Ulleskelf was decorated from the top of each house to the grass beneath the feet of the villagers. Branches of blossom adorned walls, and flowers were intertwined with fresh leaves around each doorway. The smith of the village had wrought small silver bells that jingled merrily in the lilting breeze. All of the villagers were wearing their best clothes, and the children ran round in small groups, tripping up the servants that were trying to set a delectable feast on the trestle tables brought from the house.
Catheryn had found her daughter a year ago, and every single day that she awoke, she could not believe how lucky she was. She had arrived to see her daughter healthy, and loved, and ready to become a mother herself. Annis had seen terrible hardship, but just like her mother, she had not buckled.
Catheryn’s new son Melville had declared that a feast was to be held, and the villagers of Ulleskelf had certainly risen to the occasion. She could see from her seat underneath the swaying branches of her favourite tree that some musicians were wandering around, nibbling on sweet pastries and trying not to spill another drop from their tankards of ale.
Melville approached them, and Catheryn tried not to laugh as she saw their attempts to hide their merriment. She could not hear their words, but she could see that Melville put them at ease immediately. It was probably one of the characteristics that she admired most about him: that, and the way that he had completely and utterly charmed her daughter. It was quite obvious, to Catheryn and everyone else, that they were very much in love.
Annis was dancing with some of the girls from the village, and children weaved their way through the crowds, filling their fists with food, and laughing. Catheryn rose, and moved towards the group. Annis had just toppled to the ground, and her giggles filled the air, just as they had done in Catheryn’s dreams for so long. It was good to hear them again.
Catheryn was just about to reach her when her way was filled by a man on a horse. The livery was that of King William, and the messenger could not dismount before Melville moved to his side.
“Word from the King?” he asked abruptly, before the messenger could even dismount.
“Indeed.” The man hauled himself down from his horse, and looked at Melville warily. “You were expecting such news?”
Melville gave a short grunt. Catheryn tried to remain calm. There was no reason, now that Fitz was dead, that King William would know that she had ever left Normandy; no reason to ever care that she had found her daughter again; no reason to interfere. And yet the fear of this man hung over her head like a cloud ready to rain. You had no idea when the sun would disappear and the rain would descend, but you knew that it would.
“I was not anticipating a message from the King until this autumn,” Melville spoke quietly to the messenger.
The messenger smiled uneasily. “Then you will be surprised by this letter.”
Catheryn watched as he reached into the pack on his horse, pulling out a small piece of parchment that he handed over. Melville took it but made no motion to read it.
The messenger stared at him. “Will you not open it?”
“I thank you,” Melville said. “If you would but follow the music, you shall find food and ale awaiting you.”
“My lord.”
Melville did not open the letter until the messenger was out of sight. Catheryn knew better than to attempt to speak to Melville when he was reading such an important letter, and so she wandered away, finding Orvin standing by a group of children, watching them carefully.
“My lady,” he bowed. During their time in the North, Orvin had grown softer, and more forgiving. Meeting Melville, and Robert, and Jean, some of his friends from Normandy – as well as spending time with Tilian and Bronson, Anglo-Saxons like herself that had survived the Harrying of the North – had given him a new understanding of the Norman men that were different from the King. There was even some rumour of Orvin being introduced to Robert’s sister, although whenever anyone had muttered it within Orvin’s hearing he had strongly denied it, his face always reddening.
Catheryn suspected that another wedding would soon follow that of Jean and Edith, Melville’s friends.
“Orvin, it is good to see you,” Catheryn smiled, “although I see that you have been given the task of babysitting.”
Orvin smiled. “It does me good to see such youth and hope. The world that we have needs more of such things.”
Catheryn nodded. “It certainly does.” She smiled as she watched the young ones play, Anglo-Saxon and Norman alike. It would have made Fitz smile also. Her heart did not shatter each time her thoughts dwelled on Fitz, as it had done when the news of his death had first been brought to her, but it was still difficult to accept that he had died for a cause he had not believed in. And yet, that did not mean that she could not live for a cause that she believed in.
Her gaze lifted. There, underneath her favourite tree, sat her daughter, and her husband, and their son. Their family were an example to them all: that hatred and fear could in time give way to love. And love could save this kingdom; as long as hearts ruled.
Historical Note
The brutal assault by the Normans on the English in 1066 was seen by many Normans as a right of conquest, and a natural emergence of the brilliance of their people. The colonisation of England became less popular as Norman lords had to divide their time between their families in Normandy and their subjects in England.
Geffrei, Orvin, and Catheryn are all fictional characters. Ursule is also fictional, although based in part on a very good friend of mine. However, unlike the first book in this series, this book contains many historical figures. I have gleaned what I can from the records that have been left for us, and then filled in the gaps myself.
My description of King William is based on historical record, as is my description of his wife. We are lucky enough to have documents concerning the coronation of Queen Matilda; Archbishop Ealdred was the man who performed the ceremony, and he did indeed write a song for the occasion. We know that the objects used in the ceremony certainly existed, and many of the promises that you read spoken by her are historically accurate. Even the banquet is as accurate as it can be: the actions of Marmion were performed by an unknown knight, and the awards that King William gave at the feast in this novel were given at the time. The remainder is my own invention: although I like to think that Queen Edith played some part in the coronation ceremony.
The FitzOsbern family really existed. William FitzOsbern was a cousin of King William the Conqueror; he did have a brother that was an advisor to both King Edward the Confessor and King William the Conqueror; he was married to Adeliza de Tosny; and they did have a son called William and a son called Roger and a daughter called Emma. Some sources mention a second daughter, and some do not, and I saw a chance here to introduce a twin for Emma. I have invented Isabella as a device to get Fitz into the cold, but his son William did have a daughter called Isabella, who was Fitz’s granddaughter. Fitz was sick, and so spent much time within Normandy; Adeliza did die of a similar sickness; and Fitz went on to marry Richilde and die fighting for her son’s lands. Into this real family I have inserted the fictional character of Catheryn, to demonstrate the tensions and the trials of a Norman family attempting to understand their developing role within the new Norman empire.
The town of Essetesford where Catheryn and Orvin break their journey is now called Ashford, and is a busy town in Kent.
As much as is humanly possible, I have tried to keep to the customs and traditions of both peoples as the story unfolds. A Norman funeral service certainly existed, but we have sporadic records of what this consisted of. I have used my imagination, and my knowledge of Norman Christian rituals, to create one.
Any historical inaccuracies are due to my ignorance.
For further reading on this period of history, look for:
Elaine M. Treharne. Living Through Conquest: the Politics of Early English, 1020-1220. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012.
George Garnett. The Norman
Conquest: a Very Short Introduction. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009.
Hugh M. Thomas. The Norman Conquest: England After William the Conqueror. Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, 2008.
M. T. Clanchy. England and its rulers, 1066-1307. Malden: Blackwell Publishers, 2006.
Donald Matthew. Britain and the continent, 1000-1300: the impact of the Norman conquest. London: Hodder Arnold, 2005.
Brian Golding. Conquest and Colonisation: the Normans in Britain, 1066-1100. Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2001.
Sarah Foot. The making of Angelcynn: English identity before the Norman conquest. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996.
R. Allen Brown. The Norman conquest of England: sources and documents. Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 1995.
David A. E. Pelteret. Catalogue of English post-conquest vernacular documents. Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 1990.
William E. Kapelle. The Norman Conquest of the north: the region and its transformation, 1000-1135. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1979.
John Le Patourel. The Norman Conquest of Yorkshire. Leeds: University of Leeds, 1971.
H. R. Loyn. Anglo-Saxon England and the Norman Conquest. London: Longman, 1962.
Acknowledgements
Thank you to Endeavour Press, who have continued to show their faith in me. My husband Joshua Perkins is the reason that I started writing, and I could not continue without him. My wonderful editor – also known as my mother – has once again proved that I cannot do without her. Thanks as always are due to my entire family, although it has certainly expanded since my last book. My parents Gordon and Mary Murdoch, my brother Haydon Murdoch, my parents-in-law Stephen and Jane Perkins, and my new siblings-in-law Sophie Perkins and James Perkins should all receive a mention for supporting me through yet another book. I owe much to Bella Harcourt, who encouraged me through the latter stages of writing – I shall always remember our walks with a smile. And lastly, to my team of bridesmaids, who kept me sane through a wedding, moving to the other side of the world (and back), and the writing of this book: Becky Callaghan, Georgia Bird, Sophie Perkins, and Stephanie Booth. Thank you.
About the Author
Emily Murdoch is a medieval historian and freelance writer who has worked at the Bodleian Library in Oxford transcribing documents, designed part of an exhibition for the Yorkshire Museum, cared for a historic house with the National Trust, and contributed research for a BBC documentary. She has a degree in History and English, and a Masters in Medieval Studies. Emily is currently working on two new series, one of them set in the past, as well as working as a freelance researcher and copywriter. You can learn more about Emily and her writing at www.emilyekmurdoch.blogspot.co.uk or follow her on Twitter @emilyekmurdoch.
If you enjoyed Captives you might be interested in Conquests by Emily Murdoch, also published by Endeavour Press.
Extract from Conquests by Emily Murdoch
Prologue
The village burned in the darkness. Anglo-Saxon women crawled in the ashes and blood, crying, but quietly. They did not want to be found. They knew what would happen to them if they were discovered. In the light of the flames only one building could be seen left standing; the great manor house. None dared approach it. They knew that if the men returned, that would be exactly where they would go to. In the courtyard of this house, a shadow wept.
A young girl was crouched in a corner, sobbing. The stone wall behind hid her in its silhouette, and she tried to muffle the sounds of her cries. She did not want to be discovered.
A noise startled her; the sound of hooves on wood. They were coming.
Picking herself up and wrapping her long skirts around her, the girl ran – but she was not fast enough.
“Hie there!”
A whining man’s voice rang out into the darkness and broke through the silence. It was the rider of the horse that she had heard, but now many more horses had joined him. It was a whole host of men. The girl gasped and tried to run faster, but there was nowhere to run to. Nowhere was safe now. Before she could reach the other side of the courtyard, strong rough hands had grabbed her.
“Bring her here!”
The same gruff voice spoke, and the girl struggled. The man holding her had to drag her over to the horse of the speaker. The man had dismounted, and the girl caught sight of his broadsword. She gasped, and pushed backwards trying to stay as far away as possible from the blade. She had seen swords similar to that one. She had seen what they could do.
“Hold her up.”
The man was older than her, probably as old as her father. He stank of sweat, and his mean eyes bore down into her. When he gazed down upon his captive, he was surprised. The lonely figure that he had taken to be a child was much older. The girl must be verging onto womanhood.
He leered at her.
“Do you have a name, my sweet?”
The girl stared back at him. Fear danced in her eyes, but also resentment. She knew why he had come to her home. She knew what he wanted.
“My lord Richard asked you a question!” said the man holding her back, twisting one of her arms so she let out a yelp of pain.
“Avis,” she breathed, her arms searing and tears brimming in her eyes. “My name is Avis.”
Chapter One
Avis leaned against the flint wall and looked up at the magnificent sky, and forced a blonde curl back underneath her veil. The sun was setting, and she could feel the cool of night descending quickly. The long summer was starting to cool into autumn, and soon winter would be on its way. As she sighed, her breath blossomed. A loud voice behind her startled her.
“Avis!”
She turned to see Richard walking aggressively towards her, and instinctively took a step back.
“Are you not coming?” The medieval Norman Richard stared down at her, panting slightly at the exercise. The running was unlike him, a man who spent his life swaggering from meal to meal. Rolls of fat were carefully covered by his tunic, but Avis knew that she could outrun him. A fact that had given her comfort over the long three years since he had first arrived. He sneered down at her, mentally undressing her in a way that was disgustingly apparent.
“I follow you, my lord.” Avis attempted a smile as she spoke in the harsh Norman language that she had come to learn, and Richard seemed appeased. Offering her his arm, she draped her delicate blue velvet sleeve across and allowed herself to be led inside to the Great Hall. A feast had been prepared – in her honour, Richard had told her, but in the three years since the Normans had conquered England that she had been forced to share her ancestral home with Richard, nothing had ever been organised for her own comfort before. She was suspicious, and Richard knew it.
“Come now, relax.” He sniggered, and she sat down gently at her normal place near the head of the table, and the knights and other men that now lived in her home sat down at various points along the trestle tables. Richard took the seat at the head of the table, where her father had once sat. He clapped his hands, and servants immediately began bringing in food. Sizzling meats and sweet aromas soon filled the Great Hall, and the large dogs that had been snoozing by the fire soon jumped up and positioned themselves around the tables, hoping for scraps. Men began pouring ale, and soon the Great Hall was filled with the scraping of metal on plates, swirling goblets and belching. Avis ate silently, and many men’s eyes flickered across to gaze upon her beauty.
Richard leaned over her, breathing in her scent as he poured her wine. He lingered just a little too close for comfort, forcing her to lean back in her seat to avoid him.
“The question is,” Richard began speaking as if continuing an earlier conversation, “When are you going to realise that you must marry me?”
A few of the men nearest to Avis leered and chuckled, and she could feel her pale skin darkening red. How dare he!
“You have offended me enough with your constant disdain for my wishes.” She managed to contain her anger. “Please do me the courtesy of never asking me again
.”
“No.” Richard was forceful. “You have no land, no property, no wealth, no family. You lost all that three years ago.”
Several men cheered, and one man yelled, “God bless King William!”
Richard chuckled. He had good memories of the Norman invasion three years ago in 1066, and gave no thought as to how Avis may feel. She gripped her knife hard, and tried not to speak. She had born the indignity of being taunted by her people’s defeat for the last three years. She could do it again.
“The Normans rule here now!” Food and saliva leapt from Richard’s mouth as he shouted. Goblets were lifted in the air and men began giving speeches, praising themselves for the great deeds they had performed during the invasion. The Battle of Hastings, the Battle of London, the subduing of the Anglo-Saxon people, the ransacking of churches…
Avis felt hot and angry. Her father had been the Anglo-Saxon ealdorman of these parts – the local lord, a just, honest, kind man who had not wanted to go to war but had obeyed out of love for his King. And he had paid the price with his life. Now she, an Anglo-Saxon noblewoman, had nothing. No one to protect her, no one to care for her, and no options.
Richard cut across his men to once again speak to Avis.
“Avis, I am getting tired – ”
“As am I! Tired of your constant requests for a promise that I will not make!” Avis cut across him. She would not allow herself to be bullied.
Richard grinned at her. “And I am not getting any younger.”
“We can all see that.” Avis muttered under her breath. Richard’s weight had only increased after William the King gave him her father’s home, and the skin around his eyes had sagged and creased. He was losing time, and he knew that if he was to have an heir, it would have to be now.
Captives: Kingdoms Rule Hearts Page 24
