothed himself in a robe of purple and gold, scowled at it and banished it with a snap of the fingers, waved again and got one of severest black, scowled and banished, then decided on his own beautiful, glossy skin, which no silk could possibly rival. He also smelled beautiful, of honey and incense and something dark and musky. I was astounded and could not speak for a moment. The demon’s gaze fell upon me. His red eyes narrowed.

      ‘Well,’ he said in a tenor voice of remarkable clarity, ‘you called me. Presumably you have a task for me.’ I still could not speak, so he went on, examining me closely ‘let me see. Young man, pale skin - a student, scarcely sees the sun. Usual number of features and limbs, acceptable standard of beauty, more than basic level of skill at conjuration or you wouldn’t have got me - I’m not anyone’s to just summon, you know.’ I swear he turned his head and preened. ‘Not worn or worried, so it isn’t illness, in any case a student would know there isn’t a lot demons can do about earthly ills, anyway. Even if we wanted to, which we don’t. Not angry, so it isn’t revenge. So, it must be love,’ he pronounced it with an exaggeration which made me blush red as fire. ‘Oh, isn’t that just so human?’ he asked, cooing like a marketplace whore.

      And that was enough of that.

      ‘I am on the outside of this circle, and you are in the middle,’ I reminded him. ‘And you must stay as long as I say.’

      He pouted.

      ‘Doesn’t mean we can’t have a conversation,’ he said. ‘I’ve been so bored lately. You could have a lot of fun with me,’ he slid a long fingered