Last Tales of Mercia 1-10

by Jayden Woods

  *

  Edric was very excited to travel to Richard’s castle and see young Lord Osbern again. However, he sensed the graveness of his task when Osgifu explained Elwyna’s predicament, and he proved a quiet riding companion.

  At Ethelbert’s church, Osgifu spoke once more to Dumbun and verified Elwyna’s location. By then the courage she had shown to Godric was fading, and her dread nearly overwhelmed her. She felt as if she would walk straight into the enemy’s nest by visiting Richard’s castle. But she nodded with resolve and asked the priest to pray for Elwyna. Dumbun would stay at the church, for Osgifu suspected his presence would only bring trouble. Osgifu and Edric would make haste to Richard’s castle, if only so Osgifu could say her goodbyes. What she might do after that, she didn’t know.

  Before she left the church, she knelt by the altar and prayed.

  She had asked little of God over the last few years. Ever since she broke her vows at the abbey and ran off to marry Godric, she felt as if she did not deserve to request God’s help. Sometimes, she consoled herself with the possibility that God had always intended for her to marry Godric. At the time, she believed with complete certainty that she made a righteous decision. She felt that if God had given her this life to save anyone, that person was Godric, who needed her love more than anyone on earth. And Godric was undoubtedly a man of significance. His blade had shaped the fates of several countries, though many people would never learn his name. And if not for her, he might have shaped them further. She wanted to believe that because of her union with Godric, he had learned the power of forgiveness and put away his axe forever.

  She didn’t always convince herself of her own righteousness, however. So while she continued to show her devotion to God whenever she got the chance, she rarely dared to impose upon Him. Now, for the sake of her sister, she did so.

  “Dear Holy Father, who saved Daniel from the lion’s den, please show compassion for Elwyna, who is in dire need of forgiveness. Please free her from the Normans and end the cycle of hate if you can find it in your will to do so. Amen.”

  Once she finished, Osgifu and Edric rode for Richard’s castle.

  When Osgifu first glimpsed the walls of the structure, she thought it may not be so different from any other Anglo-Saxon stronghold. Then she saw the large mound of earth rising up from the middle of the monstrosity. She watched slaves carrying rocks and glimpsed the breadth of the space within the walls, like its own little town. She wondered how all of this would look once set with stones, especially the man-made hill that seemed like the foundation of something gigantic. She feared that when all the pieces came together, the castle would truly be a sight to behold.

  “So this is a castle?” Edric’s blue eyes glittered with wonder.

  “It certainly will be,” Osgifu murmured.

  She crossed a wooden bridge over a deep, gaping ditch. Her horse stirred anxiously beneath her. They approached a large gatehouse, and though unfinished, it looked quite imposing. Stones and white mortar comprised the bottom walls and led up to a second floor towering over the walls.

  A Norman guard stepped forward to bar their passage.

  Osgifu dismounted and motioned for Edric to do the same, hoping this would make them look less intrusive. She pet her horse’s neck with calming strokes. “Good day to you. I am Osgifu, daughter of the deceased thegn Lindsey, wife of Thegn Godric Eadricson. I am here to see my sister, Elwyna.”

  The Norman did not seem to recognize any of the names she threw at him, but he must have determined that she was a woman of some significance. He scratched his head, then said, “Un moment.”

  He left and came back with another Norman, perhaps of higher rank. The man had short brown hair, but Elwyna suspected it was longer than most Normans’, who usually trimmed the back of the skull as close to the skin as possible. Soft brown locks fell long enough to frame this man’s eyes, which looked at her with the smallest hint of friendliness.

  “I am Sir Ralph,” he said. “You say you’re here to see Elwyna?”

  “Yes.”

  Ralph looked down at her companion. “And this is ...?”

  “My son, Edric. He’s acquainted with Osbern FitzRichard.”

  “Oh is he?” Ralph nodded. “You’ll have to leave any weapons here at the gate. Then you may follow me.”

  “Thank you.”

  After all the rumors she’d heard about Normans, Osgifu could not help but worry that she would never again see the weapons they handed over. Nonetheless, Ralph’s request was reasonable, so she complied and convinced Edric to give up his little seax. They followed Ralph through the gates.

  The inner grounds looked especially desolate to Osgifu. Due to all the construction, the earth was lifeless and uneven, prodding her sharply through her thin leather boots. Filthy Anglo-Saxons looked over at her from their work on the walls, their shoulders hunched from the back-breaking labor. She wondered what they had done to deserve this fate, if anything.

  She wondered if it had been a mistake to bring Edric when she saw the look on his face. The state of the laborers seem to shock and even frighten him.

  She did not yet see her sister, but she realized with a mixture of joy and dismay that she recognized some of the workers. Several of them had worked the lands around the Abbey of Saint Mary’s which she briefly supervised as abbess. They were kind and honest folk, and it warmed her heart to see them again, though she regretted the circumstances. She had not bothered to visit many of her old friends and acquaintances after she left the abbey, for she had felt too ashamed for breaking her vows. Her guilt would only deepen if she ignored them now.

  “Excuse me,” she said to the knight leading her. “May I say hello to someone briefly?”

  “Eh?” Ralph didn’t look very pleased with the fact that she knew some of the slaves. But she gave him an innocent smile, and after a moment, he nodded.

  Osgifu made her way to a section of the walls where men and women were scooping shale from the ditches and then carrying it to the motte.

  “Alfwaru?”

  The woman looked up with eyes that feared some sort of reprimand or bad news. She was younger than Osgifu, but her back sagged with exhaustion, and harsh conditions had made her skin splotched and weathered. Osgifu stared back at her in silence, trying to hide a reaction of disgust.

  “Abbess Osgifu?”

  To Osgifu’s profound relief, Alfwaru said her name not with dismay, but happiness. A smile pulled at her cheeks and made her dark eyes sparkle. She stepped forward to embrace Osgifu. Then she remembered herself, and her fleeting joyfulness faded away.

  “Alfwaru, it is so good to see you again,” said Osgifu hastily. “Though I wonder how you ended up here, working on the Norman’s castle? Do you still live in that little cabin next to the brook?” She tried to phrase the question gently, but she could not ignore the truth.

  Alfwaru bowed her head grimly. “St Mary’s Abbey was never the same after you left. The next abbess was incompetent. We had sick livestock and bad crops. The abbess lost money and sold some of her lands back to the king—including the cabin where my husband and I lived. We were already in a poor state, and once we had to start paying taxes ...”

  The woman lost her will to say the rest. Osgifu reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Alfwaru. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Of course, Abbess. You can pray for me.”

  Osgifu’s throat tightened. “I’m not an abbess anymore, Alfwaru.”

  “Maybe not. But you’re still Osgifu, the woman with the purest heart I’ve ever known.

  Osgifu could hardly explain the sensation of solace that washed suddenly over her, as if a burden lifted from her shoulders she hadn’t even known was there. Today, she had finally worked up the courage to ask for something from God. Now, another person requested her voice of entreaty. God seemed to be telling her, ever so gently, that he would listen to Osgifu’s prayers, and Elwyna wasn’t the only person that needed
them.

  “I will pray for you,” she said, her voice nearly a whisper at first. Then she looked up and saw that several more Anglo-Saxons were looking at her. “I’ll pray for all of you!”

  “God bless Lady Osgifu of Saint Mary’s!” cried Alfwaru.

  “God bless you, Lady.”

  “God bless you.”

  Osgifu did not know how to react to the people suddenly smiling and bowing their heads to her, or looking to her with hope. She hoped her face did not betray the fear she felt—fear that she might somehow let them down.

  She became all too aware of the presence of Ralph looming nearby, his boots creaking in the dirt as he shifted his weight, the shadow of his sword casting a line across the rocks. When she turned to look at him, he had his arms crossed over his chest and a heavy frown on his face.

  “Finished?” he asked.

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  She fell in step next to Ralph and Edric once more. Edric was as quiet as Osgifu had ever seen him and she wondered what thoughts ran through his mind. His reaction to the castle seemed a combination of admiration and disgust. Ralph led them to a dining hall near the large hill of dirt, then showed them inside.

  She expected to come face to face with Richard FitzScrob, lord of the castle. She knew he was a very tall man that walked on crooked feet. But instead she saw young Osbern, perhaps only twelve or thirteen years old, sitting proudly at the head of the table. Next to him sat an older gentleman wearing a long tunic and sword. On the table, candles flickered amongst fresh bowls of steaming pottage. “I am Osbern FitzRichard,” said the boy, even as he wiped his greasy mouth. Osgifu struggled to interpret his accented English. “My father is busy. Can I help you with something?”

  “Hello Osbern. It is nice to meet you formally. Perhaps you remember my son, Edric?”

  Osbern stared curiously at the nine-year-old beside her. Edric blinked back with wide, gaping eyes.

  “Oh yes.” Osbern sneered. “I remember besting you in a stick-fight.”

  Edric’s fists clenched, and at last he found his voice. “You were a lot bigger than me!” Osgifu smiled. She could still sense a boyish camaraderie between the two of them. But Osbern was still a lot bigger than Edric.

  “Perhaps you should have accounted for that before challenging me to a game,” retorted Osbern. Then he sat up in his chair, eager to prove himself further.

  Osgifu bowed her head. “Thank you for seeing us, Osbern. As you may recall, I am Osgifu, wife of Thegn Godric Eadricson. Unfortunately, the woman accused of murder, Elwyna, is my sister. I wish to see her.”

  “No,” said Osbern. “You may go now.” He returned to eating his stew, the slightest leer of triumph on his lips.

  Osgifu fought against a rising wave of despair. Perhaps bringing Edric had been a bad idea. Osbern wished to show off in front of him. Desperately, she caught the gaze of the man sitting next to Osbern. He stared back with an expression of fear and surprise.

  “Thegn Godric?” asked the older man. “Son of Eadric Streona?”

  “Eadric Streona?” echoed Ralph.

  Osgifu nodded.

  “Qui?” said Osbern.

  Ignoring him, the man gulped and rose unsteadily to his feet. “I am Sir Fulbert. The man your sister killed was my squire, Drogo. But I did not think the girl had any family other than her dumb brother.”

  Dumb brother? Osgifu wondered just how many lies her sister was telling these days. “I imagine she did not want myself or my husband involved.” She sensed Fulbert’s anxiety and wondered how deeply it ran. Godric had gotten away with his crimes because they remained secret until they no longer mattered. Once Edward became king, a few people suspected Earl Goodwin’s involvement in the death of Harald Harefoot. The son of Canute had been found in a river with his head severed from the neck. From there, one could easily draw the connection to Godric, whom Goodwin had hired for the job. One might also connect Eadric Streona’s murder of Edmund Ironside with a trap to the little boy he had brought with him to Oxford—once again, Godric. Osgifu suspected that anyone who bothered to speculate on the deaths of several recent kings might suspect Godric’s involvement.

  To further mystify Godric’s identity, he had once claimed to be the son of Thorkell the Tall before confessing that he was the bastard son of Eadric Streona. Eadric Streona was quickly becoming the most notorious traitor in recent history. Thorkell the Tall was remembered as one of the mightiest Jomsvikings the world had ever seen. No matter which version of Godric’s story one believed, the name of either father sent fear straight to people’s hearts.

  Osgifu wished that she could make Godric’s past disappear. She certainly didn’t want to go stirring it up again. She resisted the urge to push these men’s fear of Godric further to her advantage. But she did not bother dispelling it. “I see no reason to involve my husband, either,” she said. “Unless there has been some sort of misunderstanding here. Can you explain to me how you came to suspect Elwyna of a crime?”

  “I left her alone with Drogo in that little cabin of hers around sunset,” said Fulbert hoarsely. “She came out after nightfall and said that he had gone into a fit, collapsed, and died. But I’ve known Drogo for years. He was a healthy young man.”

  “What reason would Elwyna have to kill him?” asked Osgifu.

  Fulbert turned pale and didn’t answer.

  The young lord Osbern looked around the room in puzzlement. “This is not court,” said Osbern. Then, to Sir Fulbert, “Is it?”

  Sir Fulbert sank into his chair and stared grimly into the table.

  “In that case, when will she get a trial?” Osgifu demanded.

  Ralph stepped forward. “Soon enough. Lord Richard has been very busy. But he has shown considerable mercy to Elwyna by giving her work on the castle and feeding her in the meantime.”

  “For that, I am grateful.” She also felt increasingly suspicious. “Now may I speak to her?”

  “I said no!” snapped Osbern. “What if this one can do sorcery like her sister?”

  “I assure you that’s not true,” said Osgifu. “In fact, I used to be an abbess.”

  Fulbert and Ralph exchanged wary glances. Sir Fulbert said something to the young lord in Norman. Then the three of them argued briefly in their native tongue.

  Osgifu waited anxiously. The discussion grew more heated, but she took comfort in the fact that Osbern seemed to be losing the fight. Finally, he declared in English, “Let them talk if you’re so determined. But if anything goes wrong, it’s your fault!”

  He stood up, snorted loudly, and then stormed towards the door. For a young teenager, the thud of his boots—especially the one that dragged with a limp—sounded successfully intimidating. Nonetheless, Osgifu inwardly rejoiced. “Thank you, my lord.” She glanced curiously at Edric. “Perhaps the two of you would like to catch up in the meantime?”

  Osbern scoffed, though Osgifu detected a flare of temptation in his gaze. “I have no time for child’s games.”

  “Then perhaps you could show Edric around the castle?” She looked to her son. “Would you like that?”

  Edric’s face lit up at the thought. “I would very much like that.”

  “Very well,” said Osbern. He failed to hide the excitement in his own face. “Come with me, then.”

  Osgifu turned to Ralph.

  “This way,” said the knight with a sigh.