by Jayden Woods
Last Tales of Mercia 10:
Osbern the Son
Jayden Woods
Copyright 2012 Jayden Woods
Edited by Malcolm Pierce
Cover design based on the Bayeux Tapestry
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The ten Last Tales of Mercia are stand-alone short stories featuring real historical figures and characters from the Sons of Mercia series. You may read them independently as quick glimpses into an ancient world, or as an introduction to the world of the novel, Edric the Wild. For more news and updates on the Sons of Mercia series, visit www.jaydenwoods.com.
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SHROPSHIRE
1058 A.D.
The stone keep of Richard’s castle was finished, and Richard planned a great feast in honor of its construction.
Osbern could not remember ever feeling as excited about anything as he felt about the upcoming feast. At last, he would be able to invite people to his home and allow them to enjoy the comforts of the castle. Everyone would witness his father’s achievement and celebrate its glory alongside him. Perhaps they would finally appreciate the greatness of his Norman heritage and realize that it deserved respect. Even the Saxon slaves could bask in their accomplishment and find respite now that they’d finished their work.
And yet as he rode through the town of Shrewsbury, he had a great deal of trouble getting other people excited.
“Free food for all of you!” he cried until his voice became hoarse. “Come to Richard’s castle on Sun’s day after church to celebrate its completion. Who will be there?”
The people of the streets responded with silence. Most did not even look at him. The few that did had frowns on their faces and looked away quickly.
This should have been a thriving market day, full of baskets of fish, bowls of vegetables, the flash of coins, and fresh honeyed bread. Here on the slopes of Shrewsbury, only a few buildings away from the towering stronghold, should have been the busiest spot of all. Osbern had expected to smell a dozen flavors of food and flowers, hopefully overpowering the stench of cow shit and fresh wool. He had thought he might even be able to hear the minstrel who sometimes roamed these parts—what was his name? Sigurd? In any case, Osbern had looked forward to this ride across Shropshire with Ralph, and especially to the town of Shrewsbury. Osbern truly enjoyed Shrewsbury on days such as this. He liked celebrating the fruits of anyone’s labor. Hard work deserved respect.
But the longer he and Ralph remained in the town streets, the emptier they became.
Contrary to common opinion, Osbern generally liked watching the Anglo-Saxon people in the midst of their normal lives. Sometimes he found their ways foolish, that was true. But he had learned to be patient with their slow realization of Norman wisdom. Based on the stories his father told him, he felt amazed that a country plagued for centuries by Vikings and only recently freed from the reign of a Viking king could go on pretending from day to day that war was a far and distant thing. The Saxons lived generally peaceful lives, more concerned with tending their fields or shearing their sheep than protecting themselves from the threat of battle. And yet Osbern knew that they could prove fearsome in some situations. The dichotomy fascinated him.
They could go on pretending that the threat of warfare did not hang over them. But when reality proved otherwise, they would all learn to appreciate Richard’s castle—whether by standing inside its walls or outside of them.
“Free food!” he cried. “Free food for anyone who—”
“Osbern.”
Twisting his horse’s reins, Osbern turned to see a familiar young man standing nearby. The fifteen-year-old stood with his arms crossed next to a cart full of logs. But that did not give him away so much as his head of thick red curls. “Edric Godricson.”
“The food isn’t free if people have to go to your castle and grovel at your feet for it.”
Osbern inhaled sharply. His horse stirred beneath him as his muscles clenched with anger. He reached down to steady the mare with his hand and perhaps draw from her strength. “I disagree. They should be honored by the opportunity to roam through the castle as guests.”
“Even though their children built it for you?”
“It was their duty.” Osbern gnashed his teeth with anger. He had hoped Edric of all people might wish to attend the feast. Edric had visited Richard’s castle on a few occasions. When Osbern first gave him the tour many years ago, he had looked impressed. He had returned a few more times with his father, Godric, who came to see Lord Richard. Richard and Godric liked to meet privately; Osbern suspected that Godric gave Richard some sort of military advice. In the meantime, Osbern had been forced to spend time with Edric. But he had not fully resented the experience.
Ralph nudged his horse forward, sensing his lord’s inner turmoil. “Hey Edric,” he said. “You may have more fun than you think. I expect to see a few pretty ladies there.” He winked.
This seemed to get Edric’s attention.
Irritated by Ralph’s jocularity, Osbern grunted and climbed off his horse. He preferred being on his horse’s back to his own feet, but somehow he felt it important to speak to Edric on ground level—even if he still towered a little over the Saxon. The mare snorted as Osbern pulled her after him, loping slightly on his crooked foot.
“Listen, Edric. I ...” Osbern stopped just in front of Edric and looked down at him. Edric did not have a particularly intimidating demeanor. He still had somewhat childish features and a much smaller build than Osbern. But his eyes blazed back at Osbern with a dismantling ferocity. Osbern wilted slightly and lowered his voice. “I thought you enjoyed visiting the castle. And now that the keep is finished, it is truly magnificent. You should see it.”
“I pretended to enjoy it,” said Edric, “so that when you weren’t paying attention I could slip some coins to your slaves.”
“You … what? Why would you do that?” Osbern snorted. “Foolish boy. Those workers are beneath the likes of you and me. In any case, most of them are free now, and they can cease to concern you.”
“Free? They live in fear of you and your ‘magnificent’ castle. You can’t even pay them to come to your feast. Is that why you rode all the way to Shrewsbury? You know you’ll have to search far and wide for attendants.”
“Now listen here, you ignorant—” He was already reaching for Edric and grabbing his tunic before he had thought it all through.
Fortunately, Ralph remained nearby and must have seen this coming. He interjected sharply. “My lord, I think we’re wasting our time here. No need to waste more of it.”
Osbern held Edric by the hem of his tunic, breathing heavily with anger. He felt further confounded by the fact that rather than being scared, Edric looked vaguely satisfied.
“Go on then,” said Edric. “Why use just your hands? There must be a reason you always carry a sword on your hip. If you’re going to be a bully you might as well play the role properly.”
“Play the role properly …?” The words disturbed him in a way he could not explain. He released Edric, shrinking back towards his horse. He grabbed her saddle for support, finding himself dizzy.
“Osbern?” said Ralph. “Are you well?”
A surge of anger brought Osbern back to his senses. “I’m your lord,” he snarled. “And I am well enough. But you are right. We are certainly wasting our time here.” He sent a last glare in Edric’s direction as he climbed back up his horse. “I’m glad you’re not coming, imbécile.”
He lashed his horse more fiercely than he’d intended and hurried out of Shrewsbury.
