‘This is yours, I think.’
Her eyes, heavy from so many tears, opened wide. She took it from me, clasping it in both hands close to her chest, before pressing it to her lips. I wondered whether it was Lyfing who had given her that comb, and, if so, how hard he must have worked and how long he must have saved his few silver pennies to be able to afford it, to help win her affections. Though it had all come to nothing. Perhaps he would be waiting for her at the end of days, just as I hoped Oswynn was waiting for me.
She murmured something: a thanks, perhaps, or else a prayer. In the distance a wolf howled, and its call was answered by a second and then a third. A pack returning from the hunt, I thought, just like us.
‘Come,’ I said. ‘It’s not safe here.’
She was looking towards the stream, gazing into the broken waters tumbling over the stones. I didn’t know if she had even heard me, but I placed a hand on her shoulder and she met my eyes.
‘We’ve got a long day’s travel ahead of us,’ I said. ‘You should get some rest.’
Unspeaking, she nodded. After a final, forlorn glance at me, she bowed her head and was gone.
It was growing late when we arrived back the next day. Now that our numbers had swollen, we travelled more slowly than I would have liked, but at last around sunset the summit of Read Dun – the Red Hill, as it was known to the people who lived at its foot – came into sight. Its forbidding and thickly wooded slopes marked the western bounds of my land, and I knew we did not have far to travel. Before long we had emerged from its shadow, and in front of us lay fields thick with green wheat, with the silver ribbon of the river winding its way between them. Cottages and hovels nestled by its banks, with spires of smoke rising from the thatch. Beyond them on the higher ground stood stables and granaries, the slaughtering shed and the hen coop and the still-empty house that formed the steward’s lodgings, with the great hall at their centre, all of it enclosed by a simple ditch and timber stockade.
Earnford. The manor given to me by my new lord, Robert Malet. The place that I called home, strange though it seems when I look back upon those times now. Of course I couldn’t have known then what lay ahead, what path fate and God had chosen for me, so perhaps it was not so strange at the time. Besides, by that summer – my twenty-seventh, and the one thousand and seventieth since our Lord’s Incarnation – I’d already held the manor for the better part of a year. Indeed it was fifteen months since King Guillaume had been victorious at Eoferwic: since we had routed the English rebels under their leader, the pretender Eadgar, and driven them from the city back to their halls in the north. Back then I had been but a knight in my lord’s service, oath-sworn and hungry for battle, for redemption and vengeance and the chance to prove myself. Now I was a lord in my own right, with lands and a hall and a gatehouse, with loyal knights to lead under my banner.
The wind was rising, gusting from the west. From the gable of the hall flew my device: a black hawk on a white field. It had once been the symbol of my old lord, the Earl of Northumbria, before he met his end at the hands of the rebels, and I’d kept it as my own out of respect to him. He had taught me the way of the sword, had been like a father to me, had helped to make me the man I was. In return I had sworn to serve him unto death, and in the same way I hoped that by taking on the hawk banner I could serve his memory still.
Pons gave a blast upon the horn, so that the villagers would not see our shadows in the distance and think we were the enemy coming back for another attack. A shout went up as we approached and young and old alike came rushing from the fields and their houses, abandoning cart and oxen and spindle and distaff to greet us. Children raced to their mothers, shrieking as they threw their arms around their legs, while the girls we had rescued ran to their fathers and husbands: the ones who had been too old or infirm to come with us. Everywhere men and women held each other, crying tears of happiness, crying with the joy of being alive.
Turold smiled at me, and I smiled back. Families were something of a mystery to me. I had never really known my own; both my mother and my father had died when I was young. But it was hard not to be touched by such a sight.
Men clutched at our sleeves and cloaks as we rode through the throng. Others knelt down in the dirt before us, bursting forth with what I imagined to be thanks, until there were so many of them surrounding us, reaching out to clasp our hands, that my mount could barely move, and I had to slide down from the saddle to lead him on foot.