Saxon Storm: The Huscarl Chronicles Books 1 & 2

by Paul Bernardi

  “I know that justice must be done, Lord, that an example must be made so that all might see that unprovoked murder has its consequences, but I would beg of you to show what mercy you can. From what I hear some of these men are young lads, not much older than my own boys, and I don’t believe that they all chose this path of their own volition.”

  Thurkill nodded, his brow furrowed while he considered her words. “But what would you have me do, Ella? These men are responsible for your husband’s death. They have blood on their hands.”

  “Not all of them, Lord. Would it not meet the requirements of the law, but also show mercy too, if you were to see to it so that those who had a hand in his murder pay the price the law demands, while those that didn’t are spared? Did our Lord Jesus not beseech us to show mercy and to turn the other cheek? Perhaps some of these poor wretches are deserving of a chance to redeem themselves here on earth.”

  Thurkill smiled. “I applaud you for your honesty and your wisdom, Ella. I must admit that this was not the answer I had expected and, for that, I have no doubt that God will reward you for your humility and foresight. For now, however, I will take your words with me into the folkmoot tomorrow and have them guide us in our deliberations.”

  ***

  The folkmoot assembled the next day on the open ground in front of the church in the place where the market usually met. As was traditional, they gathered in a semi-circle in front of the old stone cross that had been erected there many years earlier. No one knew exactly when but it was said to date back to when the first, wooden church had been built there well over three centuries before. It was the height of two men and heavily weathered in places, especially on the side that faced the worst of the wind and rain, so that some of the carved designs had long since worn smooth. But it was still an imposing sight, nonetheless, and a fitting place for the villagers to gather to hear proclamations from the king or for the business of justice to be done.

  Usually, the folkmoot had little more important to debate other than disputes over land boundaries or whether deals struck between two men had been transacted fairly; so, a hearing relating to the murder of one of their own was certainly out of the ordinary. So much so that most of the villagers had abandoned their fields to watch the proceedings.

  In addition to Thurkill, there were twelve members of the moot, meaning that he would have the casting vote should there be an even number of voices on either side. He prayed it would not come to that as he did not relish the thought of holding a man’s life in his own hands. Killing a man in battle was one thing – that man had the chance to kill or be killed – but ordering a man to be put to death was quite different.

  The twelve were the most prominent men of the village, those in positions of authority or who held sizeable tracts of land, well in excess of most others. Thurkill already knew a good number of them well, but others less so. There was Haegmund the miller, Urri the blacksmith and Wulfric the priest. Those three he knew the best. Then there was Agbert who had taken his father’s place, and – as a consequence – stood out as being several years younger than the next oldest member. Though it was unusual for one so young to be called to the folkmoot, he was there on account of his now being the largest land owner in the village, save for Thurkill himself. Of the others, he knew them by sight and many of them by name, but he had not had occasion to speak at length to them before now.

  As he walked into the centre of the circle, the twelve men rose to their feet in acknowledgement of his authority. Yet again he was conscious of his youth and inexperience in the company of these much older men, but he told himself to straighten his back and lift his chin. He could at least look the part even if he did not much feel it. Nodding his greeting to those assembled, he walked over to the lord’s chair which had been carried from his hall and set in front of the stone cross. Taking his seat was the cue for the others to resume theirs on the twelve upturned tree stumps that had been provided for them. At the same time, Alwig strode forward from where he had been waiting to one side of the cross.

  “Bring forward the prisoners.”

  The five men made for a sorry sight; their clothes little more than threadbare rags stained with blood and filth that spoke eloquently of their predicament. All bore the scars and bruises sustained in the fighting which, combined with the contemplation of their potential fate, had turned them into empty husks of men. All, that is, except for Beorhtric who continued to maintain his arrogant mien. Together, they shuffled forward in single file, their ankles roped together so that they could not make a run for it. Each man was also secured to the one in front by way of a loop around the waist which then extended to the next man. Finally, their wrists had also been tied in front of their bodies, completing their humiliation. They were led forward by Eahlmund, fully armoured and with sword drawn. Behind them walked Leofric and Leofgar, spears pointing at the backs of the captives. There was to be no risk of them escaping justice.

  With much pushing and shoving, the five men were made to line up facing Thurkill, in the centre of the semi-circle and surrounded on all sides by jeering and yelling villagers. For the most part, their faces were white with fear; they could be in little doubt as to their fate that day. Though, whatever Beorhtric felt inside, his face bore a sneer that showed, outwardly at least, that he was not afraid. He seemed determined to meet whatever was to come his way with his head held high and a hearty measure of disdain.

  Whatever his feelings towards the man, Thurkill had to admire his courage. He must have known the evidence against him was overwhelming – that he was, in all likelihood, going to die that day – but he would not beg for mercy. In other circumstances, Thurkill could imagine fighting alongside him in a shieldwall and being glad of his presence. He had no doubt that the man had fought at Senlac; the recently healed scars on his face and forearms bore witness to the fact.

  Meanwhile, as the shouted abuse showed no sign of abating, Alwig had to hold up his hand to appeal for calm. It was a charged atmosphere and one which Thurkill hoped did not spill over into violence. It was important that they allowed the rule of law to run its course and not resort to becoming a lynch mob. Everything had to be done properly. He knew these people to be reasonable and fair-minded, but it was clear that those values had been sorely tested by recent events. He gestured at Alwig to begin; the sooner matters were brought to a conclusion the better.

  “My Lord and honoured members of the folkmoot, these men stand before you today accused of the murder of Egferth, the pig herder. Let it be known that their guilt is not in doubt, none has denied it, none has come forward to say that the foul deed was not perpetrated by these men. What is in doubt, what does need to be decided, is the extent to which each of these men is culpable.

  “Which of them held the blade that ended Egferth’s life? Should only those who were directly involved in the killing be punished? Or does it not matter? Are they all guilty of the crime by association, by the nature of their common purpose, if you will? Do they all deserve to die for this crime?” There was much murmuring and nodding at this last point, accompanied by more angry shouts from a number of the villagers.

  Alwig held up his hand once more for calm. “Lord, before I ask the members of the folkmoot to speak on this matter, is there anything you wish to say?”

  Thurkill rose to his feet, trying hard to affect his most stern expression as the occasion warranted. He was very much aware that this was the first time he had been called upon to hold court in the village and that he, too, would be judged that day, on the fairness and wisdom of his ruling. Whatever decision the folkmoot came to, he could overrule it, though it would be unusual and he would need a very strong reason for doing so.

  “My thanks, Alwig.” He turned to face the half-circle. “Members of the folkmoot, all that I ask is that you do your duty before God. I know Egferth was well-liked, and his loss has hit the village hard, but I would urge that you do not allow emotion to cloud your judgement. And I would also ask those who have assemb
led here to observe proceedings – as is your right to do so, for we have no secrets – to maintain a respectful peace so that we may deliberate unhindered. Finally, you should all know that Egferth’s widow, Ella, has called for us to show mercy where there is mercy to be found. Let us not take life for the sake of showing that we have the power to do so. Let us be sure in our hearts and our souls that the decisions we reach are both fair and just for all concerned.”

  The debate ranged back and forth for some time. From what Thurkill could see, of the two matters in question, there was a clear distinction. Of the matter of Beorhtric’s guilt, there was no doubt. He had been heard to admit the deed by both Thurkill and Leofric. Once that had been established, early on in the proceedings, matters turned to the second point which was the extent to which the other four men who stood accused had been involved in the death. Thurkill remained aloof from the debate, as his role as lord and holder of the casting vote demanded, but from what he could see, the twelve men seemed evenly split; half calling for them all to be dealt with as one for they all acted as a group and none had tried to stop Beorhtric or rein him in; and the others claiming that the four deserved clemency for they had been powerless to prevent his actions.

  Leofric was called to relay his recollection of the conversation he had overheard between Lilla and Beorhtric. He recounted how there had been a dispute between the two men with the former berating his fellow for killing the pig herder and seeking to spare his son. He was asked whether he could identify any of the four men as being staunchly in one camp or another, which he could not. But the fact there had been an argument amongst the outlaws carried some weight as it cast doubt on whether they had all acted with a single purpose.

  At length, Wulfric – who had remained largely silent to this point – rose to speak. Thurkill leaned forward, eager to hear what the priest had to say. Though he thought he knew the man quite well, he realised that he had little idea which way he would cast his vote. Would he demand justice before God for the crime of which they were all accused, or would he call for mercy? The four prisoners had also noted Wulfric’s priestly garb and were also listening intently, perhaps hoping that a man of God might be relied upon to have a more rational view than most. Those hopes were dashed as soon as he began to speak, though.

  “Of all the people that live in this fine village of Gudmundcestre, Egferth stood above most others. He was a fine man, an honest man, always ready to lend a hand or an ear to any who was in need of either. Many is the jar of ale he and I sank together, talking long into the night for his was an opinion and a friendship that I valued above all others. It pains me beyond measure that I have had to bury in the grounds of my church, for I am older than he and it should have been me that went to meet our Maker first. I pray that I will be reunited with him there when the time comes, so that we can once again sink a cup of ale together. Until then, I shall miss him terribly and, until then, I shall hate those responsible for his death. I shall never forget what they have done and were it down to me alone, I would have them put to death without delay.”

  Wulfric paused to let his words sink in. There were those, Thurkill amongst them, that were aghast to hear the priest speak so vehemently whilst others among the assembled villagers roared their approval of his words. Once the tumult had finally subsided, the priest continued.

  “But though I will not forget, Jesus teaches me to forgive; to love my fellow man as I would love myself. He would have me show understanding and compassion in all things. And let me tell you this, my friends, it shames me to hear Lord Thurkill convey to us the words of Egferth’s wife. If she who, of all of us, has been most wronged by these men can learn to forgive, then who am I to say otherwise?

  “She has taught me that my thoughts of revenge were base and she has reminded me of the duties of my faith, for which she has my gratitude. For this reason, I will follow her example. Let Beorhtric be put to death for he has condemned himself from his own mouth. Our laws demand it. But of these others, we cannot say that they held the blade that killed Egferth, we cannot say that they desired him to be killed. Indeed, I think it more likely that they abhorred this act as much as do we. I say that these men should be allowed to live. They should be punished for the crime of brigandage but no more than that.”

  As soon as Wulfric resumed his seat, the crowd erupted once more. So many voices were raised in anger that it was hard to tell for which side they shouted. Eventually, Thurkill lost patience and signalled to Alwig to bring the moot to order.

  “We have heard the evidence and we have heard many opinions both for and against. There is little to be gained from extending this process further and so I call upon all members of the moot to cast their vote. Firstly, in the matter of Beorhtric. He stands accused of the murder of Egferth. What is your decision? Do you find him guilty of the crime?”

  As one, all twelve men shouted “Aye.”

  Alwig nodded, signalling to the scribe he had brought from Huntendune for the purpose, to make a record of the decision. “I see there is no need to call for a count of the “noes”, so the “ayes have it, the ayes have it.”

  Beorhtric showed no emotion at the decision; he must surely have expected it. He merely spat on the ground to show his contempt for the whole affair.

  Thurkill found himself wondering how a man could be driven to such a position that he had no remorse for his actions and no care for whether he lived or died. His own grip on life was so strong that he could never contemplate going quietly to his death. He had seen too much and lost too many to not want to fight for his existence in any way he could.

  “Moving on to the second matter. Of the four other men who also stand accused of the same crime, how do you find them?”

  This time, however, a chorus of ayes and noes could be heard around the folkmoot circle. Alwig turned to converse with the scribe to check if their tally agreed before confirming. “My Lord, I must inform you that the vote is split: six for the Ayes and six for the Noes. The decision therefore rests with you. You have the casting vote.”

  Thurkill’s worst fear had been realised. He now held the power of life and death over these four men. Each one of them stared at him, imploring him with their eyes to be lenient. In his heart he knew what the right thing to do was, but he also had to consider the mood of the villagers whom he knew to be ardent in their desire to have fitting retribution for the loss of Egferth. Would Beorhtric’s execution satisfy that hunger sufficiently? If not, was that even a reason to condemn four other men, men whom he believed innocent of the murder, to death? Just to satisfy their blood lust?

  He was aware that a deathly silence hung over the village square. All that could be heard was the birds chirruping in the branches of the huge oak tree that stood not far from where they sat, and the sound of the wind whistling through its leaves. It would be from one of those branches that Beorhtric would soon be hanging, but how many more bodies would there be alongside him, gently swinging in the breeze while crows pecked at their eyes? All eyes were now on him, awaiting his decision. Not for the first time he wished he did not carry the weight of responsibility for these matters. If only his father were here to shoulder that burden. He was also aware that Hild was now standing by his left shoulder. She had sensed his discomfort and had moved forward, as unobtrusively as possible, to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder. Thurkill took heart from the gesture, knowing that despite what he felt, he was not alone. Whatever decision he made; he knew that Hild would back him.

  Slowly, deliberately, he rose to his feet. “Gentlemen of the folkmoot, I thank you for your diligence and your wise counsel on this matter. Your words have been fair and well-considered; rarely can a lord have been better served. Having heard opinions from both sides, I have reached a decision. Given the gravitas of the situation, you should know it is not one I take lightly. I would also remind you all that my decision is final and I will brook no dispute. The scribe will record the verdict and that will an end to the matter. I hope that is unders
tood.” Though he spoke to the twelve men before him, his eyes surveyed the crowd of villagers behind them, for it was they who most concerned him.

  “I must be guided by the words of Ella, for it is she who has been most wronged here, as Wulfric so eloquently reminded us. As we heard no evidence that proves beyond doubt that these four men were involved in Egferth’s murder, I decree that they will not pay for their crimes with their lives.” A low, angry grumble greeted his pronouncement but he pressed on before it could develop further.

  “However, that is not to say that these men are without blame. Though they may not have committed murder, they must still answer for the crime of brigandage. Stealing my pigs cannot go unanswered. It is my ruling, therefore, that these men be separated from their left hands so that they may learn that taking what it not theirs carries a consequence. All sentences will be carried out at dawn tomorrow.”

  TWENTY - FOUR

  FitzGilbert’s mailed fist smashed into the Saxon’s face, spraying tiny drops of blood from his split lip and ruined nose in all directions. His head snapped back from the force of the blow and he slumped yet further between the grip of the two soldiers that struggled on either side to hold him upright. An evil sneer played across the Norman’s mouth; he could not deny that he enjoyed the sense of power and control it gave him to inflict such violent punishment on a man as defenceless as this. In truth, he had no real reason to harm the man; they had found him wandering the woods along with another whom they had already killed when he tried to flee from them; the fool had believed he could outrun their horses. When would these people learn they were no match for their new rulers? But it was sport nonetheless, something on which he could unleash his pent up frustration.

  His anger had been growing unchecked over the last several weeks spent fruitlessly searching for this damned Saxon dog who had killed his brother, Richard. Nowhere could they find any sign of him, nor had anyone heard tell of him or, perhaps more likely, had not been willing to tell him if they had. But now he had run out of patience. He was no longer prepared to enquire politely at every village or town he came to. Now he would do it his way and to hell with the consequences. William was still in Normandy and his half-brother, Odo, who had been left in charge seemed to be less inclined to tread warily around their new subjects. As long as he didn’t get his conroi of forty knights killed, he felt he could do much as he liked.