The Annals of Wynnewood Complete Series

by Chautona Havig

  As Philip opened the door, Broðor Clarke questioned him once more. “Are you angry because you believe it best for your friend to share this information with you, or are you angry because you feel as though you have earned the right to her privacy?”

  With his hand still holding the door open, Philip paused. It seemed as though he would relent, but again pride won out over right. He shook his head and started to close the door behind him, but Broðor Clarke’s next words stopped him once more.

  “Do not allow yourself to go to bed angry with your friend. Work this out between you and the Lord, Philip. He has commanded it.”

  At last, a hint of humility entered the young man’s voice as Philip nodded. “I will. No matter how wrong she is, I have to try to find a way to forgive her.”

  The door closed behind him as Philip strolled out into the night once more. In the quiet darkness of the minister’s cottage, Philip would have been irritated to see the sad but slightly amused shake of Broðor Clarke’s head as he muttered, “How magnanimous of you.”

  Chapter 4

  Journey South

  Summer

  A shadow drifted through the trees, following the road a dozen or so yards away from the entourage that slowly made its way through Wynnewood, past the midwife’s cottage, and around the Sceadu toward the road that led to their intended destination—Oxford. The horses stamped and danced, skittish at the fluttering that the others didn’t seem to notice. Aurelia’s litter jostled with each awkward movement until Lord Morgan stopped the procession and scanned the road and the trees for what might be causing the trouble.

  Just as he was sure it was nothing, he saw the familiar flap of a cloak—white for summer—in the distance. It disappeared and reappeared for several long seconds, always growing farther away with each appearance. “I think it should be fine now. Our little cloaked friend was giving us a send-off, but she has gone.”

  “I imagine she realized the horses were unsettled by her cloak flapping in the breeze,” remarked the minister, glancing at Philip.

  Philip hardly acknowledged their conversation at all. He appeared surly and in bad temper but was actually struggling to keep his countenance. The sudden urge to weep choked him as he bounced along on the back of a horse. His inexperience with riding was something none of the party had considered when planning for the trip. He’d be sore inside of an hour.

  Lord Morgan saw him struggling not to look around for his friend and frowned. “Philip, we can wait if you’d like to go find her.”

  “No, thank you,” the young man choked, fighting back tears. “I saw her last night. Modor is watching. If we stand here much longer, she’ll run up and—”

  “Did you make things right with Dove this morning, son?”

  Philip dragged his eyes across the backs of two packhorses and met the gaze of Broðor Clarke. “No. It’s fine between us though. If it wasn’t, she’d have been at my door when I awoke. She understands.”

  “Are you sure—”

  “Yes.” Without another word, Philip tried to swing himself down easily from the horse and found himself sprawled out on the road. The knights around him erupted in laughter, and even the snort of the animal seemed to mock him. He picked himself up, dusted off his clothes, grabbed the reigns, and began walking alongside the litter where Aurelia watched with compassion-filled eyes.

  “I think you are right about Dove. She understands. I don’t know what the disagreement was, but Dove understands everything.”

  “Not everything,” he muttered.

  “What happened?”

  “Well,” he glanced around and saw that no one paid them any attention before continuing, “I asked her to lower her hood.”

  “You didn’t!”

  The startled exclamation brought several eyes their way but the interest dissipated quickly. “Why is it so surprising? She’s a friend. What kinds of friends keep such a silly secret from one another?”

  “I thought better of you, Philip. You’ve been such a good friend to her—understanding and patient. I didn’t think you were selfish.”

  “Selfish. I’m going to be gone. Who will protect her? If I knew—”

  Aurelia scowled at him in a most unbecoming manner. He had no idea such a beautiful girl could look so hideous with a simple change of expression. “That’s swine slop. She protected herself perfectly well before she knew you—”

  “And often had terrible bruises where rocks from the village children struck her.”

  “Which she still gets. You think you have singlehandedly changed the opinion of Wynnewood, don’t you? Do you truly believe that?”

  “People still throw stones?” The surprise in his voice was unmistakable.

  “You thought they didn’t? Don’t you see her limp or move gingerly at times?”

  He nodded. “I asked her about it. She said that those with her condition sometimes have those aches and things. I—”

  “Didn’t consider that perhaps it is because those with her condition are treated abominably by those who are without it?”

  Philip ducked his head, swallowing hard. “Why didn’t she tell me? I could have tried—”

  “And succeeded where Broðor Clarke and my father have not?”

  “But she’s just a girl. People shouldn’t persecute her simply because she’s different. Who cares what she looks like?”

  Aurelia’s answer came swiftly—firmly—but gently. “You obviously do.”

  The miserable look on Philip’s face pricked Dove’s conscience. Maybe she should have waited for him near his home that morning. She thought he would know—would understand that she wasn’t angry, but maybe not.

  “Oh, don’t be a ninny,” Dove muttered to herself. “He’s leaving his home, family, and all of his friends.” She smiled at the realization that she was one of those friends. “Of course, he is going to be miserable—maybe for months.”

  She turned toward the edge of the Wyrm Forest. It was time to make one of her dreams come true. For a moment Dove paused, wondering if she should return to the cottage for a shovel, but kept walking. She’d plan her project and then return home. There wouldn’t be time for actual work on it today. They needed fresh meat. With all the things that Letty did around the cottage now, procuring meat wasn’t one of them.

  Her mind and heart were following the entourage south toward Oxford as her feet flitted through the trees in search of the perfect place. On the other side of the Sceadu, a small stream jutted off from the river into a little pool where fish swam. It was just deep enough to wade in—nearly covering her knees—but Dove wanted one deeper. She dreamed of enough water to cover her neck, and if she worked hard enough, she was sure she could dig her own.

  Her high melodic songs drifted through the trees as she sought the perfect inlet to create her pool. Children fishing on the other side of the river heard her and shivered, choosing to move downstream closer to the bridge, but Dove didn’t notice. Her attention was fixed firmly on finding somewhere to begin her project.

  At last, she found it. Close to where the Wyrm and Heolstor forests reached the river, the land dipped more sharply, allowing the water to cascade over a few rocks. A large tree grew a dozen or so yards away from the edge of the river with a sturdy branch that would hang low over where she intended to dig her pool.

  Excited over her find, Dove turned to fly home to tell Philip and stopped short. Tears fell onto the ground unchecked. After several silent minutes of fast-falling tears, her shoulders shook; Dove crumpled to the earth, drawing herself into a ball, and wept. Her friend was gone—for years. They hadn’t known if he would be allowed to return home to visit. Such an expense was too much to ask, and yet so many years without seeing friends or family was too hard to imagine, so they chose to wait—and hope.

  The village boys gathered around the great tree in the middle of the village and shuffled their feet. No one had considered what would happen on Thursdays while Broðor Clarke was gone. Their masters had all sent them o
ff, and even the older boys who now worked in their respective trades occasionally joined the group. Liam usually chose Thursday afternoons to have more flour ground for his father. He could leave the bag at the mill, go listen to the stories from the Bible, and then pick up the sack of flour on the way home. Aubrey and Angus often waited to eat their midday meal until the afternoon so they could join their friends. The younger boys, still apprentices, looked up to the young men and imitated their attempts to come—particularly when personal sacrifice was evident. It had been good for all involved.

  However, on that sunny Thursday afternoon, Aubrey munched on a cold baked potato and watched Angus and Liam, taking his cues from them. The younger boys were eager to take the opportunity to spend the afternoon in games on the sward near the Point. Their glances—attempts to be covert—were almost comical in their obviousness.

  “I think we should go over the last story that Broðor Clarke told,” Angus said as he sat on Broðor Clarke’s stump and bit into a chunk of bread.

  “Aw, we can’t do that. The minister isn’t here to make sure we’re telling it correctly,” a young boy of about eight protested.

  “Sure we can.” Liam instinctively looked to Angus for support. “We can listen to each other and fill in gaps and correct. It would be a good exercise.” As the others digested these words, Liam added another thought. “Afterwards, I think you should all take advantage of the afternoon. We’ll not be able to fill up the time like Broðor Clarke can, but we should keep what we’ve learned fresh.”

  What the others didn’t hear was the eagerness in Liam’s voice. He ached to continue any lessons he could. Angus agreed to the proposal and encouraged Liam to begin. From beneath a large shrub near the door of the chapel, Dove listened to the story of Uzzah and his attempt to save the Ark of the Covenant from falling.

  As responsible of an idea as the retelling was, it quickly dissolved into debate over whether Uzzah’s actions were understandable and what they would have done. Angus argued for protecting the ark, but Liam insisted that God’s rules must be followed. The younger boys all gathered round as the debate raged. To everyone’s surprise, Liam held his own.

  The words flew back and forth. As much as the other lads wanted to support Angus, as much as they agreed with his stand, they had to respect the way Liam held fast to the law of God as told them by Broðor Clarke. “I AM cannot say, ‘you shall not’ and then ignore it when you do. It would make Him unrespectable—not trustworthy.”

  Angus shook his head. “The ark was already on the cart. The rule had been broken already. Uzzah just saved it from falling. The blood is on King David’s head for breaking that rule.”

  “But that is not what the Book says. It says that I AM became angry at Uzzah. They weren’t allowed to touch the ark. It was forbidden, and he did it anyway.”

  “For good cause,” argued Aubrey.

  “According to I AM, the only good cause is to obey Him.”

  The group watched as Angus’ eyes narrowed. The muscles in his arms twitched. Slowly, his head shook. “I do not remember that in the story. I don’t remember Broðor Clarke ever saying that.”

  Owen shook his head. “That wasn’t in the story, but remember the one with Samuel and Saul? Samuel told him that obedience was better than sacrifice. It’s basically the same thing.”

  “But it isn’t what the Bible says,” another boy countered. “Broðor Clarke says we aren’t allowed to decide what is just or isn’t just. I AM said don’t, so we don’t.”

  Once more, Angus shook his head. “I don’t understand why it would be a problem with I AM, but I do understand that He can make whatever rules He wants.”

  Discussion fizzled to nothing as the group stood around shuffling their feet. Owen glanced around the village and frowned. In a deep whisper, he said, “Some of the masters are staring. If we want our time off, we’d better hurry and get out of sight.”

  Aubrey grinned. “Race?”

  For all their claims of manliness and responsibility, the young men were still boys at heart. They missed the days when they could run and play games after a Thursday Bible session. It took less time for everyone to nod than it did for them to take off down the road and into the grasses at the headland of the Point.

  The games began. Several of the fishermen’s sons proved themselves to be swift runners, but those who worked at the castle seemed to have the most endurance. Angus couldn’t run, but held his own against all of the younger boys in a game of tug o’ war. Once Aubrey and Liam joined the lads, Angus couldn’t hold out any longer and let go of the rope, sending the others stumbling backwards until they collapsed on top of one another. Liam was nearly flattened in the process.

  “Well, we won, but Angus is probably the strongest fellow in Wynnewood.”

  Despite the bolster to his pride, Angus shook his head. “Not yet. Hugh is stronger, but he’s getting older. Someday…” A small smile hovered near the corners of Angus’ mouth. They respected him. After years of a fearful kind of awe, now the lads had real respect for him. He liked it. For once, the entire group looked up to him instead of raving over the perfect Philip.

  Liam’s next words jabbed Angus’ spirit. “Do you think Philip has made it to Oxford yet?” Liam sighed. “I wish I could go.”

  Chapter 5

  Oxford

  The bustle of commerce in Oxford excited Philip as he wandered through the streets just after breakfast. Shops opened, carts rolled into the marketplace, and girls of ten and even younger carried heavy baskets, calling out to passersby to purchase their wares. To Philip, it was all an exciting adventure.

  Several students, identifiable by their scholar’s robes, strolled out of an inn, laughing about something the innkeeper had said. He’d be one of those students soon. His mind filled with images of the admiration of the locals as they saw him pass, and his eyes followed the young men and then roamed to the townspeople, hoping for a glimpse of it. Instead, he saw antagonism—even hatred—for them.

  Feigning ignorance, he stopped a passing boy wheeling a barrow and pointed to the students. “Who are they and why are they dressed like that? The shopkeepers don’t seem to like them much.”

  “Them’s university students,” the lad answered. “Troublemakers, the lot of them. The church protects them, so we have to put up with their shenanigans. My master threatens to move away from Oxford at least once a week.”

  “What does he do?”

  “He’s a brewer—finest one in Oxford. You’ll not find better mead or ale anywhere in the county—maybe not even England.” With those words, the boy hurried down the street wheeling two small barrels in a barrow.

  For the briefest of moments, Philip entertained the fantasy of being the student who finally won over the town and brought peace between the students and citizens. Reality struck when he saw a man jerk his daughter out of sight of yet another robed man—this one much older. “I’m not likely to have any effect at all,” he muttered to himself. “The idea is ridiculous. I’ll need to focus on my studies anyway.”

  “Did you ask for something?” A woman with very few teeth and a bent back eyed him curiously. Offering him an apple, she snarled when Philip shook his head and hurried on his way.

  Lord Morgan smiled as Philip entered the dining hall of the inn. “He’s been out exploring already. You can make a boy into a man, but you’ll never eradicate the boy from him.”

  “I’m sorry, m’lord. Everyone was still sleeping—”

  “I wasn’t complaining, Philip. Did you find Oxford everything you’d imagined?”

  “I learned that the townspeople don’t much like the students.”

  “There’ve been a few skirmishes, but you should be quite safe. The church has much influence here and protects students.”

  A frown formed on Broðor Clarke’s face, but he said nothing. Several knights, looking quite bored, picked at their food. The minister noticed and commented. “I think your men need much more active employment than a tediousl
y slow ride here and lounging around for us to finish our tasks.”

  “Perhaps we should send them to Portsmouth to see if my ships have arrived. It wouldn’t be as stimulating as drilling at home on the fields, but…”

  The little group snickered, earning them suspicious looks from the knights, but a serving girl arrived in time to divert their collective interest. Lord Morgan took that opportunity to suggest the day’s plans. “As much as I’d like to rest, I think I’ll make inquiries about possible lodging for Philip. While I do that, perhaps you’d be interested in seeking out his instructors?” Charles Morgan watched as Broðor Clarke nodded.

  “I’ll see what I can learn.”

  Philip watched, his eyes darting back and forth as the men spoke, curious as to who would mention taking him first. He was eager to see where he’d live, of course. Lord Morgan might choose some place that was unnecessarily fine. He didn’t need extravagant accommodations, but would Lord Morgan forget how simply he was accustomed to living?

  Even as interested as Philip was about his future home, he was much more concerned with the coursework that Broðor Clarke would arrange for him. What if it was too much? What if he couldn’t handle it? Would he have to work extra-long hours or take on more courses for him to catch up to the others? Is that how it worked?

  Broðor Clarke turned to speak to the innkeeper about where to find the best masters, and Lord Morgan stopped to speak to his knights. As patiently as he could manage, Philip waited to see who would take him, but to his surprise, each man hurried out of the inn without a word to him. His eyes roamed the room, studiously avoiding the table where the knights sat, presumably watching him, amused.

  The streets were even more crowded as midday neared. Tanners scraped leather, pulling the pieces out of vats of vile-smelling solutions. Fullers pounded woven wool in water and clay to clean and thicken it for market. Saddlers and cobblers worked hard at their craft; Philip found it all fascinating. He stopped to speak to several men, curious about how long they’d been a part of the guild, how many boys they’d apprenticed, and what kind of aptitude was necessary.