text: [Themes: mystery / thriller]
  
  Cynehelm stood beside the corpse for a while, thinking over everything that Wulf had told him. There were no obvious trails to follow, no obvious places to search or people to speak with besides Aldric, and the king was already going to talk to him. He could not bear to just wait beside the cooling body of his friend, however, so he soon began wandering the castle, his mind repeating the same few possibilities. He could talk to Osfrid again, or search the countryside for Leofwine's two guards, or examine the bishop's kitchens, or go to the merchant Merwal's house.
  
  Eventually, he decided on the final choice. It was only once he had reached the gate, however, that he realized he did not know where in the city the house was, only that it was connected to the castle by a secret tunnel. He would have to go to Leofwine's room and crawl. The thought made him feel ill, and for a moment he considered just abandoning the search altogether. Then he remembered how Grimbold and Ecgbald had looked in death, and he thought of Wulf in the dungeon.
  
  Cynehelm walked to Leofwine's chambers, trying to avoid thinking about the cramped passageway. Since his only distractions were the murders and his inability to find the traitor, however, nothing made him feel much better, and by the time he reached the room, he was drenched in sweat and shaking hard. He wished that Alfred had thrown him in the dungeon and left Wulf free to catch the killer. Cynehelm knew he had none of the abilities that the mysterious man seemed to possess; he was a tax collector and that was that.
  
  It took him a while to pry up the tiles, and the rote task did a little to calm him. Cynehelm stopped shaking and stacked the tiles neatly behind him, though he avoided looking down into the dark tunnel until he had finished. But then he had no choice and, saying a quick prayer, lowered himself down and began to crawl into the passageway.
  
  Cynehelm had only gone twenty yards when he realized that he had forgotten a light. He could go back for one, but he knew if he left the tunnel, there was a good chance he would not climb back inside. No, he had to press on. Wulf had said it was a straight passage, so he could not get lost. If he just kept going, eventually he would get to the merchant's house.
  
  The shaking returned quickly, and Cynehelm had to stop every few minutes to breath. It seemed he could feel the weight of the hill and the castle above him. What was there to prevent it all from crushing him, from swallowing him up? Then an even worse possibility leapt into his mind. What if the passage was blocked? What if some dirt had fallen through, and he was trapped? He would suffocate eventually, or die from thirst deep inside the earth, and no one would ever find him.
  
  It was with these kinds of thoughts that Cynehelm passed the long minutes beneath the ground, crawling slowly through the passage and wishing he had never left his own small estate and come to Winchester to serve King Alfred.
  
  When he saw a tiny flicker of orange after so long with nothing but complete blackness, he assumed he was going mad. He rubbed his eyes, but the flicker would not go away, and a few seconds later he was sure he could smell smoke. It was a torch; it must be a torch. Someone else was in the tunnel. A new set of terrors swelled up. It was the killer, Cynehelm was sure of it, sneaking back to finish his evil work or else fleeing through the dark. He would die here, not from suffocation but from a knife between the ribs. He lay motionless on the cracked tiles, his mind racing through every awful possibility as the light grew stronger and closer. At last he realized he had to do something, had to at least try to survive.
  
  > Escape
  It was difficult to turn around in the cramped tunnel, but Cynehelm scrabbled against the tiles and managed to do it. He began to crawl as quickly as he could, ignoring his shaking and sweat and trying not to think about whoever was carrying the torch. He could hear them breathing in the still, heavy air and doubled his pace.
  
  The passageway twisted and turned, and Cynehelm could just barely make out the way from the faint light behind him. His cloak dragged against the tiles, catching on their edges, and in desperation he flung it off and left it, wriggling forward with in blind panic. He went faster after that, putting a bit of distance between himself and his pursuer, but he knew it was a long way back to Leofwine's room.
  
  Cynehelm glanced back. The light was steady, not coming any closer, and he kept crawling. Perhaps they had given up, he hoped wildly, or were afraid of him.
  
  "Stop, I am your friend!" a voice called out, and Cynehelm was shocked to realize it was a woman. She certainly sounded friendly, but Cynehelm did not obey. He had seen too much death in the past few days to trust this voice in the darkness and scrambled over the tiles, praying that she would not follow.
  
  But she did. Cynehelm heard her breath and her hands and feet on the ground. Sound travelled easily down here where there were no sounds, and he could feel her getting closer and closer. He coughed, trying to catch his breath and keep going, but he was exhausted. It was all too much, and when he felt her hand at his heel, he only gave a weak kick and then collapsed, his face against the dirty tiles. He lay there for a while, expecting a dagger, but the woman did not come any closer.
  
  At last she spoke, her voice soft and sweet. "I am your friend, I swear it. You have nothing to fear from me."
  
  It took a great deal of effort, but Cynehelm forced himself to sit up and face her. She was dark-haired and beautiful in the torchlight, and she smiled. She did have a knife, but it hung at her side. "See? I wish you no harm."
  
  "Who are you?" he said, his voice cracking.
  
  "My name is Saewara. You do not need to tell me yours, though. It is enough to know that you are one of us. I know that you mean me no harm."
  
  Cynehelm stared at her. "One of you?"
  
  Her smile grew wider, and she held up a little book. It took Cynehelm a moment to realize it was the Latin book Wulf had found in the merchant's house, the Proslogion. This must be the man's wife. "A true follower of Christ," she said.
  
  "I...yes, I am one of you," he said quietly. He swallowed and took a few more deep breaths while Saewara watched him, her eyes gleaming. "What are you doing in this tunnel?" he asked.
  
  Her smile vanished. "I was going to Father Leofwine's room. We should have done it sooner, really, but Merwal thought they might have men there right after his murder. But then we learned of the other killing, and a guard searched our house and stole our copy of the Proslogion and...well, Merwal thought we needed to flee, that they'd come for us next, but I knew I had to go to Leofwine's room."
  
  She looked at Cynehelm and bit her lip, and he realized she was trying to fight back tears. "It's silly I know, but he had books, true and good books that the heretics at court would only burn. They've probably burned them already, just like they cut Leofwine's throat." Then she started crying, just a few quiet tears. "He would want us to have them," she managed to say. "I didn't realize anyone else at the castle followed the true path."
  
  Cynehelm reached for her hand in the flickering torchlight. "I...Father Leofwine only taught me about the true religion a few days before his death, but I managed to save his books. They're safe in my chambers." He wanted to say more, to say anything that might stop her from crying, but any word might reveal his ignorance of her beliefs, and he could not risk that. So he squeezed her hand and smiled, and she blinked away the tears and wiped her eyes on her arm. She really was lovely, even with her eyes red from crying.
  
  "But you must come with us!" she said suddenly, squeezing his hand tight. "Merwal is gathering the others, and then we'll flee Winchester. It's not safe, not now that the guard took our Proslogion. They'll catch us, and then they'll catch the other brothers and sisters and kill us all, just as they killed Paulinus and Father Leofwine!"
  
  Cynehelm felt stupid, his brain moving slowly in the dim light far below the earth. "Who killed Leofwine?"
  
  "They did!" she said passionately. "The so-called Christians, the ones who persecute us as the Pharisees persecuted Christ himself!" Saewara's eyes shone as brightly as her torch, a little wild, and her voice became more confident. "They hold to the evil doctrine of original sin and a dozen other heresies, and they seek to stamp out the true church of the apostles, the faith that Paulinus defended in this book and that Leofwine taught you and me. They serve their father, the Devil himself!"
  
  He tried to think through it all. Leofwine was a heretic, and the merchant and his wife were heretics too, and they believed the old priest had been killed for his heresy. Saewara clutched at his hand and interrupted his frantic thoughts. "You must come with us," she said again, and Cynehelm let her pull him down the passageway, away from the castle and towards her house.
  
  She chattered as they crawled, mostly about the other members of her little sect in the city. "There are others across Wessex," Saewara assured him, "some in London and others in Bath. Leofwine knew of them, and we will have to find some. We will be on the run from both our own people and the heathens, but God will protect us."
  
  The tunnel did not seem nearly as terrifying with her leading the way, and soon they emerged, blinking in the brighter light, into the cellar of her house, full of boxes and barrels. She handed the Proslogion back to Cynehelm and he quickly stashed it away, grateful she had not recognized it as her own. Then they climbed the ladder to the main floor, where they found a small cluster of people, all talking quietly. One of them, a tall, clean-shaven man, rushed to Saewara's side and embraced her.
  
  Then he looked at Cynehelm, covered in dirt. "Who are you?"
  
  His wife answered quickly. "He's one of us, Merwal. I found him in the tunnel with a copy of Paulinus's book." At the name of the ancient heretic, the merchant nodded, apparently satisfied, and turned to the others.
  
  "Well, we're all here, at least all of us who are brave enough to risk everything for the faith. We have to flee the city, but all is not lost. We will go to our brothers and sisters in London. But the first trouble will be making it out of Winchester. The guards have the gates all locked, and they're patrolling everywhere looking for the cook. There is even a rumor that another man has been killed, another one of the king's councilors. See how God punishes the heretics! With Father Leofwine dead, it falls to me to lead us, and I have decided we should make for the south gate. It is less heavily-guarded than the others, and we may be able to bribe the guards or else break through to freedom."
  
  Merwal's voice was confident, but Cynehelm could see doubt on most of his followers' faces. Of course, it hardly mattered whether this band of heretics succeeding in fleeing the city. He didn't give a damn about any of them, except perhaps for the beautiful Saewara, but he was stuck with them for the time being. A failed escape plan might get him killed alongside the rest of them. Then again, he could always make up an excuse and leave. Surely they had bigger things to worry about than him.
  
  > Leave
  "I wish you luck, and may God bless you all," Cynehelm said, fighting the urge to fidget his hands.
  
  Merwal gazed at him and so did Saewara, but they wore very different expressions. She looked frightened, but her husband's eyes only narrowed with suspicion. "You do not wish to escape?" he said coolly.
  
  Cynehelm swallowed. "I will take my chances in Winchester. I...I have never been one for the countryside, and I have business in the city," he finished lamely.
  
  "What business could be more important than serving God?"
  
  "I...I am trying to find Father Leofwine's killer. That was why I was in the tunnel in the first place! I cannot leave Winchester until justice is done on him."
  
  Saewara tried to speak, but her husband interrupted. "Leofwine didn't tell you where the passageway led?"
  
  Cynehelm took a small, unconscious step backwards, his eyes glancing from person to person. "He only mentioned it led to a merchant's house, a friend's house. But I didn't see any other way that his murderer could have entered the room and slit his throat."
  
  Merwal stepped closer, his clean-shaven face unreadable. "My wife says you have the Proslogion. Let me see it." Cynehelm tried to come up with an excuse, but the little circle of eyes made it hard to think, and after a few second, he pulled the little book from his cloak and handed it to the merchant with a trembling hand.
  
  He recognized it as once. "This is mine," he said softly, and then his voice became angry. "This is the book that the guard stole from me!" Merwal brandished it like a sword, and Cynehelm took another few steps back.
  
  Immediately, the others rushed towards him, all but Saewara. She stood back, trying to say something to her husband, but her protests were drowned out by Merwal's own words. "You work for the king, don't you? Or the corrupt and heretical church?"
  
  When Cynehelm did not answer, he grew even angrier. "How dare you claim to be searching for Leofwine's murderer! You probably came here to murder us all! There's not a man here that wouldn't gladly die a martyr, but you won't have the chance today. Denfric, finish him."
  
  A burly man, his arms as thick as Cynehelm's neck, nodded, and he heard Saewara scream. The other grabbed for him. He tried to writhe away, but they were too quick and too many, and their hands caught hold of his arms, his legs, and his clothes. He kept writhing as Denfric grabbed hold of his head and, with a single, powerful motion, snapped his neck. Then they let him fall, his body lying still on the ground. "God is good," Merwal said, and a few others repeated his words softly. Saewara only cried, but Cynehelm could not hear her anymore.