Fire and Ice

Fire and Ice - By J. E. Christer


Chapter 1

Bertone (Barton)

1067



Juliana had been sitting by the side of the beck for some time. It was her favourite place where she could be surrounded by trees and woodland creatures, a place she had visited from childhood to ponder childish things. Now approaching her eighteenth summer she wondered how much longer she could put off the terrible day of reckoning when she would be forced to lie by the side of the hateful Richard de Gant, a Norman knight of the new King William who had taken her home and laid waste to the countryside. She knew she had been fortunate in not being married off to someone of noble birth already, but she had insisted that she should decide when to marry and her father, who could deny her nothing, had agreed. Erik, her childhood friend, had been chosen for her at birth but although she was very fond of him, in her heart she knew there should be more. The bubbling of the beck and the sough of wind through the newly burgeoning trees brought her some comfort but fear always lurked in her stomach reminding her of a debt to be paid. A twig cracked in the distance warning her of someone’s approach so she was relieved when she saw it was Micael, one of the servants. He bowed his head when he saw her and she smiled at his thoughtful gesture. Since the Normans came the servants had been told not to recognise hers or her mother’s nobility but to treat them like any other conquered people, but they were faithful to the memory of her father and treated them with the same respect they would have shown were he still alive.

“My lady, Juliana,” he said hesitantly, “My lord de Gant wishes to speak with you and has sent me to fetch you to him.”

The smile slipped from her face, tugged away by the panic she felt within. She knew she could not send him back with a story that she was not be found or he would be flogged, so she rose to her feet and tried to put on a brave face as she followed him back to the Hall. It was only a short distance through the trees but she tried to compose herself for the forthcoming meeting. She was pleasantly surprised to find de Gant seated on his horse as he had rarely left their home since his arrival a week ago. He watched her approaching and looked down on her to speak, his position giving him the superiority he craved. He still had no idea she could understand his language so he spoke in broken English,

“I go away. I go to Lincoln to settle the peasants under Norman rule. You stay here. I come back in ten days or so. Do not do anything to make me angry. You understand?”

“Yes, Sir Knight. I understand perfectly,” she replied as her heart soared at the thought of his being away.

She looked him in the eye as she spoke trying not to show her joy and he nodded his approval.

“When I back – you be mine!” His last words were not just a threat but a certainty, she knew. Her gaze lowered and he laughed and joked with his men after translating what he had just said to her. They rode away still laughing, but she didn’t laugh. No – she didn’t laugh.

Juliana and her mother lived in a small but prosperous town named Bertone in the shire of Lincoln and in the borough of Lindsey. It had been six months since the great battle on Senlac Hill where her elder brother, Aldred, lost his life fighting for King Harald. They fought bravely for a land free from the Norman pigs that even now imposed their William as their King and conqueror. These people were not welcome in the land and especially so when her father, a great Saxon warrior of noble birth, had died at the point of a Norman sword when they demanded his surrender of his town. He was an intelligent man and listened to their demands until they became so outrageous he drew his sword and threatened them with the deaths they deserved. The rest of the townspeople took up any weapons they could find, from wooden stakes to pitchforks but were quickly overcome and died trying to protect their lord. Juliana could not think of that time without a heart full of tears and a stomach full of bile, but it was slowly becoming easier to live with as the days went by. Her father was buried in the nearby churchyard under the canopy of a sturdy oak with his sword and shield befitting the warrior he most surely was, and where her mother, Hilde, could often be found kneeling and crying. She had been a proud woman descended from Norse nobility and until her husband’s death she was a great lady, always willing to help the people with their troubles and supporting them in their sorrows. She was now a shadow of her former self although she still dressed well; a tall woman, holding herself erect and always welcomed by the people into their homes.

As de Gant and his men disappeared from view a great feeling of relief came over Juliana and she entered the Hall with a lighter step, returning to her bedchamber to think over the past few weeks. She could not bear to think of her father’s death, as to dwell on this matter would be too painful, her temper would rise and then all would be lost. Her mother had told her that she had inherited her father’s red hair, green eyes and temper and since a child had been stubborn and wilful.

After her father’s burial they had gone back to the Great Hall they called home which stood behind the small church on the rise. Her father had built it from stone and unlike most, had erected it with two floors so that most of the bedchambers were away from the animals. It was topped by a thick thatch and had a good strong English oak door so they were horrified when they found a new Norman lord had taken possession. This of course was Richard de Gant and Juliana hated him with all the venom of all the poisonous snakes in the world. At first his men denied their entry but after seeing them, and Juliana in particular, he decided he would take her as his prize, a bounty she vowed he would live to regret. She remembered the lust and greed reflecting in his dark brown eyes and her mother’s attempts to shield her from him until in his frustration he threw her mother to one side, knocking her senseless against the stone walls of the hall. Juliana watched in fear and loathing, thinking he had killed her beloved mother as she lay inert against the wall, but he grabbed Juliana’s wrists and with his superior strength held her fast against his foul-smelling body. He had been drinking her father’s wine and ale and dragged her to the long table which was in the middle of the room in front of the large stone fireplace and pushed her into a seat next to his. Until now she had not uttered a word but relied upon her scornful expression to speak of her feelings. He called for more wine for himself and thrust a cup into her hand which she knocked over in defiance. He immediately stood and dragged her up by her hair to stand beside him, calling to the servants in broken English to refill their cups which they had no choice but to do. His raven black hair flopped forward as he laughed drunkenly and forced the wine goblet to her mouth. She took a good gulp of the liquid but then spat it into his filthy face, daring him with her eyes to try and force her again. She remembered the words he had uttered in his foreign tongue as he pulled her even closer to his body,

“Take care, my lady. That is the last time you will dishonour your new lord. I am Richard de Gant, knight of William, King of all England. Tonight I will teach you a lesson you will never forget.”

She looked away pretending not to understand his words, but her mother had seen to it that she was educated by the monks from the monastery at Barrow, arguing that her daughter should have these skills just as Aldred had. She knew French and Latin as well as a smattering of Norse and she could read and write, but her wits told her not to let him know any of these things. She looked around when she heard her mother stirring and was relieved when two of their most trusted servants went to help her to her feet. They led her away to her bedchamber to tend her wounds. Food was brought to the table but Juliana had little appetite, not only due to the lumbering, ill-mannered pig sitting next to her, but that day she had also buried her beloved father and mourned his passing in silent agony.

By the time evening came de Gant was incapable of speech let alone anything else and Juliana was relieved when his men put him in a downstairs room to sleep off the excesses of the day. If it had been up to Juliana she would have thrown him down to sleep with the dogs but at least she was safe for one more night. Her mother had visited her chamber and she was pleased to see that she looked normal again except for a couple of bruises on her cheeks. Her mother warned her of what she might expect if she continued to displease this new lord. Juliana’s temper, she said, would get them all into trouble so she must be careful and think before she acted.

Juliana took heed of her warnings and the next day made sure she was up and awake early to help her mother with her duties in the village. Some of the men-folk had died protecting her father so she visited their families, giving coins and a promise of food from their stores. The men who had been wounded were also recompensed and their gratitude was heartbreaking when they spoke of her father’s care for them during his lifetime. For a few days she found work to do with the servants away from the Hall and kept herself far from home and out of de Gant’s sight as much as possible, sneaking in when he was drunk enough not to see her and going out early to help sow seed for the next harvest. Thanks to de Gant setting fire to some of the barley fields the current harvest would be scant.