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Excerpts from the book “Ermine” the first book of the “Waelmaer” series by Beranstrang Kernow

Global Books, 1994

747: Third day of fourth moon.

Another days uneventful travelling the road from Lindon to Eeoforwic. For the past two days I’ve been walking the old Roman Ermine Street that stretches from Laudenwic to Eorforwic. It’s a strange feeling to know this broken track of stones and moss was once trodden on and trampled by the great Roman Legions throughout the centuries, then the Angles after then countless armies of the families of Oswald and Penda back and forth throughout the last two centuries.

No armies on the roads today. Two quite different monks. The first was an Augustinian named Arwel who I recognised by his head, shaven save for a circle around the edge of his head, as was their way. He approached me as a you would a brother with a broad smile and greeted me in British, then Latin and finally in Anglish. I was confused by his unusual but not entirely unwelcome approach. He remarked “It is good to see the light of Rome is not lost on these roads,”

“I don’t understand” I replied. He gestured to the pendant around my neck. I looked down at the symbol. A Cross under a line with a hook on the end that curved back on himself. I knew it was a symbol of Christ, something about spelling his name.

“I’m sorry, between that and your red hair I assumed you were one of my kin,”

“A Briton?” I asked

“Perhaps, but also someone who knows the love and light of Rome,”

“An Augustinian?”

“A Catholic, that symbol isn’t invisible in the Anglish church but not often seen. They don’t seem to like things in the languages of southern countries!” he chuckled, “Anglish symbols for an Anglish church!” he said laughing again.

“Oh, I didn’t realise it was in another language,” i remarked, admitting my ignorance,

“It is Chi and Rho, In the language of the Greeks they are the first two letters of Christ’s name” I nodded and listened. I explained how the pendant was my fathers, who began to worship with the Anglish church when I was a child after seeing some aggression from local Angles and Gewisse. He said similar things had happened to his mother and her family and this was why they had traveled west to live with the Britons. I saw in him perhaps another me who but by the vagaries of fate walked a different path and as if with a poetic flourish to this thought, and after sharing a meal our paths very literally diverged. As he headed east towards the coast and I carried on north.


The second preacher had neither the ring of hair of an Augustine nor the shaven front of an Anglish monk but his hair shaven entirely. I had seen men and women like him before when I would travel with him to the markets in Glecaster and Corinum. They’d wear simple robes or sometimes just loincloths or tabards and carry packs and bedrolls on their backs. I’d see them lining the street begging or walking silently on. Once or twice I’d been south to Iscer and seen them preaching and speaking passages of scripture. I’d asked my father who these people were with shaven heads and simple clothes. I was told they were pennants. Unlike Roman Christians like my lunchtime companion it was not enough to confess your sins to a priest and pray for forgiveness to the lord, Anglish sinners had to “follow and action with a word” as my father often put it and travel beyond their home countries borders for a certain number of years, ascribed by a priest, abbot or bishop according to their sin. They would travel and preach the word of god and doing good deeds, taking Christ and their teachings as their example. So presumably this man was a Northumbrian travelling south to Wessex or one of the other south kingdoms. Perhaps he saw his exile as going beyond the shores of this island and travelling south to Francia to preach to Papists and other Christians.


I passed the pennant near one of the many altars that studded the Ermine Street and served as places of worship for locals and travellers alike and that monks from the local abbey would travel to to conduct services for those who did not live near a monastery. He smiled at me, and looked around at the trees, leaves opening in the first lights of spring. “Worship god surrounded by the beauty of god's glory,” he said calmly. I nodded. I’d known some pennants to take a vow of silence when within their home nation’s borders, either this man hadn’t taken one or he wasn’t an Anglishman, he might be a Pict or Briton who was of the Anglish church. “Pray with me,” he said, as he approached the simple stone altar. I was raised to never say no to a man of god. I pondered for a moment if this man was a man of god, tainted as he was by some unknown sin but then I decided he was trying to be one, even if he wasn’t yet. I nodded and followed. The roadside altar was a simple creation a dozen or so strides back from the road. It was flanked by two great oaks that clearly much older than the altar itself which was perhaps built when my father was young, although it has been kept clean from moss and lichen from some local custodian, it’s edges had started to wear down from use and the elements. Atop it stood a small cross with a ring behind it, such was the symbol of the Anglish church, decorated with interlocking flourishes and patterns which too had begun to wear down. Similar crosses were carved into the trunks of the flanking oaks. Most altars I had seen were usually decorated with cloth, candles and other trappings of faith but today was clearly not a worship day and these had not been brought.

The Pennant knelt and so did I and we began to pray silently. After some time, I began to get cold and wrapped my cloak around me but did not stand for I did not want to disrespect my companion nor the almighty looking over us. After a little more time I heard a noise over the gathering wind. Finally I opened my eyes and looked to the pennant who was weeping softly, still praying.. Unsure what to say and feeling the chill in my bones (I can only imagine how he must have felt) I stood, put my hand on his shoulder. “Good luck,” I said calmly “I hope you find your forgiveness,” I added before turning to leave. My mood for the rest of that days travel was somber and I reflected on the nature around me. As sun set I found myself on the edges of a village on the southern edge of Deira. Atop a hill by the village was an altar, this time flanked by banners with images of saints stitched into them and before I found a place to sleep for the night I climbed the hill and prayed for good fortune on my journey north. “Worship god surrounded by the beauty of Gods glory” the man said and atop this hill you could see the glory of god for miles around. That wouldn’t be my last time encountering a pennant and it was just the first step on my journey to a life with god.


The Museum of Anglish History, Laudenwic
Visitors guide
Part 3: the Early Kingdoms

Next on your right you see fragments of parchment from the manuscripts of Leofric, more commonly known as Leofric Waelmaer or Leofric of Glecaster (Approx 719-783). A monk who became Bishop of Iscer and later still Archbishop of Glastonbury. A lifelong scholar, once he became a monk he began making a book of his travels throughout the fledgling Angland and the wider Isles of Britannia. These books would be preserved and reproduced greatly. Leoftric followed in the Bedic tradition and he is ranked not far behind Bede of Jarway in his impact on our understanding of early Anglish Jarway despite many factors in his books have since disproved or been revised by further investigation. This is down to Leofric’s personal biases in writing and his writing his story over many years, from memory.


Many people in modern Angland may know Leofric from the “Waelmaer” books by Beranstrang Kernow which though they are a very rough adaptation have since piqued public interest in pre-viking Angland. The name of this series comes from the name given to Leofric. Though he says in his book he is “The son of a Gewisse deer hunter from the south Glecaster fields” he is off south Brittonic descent and bore firey red hair. He was dubbed “Waelmaer” in his travels meaning “Famous Celt”.