Last Tales of Mercia 1040- 1058 AD (Book 2)

by Jayden Woods

  Seaver gave a wet sigh, then stopped breathing completely.

  Ralph nearly whooped aloud with joy. Just in time he stopped himself. He saw the small crowd of Saxons standing nearby. He realized the sun remained high enough to illuminate everything with a cruel shade of red. He felt the sticky blood on his hands and wiped it belatedly on Seaver’s tunic. Finally, it occurred to him that if Lord Richard found out about this, Ralph’s dreams of knighthood would vanish in smoke.

  “No ...” He scrambled to his feet and scrubbed his hands against his tunic, over and over, as if he could cleanse the very act of murder away. “No! I didn’t mean for this … !”

  Dizzily, he watched his Norman companions try to contain the anger simmering amongst the Anglo-Saxons. He counted about six Saxons altogether. Some of the Normans drew their swords. The Anglo-Saxons backed away.

  Then he recognized Geoffrey. The short yellow mop of hair on Geoffrey’s head rippled in the breeze as he straightened his lean form and grabbed everyone’s attention. The knight did not speak loudly—Ralph heard no more than the low tone of his voice—but whatever he said caused everyone to turn and walk away.

  Next, Geoffrey twisted to face Ralph, his golden eyes reflecting the last rays of sunlight. Fear curdled in Ralph’s belly as the knight moved towards him. Had Geoffrey promised to punish Ralph somehow? After all, that was the skill the knight excelled at. Ralph saw a strange emotion in Geoffrey’s gaze; where the knight usually looked numb and bored, he suddenly seemed brought to life.

  Geoffrey stopped just a few feet away from Ralph. He looked from Ralph, to the Saxon’s corpse, and back again. “We have to get rid of the body,” said Geoffrey at last.

  Ralph swallowed, feeling as if a rock lodged in his throat. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. His family will want to bury him ...”

  “No.” Geoffrey crouched down, studying Seaver’s wounds up close. His eyes gleamed as they traversed the thick pools of blood. “They must not be able to find him.”

  “I don’t understand.” A cold wind pushed clouds over the sun, choking the remaining light. Ralph shivered. “Why shouldn’t they find him?”

  Even in the darkness, Ralph sensed Geoffrey’s pale gaze peering up at him. “Do you still wish to become a knight? Do you want Lord Richard to remain here in Engla-lond?”

  “Of course!”

  “Then no one must know what happened here.”

  “But I can probably just pay the price of Seaver’s life. What do they call it? A werigald.”

  “Can you spare two hundred shillings?”

  “Well, not right now ...” He cursed inwardly, knowing that if he became a knight and had his own tenants, he would acquire such a sum easily. “But perhaps Lord Richard will pay it.”

  “And in return, your knighthood would be forfeit.”

  Ralph’s heart sank. He feared that Geoffrey was right.

  “I will help you make this night as if it never happened,” Geoffrey assured him.

  “But plenty of people saw me kill him!”

  “Six Saxons.” The coldness of Geoffrey’s voice seemed to make the night air more frigid. “We will deal with them later.”

  “Deal with them? How?”

  Geoffrey pulled a long dagger from his belt, almost a seax. The dark blade glinted against the moon. “First, the body. We’ll have to take it to Eadgard’s farm.”

  Ralph’s head spun. This was all happening too fast. “Who’s Eadgard? And why would we take the body to him?”

  “Eadgard is one of my tenants who’s good at keeping his mouth shut. We will take it to him because he owns lots of hungry pigs.”

  Geoffrey made it sound like he had done this all before. “Pigs … ?” Ralph’s stomach lurched inside him. He felt his last meal rising upwards. As Ralph gagged, Geoffrey put a hand on his chest and pushed him up against a tree. Ralph forgot about his disgust when he saw the dagger gleaming in Geoffrey’s other hand. The knight leaned close to him, whispering in Norman. “Or we could solve this another way, and make it look as if the two of you killed one another. I think this would save me a great deal of time.”

  Ralph hoped Geoffrey could not feel the way his heart tried to hammer out of his chest. “No, no … that’s not necessary. We’ll take the body to … to Eadgard’s pigs.”

  “Very well.” Geoffrey released him, then turned to collect the body.

  *

  Ralph did not sleep that night, even though the Saxon farmer, Eadgard, gave him a warm bed next to the hearth fire. Ralph thought he could hear the snorting of the pigs outside even though they were far away. He also remained far too aware of Geoffrey, who didn’t seem to sleep, either. The knight sat staring into the low embers of the fire while sharpening his knife.

  Ralph thought of the six faces he had seen from afar after killing Seaver. Geoffrey probably meant to kill them. But none of them deserved to die. He suspected the woman, Maida, had been among them. How awful that such a lovely woman might die just because Ralph had wanted to flirt. His intention had been to help her!

  He tossed and turned until the sun rose, speculating on every conceivable way to get himself out of this mess. If not for Geoffrey, he might have gone straight to Lord Richard and confessed. At the very least he would have left the body for Seaver’s family to bury. Now there would be no end to the lies and deceptions.

  Geoffrey seemed in a particularly good mood that morning, for Geoffrey. He walked around outside, whistling a little tune, then returned with some pottage for Ralph.

  As Ralph consumed the gooey mixture, he could not stop thinking about Eadgard’s pigs.

  Once Eadgard left to do his chores, Geoffrey fixed Ralph with his unrelenting stare. “So tell me,” he said. “Did you recognize any of the witness’s faces?”

  Ralph closed his eyes and pretended to think about it. In truth, he tried desperately to forget. “Um ... no, I’m afraid not. I mean, a face or two looked vaguely familiar, but I can’t say where I had seen them before. Probably just in that tavern.”

  Geoffrey said nothing for a while; he just kept staring at Ralph, as if waiting for something. Ralph looked away and pretended like he didn’t notice. He fidgeted with his fingers and took another gulp of the bitter pottage. Meanwhile his stomach kept churning, and churning, the longer Geoffrey stared at him.

  “I said I don’t know!” cried Ralph at last.

  “That’s unfortunate.” Geoffrey took out his knife and began picking his nails with it. “You are lucky, then, that I recognized two of them. One of them lives not far from here. His name is Cerdic. He is a handsome boy—very friendly. I suspect he will know the name of the other bystanders.”

  “Right. Good,” lied Ralph. He didn’t know why on earth Cerdic would want to tell them anything. But he also didn’t care to hear Geoffrey’s solution.

  “We should go,” said Geoffrey, standing.

  “In a moment. I’m not fin—”

  Geoffrey grabbed Ralph’s bowl and flung it into the fire. “We have no time to waste, you connard.”

  Ralph’s cheeks burned with fury, but he stood and followed Geoffrey outside.

  They lashed their horses in the direction of Cerdic’s home, wasting no time, indeed. When Ralph glimpsed Geoffrey’s face and realized that the knight was not only impatient, but excited, anger flared through his veins. It occurred to him that Geoffrey actually enjoyed the prospect of killing innocent people. He trembled with rage even as his lingering fear urged him to show caution.

  All too quickly, they arrived at Cerdic’s home. He had no house of his own, but lived on the small estate of a Saxon thegn comprised of several thatched huts. Ralph wondered which of Richard’s knights lorded over it. Then he took a second look at his surroundings and nearly cried out with despair. This would be one of his own hides of lands, he realized, once his knighthood was official.

  The Saxons watched fearfully as Ralph and Geoffrey approached. When the peasants got a closer look at the riders’ hair, tunics, and swords, most re
treated indoors.

  “Hello!” yelled Ralph, trying to sound friendly. “We are just here to talk!”

  Geoffrey dismounted, even as his horse kept trotting, and stormed onwards.

  “Wait!” Ralph scrambled after him, struggling to free his boot from the horse’s stirrup. Once on the ground he hurried to Geoffrey’s side, who stood in the middle of the estate, turning his head slowly from one hut to the next like a dog sniffing the wind. The last remaining people looked at Ralph and fled.

  A deep frown had fallen over Geoffrey’s face. “Which one of us are they running from?”

  “You, I suspect, considering your reputation!”

  Geoffrey scowled, his hand brushing the pommel of his sword. Ralph thought the knight might take his statement as a compliment. In any case, Geoffrey had other matters on his mind. “I think I saw another man who was there last night—Osgar. This way.”

  Ralph reluctantly followed Geoffrey into one of the huts. His eyes needed a moment to adjust to the darkness and make out the group of huddling figures inside. He didn’t need to wait, however, because the young man in question stood and tried to run outside as soon as Ralph entered.

  “That’s Osgar,” said Geoffrey.

  Ralph tried to catch the young man at the threshold. But when Ralph took hold of him, the man’s panic increased. He flailed and cried out and tried even harder to escape. Ralph struggled to pull him to a clear area outside, and finally kicked the fellow’s legs in order to slow his struggling. Osgar fell to the earth with a cry of agony.

  “Calm down!” cried Ralph, realizing that own leg still ached from the night before.

  “Please don’t kill me!”

  “We’re not going to …”

  Ralph reconsidered this when he saw Geoffrey stride towards Osgar, hands flexing restlessly before him. The knight walked slowly, seeming to relish the Saxon’s fear. But when the young man got to his feet, he surprised them both by running towards Geoffrey rather than away. He grabbed Geoffrey’s tunic and clung to it.

  “That one killed Seaver!” he shrieked. “Don’t let him near me!”

  Geoffrey blinked at Ralph with surprise.

  “I, uh ...” Ralph cleared his throat. Osgar must not know who Geoffrey was, if he considered him the lesser of two evils. “I had a little misunderstanding with Seaver last night. It’s all very unfortunate. And we just came so we could ...” He knew that Geoffrey wanted to kill the witnesses. But he had tried all night to think of an alternative. At the last minute, a possible solution came to him. Thanks to Geoffrey’s disposal of the body, perhaps they could pretend as if no murder ever took place. “We came so we could ask if you’d seen Seaver. The truth is, he escaped. And I want to make sure he and I understand each other.”

  “But ... but ...” Osgar’s grip on Geoffrey wavered. “I thought I saw you kill him.”

  Ralph scoffed. “I sure would have liked to, at the time! But no, I didn’t. It was dark. I can see why it must have looked that way.”

  He felt very proud of himself. Once again, he had proven to be a good friend to the Saxons. He would save several people’s lives from Geoffrey’s blade and meanwhile, no one would ever discover what truly became of Seaver. His scuffle with Seaver would remain a hidden mistake. Lord Richard may never hear of this, but all the better. Ralph would know that he had proved himself worthy of his new title, and he would continue to serve Engla-lond in the manner Lord Richard intended.

  Then a scream split the air, and belatedly Ralph realized that Geoffrey had stuck his knife through Osgar’s forearm.

  For a moment, Ralph could not help but marvel at the fact Geoffrey had moved so quickly and cleanly. Geoffrey gripped the breast of Osgar’s tunic with one hand while he held the knife in place with the other. Geoffrey leaned close to Osgar and spoke in a low voice, so that he had to stop screaming in order to listen. “I didn’t cut a vein or tear deeply into muscle,” hissed Geoffrey. “But if you struggle, I will.”

  “For God’s sake,” said Ralph once he recovered from shock. A few people looked out of their cabins to see what was happening. Ralph tried to stand in such a way that he blocked the sight of metal splitting Osgar’s flesh. But he could not hide the flow of blood dripping onto the ground below, nor the whimpers of pain from Osgar’s throat.

  “Now answer quickly,” bade Geoffrey. “Where is your friend Cerdic?”

  “Cerdic? But—?” A slight twitch of Geoffrey’s hand convinced Osgar not to tarry. Tears sprang from the captive’s eyes and rolled down his cheeks. “On his way to Lord Richard FitzScrob! He left at dawn!”

  “For what purpose?”

  “To tell him what happened last night. We thought that man killed Seaver!” Osgar looked pointedly at Ralph. “But I guess we were wrong. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!”

  Geoffrey gritted his teeth. He looked angry for a reason Ralph could not explain. Did he actually wish the Saxon had not surrendered so quickly?

  “Let him go, Geoffrey.” The conviction had drained from Ralph’s voice. He just wanted this to be over. If Cerdic had left at dawn to go to Lord Richard’s castle, then they were already too late. Even on foot, Cerdic would beat them there.

  Geoffrey’s amber eyes flashed with anger. But he must have recognized the wisdom of Ralph’s advice, for with a quick jerk of his wrist, he freed the knife from Osgar’s arm.

  The Saxon fell to the ground, cradling his wrist and moaning. Geoffrey stared down at him.

  “We should go.” Ralph nearly nudged Geoffrey onward, then thought better of it and waited.

  Geoffrey crouched down and lifted his knife to Osgar’s face. Ralph flinched, fearing some further injury, but Geoffrey just wiped the wet blade across Osgar’s cheek, leaving a trail of blood. “You’ll see me again, mon juet,” he said. Then he stood.

  Once they were on their horses and on their way to Richard’s castle, Ralph could not help himself. He had to say something. “Why did you stab him? My way was working. And it could work with everyone else, if you don’t just stab them!”

  Geoffrey’s eyes stared flatly ahead. “He grabbed my tunic,” said the knight.

  “He actually thought you might protect him!” Ralph still marveled at the memory.

  “Exactly,” said Geoffrey. Then he lashed his horse harder.

  *

  Returning to Richard’s estate in the light of noon, Ralph could hardly believe how much it had begun to resemble a true Norman castle. The gradual hill on which it was built offered a wide view of the pastures of Shropshire and Herefordshire. Even the grounds of the castle continued up a slight incline, emphasizing the supremacy of the tower that would eventually loom from the top western corner.

  Most impressive from the outside were the deep ditches around the palisade walls. Right now the deepest sections already lay as low as ten feet, and eventually the slaves might dig even deeper. Sharp, rocky earth banked steeply up to the palisades, quite difficult for any intruder to climb. The ditch could only be crossed by a swing-bridge, which in times of war could be turned sideways to prevent passage. And even if one crossed the swing-bridge, he next must pass through the large rectangular gatehouse. Lord Richard had already instructed for this gatehouse to be made of stone, for it provided crucial protection to the overall castle. At this very moment, slaves were mixing hard white mortar to set the stones of its walls.

  Meanwhile, the shoveled earth had been moved within the walls to form the heart and spine of the whole castle structure: the motte. The large pile of dirt and shale would soon form a hill of its own, and on top of that Richard would build a keep and tower in which he would live.

  On the inner side of the ditches, slaves had already erected spiked wooden palisades, and in some areas they had begun to stack stones. Right now, Richard still searched for a quarry from which to obtain additional rocks. The wall would be difficult enough to scale given the ditch and palisades alone, but once Richard replaced it all with stone, it would be nearly impenetrable. Normans barely knew how
to attack each other’s castles after years and years of warfare. The Anglo-Saxons would be entirely clueless.

  Crossing through the gate and past the walls, the sight of sturdy cabins around the looming dirt and construction came as a sight to sore eyes. Ralph saw the slaves hard at work chopping wood or carrying stones. A few Normans took advantage of the open bailey to practice swords or train horses. Ralph hoped some of the Anglo-Saxons would have the same luxury soon enough. He thought they would willingly bend their backs for this project if they understood how grand it would be to see a castle on the English landscape. But understanding and appreciation would have to come with time.

  Ralph and Geoffrey gave their horses to the stable-hand, then made their way deeper into the bailey. Eventually, Richard would reside in the stone keep on top of the motte. For now, he lived in the largest cabin on the bailey. Ralph’s heart sank as he neared the entrance. He wondered if his little brawl with Seaver had the potential to blow this all away. Of Richard’s followers, Ralph had the most sympathy for the Anglo-Saxons. But now he had murdered one and his knighting would be canceled. Men like Geoffrey or the murdered Drogo would rise to King Edward’s attention. And then he would send them all back to Normandy.

  His legs like felt blocks of wood as he entered Richard’s hall.

  They were too late. Cerdic was already there, kneeling on the floor before Richard, speaking in woeful tones of the injustice a Norman had wrought upon Seaver. Cerdic didn’t seem to know Ralph’s name. But when Ralph and Geoffrey entered, Cerdic readily lifted a finger and shouted, “There he is!”

  Richard looked up from the table and blinked at the two newcomers. To Ralph’s surprise, the lord actually looked relieved. “Oh! Geoffrey.”

  Geoffrey frowned. He looked from Cerdic, to Ralph, then back to Lord Richard. Cerdic’s finger pointed at Ralph, but that was less obvious to Richard, who sat on the other side of Cerdic. “Suzerain,” the knight replied uncertainly.