The Fairford Duck

From the brilliant mind of Carrie Vaughn comes an extraordinary prophesy, a secret history, and a very unusual duck. ~ Julian and Fran, February 16, 2025

For February, The Sunday Morning Transport features stories by Jennifer Hudak, John Chu, Carrie Vaughn, and Marie Brennan. As always, the first story of the month is free to read.

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The Fairford Duck

by Carrie Vaughn

A recently discovered manuscript of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle has revealed a heretofore unknown episode of great interest that could upend previous understanding of the political conflicts of the seventh century in the various regions that would come to be known as England. However, as these events are not corroborated in any other accounts, there is some controversy surrounding accepting them as even an embellished version of true events. The age of what has been named the Fairford Chronicle has been positively dated to the mid-800s, in keeping with the age of other manuscript versions of the Chronicles. Its provenance is not in dispute. Only its likelihood.

Professor Matilda Seton, College of Whitby

Excerpt from the Fairford Chronicle

AD 650. This year Egelbert, from Gaul, after Birinus theRomish bishop, obtained the bishopric of the West Saxons.

AD 650. This year Birinus the bishop died, and Agilbert theFrenchman was ordained.

AD 651. This year King Oswin was slain, on the twentieth day of August; and within twelve nights afterward died Bishop Aidan, on the thirty-first of August.

AD 652. This year Cenwalh fought at Bradford by the Avon.

AD 652. This year a prophet came out of Fairford and spoke to Enfrid, son of Offa, a thane of alderman Peada. Having received reports of a prophet come up among the people, Enfrid demanded the prophet be brought before him. The prophet advised Enfrid to listen to all that he said and he would win the coming battle against Cenwalh, who marched against him. Much debate followed at the prophet’s true meaning, if he meant good or came to cause mischief, doubt arising since the prophet came in the form of a duck.

AD 653. This year, the Middle Angles under alderman Peada received the right belief.

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The camp prepared for battle. The camp was always preparing for battle and would always prepare for battle. One would-be king might be defeated, but two more rose up to take his place. This might explain the certain edge of desperation among the Mercian fighters, and why Thane Enfrid might take a drastic measure, such as demanding to see prophets of dubious origin.

Enfrid emerged from his tent at the sound of a commotion, confused voices, and rustling of armor, guards making way as a figure entered the clearing before him. He had wondered: Would the prophet be a wild man, a hermit covered in mud, bones in hishair? One of the Roman monks in a simple robe, belted with rope? A fair virgin in white with the light of heaven shining around her?

None of these. Before him stood a girl holding a duck.

She might have been eleven or twelve years old. Her dark hair was tied back with twisted yarn, her gown a simply wovenwool tunic, leather slippers on her feet. Not rich, not noteworthy. The duck was an ordinary kind, green head, dun body, dark-eyed. It somehow gave off a serious air, quite calm, satisfied to be held tucked in her arms. They both stared at him expectantly.

“What’s this?” Enfrid demanded. “This can’t be the prophet that was spoken of.”

“I think it is, sir,” said his wisest armsman, an older warrior, usually practical, who’d survived many battles.

Enfrid crossed his arms and glared right back at the girl, no matter that he suddenly wanted to fidget. “Well, prophet? What do you have to tell me?”

“No.”

“What?”

“I’m not the prophet. It’s the duck.”

“Hello,” said the duck. “Maybe we should sit and talk about this?” One might have expected a duck to have a squawky, nasal-like voice. But he sounded quite normal. Like a gruff man, perhaps tired.

Enfrid looked at the girl. “So who are you, and what do you do?”

“I keep him from getting eaten,” she said. This seemed very practical. If a duck waddled into camp alone, it would likely get hacked and put on a spit before it had a chance to declare itself. A girl carrying a duck could explain things.

What could Enfrid do but invite them into the tent?