Valkyries Calling

24: The Cloak of Lies 24: The Cloak of Lies Nearly two months had passed since the Isle of Man, and its more secluded villages were lit ablaze in retaliatory attacks by Christians.

The “evidence” that Cnut had gathered which claimed they had been responsible for providing haven to the wanted Varangians had been dispatched with a host of envoys from London to Rome.

And after a long trek south, it had arrived in the heart of the Papal authority.

Compared to the Romans, they were little more than frontier savages; brutes in courtly dress, humbled by cobbled stones older than their kingdom.

The arrogance they had back home, feeling this exact way to the people of Alba, Wales, and Ireland was now shoved right back in their faces as they walked the ancient streets, built during a better age, by better men than themselves.

The cobblestone streets led straight to the heart of power.

Where Pope John XIX sat upon his throne.

The deadline was fast approaching, and for days now the envoys from Cnut’s court had been stalled repeatedly waiting upon the Pope to agree to their request.

Christmas day was just around the corner, and while the Christian world would be celebrating it as the “birth of their savior.” These two emissaries from London were sweating bullets.

And finally, today was the day their audience was finally accepted.

The night of Christmas Eve, Cnut’s delegates knelt before the Pope, and offered the evidence they had found to clear their guilt.

“Your holiness, Cnut has spent the year searching for the heathens who dared blaspheme against sacred ground in Bobbio.

And we are proud to admit, after significant efforts on our parts, we found them hiding on the Isle of Man.” The envoys, despite grovelling on their knees, pushed the items further, emphasizing one particular piece of “evidence” they had collected.

Their voices cracking as they did so.

“The sole survivor said that the leader was wearing a wolfskin pelt now?

Well, as you can see we recovered exactly that!

And this coat of mail was his armor.

Along with this, we have discovered several pagan artifacts to be handed over to your holiness.

Please take them!” The fact that nobody had yet moved a muscle, and not a single emotion had stern, caused the Envoys to sweat profusely, as they kept their heads bowed, pleading rabidly as they did so.

“We swear by the father, the son, and the holy spirit that our words are true, and if our tongue is false, then let the Lord’s justice be done to us!” A short but dreadful silence persisted, that is until the Pope finally spoke.

His face was expressionless, and his tone impatient.

“While I do believe you would not invoke the lord’s name over mere lies… I happen to have a witness here who can confirm whether these items really belonged to the pagans in question.

Bring the monk forth!” The two envoys cast a silent glance at one another, each filled with dread and defeat.

All the while the monk who had been spared by Vetrulfr to deliver his message was brought in by the Pope’s guards.

He looked to have been treated well by Rome during this last year, his cheekbones far fuller than when Vetrulfr had attacked his abbey.

And when he gazed upon the artifacts, specifically the wolfskin cloak, the monk averted his gaze and grimaced, as if the very pelt haunted his dreams.

However, the Pope’s voice was anything but kind as he demanded confirmation.

“Is this the cloak of the man who had killed your abbot, and your brothers in Christ?

Look at it and answer me clearly!” The monk forced himself to stomach his wrenching gut and gazed upon the bloodstained cloak.

And he immediately noticed something was wrong.

It was a different wolf… Or so he thought at first.

Uncertainty filled his eyes, but it was too late.

The Pope had caught his rejection immediately.

But did not outright call it out.

“Is something the matter?” The monk responded without thinking, at least at first.

“No!

I mean… not at all your holiness.

It’s just that….” Clearly, the pope could tell that the Monk had spotted something in error with the items presented as “evidence” of Cnut’s claims.

And was quick to press the man further.

“Speak now!

You owe it to your slain brothers, and to Christ himself!” The monk found himself forced to choose between sifting through his most horrific memories, or between accepting Cnut’s claims even if something felt wrong about the wolf in question.

After all, Cnut did not know that it was an arctic wolf that crowned Vetrulfr’s helm.

Not a grey wolf… because of this, he had a grey wolf found and skinned.

Its hide turned into a cloak.

But Arctic wolves were generally smaller than their continental cousins, and their fur was a different shade of hue and texture.

The monk may not have known this either, but he felt something was off the moment he saw it.

But this was not the thought he expressed when forced to share them.

“I’m sorry, It has been a long time since that fateful day….

I thought at first the wolf in my memories had a different fur color, but I realize now I was overthinking things.

The abbey was dark, and a storm was raging.

The flash of lightning could have easily confused me.

I am certain now, this is the wolf that the demon wore!” In the end, the storm had passed and like so many others in Rome; the monk chose comfort over the truth.

The envoys could not help but sigh in relief, as their postures sank as low as they reasonably could while they remained kneeling.

As for the Pope, he knew the Monk was lying.

He did not know why he would do so, but it didn’t matter.

He had no way to call the man out on it.

And thus, he could only sigh and announce an end to the hunt for the wolves that had attacked Christendom.

“Very well.

If you say this is the wolf that the Varangian wore, then I have no cause to deny your claim.

This matter is settled, and within the allotted timeframe.

King Cnut and his realm have been cleared of any suspicion regarding pagan sympathies and crimes against Christendom.

You may all rest here, and enjoy the birth of our lord.

But if you will excuse me, I am afraid I have some matters to personally attend to.” John XIX did not believe in justice, only in timing.

And for now, the time for truth had not yet come.

Hence, not another word passed between them that night.

The matter was settled; by blood, by silence, by sin.

The Pope retired to his quarters immediately afterward, and the envoys went to their own lodgings.

War had been averted for now… But it had been paid for in the blood of innocents, and with lies that would soon crumble when Vetrulfr struck again.