by Peter Fox
Burn it down, suggested the Devil. That would be fitting, no?
‘Shut up,’ Saeric muttered, spotting a wooden staircase leading up to the burh’s gatehouse. An upper walkway ran from either side of the building so that guards from Dunstan’s fyrd could walk the entire length of the wall unhindered. Saeric climbed up to the gatehouse and walked along to the part of the fortification that overlooked the town square, ignoring the two guards who kept watch on the entrance. He stood on the narrow wooden rampart, gazing down at the dusty, rubbish-filled streets that led away from the mynster. Townsfolk milled everywhere, and the happy sounds of families laughing, living, and celebrating their lives together filled the market square. He closed his eyes, feeling the warm sun on his face and eyelids, wishing he could wind back time so that he could be back in Caer Uisc, a carefree boy all over again.
‘Uncle told us what happened…’
Saeric turned to find Leofwynn standing a few feet away from him on the catwalk. The young Saxon held a goblet of wine in each hand. Saeric had been so lost in his thoughts that he’d not even heard her coming.
‘Did he?’ he responded coldly, returning his gaze to the town.
‘He said that you were there when Escanceaster fell and that you have suffered greatly since.’
‘It’s called Caer Uisc!’ Saeric flared, turning to face Leofwynn. ‘What do you or he know of my suffering? Nothing! None of you knows anything! Do you want to know about my childhood? What I’ve lost? I used to have a family just like yours, who once lived like this, only it was in a big, stone-walled city, with scores of servants and three thousand men at our command, but it all got swept away when the Traitor, supported by you two-faced Saxons, burnt my city, killed my family, and left me to… to…’ he stopped, because suddenly he was there again, choking on the smoke and odour of blood, running blindly from the screaming. Everywhere there was screaming: women, girls, men, horses, pigs — fear and death at every corner, in every direction.
Leofwynn recoiled at Saeric’s hostility, but she stubbornly stood her ground, clearly determined to set things right. She swallowed. ‘I didn’t know,’ she whispered.
Kill her.
‘Well, now you do, but there’s nothing you can do to change things.’
‘But you’re free now.’
‘You people tortured me, you stupid, spoilt girl.’
Kill her.
Leo flinched at the insult. ‘Uncle said that he was shocked by what they’d done to you.’
‘What you did to me. Saxon nobles just like you. In a hall, just like this.’ Saeric thrust his finger out at the building beside them.
Filth. Kill her.
‘No, not me,’ Leofwynn said, suddenly angry herself. ‘And if it was that bad, why don’t you tell uncle who it was so that he can seek reparation?’
‘Oh, I intend to get even,’ Saeric growled, stepping up to Leofwynn. Standing face to face, Saeric towered over the teenage girl by nearly a head, his shoulders broader than hers by half again.
To her credit, Leo remained where she was, but her eyes showed fear, and her hands shook so much that the wine in the goblets sloshed over the sides.
‘And I don’t want your sarding wine!’ Saeric snapped. He snatched the goblets from Leo’s hands and flung them away. They landed with a clatter on the ground below the wall, their dark contents spraying over the dry earth like blood. ‘What good will reparations do me?’ Saeric said, angry at this girl’s ignorant naivety. ‘It won’t change what you people did to me.’
‘Yes, it will. Uncle says it will help heal you. Aunt Carwyn says that’s why you’re so angry.’
‘Angry?! How can it heal this?’ Saeric tore off his tunic and undershirt shirt and threw them at Leofwynn.
Leo was too stunned to react, and the clothes bounced off her and fell onto the ground amid the spilled wine and goblets. The Saxon’s eyes widened when she saw the multitude of scars that crisscrossed Saeric’s body. She took a step back, as though she had suddenly realised she faced a dangerous beast. Saeric moved with her.
‘This one,’ the Briton growled, jabbing his finger into the centre of a large, star-shaped scar on his left pectoral, ‘is where she hammered a pastry mould into me. Yes, a Saxon girl not much older than you did this. She tied me down so that I couldn’t defend myself. She wanted to make a pie from my flesh. Luckily it got stuck, and she left it in there instead. Can you have any idea how painful it was to dig out?’
Leofwynn took another step backwards, horrified, but Saeric followed her and grabbed the girl’s wrist. ‘And this,’ he said, drawing a finger along a thin scar that ran down the centre of his bicep, ‘is where she cut me to see what my muscles looked like.’
Kill her.
Leofwynn had nowhere to go. She glanced behind her for the stairs, but Saeric held her firmly in his grip.
‘Saeric!’ It was Heremund, bellowing from the ground below. ‘Let her go! SAERIC!’
Kill her. Begin your vengeance!
For a moment, the Briton felt the urge to throw the Saxon girl off the wall after the goblets, but he managed to suppress the voice inside his head and stayed his hand. He held Leo’s terrified gaze for a few more breaths, and then he released her. ‘I hate you and everything you stand for. You and your family are no different from the people who did this to me.’
Saeric pushed past her and thumped down the stairs three at a time. He came face to face with Heremund, who stood in his way, an expression of black thunder on his face. Behind him, the guests poured from the hall to see what the commotion was about.
‘You can’t help me,’ Saeric shouted before Heremund could speak, ‘so stop thinking you can.’ Struggling to hold back tears, Saeric shouldered his way past the ealdorman and ran out through the gate, ignoring Carwyn, Dunstan and Burghild, all of whom stared after him in shock. He heard Leo’s mother cry out, followed by the clatter of her feet on the stairs as she bustled up to see to her daughter.
That’s right, Saeric thought bitterly, as he passed into the market square beyond the burh, run to your girl now and give her comfort, because who knows what terrors lurk in the shadows, waiting to snatch her away.
✽ ✽ ✽
Further down the street, jostled by the crowd of on-lookers, Eanswith pushed her way to the front to see what was going on. Everyone was pointing at the man coming towards them; the one who had previously sat up with Heremund in the church, but now ran bare-chested down the main street, his distress clear for all to see. They were talking about the horrific scars that scored his skin from neck to waist, front and back. They also commented on the marks on his neck, wrists and ankles – the marks of a slave – and they all wondered what kind of terrible person he must be to have earned such severe punishment. And in light of that, how remarkable it was that Heremund had freed him and made him his apprentice.
Eanswith stepped back into the crowd and watched Sugu pass, letting out a little gasp when he turned to look at her, but his face showed no sign of recognition. She had her hood pulled low, so he would not be able to see her shadowed face from his place in the bright sunlight. She smiled as he fled down the street, her pleasure complete. Although she still couldn’t reconcile what she had seen in the church, there was no question now.
She knew every one of those scars on that body because she had put them there.
‘Found you,’ she murmured, then she hurried away to fetch her brother.
✽ ✽ ✽
‘Go and drag that weala back here, NOW!’ Dunstan demanded for the second time.
‘You will do no such thing,’ Heremund countermanded. ‘And he is no slave.’
They stood under the gatehouse at the entrance to the burh, the household soldiers nervously watching the two brothers arguing, but deferring to the elder. Beyond them stood the assembled guests, hushed into silence by the altercation between the two noblemen.
‘Who do you think you’re fooling, Heremund? He is a violent, dangerous radical who needs putting back in
his place. You have no right to let that British serf wear our arms. I will have him hanged for this.’
‘No, you won’t, Dunstan. You will stop yelling and pretending to be outraged on your daughter’s behalf.’
‘Do it! I command you!’ Dunstan yelled at the four men, his face blotched with fury.
The soldiers looked to Heremund, who in turn folded his arms and addressed his brother coldly. ‘The men of our fyrd answer to me, not you, little brother. You would do well to remember that. I will deal with Saeric. Perhaps you should attend to your daughter.’
‘You forget yourself, older brother,’ Dunstan snarled back. ‘I am the one in Ecgberht’s service now, not you. Keep that weala away from my house and family.’ He turned and addressed Leofwynn, who stood at the bottom of the stairs, supported by her mother. ‘As for you, how dare you allow a foreign thrall to man-handle you like that, then fall weeping at his feet. Pah.’ He threw a dismissive gesture at his daughter and stalked back into the hall, muttering under his breath. Several guests followed him in, while others hesitated outside, unsure what they should do, in case they inadvertently offend one or other of the brothers.
Heremund let out a long breath and shook his head at his brother’s retreating back, and then he turned to check on his niece.
‘Are you alright, my love?’ he asked, concerned and embarrassed that his guest had behaved so horrendously towards her.
‘Why does he hate me?’ Leo asked, upset.
Heremund looked back over his shoulder, but Dunstan had disappeared inside. ‘Your father doesn’t hate you,’ Heremund began, but Leofwynn cut him off.
‘No, not father. He’s always hated me because I’m a girl and he says I’m too precocious for my own good. I meant Saeric. I haven’t done anything to him. I thought we were friends. How is what happened to him my fault?’
Heremund paused, frowning at the redness on his niece’s wrist where Saeric had held her. ‘Saeric’s not angry with you, Leo. He’s angry at Saxons in general. He’s Dumnonian, remember, and, dare I say it, it was a woman who did that to him.’
Leo closed her eyes. ‘He told me that, but I didn’t think it could be true.’
‘I thought it might be a good idea to get him out and show him that we aren’t monsters, but I am a monster because all I’ve done is rub his face in everything he has lost. And you are precocious, young lady.’
‘I’m fifteen.’
‘All the more reason to behave. I pity your future husband.’
‘Saeric’s still alive,’ Leofwynn pointed out, dragging the conversation away from herself and back to Saeric.
‘Hmm. Sometimes I wonder if that is more of a curse than a blessing.’
‘Was it really a woman who did that to him? He showed me where she had hammered a pastry cutter into his chest. She couldn’t have done that, could she? It’s disgusting.’
‘I’m afraid so, yes,’ Heremund said, a little shocked at the origin of that particular scar. ‘And it is worse than disgusting. I do want to find her, but he won’t tell me who it was.’
Leofwynn frowned in thought. ‘Then I’m going find out so you can bring her to justice.’
‘That is a fine goal, Leo,’ Heremund agreed, ‘but you are far too young to go looking for that kind of trouble, and might I remind you again that you are a noblewoman who is above such sordidness.’ He smiled and patted her on the shoulder. ‘I’ve brought far too much trouble upon you today already.’
Leofwynn rubbed her wrist. ‘I don’t think he meant to hurt me,’ she said.
Heremund raised his eyebrows, clearly unconvinced.
Leo shrugged and looked over to the opposite wall of the family compound. Gerard stood atop the palisade, bow in his hand, an arrow held idly in the other. ‘When would you have given the order?’ she asked.
Heremund glanced up at his sergeant, who acknowledged his master with a slight nod. ‘I gave it when Saeric threw his clothes at you.’
Leofwynn blinked in shock. ‘You would have killed him for no reason!’
‘He attacked you, Leo. That’s plenty of reason.’
‘He was upset.’
‘Lucky for both of you, then, that I have insubordinate subordinates, isn’t it?’
Leo looked up at Heremund, her brow creased in thought. ‘When are you going to tell him who you are, uncle?’
Heremund gazed out to the road beyond the gate. Saeric was just visible amongst the crowd as he ran down the hill towards the smithy. ‘One day I suppose I will have to,’ Heremund said, ‘but I think that I must do everything I can to avoid it, for all our sakes.’
‘He’ll work it out one day, or someone will tell him, and then what will you do?’
Heremund gave the question some thought before answering.
‘Run.’
✽ ✽ ✽
Eanswith dismounted at the stables, barely able to contain her excitement. She couldn’t believe that Sugu was so near. She smiled to herself as she dropped to the ground. So, you remain bound by my spell, she thought, pleased with herself. She had felt such a thrill on seeing him in the church, having passed so close unnoticed, and then again on the street. Sugu had looked handsome in his refined outfit, and she saw that he had filled out in all the right ways since his escape. Seeing him dressed in the Ealdorman’s finery had also rekindled her suspicions about his birthright, dismissed as impossible by Edward. Yet she’d heard Sugu herself, crying out improbable names in his nightmares; and hadn’t he once threatened her in the name of his father during one of their more strenuous sessions in which she’d very nearly killed him, albeit unintentionally?
It was all moot though, because her scortum was somehow in the service of Earl Heremund now, of all people. She had forgotten that the Ealdorman had turned his hand to blacksmithing. It would be practically impossible to snatch Sugu away from one of the most powerful men in Wessex. From what she had gleaned from the townsfolk gossip, Sugu had been found half-dead by the general, and Heremund had taken him in, although God only knew why. Perhaps the smith saw the potential in him as a bellows slave. Yet that was the oddest thing of all. He had freed Sugu so soon after capturing him. Why?
Does he know who Sugu is? she wondered. Is that why he released him from servitude? Is Heremund planning to help him somehow? Wouldn’t that be treason; especially given Heremund’s station? She loosened the billet strap, deep in thought. No, she decided. If Heremund thought for a moment that Sugu was Dumnonian royalty, he’d chop off his head in an instant. So, is it the opposite? Is Heremund to be Sugu’s unsuspecting first victim? That would make much more sense, but if that was so, why wait? Why not kill Heremund at the first opportunity then get away? From what she had seen at the church and afterwards, he had been made a member of Heremund’s household. It was all very intriguing. Logic told her to let it go; Heremund was not a man to scrap with, but Eanswith had to know. What are you up to, Sugu?
She called again for the new stable boy to tend her horse but was met with silence. Frowning, she saw his chain hitched to the entrance post, so he was definitely in there. Hiding from me, are you? she wondered, taking a grip of the links. Another thought came to her, and she smiled to herself. Perhaps there is a way I can get you back, she thought, remembering how comfortable Sugu had seemed in the company of Heremund’s family; especially that young noblewoman. I know just the man to ask: a huscarl from a certain fyrd who owes me a debt. She nodded to herself. Yes, this might work, she thought, quite pleased with herself. It will take quite a bit of planning and not a little luck, but the prize will be worth the effort.
She pulled on the chain. It met with resistance, so she yanked harder. There was a cry from the darkness beyond, then a brown-skinned youth stumbled into view, clutching the collar around his neck with one hand and holding the chain with the other. His skin was the most remarkable thing about him: a smooth, rich, honey-brown that Eanswith found intoxicating, particularly wrapped around this youthful, well-muscled body. His eyes were a dark brown flecked
with more of that honey, his eyelashes were long like a girl’s, and an unruly mop of wavy black hair framed his boyish face. He hailed from somewhere far away over the seas, and could not speak a word of Saxon, not that it was a hindrance to her or her brother.
Edward was right. This boy was far more beautiful than Sugu, strikingly so, but he was too frightened, too unwilling to be a participant in her games. Sugu, by contrast, had craved her attention; she’d had complete power over him, but this one? She pulled hard on the chain so that he fell onto his face. He was a feisty boy and fought her, scrambling to his feet and yanking back, jerking her hand as he swore at her in his strange language, his dark eyes glinting with malice. But she was stronger than him by half, and she reeled him in so that he fell again.
‘Get up, you little shit,’ she snapped at him, but he refused. ‘Fine,’ she muttered to herself. She took the slack in the chain and looped it over a projecting beam end, then hauled on it. The slave fought admirably, but he was no match for the brawny Saxon woman. She pulled until his feet left the ground, then she rammed one of the links onto a nail so that the boy hung by his collar in the air.
‘Let’s see you get yourself out of that,’ she said, then turned back to the hall, more determined than ever to get her scortum back.
✽ ✽ ✽
Saeric heard Heremund approaching, but he remained seated on the bench by the stream, looking out over the river below them. He had changed back into his everyday work clothes, intending to get away as quickly as possible, but when it came to leave, he couldn’t do it. Despite everything that had happened to him, and everything he had done, a small voice inside, perhaps that of his late mother or father, told him that it was dishonourable to sneak away like a rat. And so he had sat waiting outside the smithy, half expecting to feel the sharp point of a sword at his neck in return for his unprovoked attack on Leofwynn. A part of him was astonished that Dunstan hadn’t done just that, given how furious he’d been; justifiably so.
