Also known as Bregwin.
Sources: Life of Bregowine by Eadmer; letters to Lull, archbishop of Mainz, Germany. Consecrated 27 September 761, died c. 24 August 765. Continental Saxon. Came to England to study at Canterbury school. Friend of Lull’s. Held at least one synod.
Egcwulf: Bishop of London[?].
Consecrated c. 745. Prob. died c. 772. Nothing else found.
Mulling over the results of my search, I conceded that there wasn’t much, but the information I had did tell me three things. Firstly, none of the characters was of major importance in the general scheme of things. I was therefore dealing with people around whom few sources would have accumulated, and I was unlikely to find much else, especially in a hurry. That was typical for many early Dark Ages characters.
Secondly, the information I did have completely accorded with Nielsen’s letters. For example, the known facts for Barking Abbey fitted well with the busy double monastery of the documents. It was therefore plausible - although by no means certain - that they were genuine.
Thirdly, the date estimate that I gave to Nielsen held up. Sigeric was king of Essex after 758. And the letters could not have been written before 27 September 761, or after 24 August 765, since they mention Bregowine as archbishop. That was encouraging.
But the sheer lack of useful data fuelled a thousand intensely absorbing questions in my mind. Over and over they turned: were the documents important somehow? They must be, if the police had them, but there seemed to be nothing in them! And where did the detective get them? He couldn’t read Latin, and was therefore extremely unlikely to come across them the way an interested scholar might. Nielsen must have been given them. But by whom? And why?
And why did he ask me to read them for him? I was tempted to assume that Claude was the connection. Claude was questioned by the police about the stolen wolf, the documents referred to what was probably the same wolf, and at least one policeman knew that Claude and I were good friends. That made loose sense, at a pinch. But Nielsen had explicitly said that the matter had nothing to do with Claude. So why me? If I were a detective in need of an expert Latin reader, I would not approach someone as junior as me. I would consult one of the more distinguished academics, such as Jonathon Boston-Norris, Head of Classics at St Matthew’s, or Herbert Wrasse, the well known medieval Latin specialist. I would also bring the documents to him, rather than have him visit the station, and permit him the use of every resource at his disposal to ensure as accurate a translation as possible.
And then it hit me in a flash. Nielsen had chosen me because he wanted a low profile … Nielsen wanted to keep the documents secret …
My mind raced. Nielsen had tracked me down. He had stayed with me in the interview room to ward off anyone who came in. And he had made me promise not to tell anyone about what I’d read. He didn’t want anyone else to know. That was it. But know about what? What made it worth keeping secret?
I looked at my watch. It was quarter past ten, and I was running late. This matter would have to wait. Packing my things away, I promised myself that despite the many questions, I would stick to my normal affairs for the rest of today. I hurried back to the office, conscious of having only whetted my mind’s appetite.
9
“What a banquet that was! The men drank their wine:
the weird they did not know,
destined from of old,
the doom that was to fall on many of the earls there.”
Beowulf
“At a fixed time, deputations from all the peoples who
share a common origin meet in a wood sanctified by their forefathers’ auguries and by ancient dread. A human victim
is slaughtered to celebrate the gruesome opening of the
barbarous ritual.”
The Roman historian Tacitus describes
the Semnones, a wild German tribe.
Germania, 98 AD
In spite of my hasty preparations, the conference lecture went well, much to my relief. Impatient to keep my schedule on track I decided to skip the luncheon in Hall, but just after one I remembered Monsignor Hough’s request concerning Mr Humphrey Miller. Since I felt a bit better about having salvaged the lost morning, I thought that ten minutes could be spared and I paid a visit to Mrs Barraclough at the Archaeology reception desk.
“I’m looking for the office of Mr Humphrey Miller, please.”
Mrs Barraclough looked tired. “I’m afraid no-one by that name works here, Mr Haye. You’re the second man in three days to ask me that.”
“It’s awfully rude of me to ask this, but - you’re certain?”
“More than certain, Mr Haye. If Mr Humphrey Miller worked here, I’d know about it.”
“I see. Then perhaps you could pass a message on to him, on the off chance that he makes himself known to you.”
Mrs Barraclough stared at me incredulously, then reached for a pencil and notebook.
“What’s the message?”
“Contact Monsignor Charles Hough at his presbytery as soon as possible.”
“I’ll pass it on. If Mr Miller makes himself known to me.”
I felt uncomfortable. Monsignor Hough had a sharp mind, it wasn’t like him to get something like this wrong.
“Thank you, Mrs Barraclough.”
I turned around to see Claude a few yards down the corridor, grinning at me.
“Thought I heard you talking out here. What happened at lunch time?”
“I worked through it. The conference threw me off track a bit.”
“You shouldn’t always be in such a rush, you know. You could get thirsty …”
Telling me I ought to be thirsty was an old trick of Claude’s - his way of convincing me I should come out and drink with him.
“I’ve got commitments tonight, Claude.”
“Reading in your digs doesn’t count as a commitment. And don’t tell me you’ve got boxing, I know you’re not training again until September.”
“Look, I’d love to but I’m behind on everything.”
“Too late! I talked with Tiernan over lunch. You’re booked in for a meal and a few pints with us at The Elephant and Castle.”
The Elephant and Castle. Our favourite pub. When we were younger, the three of us drank there whenever we could afford it. We’d had some memorable nights there,
