Anne Herries - Medieval Brides

Lufu joined her in the doorway, wiping her hands on a cloth. Saucepans and ladles hung from the sides of the cart, clanging as the cart swayed and rattled over the bumps. ‘Tinkers?’ Lufu clucked her tongue. ‘That poor mule could do with a good feed—just look at its ribs.’

But Cecily only had eyes for the man and the woman hunched into their cloaks on the cart. ‘Not tinkers, Lufu. It’s Evie and Leofwine!’

‘Evie?’

‘Judhael’s sister, from Winchester.’ Dropping her half-eaten bread on the workbench, Cecily hurried out. The cart was filled to breaking point—bedding, a travelling chest, a couple of trestles and a tabletop, stools, several bundles. Whatever could be wrong? It looked as though Evie and Leofwine had brought their entire house with them apart from the four walls. She reached them as they drew up in front of the Hall.

Evie had been crying; her eyelids were puffy and swollen. One hand was clinging to the side of the cart, the other was folded over her belly, as though protecting her unborn child. Her cheeks were pale as parchment, her lips had a blue tinge to them, and she was shuddering with cold.

In his beard, Leofwine’s mouth was one grim, taut line. He nodded curtly in her direction. ‘Lady Cecily.’

‘Evie, Leofwine—be welcome,’ Cecily said, damping down her curiosity.

Evie looked mournfully across and let out a little sob as Leofwine swung down from the cart and came to stand directly in front of Cecily. ‘Are we welcome, Lady Cecily? Are we?’

‘But of course. Why would you not be?’

Evie sniffed and two large tears rolled down her cheeks. ‘I told you, Leo. I told you she’d see us right.’ She swayed in her seat, her pallor alarming.

‘Come inside, both of you,’ Cecily said. ‘Wilf will see to the mule. Wilf? Wilf!’

It did not take long to get Evie and her husband settled before the fire. Gudrun brought Leofwine a mug of ale. ‘I’d offer you the same, Evie,’ Cecily said, ‘but by your colour I think you’d best take this.’ Moving to the hearth, she put a spoonful of herbs in a twist of muslin, dropped the muslin into an earthenware mug and poured boiling water over it from the kettle.

‘There you are,’ she said, passing the steaming mug to Evie.

‘What’s in it?’

‘Nettle infusion, a drop of honey—it will do you and the babe good. Lufu will bring you both some chicken broth presently.’

Evie wrapped her hands round the mug, hunched over the fire, and stared into the flames. ‘My thanks.’

Satisfied that Evie’s shivering had stopped, and that her colour was returning, Cecily looked at Leofwine and silently indicated that he should move with her out of earshot. When they reached the other end of the hall, Leofwine rested his foot on a bench. His long hair was straggling out of the tie at the back of his neck; his beard was untrimmed.

‘What happened, Leofwine?’

He scowled into his ale cup. ‘That day you visited my workshop, did you see the builders at the other end of Golde Street?’

‘Yes.’

Leofwine’s face darkened. ‘Normans—the Duke’s men, may they rot in hell. They demolished the workshop.’

‘Your workshop? But why should they do that? It could not be a reprisal—not when Winchester surrendered without a fight. D-do you think they suspect…?’ Cecily caught her breath. What had Edmund said? That the Saxon cause was not lost…that Judhael was continuing to fight. And again—when she was in the loft room with Gudrun—Edmund had hinted that the resistance had plans…

‘Sweet Mother—Judhael and Emma went to your house! The Normans must know. They suspect you…’

Leofwine put a heavy, work-scarred hand on Cecily’s arm. ‘No, my lady, it’s none of that,’ he said, his voice bitter as January frost. ‘It might be easier to bear if it was. A man likes to know he’s deserved it when he has his livelihood wrested from him.’

‘There must be some mistake….’

‘No—no mistake. Those foreign devils have cut the heart out of the city.’ He glanced across at Evie, who was rocking Philip in her arms, and his face softened for a moment. ‘Two whole streets have gone, my lady. Sixty houses in all. We’ll have to start afresh.’

‘To what purpose? It makes no sense.’

‘Our old palace isn’t fine enough for William of Normandy,’ he replied with a short laugh. ‘No—he must have a fully defendable castle. They are building a timber motte and bailey first—later they’re to rebuild in stone. The bastard is afraid of us Saxons, and I expect he’s right. After this he’ll need more than a castle with a moat around it to keep his hide whole.’ He shook his head. ‘Our palace was fine enough for King Harold, but this bastard—My workshop…our house…’ His voice cracked. ‘Gone as though of no account. We merely stood in his way.’

‘Sixty houses?’ Cecily could not imagine it. ‘The entire street?’

‘Aye.’ Leowine’s eyes were bleak. ‘And with Evie so near her time I thought of you. I know you’re to wed one of them, but I thought…I hoped…in honour of the connection between your family and hers…’

‘Of course,’ Cecily said, and it was her turn to reach out to Leofwine. ‘You did the right thing, and I assure you you are both most welcome.’

Leofwine gave a heartfelt sigh and looked about the Hall, seeing it, she suspected for the first time. ‘And Fulford’s new lord? Where is he? Will he bid us welcome?’

Cecily spread her fingers so he could see her ring. ‘My husband,’ she said firmly. ‘Sir Adam will not turn you away.’

Leofwine tugged thoughtfully at his beard. ‘I trust you are right. Evie is taking it hard, but we are lucky to have Fulford as a refuge. There are those in far worse case than us. I tell you, my lady, it’s enough to make me consider taking up arms for the first time in my life.’

‘Well said!’ Edmund cut in. His crutches clunked against the table as he lowered himself onto the bench. ‘Well said, Leo. Spoken like a true Saxon.’

‘Don’t, Edmund,’ Cecily said, but her protest was swept aside while the two men exchanged greetings and Edmund commiserated with Leofwine on his ill-fortune.

‘I have more news, Edmund,’ Leofwine continued, when he had brought Edmund up to date. ‘News that will gladden your heart. Those Frankish swine didn’t have it all their way.’

‘No?’ Edmund leaned his head on his hand and looked up, his face alight with expectation. ‘Pray continue, Leo.’

Glancing at the Hall door, Leofwine leaned forwards confidentially. ‘The mint, Edmund. The mint in Winchester has been robbed.’

A slow smile spread across Edmund’s face. ‘The Winchester mint? You do surprise me.’

Edmund’s tone did not match his words. Her heart sinking, Cecily’s eyes went from one man to the other, observing their reactions, guessing at the level of their knowledge, wondering at the level of their involvement. Had Judhael been responsible for this robbery? She chewed the inside of her mouth, debating with herself whether she judged it a crime to have robbed the mint at this moment. The Winchester mint was a Saxon mint, and yet with Duke’s William’s conquest it suddenly belonged to the Normans? Was that just? Those coffers had been filled by Saxons, with Saxon silver, for a Saxon king—King Harold.

‘Aye.’ Leofwine’s eyes gleamed. ‘Someone ripped the strongboxes clean from the floor. Must have used the same method—rope and oxen—that was used to pull down my workshop.’

‘Really?’

‘Aye, so there’s some justice.’

Edmund shifted closer. ‘Evie’s brother, I’ll be bound.’

Leofwine’s face became blank. ‘Could be. Couldn’t say.’