As soon as they arrived at the logging camp, it was immediately obvious that there was no enemy; human or beast. But, amidst the chaos, it still took Thurkill some time to work out what had happened. Pushing through the gathering crowd, he finally reached the source of the commotion.
One of the carts they had used to move the hewn trunks from the woods to the village had lost a wheel and in doing so had collapsed onto a young lad by the name of Toki. Thurkill had spotted the cart a couple of days previously, noting that it seemed older and more decrepit than the others; but it was too late now. Thankfully, the wheel had broken while the cart was unladen, and this had probably saved young Toki’s life. He had been standing by the cart when it collapsed and had been knocked to the ground as it fell. He now lay on his back, his right leg pinned beneath the waggon.
The poor lad’s face was as white as Thurkill’s tunic. He was shivering partly through cold but mainly through shock which had now supplanted the extreme pain, meaning that his screams had subsided. It was clear, though, that he had to be moved quickly. Thurkill was about to send back to the village for ropes and tackle with which to create a pulley to winch up the load, when Toki groaned horrendously. The pain was starting to return. There was no time to wait for the equipment; he had to act now.
Removing his cloak, he lay it over Toki’s chest to try to keep out the worst of the cold. “Come here, Eahlmund.”
Together the two men, helped by another two of the villagers, braced themselves on either side of the upturned cart with their backs to it. Squatting on their haunches they were able to get their shoulders under the lip of the planks which formed the side wall.
“On three, straighten your legs. Whilst we may not be able to shift the cart completely, we can hopefully lift it a hand’s breadth or two; just enough for you others to drag Toki clear. Is everyone ready?”
Another two men came forward and bent down, placing their hands beneath Toki’s armpits, ready to heave him out from where he lay. As soon as they were in position, they nodded. They were almost as white as the stricken woodsman. Toki groaned once again; it looked as if he was slipping into unconsciousness. God alone knew what damage his leg had sustained under all that weight. Thurkill feared their actions could make things worse but to do nothing was not an option. The boy could die where he lay if they delayed any longer. With that thought uppermost in his mind, Thurkill began the count.
“One, two, three, heave…” Slowly, but undeniably, the cart began to move. At first it was almost undetectable, though the effect on Toki’s leg was immediate as the pressure eased. Then, as the four men strained yet further, pushing as hard as they could until they could finally lock their legs in an upright position, a small gap appeared.
The effort was so intense, Thurkill had no strength to yell at the two men to act, but they needed no such order. He just hoped they could extract him before they had to let go of the immense burden that bore down on their shoulders.
“Clear!”
Exhausted, they let the cart drop, all four men sinking to their knees where they stood. Thurkill found he was momentarily deaf due to the noise of the blood rushing in his ears. It sounded like he was standing beside a raging waterfall. Gradually, his senses began to return and his thoughts turned to Toki. The pain of being moved had caused him to pass out, but he was alive, though his breathing was laboured and fitful. At least there was no blood that he could see so perhaps the injuries were not as bad as he had first thought. The bone would no doubt be broken but at least it had not penetrated the skin. There was hope it could be reset without there being too much permanent damage.
Pointing at the two men who had helped pull Toki out from under the cart, Thurkill ordered. “Take him to Wulfric as quick as you can. I hear he has some skill with broken bones and his wife, Raeda, has knowledge of herbs that can dull pain. He’ll be in good hands there. But do it gently; let’s not cause the lad any more distress than we have to.”
As they left, Eahlmund came over to his side. “I pray he’ll recover well. I must admit I didn’t think we would shift that weight. Do you know how heavy those things are?”
“It’s remarkable what can be done when there is a need to, Eahlmund. Though I thank God for granting us the strength to save him. I doubt we could’ve done it without His help.”
***
The next evening, Thurkill hosted a feast to celebrate the completion of the village’s defences. It had taken the whole five days in the end but he was by no means displeased. Other than Toki’s broken leg, there had been no other serious injuries which was, of itself, a minor miracle. As for Toki, Wulfric had tended to him as best he could and professed himself happy with the results. He declared that, though he might walk with a limp for the rest of his days, he would at least walk. Now the boy rested, slept mostly – with the aid of Raeda’s potions – allowing the bone to set and his strength to return.
So pleased was the lad’s mother that she had marched straight into the hall that night, walked right up to Eahlmund and Thurkill and wrapped them both in a bear hug, planting a huge kiss on both their faces. The two men had been struck dumb by the sudden, unexpected onslaught and they could only stare in bewilderment as she marched back out again to the sound of raucous laughter and cheering from everyone else present.
But more important than the wall itself, was the spirit amongst the villagers. Thurkill and his men had been accepted, of that there could be no doubt. They had proven themselves with hard work, courage and leadership. It was still early days, but Thurkill could not have hoped for a better start. He felt sure that he had at least begun to repay Aelfric’s trust in him.
As he sat listening to a travelling bard recounting tales of battles and deeds from times long gone, he realised with a start that he had been so busy these last several days that he had not even thought about William or the Normans. It was as if the last few weeks had not happened, despite the fact that it was the death and destruction dealt out by the invader that had led him to this place. Perhaps he could make a new life here with Hild and the people of the village after all? Away from William and his bloodthirsty, rapacious soldiers? Turning to his left, he looked at Hild, enjoying the strong lines of her face in profile. Conscious of his gaze, she turned to face him, a look of indescribable happiness spreading across her face. He felt his heart swell, so proud was he to have succeeded in making a safe home for her after all she had been through.
The sound of loud applause caused him to turn back. The bard had finished his tale of the noble Lord Brythnoth who had once given battle against Viking invaders at Maldon, not far to the south east of where they now sat – only to lose his life in the thick of the fighting, leading to a terrible defeat for the Saxons. It was an heroic tale, full of bravery and heroism which had reminded Thurkill of the battle at Senlac in which King Harold had lost his life. It was a sad tale, but yet one of courage and hope as well. Who knows, he thought, perhaps we will rise again one day and rid ourselves of William and his foreign whoresons?
For now, however, his thoughts remained focussed on Hild. Rising to his feet, he offered thanks to the bard, tossing him a silver penny in payment for his efforts and ordering that food and ale be provided as he had now sung for his supper. The singer bowed deeply, earning himself another rapturous round of applause. Eventually, the acclaim died down as the audience realised that Thurkill had remained on his feet. He had not done speaking.
“My friends, I thank you all for the welcome you have shown to me, to Hild and to those who came with us. I did not know what to expect when I came here and I’ll wager you too had your doubts. I, for one, however, could not be happier. You have all shown yourselves to be strong of arm and heart and I am proud to be your lord. But there is one thing that remains amiss, and has been for far too long. One thing that I must correct before all can be well here.”
A hushed silence fell over the room. Heads turned nervously to neighbours, wondering what it was that could have displeased their lord. Who
had incurred his wrath that he might need to take action so publicly?
“It shames me to stand before you here as a lord that has no wife. This situation cannot be allowed to continue and so it is that I ask – with you all as my witnesses – my beautiful Hild whether she will consent to be my bride.”
No one spoke or moved as all eyes turned to Hild who sat open-mouthed, completely taken aback by the unexpected proposal. Her cheeks reddened furiously as she became aware of almost one hundred sets of eyes staring at her, not to mention Thurkill standing before her, an anxious – yet hopeful – look on his face.
Slowly, she rose to her feet and curtsied before him. “Gladly, Lord. It is my most heartfelt desire to be wedded to you.”
Like a wave crashing against a cliff, the relief of those watching erupted in shouts, laughter and cheering. They had another feast to look forward to.
NINETEEN
They set the wedding for the following Sunday, just three days hence; they both agreed that there was little point in waiting any longer. There were no complicated negotiations to undertake between the two families as there were no parents alive to have them. It was to be a simple agreement between two adults who loved each other.
Wulfric had beamed with delight when Thurkill asked if he would marry the two of them. He’d warmed to the curmudgeonly old priest over the last several days, not least because he’d mucked in with the rest of them during the building of the defences.
Thurkill had seen how well liked he was by everyone in the village. He was very much treated as one of the lads – the only concession to his office being that the jokes and songs became marginally less ribald in his presence, at least until Wulfric joined in anyway. His strength and endurance had been astonishing too. When all others were flagging towards the end of the day, he was still there hefting his axe or shovelling earth, whilst whistling the tune of some psalm or other as if he were merely out for a gentle stroll.
Aelfric was also overjoyed to hear the news when Thurkill and Hild made the short trip north to Huntendune to seek his permission. Though it was but a formality, it was still their duty to seek their lord’s blessing for their match. “It’s about time you made an honest woman of her, Thurkill. Can’t have you two living in sin, as Wulfric might put it. I look forward to it and, what is more, I would be honoured to stand in place of your father, Hild. If you would have an old goat like me that is? A girl should not be left with no one to give her away, I think.”
Hild said nothing, but simply burst into tears and hugged Aelfric there and then, burying her face in his shaggy beard. Aelfric, who would have been about the same age as her father, Nothelm, was left feeling awkward and unsure what to do. He settled on patting her on the back in what he took to be a fatherly way whilst mumbling, “There there, my dear” over and over until she had recovered her composure.
Once back in Gudmundcestre, Hild shooed Thurkill out of their chambers. “Be gone with you. The wedding is only three days away and there is so much to do and if you don’t get out from under my feet, it won’t be done on time.”
“What on earth is there to be done, woman? Do we not simply turn up at the appointed time, stand in front of Wulfric, say the right words and then go and get so drunk that you can’t even see?”
“God preserve us from men in all their forms!” Hild yelled, hurling a wooden bowl at his head which only narrowly missed as he ducked. He ran from the room, laughing uproariously as he went.
***
On the morning of the wedding, Thurkill awoke with a feeling of nausea so strong that he had to rush outside to puke behind the house. When he came back in a few moments later, it was to the sound of laughter from Eahlmund.
“I thought you could take your ale, Lord. You must be going soft in readiness for life as a married man. You won’t be allowed out drinking with us lot again, you mark my words. She’ll have you tied to her apron strings and doing her bidding in no time, you’ll see.”
Thurkill smiled half-heartedly. He’d not had that much to drink, not least because Hild’s warning had rung in his ears all night when she’d packed him off out of the hall, saying it was bad luck for the groom to see the bride on the morning of the wedding. “And don’t you go getting so drunk that you’re ill on my wedding day.”
This must be nerves, he thought to himself. Thinking back, he recalled feeling very much the same before his first battle at Stamford. He shook his head, marvelling at how he could stand in a shieldwall and confront death more easily than he could face a day such as this.
“By my faith, Eahlmund, I drank in moderation. You were with me all night and could swear to it if asked. You heard the words Hild spoke to me as I left. No one would dare disobey such an order.”
“’Tis true enough, friend. So, this is fear then, pure and simple. I’ve seen men look less pale than you just before a fight. They often shit their britches too, so I’d thank you to go back outside if you feel that might happen.”
“Your compassion for my plight does you credit, my friend.”
“You’re not the one that would have to live with the stench all day. Anyway, it all goes to prove why you won’t catch me getting wed. Women are more trouble than they’re worth if you ask me. All those rules about what you can and can’t do and being scolded for things you don’t even know you’ve done wrong.”
“Aye, but is it not worth it for that loving face that greets you when you come home and a warm embrace on a cold night. Or is that why you like pigs?”
“Huh. Even they won’t have anything to do with me. If you ask me it’s some kind of conspiracy against me by all females of every type. But that’s fine by me. I’m happy being my own master.”
“Right you are, Eahlmund,” Thurkill nodded, winking to show his friend just how much he did not believe him. “Anyway, we’d best get moving or we’ll be late. And then we’ll both have no doubt what we’re being scolded for.”
An hour later, the pair of them were waiting in the front pew of the church. Thurkill didn’t think he’d ever looked smarter or cleaner, not even when aunt Aga had scrubbed him for what had seemed like a whole week before he’d gone with his father to court for the first time. He certainly didn’t remember ever having spent so long on his appearance. It had helped having Eahlmund with him, though, for his friend had inspected him minutely before allowing him to leave his house, walking slowly round him several times, stopping every now and then to pick loose hairs or tiny specks of dust or dirt off his best tunic and trews.
As he’d stood there, Thurkill could not help feeling like a kitten being washed and groomed by its mother, so close was the care and scrutiny that Eahlmund exercised over his appearance. Such was the emotion he felt at that moment, that neither his father or mother were there to witness this day, that a tear had escaped, unbidden, and rolled slowly down his cheek. Self-consciously, he’d cuffed it away with the back of his hand but not before Eahlmund had seen the movement and guessed at its meaning.
Eahlmund had straightened up, his task completed, and then embraced Thurkill. “They would be proud to see you here today, my friend. They’ll be watching you, though; have no fear of that.”
Thurkill had to swallow back the big lump that threatened to choke his throat before replying. “That’s as may be, but stop crushing my tunic will you, you big oaf? We’ve just spent forever making it to look half decent.”
Eahlmund had released his grip but held on to his friend’s shoulders, looking him up and down for any final blemishes. They caught each other’s eye and smiled, nodding at each other; the look saying far more than any words could.
Turning away, lest he too be overcome with emotion, Eahlmund had whispered. “You’ll do.”
The little church was full to overflowing. Every space in every row was taken and yet more people were standing against the walls along the side and back as well. The whole village had crammed inside its walls to witness the spectacle. If that were all, there might have been enough room, but there was als
o a sizeable contingent from Huntendune including Aelfric and his wife, Aelfgifu. Neither of them was anywhere to be seen, though. Aelfgifu and her two maids had rushed straight to the hall, on their arrival, to help Hild with her final preparations, whereas Aelfric waited patiently outside for her to be ready, so that he could escort her into the church in place of her father and pass her ceremoniously into Thurkill’s care.
It had taken a long time for the two men to walk from the door, all the way up the nave to their position at the front of the church. Everyone had stopped Thurkill to shake his hand, clap him on the back or wish him well. The feeling of warmth towards him and Eahlmund was palpable. As they reached their allotted space, little Elspeth came forward and curtsied before presenting him with a tiny posy made up of snow drops that she had plucked especially from the woods that morning. Solemnly, and with great care, he inserted it behind the brooch which secured his cloak on his left shoulder. Bending down, he kissed her on the forehead. “Thank you, Elspeth. I was not prepared for this day until now. Your flowers have made me complete.”
As they waited for Hild, Wulfric appeared from the side vestry where he had been putting on his robes. Shaking both Thurkill’s and Eahlmund’s hands, he asked “Are you ready, son? Soon there will be no turning back, you know.”
“Aye. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.” The nerves which he thought had been banished came flooding back. His face must have bled white as Wulfric leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially in his ear.
“Don’t worry, lad. We’ll get through this together and it will soon be over, you’ll see. Can’t be any worse than standing in the shieldwall, eh?”
Thurkill wasn’t so sure; at least in battle there was safety in numbers whereas, here, he felt dreadfully exposed out front on his own with just Eahlmund for company. Before he could reply, however, there was a commotion behind him as many heads turned back towards the door. Standing there, framed in the door way, was his beloved Hild, clad against the cold in a deep green cloak that matched his own. Beneath it she wore a plain linen dress that was whiter than any snow he’d ever seen. Its lack of any ornate pattern was by design as it served to accentuate her beauty instead. Standing there with her hand looped through Aelfric’s arm, her golden hair was framed by the brilliant sunlight which illuminated her from behind. She had never looked more angelic to Thurkill than now, the sun forming a golden halo encircling her head. Suddenly he felt a nudge in his ribs. “Close your mouth, Killi. You look more stupid than ever and she might not want to marry you if she sees.”
Saxon Storm: The Huscarl Chronicles Books 1 & 2 Page 39