Southend U3A

Writing for Fun

July 2016

A Walk To The Top Of The Hill - Gerry Miller

Inwardly I groaned but I knew that I would complete this task if it was to kill me. To be or not to be and there would be no fuss from me or indeed from any of the others. The planning had seemed to have gone on forever, I was now only in my fifteenth year, it had been spoken about all of the time that I had understand speech. Rendlesham was a lovely village and my tribe had lived there all of its life.

The Royal Hall was enormous and as serving girl I was in and out all the time, it was solid and we knew that clan descendants would be living here for eternity. The village was well populated and as Anglo Saxons the men were tall, fair, always armed with swords, spears and round shields. Our buildings were made of wood and we had now replaced all of the roman stone built villas. The quality of our metalwork was second to none. My father was a silversmith and jewellery maker and as such our family was much esteemed in the village. His work was commissioned by the highest ranks in society and he had made much for the king. Our king had taken arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing them had ended them.

My body continued to ache, my legs were pulling and straining and the whole village pulled together on the ropes. The sweat poured down my back, but to be sure I was not the only one. We would not be left undone. My father, brothers and all the other men from the village were evenly spaced between the women as we pulled. I could feel the pulsating of my heart and with every step I breathed as deep as I could. I had promised myself not to look ahead too early as I would doubt myself. We grunted and sweated it was a weary journey.

The hillside on the top behind the wood had been the obvious choice; it was visible throughout the country of East Angles and well into West Mercia. As I had sat in the village sewing and weaving I watched the preparation work start to grow, with heartaches and a thousand shocks it had indeed been a long job. The trail wending its way up the hillside needed to have stopping points, with no risk of tilt or damage. At last the call to stand firm and I allowed myself to gaze upward. Both warriors and villagers were rushing round tying off the huge creation in front of me. Why on earth was it 94 foot long and why did the burial chamber have to be on top of the hill. I groaned and sank to the ground looking back down I could see the Deben tideway and the older women slowly walking towards us with the night’s meal.

The sun was just setting and as it started to disappear over the hill rays of light struck the open burial chamber. Perhaps it had glistened on the metalwork dress fittings in gold and gems. The shield, sword and silver plates cast many glows around the hillside and the villagers all watched in amazement. The burial chamber would not be sealed off for a year. In that time many warriors would gain honour by standing guard.

We were only halfway and tomorrow would be another hard day. There was merriment in the camp that night with plenty of mead and embrocating potions to ease our aches and pains. Feasting and music making celebrated the life of our king, he certainly did not his quietus make with a bare bodkin. The children laughed and played with juggling balls, hoops and spinning tops. I bound my feet again and tied on my sandals and watched as others did the same. New wadding cloths were distributed to bind our hands; no time to recover now, that would come later. Already as I watched in the twilight the young boys of the village were starting to infill the trench behind us that had taken so many months to carve out. The dawn arose and with the cock’s crowing the waking of the village started the dog’s barking. The sheep grazed on the land below us. I stretched my body and groaned. Such a gentle stretch and yet so much pain and stiffness. We ate our breakfast around the fires and then we were summoned to the ropes. ‘Oh dear Woden help me,’ I muttered as I resumed my place. Again I vowed not to look ahead, just head down and keep going. We braced ourselves as the safety ropes were untied and turning slightly to the left we set off again.

I could hear behind me the clip clopping of the train of horses, each laden with the essentials for the King’s journey to the next world. Whilst his body had been ceremoniously laid out with his battle armour sword and shied, his essentials for living in the next world would be placed alongside him at the top. Coloured and patterned textiles, pots and pans, games and of course his lyre would all be there, ready for him to use. My body was very quickly getting past feeling anything, apart from the stinging of my feet where I could see blood oozing through the wading.

The pack horses drew level with us and I could hear their whinnying and then feel their soft breathing as they slowly drew close and then passed us. Drink was being sent up and down the line but the instructions were clear only the persons holding a flagon were to let go of their part of the rope. We had come too far now for any mishap to occur. My back was aching and my joints screamed out in pain as I finally weakened and glanced ahead. My heart leapt there was no hillside in front of me; we must be at the summit. And there it was the long hollowed out tumulus in which the long boat would rest.

I cannot lie the last bit was not the easiest and I worried that I could be trapped inside as we pulled the boat down into the barrow. Thankfully many hands were reaching down not just to grab me but to grab the rope pulleys as well. I rolled out and over on the grass sobbing with relief. My body was awash with adrenaline, at last I stood up alongside and I could see in to my King resplendent in his finery. Women were bustling in and out decorating his chamber, it was a picture; at least he would be traveling safely to the next world. My father finally stepped forward and walked into the chamber placing a purse beside the king. This money had been deliberately collected in various coinages and would ensure that His Majesty would be able to pay the forty ghostly oarsmen in the after world.

Before I turned to return to the village I said a silent prayer to Balder the God of Immortality to safeguard our king in his future life and give him the strength to make our as yet undiscovered land fit for us. We would have no dread of something after death.