by Jayden Woods
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Returning to Richard’s estate in the light of noon, Ralph could hardly believe how much it had begun to resemble a true Norman castle. The gradual hill on which it was built offered a wide view of the pastures of Shropshire and Herefordshire. Even the grounds of the castle continued up a slight incline, emphasizing the supremacy of the tower that would eventually loom from the top western corner.
Most impressive from the outside were the deep ditches around the palisade walls. Right now the deepest sections already lay as low as ten feet, and eventually the slaves might dig even deeper. Sharp, rocky earth banked steeply up to the palisades, quite difficult for any intruder to climb. The ditch could only be crossed by a swing-bridge, which in times of war could be turned sideways to prevent passage. And even if one crossed the swing-bridge, he next must pass through the large rectangular gatehouse. Lord Richard had already instructed for this gatehouse to be made of stone, for it provided crucial protection to the overall castle. At this very moment, slaves were mixing hard white mortar to set the stones of its walls.
Meanwhile, the shoveled earth had been moved within the walls to form the heart and spine of the whole castle structure: the motte. The large pile of dirt and shale would soon form a hill of its own, and on top of that Richard would build a keep and tower in which he would live.
On the inner side of the ditches, slaves had already erected spiked wooden palisades, and in some areas they had begun to stack stones. Right now, Richard still searched for a quarry from which to obtain additional rocks. The wall would be difficult enough to scale given the ditch and palisades alone, but once Richard replaced it all with stone, it would be nearly impenetrable. Normans barely knew how to attack each other’s castles after years and years of warfare. The Anglo-Saxons would be entirely clueless.
Crossing through the gate and past the walls, the sight of sturdy cabins around the looming dirt and construction came as a sight to sore eyes. Ralph saw the slaves hard at work chopping wood or carrying stones. A few Normans took advantage of the open bailey to practice swords or train horses. Ralph hoped some of the Anglo-Saxons would have the same luxury soon enough. He thought they would willingly bend their backs for this project if they understood how grand it would be to see a castle on the English landscape. But understanding and appreciation would have to come with time.
Ralph and Geoffrey gave their horses to the stable-hand, then made their way deeper into the bailey. Eventually, Richard would reside in the stone keep on top of the motte. For now, he lived in the largest cabin on the bailey. Ralph’s heart sank as he neared the entrance. He wondered if his little brawl with Seaver had the potential to blow this all away. Of Richard’s followers, Ralph had the most sympathy for the Anglo-Saxons. But now he had murdered one and his knighting would be canceled. Men like Geoffrey or the murdered Drogo would rise to King Edward’s attention. And then he would send them all back to Normandy.
His legs like felt blocks of wood as he entered Richard’s hall.
They were too late. Cerdic was already there, kneeling on the floor before Richard, speaking in woeful tones of the injustice a Norman had wrought upon Seaver. Cerdic didn’t seem to know Ralph’s name. But when Ralph and Geoffrey entered, Cerdic readily lifted a finger and shouted, “There he is!”
Richard looked up from the table and blinked at the two newcomers. To Ralph’s surprise, the lord actually looked relieved. “Oh! Geoffrey.”
Geoffrey frowned. He looked from Cerdic, to Ralph, then back to Lord Richard. Cerdic’s finger pointed at Ralph, but that was less obvious to Richard, who sat on the other side of Cerdic. “Suzerain,” the knight replied uncertainly.
Now Cerdic grew confused. “No, not you. The other one.”
“Ralph?” Lord Richard blinked with puzzlement.
Ralph shifted on his feet. “Well, actually ...” He bowed his head, reluctant to speak the words he knew he must. As his gaze dropped, he saw Osgar’s blood on Geoffrey’s tunic. He wondered if anyone else noticed.
“There must be some mistake,” said Lord Richard at last. “Geoffrey? Were you there last night?”
“Yes, Suzerain.”
“Then you must have the two of them mixed up,” said Lord Richard to the Saxon. “Ralph would never do something like that.”
“I know what I saw!” cried Cerdic. “That one—Ralph—fought with Seaver over a woman! They went outside, and then—”
“I finished Seaver off.” Geoffrey’s voice sliced through all the noise in the room and left a temporary silence. The knight stepped forward and glowered at Cerdic as if at a bug he wished to squash. “I killed Seaver.” Next his dull gaze fixed on Richard. “Je suis désolé, Suzerain. I couldn’t let the Saxon defeat Ralph.”
Ralph’s cheeks burned, recognizing the insult even as he thanked the heavens for Geoffrey’s help. Placing the blame on Geoffrey made complete sense; no one would think twice about the fact Geoffrey had killed someone. But why would Geoffrey do this for Ralph?
Lord Richard sighed and nodded wearily. “There we have it. Geoffrey, are you willing to pay Seaver’s life price? It will be two hundred shillings.”
Geoffrey’s fists clenched. Then he glared at Ralph.
Ralph gulped. “I will pay half,” said Ralph hoarsely. “After all, I started the fight.” He pretended not to notice that Geoffrey continued to glare at him, the strength of his gaze like a fire blazing against Ralph’s side.
“That settles it, Cerdic,” said Lord Richard. “I will ensure the king’s peace from here. You’re dismissed.”
Reluctantly, Cerdic stood and made to go. But his eyes lingered on Ralph all the while, fear swimming in his irises.
“Imbécile,” hissed Geoffrey as the Saxon departed.
Once the three Normans were alone, Lord Richard scowled and pushed himself to his feet. Ralph winced on his lord’s behalf, knowing that Richard’s crooked feet must be causing him pain, and yet the lord chose to stand nonetheless. The gesture had its proper effect, for Richard’s large-boned frame cut an imposing figure as he loomed over the room. “Ralph,” said Lord Richard. “I’m disappointed in you.”
Ralph’s legs nearly buckled underneath him. He had hardly slept, barely ate, and been in a constant state of stress since last night. For the wonderful moment when Richard said “That settles it,” Ralph had felt as if all of his problems must be solved. Relief had poured over him, only to be snatched away once more by a few simple words. I’m disappointed in you.
“Please, my lord, forgive me,” rasped Ralph. “The man did kick me in front of an entire tavern. But perhaps I overreacted.”
“I can’t say I blame you,” sighed Richard, “but right now we must be very careful. When I present you to King Edward, I want you to be a shining example of the peace-abiding knights Engla-lond desires right now.”
“I know. I know. I am sorry.”
“Thank God Geoffrey took care of this for you,” Lord Richard continued. “But we need to make it very clear to everyone who saw you that night that Seaver’s blood is on his hands and not yours. We will present this at the next hundred-court and set the story straight. Understood?”
“Yes. Of course.” Ralph glimpsed Geoffrey’s smirk in the corner of his vision and his heart sank further. If Ralph had his way from the beginning, he might have convinced everyone that no murder had happened at all. It would have been difficult, surely, to explain Seaver’s disappearance, but the attempt might have saved them two hundred shillings. Instead, Geoffrey chose to make Ralph look like a fool who had started a fight and not been able to finish it. And he seemed far too pleased with his decision to do so.
“And you, Geoffrey.” Lord Richard’s reprimanding tone wiped the smirk from Geoffrey’s face. Richard leaned further over the table and lowered his voice. “I usually don’t bother to ask about your activities. But usually, you are much more careful.”
Geoffrey just stared blankly back at him.
“Any more blunders like this, and I suspect yo
u’d soon be out of money. If that happens, you’re on your own. Understand?”
“Certainly, Suzerain. That will not happen.”
“Good. Have the money ready by the next hundred-court. Dismissed.”
Ralph heard Lord Richard cursing under his breath as the two knights left the hall.
Back on the bailey, Ralph took a deep breath of exhaustion and wondered how severely he would feel the loss of one hundred shillings. Most certainly, it would delay the repairs of his new manor and acquiring a wife. But then he watched the construction happening all around him and his heart felt at ease.
He glimpsed a skinny woman with red hair lugging a large stone through the mud. He wondered if it was the wild Saxon, Elwyna, who had been accused of Drogo’s murder. For her crime, she would undoubtedly hang. Perhaps Richard only delayed her trial so that it would not be widespread knowledge when he next visited King Edward. Ralph’s own losses could have been much worse, he realized. And it was all thanks to Geoffrey that they weren’t.
“I expect you to pay all of it.” Geoffrey’s calm voice cut him once more to the quick. “I will provide a hundred shillings for the next hundred-court. But when you are able, you will pay back my half of the werigald.”
Ralph gulped. “Very well.” He wanted to rant at the knight for putting him in this awkward position, but he resisted the urge. “I suppose I should ... thank you.”
Geoffrey chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” snapped Ralph.
“I did not do it for your sake,” leered the knight. “Nonetheless, I do believe you owe me a favor.”
Then Sir Geoffrey went on his way, and Ralph wondered if this was the worst possible punishment.
**
5
Last Tales of Mercia 5:
OSGIFU THE SISTER
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