They Enter the Catacomb

The next time Egelric Wodehead saw the Duke, he told him of his concerns about the catacombs under the church. “Perhaps the malady remains. I worry that if we open the church, the miasma from beneath may sicken us all.”

Alred shook his head. “I don’t see how there could be any danger after all this time. The roof has been open, so there’s nothing keeping the bad air down there. I’m more worried about the mess we’ll find. The rain must have flowed down the stairs and carried a lot of trash and mold with it, not to mention the animals that have probably been there.”

“I would say that the stairs at least looked rather clean.”

“Well, I suppose we shall have to see what’s down there, even if we only brick up the passage afterwards. I shall speak of it to His Majesty.”

A few weeks later, King Sigefrith and Earl Cenwulf met Egelric and Alwy in the church.

“My lord, we have torches and an iron bar, in case we need to pry open a door,” Egelric offered.

The Earl nodded. “Who goes down first to light the way?”

Everyone turned to Alwy, who smiled sheepishly. “I’m not afraid,” he said softly. “Dead people can’t hurt you.”

“That’s right, Goodman Hogge.”

Alwy crept down the stairs, testing each step as he went, and repeating to himself, “I’m not afraid, I’m not afraid…”

When he reached the bottom he was relieved, as if the worst were over. “Well, I guess the stairs is good!” he called up to the others. He waited in the damp corridor as they followed him down, with the King in the lead.

Sigefrith spotted a bracket on the wall and put his torch into it. “I can’t believe how clean it is down here. I expected it to be full of debris.”

“Perhaps this part of the roof hasn’t been broken in for very long, Sigefrith,” the Earl said. 

Cenwulf walked down the corridor past rows of arched doors leading into dark chambers. “Look at these mosaics. They look almost Roman.” He turned the corner and continued down the passage.

Egelric took his torch and stepped hesitantly through one of the narrow doorways. “Just a coffin in here. This one’s open… there’s nothing inside.”

“Well, maybe the person died before he had a chance to be buried in it,” Alwy suggested.

“That’s right, Alwy!” Sigefrith laughed.

“This one’s closed,” Egelric said in the next room. “Does Your Majesty think we should open them?”

“I don’t know why we would. We know what’s inside. We need not disturb them.”

“What’s inside?” Alwy asked.

“A person who died a long, long time ago, Alwy,” Egelric explained.

Alwy shivered. He remembered now why he was afraid to come here. He would stay really close to Egelric and the King from now on.

Meanwhile Earl Cenwulf had wandered down the second passage. Each small room held a coffin or two, some crafted from simple rough-​​hewn boards, and others smooth and polished and decorated with crests or legends. Cenwulf glanced at the old names, but he was from the other side of the isle and none of them meant anything to him. 

The coffin in one chamber caught his attention, however, although he couldn’t say why. It lay on a marble dais, with braziers at the head and foot. Without thinking, he leaned down and touched his torch to the coals. They instantly caught.

He straightened, wondering that coals could light so easily after a century in a dank tomb.

The dancing light did little to lessen the eerieness of the place. Cenwulf studied the gilded crest on the coffin, only thinly veiled with dust. It featured a grinning death’s-head and some kind of flower. “What kind of family would have a skull on their crest?” he asked himself softly.

Cenwulf decided he had explored enough: the place was clean enough to be left as it was, and the door could easily be bricked in. He climbed the stairs to find the others already in the church waiting for him.

“There you are,” Sigefrith called. “We thought you had already come up.”

“I trust you will be satisfied if we brick up the door,” the Earl said.

“I don’t know, it’s a peaceful place enough. We shan’t wish to lie there ourselves, but it seems a bit of a shame to pen them up in there.”

Alwy’s eyes went wide.

“I see no reason to leave it open, Sigefrith,” the Earl said gravely. “These are not our people.”

Sigefrith shrugged. “It’s a shame about the mosaics then, isn’t it, Cenwulf?” he joked, as the Earl pulled the door tightly shut. “Still, I think we ought to leave it open for now. Perhaps the priest will wish to bless them one last time when he arrives. He’ll know better what’s to do. Pray tell, has the Countess sent word to her brother yet?”

“She has.”

“I certainly hope he’ll come,” he sighed. “If he can’t and we have to send to the continent a second time, we could be waiting a long time. Perhaps it will be best just to wait for little Bertie Hogge to grow up and be ordained, and he can baptize the Prince. What do you think, Alwy?” he laughed.

Alwy gaped.

“It’s a joke,” Egelric explained.

Alwy laughed too, as he always did when someone told him something was a joke, even though he often didn’t understand. 

But Alwy was unusually pensive as he walked home that evening. Gunnilda always said that it was certainly hard to get an idea into Alwy’s head, but once it was in there, it was even harder to get it out again.