by Peter Fox
‘Everyone’s been speculating about who you really are,’ Leofwynn said, peering at him intently.
‘Everyone?’ Saeric said, looking around at the pressing crowds, more worried than ever. I should never have agreed to this!
Leofwynn smiled at Saeric’s obvious discomfort. ‘Don’t be silly. By everyone, I mean in my family. Were you a slave all your life? That must have been horrid.’
Saeric scowled back at her but decided not to answer. Why did I come? he thought, angry with himself.
The Bishop paused in the square in front of the mynster and offered the assembled masses a blessing, and then he led the procession away from the church.
‘Sorry,’ Leofwynn said, as they started moving again. ‘That was a stupid thing to say. Obviously it was horrible.’
‘You’re damn right it was,’ Saeric heard himself saying.
To her credit, Leofwynn remained silent, but there was no defensiveness; she seemed genuinely embarrassed.
They walked in silence for some time, Saeric noticing that Heremund had joined the nobleman at the head of the group. The two men were chatting away amiably, and again Saeric was struck by the similarity in their poise and gait, although Heremund was easily the larger of the two men. They paused by the central town well, the Bishop giving the traditional thanks to God for providing clean water for Scirburne, and then went on to talk about the purification of man’s sins through Jesus’ sacrifice.
‘Yeah, yeah, thanks be to Jesus, you’re a hero, blah, blah,’ Leofwynn muttered, shocking Saeric with her flagrant blaspheming. ‘What?’ she said, looking at Saeric. ‘You’re as bored as I am and want to get on with the food and drink. Admit it.’
‘Leofwynn!’ came her mother’s scolding voice from behind them.
Saeric couldn’t help but smile at that, and Leo grinned back mischievously. Again Saeric was struck by the similarity to his sister; and not just in name. It felt odd, though, to be standing here as Leofwynn’s superior in years, because Elowyn had been Saeric’s elder sibling at the time of the betrayal; the same age as Leo is now. It had been Elowyn who had looked after Saeric, right to the very end. It was she who had shoved him through the door to safety even as Mael’s men had thrust a sword through her. You died for me Elowyn, he thought. I will never forget that.
They had arrived in the town’s central square. Dust swirled around them as the people jostled for position. Saeric sneezed and held an arm over his eyes as a gust of wind whipped up the dirt. ‘This is fun,’ he muttered sarcastically and received a smirk in return.
They stood before the large oak cross that had been set in position on Good Friday. The monks, led by Bishop Eahlstan, prostrated themselves in the dirt before the crucifix. The assembled masses dropped to their knees and bowed their heads. Saeric was about to follow when Leofwynn clasped him on the arm and tutted at him.
‘Don’t be an idiot,’ she whispered. ‘You’re a nobleman. We bow.’
There followed another long treatise from the Bishop, in Latin, and soon the townsfolk grew restless.
‘Why can’t they do this in Saxon?’ Leo complained, earning another scolding from her mother.
‘On this, I agree with you, Leo,’ came Carwyn’s voice, light with suppressed laughter.
At last, the service was over, and the people quickly began to disperse, eager to join their families and friends to end their fast and take their Easter Sunday meal. Heremund left the nobleman speaking with the Bishop and came over to Saeric. He smiled at his apprentice. ‘I see you have met my niece,’ he said, then breezed off to talk to some of the lingering townsfolk.
‘What?’ Saeric blurted, confused.
Leofwynn laughed. ‘How could you not know? My father is Heremund’s younger brother.’
‘Younger…? Heremund’s a nobleman?’
Leofwynn smiled. ‘Takes one to know one. Are you going to tell me who you are?’
Go on. I dare you. Tell her.
‘No,’ Saeric said bitterly, disregarding the taunting voice inside his head. ‘So just who is Heremund then?’
‘He’s an Ealdorman to the King.’ Leofwynn reached up and tapped her finger on the small crest embroidered on Saeric’s dress tunic. ‘That gryphon’s our family standard.’
11. It must be a sword
Scirburne, Kingdom of Wessex
Saeric stared at the young noblewoman. Heremund’s a member of the Saxon aristocracy, and I’m wearing his tabard? ‘But he’s a blacksmith,’ Saeric protested. So that’s what Heremund had meant when he’d talked about not judging a man by his current circumstances. It also explained the gold platters.
Leofwynn was laughing at him again, a sympathetic grin lighting her freckled face. ‘Not what you were expecting, I take it?’
‘But why is Heremund a blacksmith? How come he doesn’t live in the manor house? Did he fall out of favour?’
‘Oh, he owns a vast estate further to the west, but he doesn’t want to live there. He’s a Scirburne boy through and through. He also wanted… um… a different life.’ Leofwynn smiled wryly. ‘He wanted to be creative, or so he says, but if you ask me, I don’t see how banging out horseshoes and nails is all that artistic.’
Saeric didn’t know what to say.
‘I wonder if he took you in because he sensed you were like us?’ Leofwynn asked.
‘I’m nothing like you,’ Saeric thought angrily, then realised he had spoken aloud.
Leofwynn frowned for a moment, then said, ‘yeah, I suppose since you’re Dumnonian, you’d not be too happy about all this.’
‘Leo,’ came yet another warning from her mother.
Something about Leo’s introspection worried Saeric. The Saxon girl wasn’t smiling any more, and there was something she wasn’t saying, but Saeric decided not to press the matter. They walked in silence for a while, until Leo mustered the courage to restart the conversation.
‘So, I’m third in line, thank God, not that it matters since I’m a girl. What about you?’
‘Fourth,’ Saeric said without thinking, then cursed his stupidity. What am I saying?
You’re wrong too, said the Devil. You’re first now.
Leofwynn smiled wryly. ‘Lucky us, huh?’ Then she saw Saeric’s scowl and rolled her eyes at herself. ‘There I go again, asking you about things I shouldn’t. Maybe we should talk about the weather or something.’ Her expression changed. ‘I know, let’s talk about girls. Do you have a girlfriend? I’m promised to some ugly old man from Worgemynster and my wedding is planned this spring because I’m about to turn fifteen. What about you? You’re quite handsome for a Briton. Has any girl taken your fancy yet? Oh, but you’d be betrothed too, of course. That is, unless…’ She trailed off, embarrassed.
Saeric’s thoughts instantly flew to Eanswith, but he shoved them aside, refusing to allow her to ruin this day. ‘No,’ he said, turning away.
He heard Leofwynn curse under her breath. ‘Of course he was betrothed, dimwit, but she was probably killed, or has since married someone else.’ There was a sigh, then a hopeful, ‘it’s a lovely day for the Easter celebrations, isn’t it?’
Despite Saeric’s distress, it was impossible to be angry with Leo. Don’t you know when to give up? he wondered. He stopped and turned to the teenager, softening further on seeing the young woman’s crestfallen face.
‘I’ve been a slave for a long time,’ Saeric said, ‘and I was too young to be betrothed when…’ He paused, not sure how to say it, ‘…when I was taken into slavery, although my parents probably did have plans for me.’ He thought for a moment, a dim memory nudging the edge of his consciousness. ‘I think I was meant to marry a Saxon as it happens.’
Leo remained silent.
‘I lived in Caer Uisc,’ Saeric explained, ‘but my family was on the losing side.’
‘Caer where?’ Leo asked.
‘Caer Uisc. It’s the proper name for what you call Escanceaster.’
Oh, I’m sorry,’ Leofwynn said. ‘Was it…’ she he
sitated. ‘Right back, you know, when your king was deposed?’
Saeric nodded.
‘I’m very sorry.’
‘It’s not your fault,’ Saeric said.
Yes, it is. Kill her. Avenge your kin and your people.
‘So then,’ Leo began tentatively, ‘you were a Dumnonian noble?’
‘Me?’
‘Yes, you.’ Leo looked sceptically at Saeric, then her expression changed to one of understanding. ‘You don’t need to worry about admitting it to me,’ she said, laughing and clamping a hand on Saeric’s forearm. ‘We aren’t enemies anymore. That all happened ages ago.’ A second realisation came to her, and she looked worried. ‘You’re not going to be my enemy now, are you?’
Yes. Grab a dagger and kill her now.
Shut up!
‘No, I’m not,’ Saeric said, in defiance of the Devil.
Leofwynn beamed back at Saeric. ‘Phew. It’s just that I like you, and it would’ve been sad to have made a friend and an enemy all in the same day.’
She strode off to find her father, who was standing with Heremund and a group of other well-dressed men over by one of the inns. They all turned in Saeric’s direction. Heremund raised his eyebrows, a smile forming on his face.
‘I told you it would be good to join us today,’ came Carwyn’s voice. ‘You’ve made a friend.’
Saeric turned to find the British woman standing beside the nobleman’s wife, who was also smiling.
‘You’ll have to forgive Leo,’ the Saxon noblewoman said. ‘It has been some time since she has met someone as interesting or handsome as you. I can ask her to leave you be if she is bothering you.’
Bothering? Saeric thought. She’s funny and kind. ‘It’s alright,’ he said. ‘She’s no trouble. She reminds me of…’ he stopped, unable to speak Elowyn’s name aloud. ‘My sister,’ he said.
‘Dunstan and Burghild would like us to sup with them,’ Carwyn said, redirecting the conversation. ‘I had declined because I didn’t think you would want to, but…’
‘That’s okay. You can go without me,’ Saeric said.
‘And leave you on your own? Don’t be silly.’
‘You are most welcome to join us, Saeric,’ said Burghild.
‘Come along, I want you to eat with me,’ said Leofwynn, reappearing at his side, full of enthusiasm.
‘I, I’m not sure…,’ Saeric said, knowing this could not be a good idea in any shape or form.
‘I promise none of us will ask you a single question about who you are, what happened to your family, or how you came to be my uncle’s foundling,’ Leofwynn said. ‘We shall speak of nothing but the weather and the coming spring lambs.’
‘I’m not his foundling,’ Saeric countered.
Leofwynn smiled. ‘Okay,’ she said.
Saeric found it impossible to say no to Leofwynn, so the two families made their way to Dunstan’s home, which transpired to be the impressive hall and burh near the mynster. The twins ran on ahead, yelping and bounding with glee.
The entire burh was surrounded by a high wooden palisade kept in excellent condition. A double-towered gate-house, built from oak, stood over the main entrance, which was protected by enormous oak gates hung by ornate iron hinges on equally sturdy posts. The gates stood open, and as Saeric approached them, he wondered when they had last been closed. Overlooking the entrance and painted red on the lime-rendered wall of the gatehouse, was a large version of Heremund’s gryphon standard.
Saeric hesitated at the gates, recollections of a similar hall flooding back to fill him with doubt. He felt a nudge on his elbow and turned to receive an encouraging nod from Carwyn. He took a breath and walked through the gateway, Leofwynn throwing a glance over her shoulder to check that Saeric was still following.
The great hall stood in the centre of the burh, and by Saeric’s reckoning must have been at least thirty feet high, thirty feet wide and nearly three times as long again. Its tall, steep roof ran almost to the ground. It was tiled with hundreds upon hundreds of oak shingles which had silvered with age; the exception being a small section high on the left-hand side of the roof that shone a warm brown in the sunlight, signifying a recent repair.
The low walls were lime-rendered wattle and daub, and a yellow ochre had been mixed with the render, giving the building a more homely appearance than Baldwyn’s. Baldwyn had paid little care to the maintenance of his hall, and its walls had darkened over time thanks to years of uncleaned mould and damp. Dunstan was clearly proud of his home, however, and everything about the hall and the surrounding yard, fortifications and outbuildings demonstrated his wealth and orderliness.
Towards the centre of the longest side of the hall, an ornate entrance porch projected from the roof with tastefully carved posts and lintel and equally beautiful doors that today were latched open. Again Saeric hesitated, disturbed by the similarity of this hall to that other one from which he had not so long ago escaped.
‘What’s up?’ Leofwynn asked, frowning at Saeric’s reticence. ‘Not grand enough for you?’
‘No, it’s not that,’ Saeric said quietly.
‘Come on,’ Leofwynn said, grabbing Saeric’s arm and dragging him in through the front door. ‘Let’s get some wine.’
The interior of the hall was just as imposing as its exterior, boasting a sizeable central firepit with two smaller hearths set into the floor further down either end of the building. Sunlight streamed in through two tall arched windows at the left-hand end of the structure, striking the whitewashed walls near the centre of the room, filling the whole space with bright, joyous light. Only the central hearth had been lit as the day was warm, but each post was fixed with four oil lamps so that no corner was left in gloom. The smoke from the fire and lamps tinged the air with a slight haze because the air outside was still, with no breeze to draw away the smoke through the vents set high in the gable ends.
The floor was stone-flagged but laid with reed mats to soften the floor underfoot and soak up any spills. On either side of the central spine were raised wooden-floored areas with dining tables, benches, looms and other spaces where the family and its attendants carried out their daily tasks. At the far end beneath the windows stood a raised dais with a large writing-table and ornate, high-backed chairs for special occasions and law-giving sessions. Behind this dais and below the windows were hung banners and old battle trophies, at the centre of which was the wyvern of Wessex – the symbol of the King – all of which reminded the visitor of the power of the family and their high rank and status within the Saxon ruling hierarchy.
At the opposite end of the building, more homely scenes decorated the wall, and Saeric reckoned that behind the modest door to the right was a steep staircase leading up to the family’s bedchambers beyond. The layout was much the same as Baldwyn’s hall, although this one was in all aspects larger, finer and cleaner; a great hall befitting the Earl of Scirburne.
Saeric felt a pang of sadness as he remembered his own family hall in Caer Uisc, but he pushed the memories aside, determined not to sink into melancholy on this day. Leo led her new friend up to a large refectory table that had been set up on the dais and indicated where Saeric should sit. Leo then sat beside him and poured both herself and her guest a goblet of wine, then clanged her cup into Saeric’s and proposed a toast.
‘To new friends,’ she said and downed the lot in one go.
‘Don’t be unseemly, dear,’ her mother warned.
Leo rolled her eyes and poured herself another. Saeric hadn’t even touched his. ‘Father wanted me to be a boy, so I’m being one,’ Leo said defiantly. She noticed that Saeric hadn’t lifted his cup. ‘Drink up,’ she said.
Saeric took a tentative sip, having not tasted wine in many long years; with the exception of the sweet communion wine earlier today, of course. He smiled to himself, remembering his ninth birthday and the feast that had been held in his honour. He’d spat out the offering when presented with a cup back then, much to his father’s displeasure. Hi
s sister had laughed at him back then, just as Leo was laughing at him now. Will it taste any better now? he wondered. To his surprise, the dark red liquid tasted rather good; not at all like the sharp, bitter flavour he remembered. He took a second mouthful, savouring it before swallowing the rest of the cup as Leo had done.
Leo threw her friend an approving smile and poured another cup for Saeric. ‘Father has excellent taste. This wine comes all the way from some ancient vineyard in Aquitania.’
‘Frankia, dear,’ her mother corrected, which elicited another rolling of eyes from her daughter.
Leofwynn and the others remained true to their word and didn’t ask Saeric a single question about his past. Instead, they talked about all manner of things, from politics to horse breeding, hunting, and mundane matters of the estate. There were, of course, numerous other guests in the hall sharing this important meal with their lords, and Saeric did everything he could to politely avoid conversation with any of them. To her credit, Leo recognised her guest’s need for privacy and shooed away the majority of approaches. Saeric knew that his presence was providing one of the many topics of conversation, and he worried that one of these Saxons might have some connection with Baldwyn and put two and two together and alert either Dunstan or, worse, Eanswith.
The meal was splendid and reminded Saeric of the banquets his father had once hosted in Caer Uisc. He frowned down at his plate, feeling inexplicable anger rising from somewhere deep within him, despite his determination not to be ungracious to his hosts. As the afternoon wore on, however, Saeric became increasingly introspective in the face of these two happy families enjoying each other’s easy company, reminding him of all that he had lost on a day that had started much like this one; the day of infamy, when his uncle had turned upon his brother and slaughtered him and his kinfolk at a banquet held in Mael’s honour.
I am alone, he thought, having no family to share my Easters with because you people took it all away from me. His anger grew, as did his envy. Worse still, they didn’t even notice Saeric’s growing distress. You have no idea, you bastards. No care at all for what you have done to my country or me. He excused himself and went outside, needing to get away from these horrible, smug, self-absorbed foreigners who had forced their language and customs upon Dumnonia and her people through her subjugation at the hands of the Traitor; a Traitor who cared more about his crown than his blood or people.
