In 11th Century England, King William has achieved almost total domination of the Englisc and turns his attention to Scotland.
Owerd, possibly the last of the Britons to be deemed ‘lord’, faces powerful enemies from all quarters. He seems to hold the king’s favour by a thread, which only serves to encourage others to try and bring him down.
Treachery abounds as he tries to juggle multiple roles and prove himself and his men worthy warriors for the Norman king. But will his lust for a woman finally prove his undoing?
Author’s Note:
11th century men and women were just as complex beings as we are today. Owerd, the main character in these chronicles, is no different.
In “King’s Warrior”, the third book of the series, he goes from violence (“…the air was filled with the clash of swords, angry shouts, and screams of the injured”) to compassion (“… Owerd had rarely, if ever, made love as tenderly as he did with Runa that night”) in the space of a day.
Happiness, fear, disgust, anger, pride and jealousy all play their part in Owerd’s character but what comes to the fore is courage, with perhaps a helping hand from fate – “wyrd” if you will.
England Late 1071
It was probably the reunion that did it, though it could have been his changed status now as a formally married man once more. Whichever it was, he – now simply known to all and sundry and more importantly also by King William – as “Lord Owerd” or “Sea Lord” and no longer either plain Owerd Millerson or Sir Owerd of Birdlip – was reinvigorated. With a new wife, he also had a determination to make the most of his life. The spark had been receipt of a message from Osric, his previous sergeant at arms.
“My lord”, the message had read, “our new church at Birdlip is now complete. In the absence of any local bishop, Brother Thomas has enlisted the support of Abbot Serlo from Gloucester to officiate at the consecration. The planned date is the last day of the year before Advent. I would be honoured if you can join us for the celebration”.
Owerd had stared at the missive and re-read it a number of times deep in thought. His late wife Hilda had been the instigator of arranging for a church to be constructed at Birdlip and that set his thoughts running. He missed her still. He had looked across at Wenna, his Cornish lover, and realized that he had long been taking her for granted. He held no doubts that she loved him and his own feelings toward her had mellowed from their purely lustful origins to a mature regard akin to love. Not the passionate variety that he had enjoyed with Hilda, but love nonetheless. That he should marry her was his immediate thought, perhaps as a surprise wedding at the Birdlip consecration. Fortunately, second thoughts prevailed. He realized that doing so in such a fashion would be taking her for granted even more.
‘Wenna, my love, would you consider marrying me?’
A shriek of joy had answered his question. To the astonishment of the servants who had come running to investigate the loud shriek, Wenna was seen taking Owerd by the hand and leading him back to their bedchamber. She proceeded to answer his question there more physically with a furious bout of lovemaking. Sated, the pair returned to the common-room in more sedate fashion and a string of sealed letters went off by housecarl in order to make the necessary arrangements.
Two days before the kalends of December an impressive company of a dozen mounted riders pulled into the entrance to Birdlip manor. Owerd had brought over half of his housecarls and they had risen to the occasion by currying and polishing everything in sight. With the added touch of Owerd’s innovative Wiltunshire, or Wiltshire as it was becoming known, surcoats of horizontal green and white stripes they drew the admiration of both their hosts and the assembled serfs who had been invited to provide logistical support whilst also taking a cup of ale with their lord and lady of the manor. Those last were Osric and his new wife Sigria who rushed to meet them with evident joy.
‘We are a packed house for the next two days my lord, but I have a guest suite ready for your intended and her maid. I trust Lady Wenna will not object to sharing?’
Owerd had completely overlooked the proprieties by which he and Wenna would not share sleeping arrangements until the marriage was formalized. ‘And for me?’
‘We have a small room over the stable block’, announced Osric with a mortified expression. ‘I have been forced to provide the remaining guest rooms to Abbot Serlo and another important noble who I am advised will be arriving late in the day. You haven’t invited the king by any chance?’
He left without awaiting an answer or providing any clarification and busied himself organizing refreshments in the common-room. Owerd and Wenna followed him into a delighted throng of people they knew, many of whom had worked for Owerd in one capacity or another. Godric and his wife were here from Aust and Hakon had traveled from Gosport. There was the Norman Sieur Raymond from the nearby manor of Foxcote, Brother Thomas who would officiate at the wedding, Dobson the horse-master and Rhys the Waelisc who was now Osric’s sergeant-at-arms. Altogether it was a diverse group of people, garbed in a wide variety of clothes and colours and of much varied social standing. What struck Owerd was that they looked universally content with their lives and chatted amongst each other with no hint of social superiority from one to another. That even went to his observation of the Norman Abbot Serlo, a middle-aged and bearded cleric of stern appearance to whom Owerd was quickly introduced.
The abbot had clearly been well briefed on Owerd’s initiation of the new church and was spoken to warmly. That warmth extended to Brother Thomas, whose introduction of a learning centre for boys at Gloucester Abbey was drawing much praise. Their conversation was interrupted by the sounds associated with another large group of horsemen arriving at the manor. Despite Owerd’s presence, it was Osric’s role as lord of the manor to greet their new guests and he headed for the doorway. He failed to get there first, though, as there was a shriek from Wenna as she overtook him and darted outside. Looking tired but still imposing was the figure of Lord Condor, the previous Earl of Cornwall, regarded by many as the proper king of the Cornish and about to be Owerd’s father-in-law.
Having dismounted and shaken out a few stiffened limbs, Condor shook Osric’s hand politely, gently patted his daughter on the cheek and then proceeded to grasp Owerd in a bear hug that threatened to break some ribs.
‘Well met, Lord Owerd. You honour me by honouring my daughter, and more so by lifting from me the burden of my other offspring’. There was a light but weary smile as he said that, then he turned to introduce his son.
‘Cadoc, you have met Lord Owerd once before, though I recall you then paying more attention to your new knife. You will obey him in all matters, however trivial, and without either resentment or demur’.
‘Yes father’. Cadoc looked to be about fourteen years of age and was fresh-faced and of relatively slight build. He was also polite, which Owerd took to be a good sign for his future wardship of the lad.
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James Gault
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