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

by Jayden Woods

  “That little … !”

  “Suffice it to say I put the clues together and—well, Godric, I know you. I worried that things might get … out of hand. I worried that you might do something you regret.”

  Godric felt increasingly mortified, as much by the fact that Sigurd had been following him all this time as the fact he’d been right to do so. “How much did you … ?”

  Sigurd cocked a curious eyebrow, but answered honestly. “I only caught up to you this morning. But it seems I did so just in time.”

  “Sigurd. I ...” Godric’s voice caught. All the words he’d said last night returned to him from the liquor-laden fog in his head. He wondered if he ought to say them again. But they caught somewhere in his throat, unable to come out. He felt the pricking of a tear against his eye, but his body was too parched to release it.

  Sigurd waited, watching Godric intently. The long silence stretched between them, on and on until all of its potential seemed to crack and crumble away.

  “I can’t believe you were watching that entire time and did nothing,” said Godric at last.

  Sigurd sighed and shrugged. “I was ready to interfere, but that Martin fellow kicked you before I could. Fast legs, that one.”

  Godric glowered. “I mean I can’t believe you didn’t help me.”

  “Help you? Why would I possibly think you needed help against that sorry lot? Though I am surprised you look so exhausted. You must really be getting old, Godric.”

  Godric shoved the minstrel again as he climbed to his feet. He staggered on his first few steps towards the stables. When Sigurd put an arm around his shoulders, Godric leaned ever so slightly against him.

  **

  8

  Last Tales of Mercia 8:

  AUDREY THE SLAVE

  (back to Table of Contents)

  *

  RICHARD’S CASTLE, SHROPSHIRE

  1058 A.D.

  All Audrey wanted to do was sleep. Despite her night meal of pottage and bread, her stomach continued to ache with hunger. Despite the thick calluses across her palms, her skin still felt raw from carrying stones all day. Despite the vigor of her youth and the strength of her muscles, her body never ceased to feel sore and weary. And despite seven years of experience with which to grow accustomed to her fate, she dreaded tomorrow so much that her head spun just thinking about it. But the one thing she looked forward to each day was the end of it: that sweet moment she could lay down her body, let her muscles unwind, stare up at the flickering ceiling of the slaves’ hall, and sink slowly into oblivion.

  Distractions often made sleeping difficult. Lice ran abundant in the hall, and she spent many nights scratching and tossing in her blankets. Some of the slaves often caused noise, despite their own weariness. A few of them would drown their sorrows in ale and make a great ruckus before finally passing out. A romantic couple often tried to make love quietly under the blankets, but the woman’s moans of pleasure would echo loudly enough to make Audrey blush and stir in her own bed. But Audrey’s fear of the future plagued her most of all. Anxiety that the next day would be worse than the last sometimes chased the relief of sleep away from her.

  Over time, Audrey had learned to conquer most of these distractions. She had trained her mind to push aside bad sensations and thoughts until nothing but a blank awareness remained. From that state, she drifted easily into dark slumber.

  But something about tonight was different. The voices she heard talking were her own friends, if such things existed in Richard’s castle. The boys had all entered servitude around the same time as Audrey—the year Richard FitzScrob chose to seize control in Shropshire by seizing his his tenants’ children or undesirables. And they were not just telling silly stories to distract themselves from the grim monotony of their everyday lives. No—they were talking about escaping.

  She tried to cover her ears. She tried to roll away and scrunch into a ball as if the entire world would cease to bother her as a result. Even then, she could not stop hearing their foolish conversation, spoken far too loudly, revealing their idiocy with every word out of their mouths. Finally, she couldn’t stand it anymore.

  Audrey crawled out of her blankets, forcing her heavy limbs to unfold and carry her towards the group of five teenagers huddling in the corner. They shut their mouths upon her approach and stared up at her with guilty eyes. Somehow, despite the fact Audrey was the youngest and smallest of them, they always seemed to wilt in her presence.

  “Escaping is easy,” she hissed. An itch in her knot of blond of hair made her reach up and scratch angrily. “Don’t you all understand that? I could have escaped a hundred times before if I wanted to. The reason I haven’t is because there’s nowhere for us to run. If we went home, our families would just have to turn us back in or live in fear of Lord Richard’s wrath while trying to hide us.”

  “Fuck our families.” Rodgar’s brown eyes glared at Audrey through the candlelight. He was the oldest of the group at sixteen years, and he liked to take control of any situation, especially if he sensed Audrey trying to wrest it from him. Audrey always felt intimidated by him, for he was much bigger and experienced in the world than she was. The fact he was rather handsome with his dark, chiseled features and long lashes didn’t help matters—but Audrey tried not to think too much about that. Rodgar had probably been the one to start this discussion about escaping in the first place, and he would not let Audrey hinder his plans. “Our families are the ones who gave us up and put us here.”

  “They had no choice!” This from Gimm, a skittish and ugly fellow who nonetheless carried an undue compassion for people in general. He was always the first to defend anyone if no one else seemed willing to do so. “Our families had to give us up. Or why else would we be here?” His eyes searched the group, desperate for someone to confirm this for him.

  “They might have fought for us, at least,” said Anson, as sullen as ever. He sat next to Rodgar with a deep-set frown on his face. Sometimes he supported Rodgar, other times he backed Audrey; generally, he followed whoever took the angriest view of things. “Like that Outlaw a few years ago.”

  Audrey sighed. She had never learned the name of the boy who broke into the castle four years ago and cut down the wooden frame of Richard’s keep. If the Normans knew his name, they had successfully kept any slaves from discovering it. They said only that the boy had been exiled from Engla-lond for his crimes and and henceforth was known as the Outlaw. “The Outlaw is the reason Lord Richard wanted us to build the keep in stone so quickly,” she pointed out. She didn’t like speaking against the Outlaw; she admired him as much as anyone. Nonetheless, their lives had become doubly miserable ever since his visit. “He’s also the reason it’s so difficult for us to get our hands on weapons or do anything at all without permission.”

  “If you want to spend the rest of your life as a slave here,” said Rodgar, “go on ahead, Audrey. We’ll be sorry to lose you, but it’s your decision. The rest of us are going to escape tomorrow.”

  She had heard little bits and pieces of their plan. It would be a miracle if the entire hall hadn’t heard it. The boys would be carrying stones up and down the motte as usual. Lord Richard FitzScrob would be gone, as well as most of the usual knights, and only the son Osbern would be in charge. Rodgar planned to knock Osbern in the head with a rock and then escape down the western escarpment, where the drop was too steep for a wall and no one would see them from the other side of the motte.

  “And then what?” she insisted. “Do you have a plan for what happens next? Where will you go? What will you do?”

  “I don’t care. Anywhere’s better than here.”

  The other boys nodded their heads in grim acknowledgment. Audrey resisted the urge to agree. She hadn’t seen enough of the outside world to know whether Rodgar was right. Maybe he knew better than she did. But what if he didn’t?

  She shook her mess of blond hair and snapped at them as she turned to go, “Whatever you do, do it quietly, so I can get some fuc
king sleep.”

  They obeyed, and after that, the hall became so silent that she could hear nothing but her own thoughts. But her thoughts proved worse than the boys’ loudest whispers, for she could not stop wondering whether Rodgar was right.

  *

  The next day, she stuck close to the group even though she knew she should not. Perhaps curiosity was to blame. Perhaps part of her wanted the option to escape with them when they made their move, even though she still planned to stay. Or perhaps her fondness for the boys she had worked alongside for so many years drove her to foolishly watch over them. Nonetheless, she stayed with them while they carried rocks up and down the motte, whispering discreetly to each other whenever they could, watching all the guards and waiting for their chance to escape.

  As Audrey made her regular climb up and down the motte, she considered how far the castle had come since she first became a slave. She had watched these walls and buildings develop from the ground up. She had helped carve the spikes of the first palisades, then carried water to the masons who constructed the gatehouse. She had seen the wooden frame of the keep topple thanks to the Outlaw, and witnessed the dramatic transformation of the motte immediately afterwards. Lord Richard had demanded extra security around the motte consisting of another ditch and palisades. Then he focused the efforts of almost all of his laborers to the keep. The large tower now loomed two stories high, its eight buttresses stretching further into the sky for a third level. The stone walls were twelve feet thick at the bottom and decreasingly thinner as they stretched upward. Thus all the more stones to carry.

  On some days, the slaves would stand in a line and pass the stones up to the laborers at the top of the keep. But today, with Lord Richard gone, work was not so organized. Slaves tried to get jobs in other areas, such as thatching roofs or tending animals—anything so they would not have to spend another day carrying rocks. Osbern FitzRichard didn’t seem to notice that the labor grew more disorganized as a result. All he seemed to care about was that the slaves were working, and he paid little heed as to what they worked on or why.

  One way or another, Osbern seemed in a particularly grumpy mood that morning. The nineteen-year-old watched Audrey’s group from the shadows of the keep, holding a stick that he whacked intermittently against the wall. A few times, he whacked it against a laggard slave. His bad leg seemed to be bothering him, for whenever he walked he winced more than usual. But worst of all, he called several times upon the company of Audrey’s least favorite knight.

  Sir Geoffrey had not spent much time at Richard’s castle until recently. Audrey suspected this had something to do with the fact his wife had born a child, according to gossip, and one might easily surmise that the man did not like babies. But many rumors abounded concerning the knight Geoffrey, and Audrey could not help but pay attention, for some of the rumors caused much concern. People said that whoever displeased the knight often “disappeared,” never to be seen or heard from again. Two slaves berated by Lord Richard for unruly behavior had in fact vanished from Richard’s castle in the last few years, both around the time Sir Geoffrey had come to visit. He had scraggly yellow hair that wisped around his gaunt face and golden eyes that reminded her of a cat on the prowl.

  Eventually Audrey noticed Rodgar’s boys gathering near the west of the keep, where they would dare to escape down the highest, steepest ditch in the entire castle. Gimm carried a large sack on his shoulder. She wondered how the boy had enough possessions to make the bag sag with so much weight. Rodgar had not yet joined them, but the boys looked around as if expecting him to show up at any moment. Rodgar must be waiting for his chance to knock out Osbern with a stone. Did he know about Geoffrey?

  Her heart in her throat, Audrey tried to make her way back to the two Normans lingering in the shade of the keep. She did not find Rodgar, but she remained anyway. She thought she might as well eavesdrop on the two men and see what they were up to.

  “I am so bored,” Osbern said to the knight.

  “Then find something that sustains your attention,” said Geoffrey, “and pursue it.” His voice had a slow, drawling quality that made Audrey’s hair stand on end.

  “Father doesn’t want me to spar with anyone while he’s gone. I suppose he doesn’t want me to hurt someone on accident. But people should realize that’s just a risk of playing swords. And if it wasn’t, what would be the point?”

  “I agree, Suzerain.”

  A note of hopefulness entered Osbern’s voice. “Geoffrey, perhaps you and I could play something together. Do you like chess?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “Oh.” Osbern’s disappointment was obvious, even to Audrey, who stood at a distance.

  “Perhaps someone else could play with you, Suzerain.”

  “I don’t think so.” Osbern whacked his stick against the wall loudly enough to make Audrey flinch. Nonetheless, she remained crouched around the corner of the keep, listening with helpless fascination.

  After taking a moment to overcome his anger, Osbern spoke again. “What sort of things do you do with your friends, Geoffrey?”

  “Friends?” Geoffrey’s normally monotonous voice now had an edge to it.

  “Yes, well, you know what I mean.”

  “I’m afraid I do not, Suzerain.”

  Audrey could not help herself. She crept closer. She wanted to see the looks on their faces. But as soon as she did, she noticed Geoffrey staring back at her.

  Audrey’s stomach seemed to drop to her toes. Her legs wanted to melt and leave her in a helpless puddle. But she mustered all her courage and remained standing, staring back at him. She thought this was a good idea until she realized that the longer she stared at Geoffrey, the more intense his gaze became. So she switched her focus to Osbern.

  “Forgive me, my lord.” She failed to hide the wavering of her voice. “I just wanted to know if … if … if you’d like some sort of refreshment.”

  Osbern blinked with surprise. He had a strange face, rather large and bony in its features, but relatively proportionate. If his thick lips weren’t always frowning or his big eyes always glaring, he might actually look handsome. For one fleeting moment, his scowl dropped away and revealed that other side of him. “I … well … I suppose I could use some fresh water.” He came forward and handed her his horn. As Audrey took it, Osbern’s brown eyes sparked with the slightest hint of cheer. “What about you, Geoffrey?”

  “I am well, thank you.”

  Audrey bowed her head, but couldn’t help noticing that the knight’s eyes remained on her, unmoving.

  She should have walked away. She should have let events play out as her friends ordained. But she could not stand by and do nothing while her friends got themselves killed—for now she felt certain that was exactly what would happen. Earlier, she had thought she might lure Geoffrey away from Osbern and thereby help her friends with their asinine mission. But now she wondered if the knight had already guessed that something was amiss. She felt as if he could see straight through her, from the quivering of her knees to the racing of her thoughts.

  Her friends would get caught trying to escape today. She sensed it deep in her gut, as clearly as she might see a storm approaching on the horizon. If one of the knights like Sir Ralph or Sir Fulbert had been in charge today, the risk of a scuffle or arrow-wound might have been worth the reward. But with a man like Geoffrey on watch, her friends would pay with their lives. She knew enough about Geoffrey to predict that he wouldn’t hesitate to kill a single one of them. Or even worse, they might just “vanish,” and their families would spend the rest of their lives wondering what had happened to them.

  She felt sick to her stomach. She didn’t want to betray her friends. But she wondered if a small treachery might save their lives, in the end. Any victory had been forfeited the moment Geoffrey looked at her and she stared back defiantly. Perhaps that was her fault. She had put him on the alert. So at least she might stop the worst from happening; perhaps she could stop her friends b
efore they broke any rules at all.

  Before she walked away, she willed herself to speak. “There’s a … a group of boys taking a break on the berm of the motte. They don’t mean any harm, you know. But I thought maybe you should tell them to get back to work, before they get too comfortable.”

  Osbern looked back at her with a strange expression. He seemed once again on the verge of gratefulness, but he didn’t know how to express it. “Thank you, uh, for letting me know. As you should. Back to work, then.”

  Audrey’s hands didn’t stop shaking until she had walked across the bailey to the nearest bucket of water and dipped Osbern’s horn in it. Even though she now stood on the other side of the bailey, far away from Osbern and his knight, she could still sense Geoffrey’s gaze on her like a cold wind snaking beneath her clothes. She hoped she had done the right thing. She hoped her friends would only have to pay for taking a long recess rather than attempting to run away.

  “Audrey.”

  Audrey started and turned to see Rodgar staring down at her. She took a deep breath of relief. If Rodgar was still here, he had not yet attempted to bash Osbern in the head. Which meant Osbern could break up the group before anything bad might happen. “Rodgar.” She straightened and turned to walk back to the motte.

  “What’s that?” He stared with disgust at the finely polished horn in her hands.

  “I’m getting water for Osbern.”

  “Give it here. Let me piss in it.”

  “Fuck off, Rodgar.”

  He managed to grab the horn before she could dodge him. He spit a thick wad into the water. Audrey groaned with disgust. “What do you want from me?” she cried.

  “I want you to escape with us. Please, Audrey. I know you’re scared of the world outside these walls. But it’s better than the hell in here, I promise you.”