1066

I hadn't seen her so happy; not since the invasions, and then I watched as it was all nearly destroyed. My morning, and hers, turned from idyll to nightmare. Dulac was suddenly at the water's edge; yes, there he was standing just at the water's edge. My wife was no common sort; she had entitlements. His conduct defied all good custom; it was in direct contravention of all that was appropriate and right. There he was at the bank of the river while she swam about almost completely unclothed. A voyeur, the Norman was a despicable voyeur, a man worthy only of being blinded. I was furious; little did I know what was about to happen.

Godyfa saw the craven weasel on the bank. She stopped her swim. I saw, as she beckoned with her hand that he should leave. Not him, he waded into the water and started to chase her down. The water wasn't deep in that spot so he was nearly able to catch her. Pretty quickly he grabbed at her arm, but just as quickly she revealed a sharp edged dagger. Before he could drag her to the bank she held the dagger to her stomach; to that softest of places just beneath her rib cage, that place where even a small blade could do frightful damage. He had her by an arm when she guttered, "Dare touch me here in this sacred place and I'll end my life with this dagger."

Dulac paused but a second before he exclaimed, "Go ahead. Tear open your cowardly Saxon chest. No one will care. You'll be just another dead Saxon whore."

I saw the look in my wife's eyes. She was about to take her own life. I had to do something. If not she would spend eternity in Hell, and I'd never hold her in my arms again. Thinking I might be able to kill, or at least wound the Norman, I reached down for my bow. Then a miracle occurred, or at least to me it was a miracle.

Stepping from the brush on the far side of the pond our good Friar appeared. He must have immediately surmised the problem for he asserted, "Ah, Godyfa. I am truly sorry, but I was detained briefly in the village. Some poor lad was in need of immediate absolution, but I'm here now. Please cross the pond and I'll hear your confession."

First, I saw profound relief spill out across my wife's face. Second, I saw unbridled anger further deface Dulac's already ugly countenance."

Still holding her dagger, my Godyfa began to wade across the pond. Then Dulac, shaking his fist at my wife, hoarsely hollered, "I'll have you soon enough, you ugly queen of sheep. Hear me, before this is over, you'll be my slave!" He heaved in another breath and yelled at the friar, "And I'll have your pathetic head soon enough. I'll place it on a pike for all to see."

I silently replaced my bow on the soft soil. I knelt and I prayed. Lifting my eyes to the heavens I silently cried out, "Jesus, you are my great and living and... loving God. I shall remember this day forever."

From my hiding place I watched the friar perform his service, while the creature, Dulac, angrily stepped back in the brush.

I too retreated back in the brush, for I knew then, with divine certainty, two things. For one, I had the help of the Jesus, and one day, with his guidance, my sword would most certainly open the chest of many Normans. And second, I was reaffirmed in my belief that my wife remained a good woman, in spite of her current tribulations. I knew I would be able to forgive her.

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The weather continued to change; the leaves were gone, the first frost had come and gone, the first early winter snow had covered the ground. And yet each day brought some new degradation, some new humiliation. The men at arms and the knights took delight in my humiliation. I bore the brunt of many a cruel joke, but I held to my role. I played the idiot.

The days brought other things as well; they brought news from the outside. There were others, other soldiers like myself, men who'd either escaped the debacle at Hastings as I had, missed it altogether. Across the land there were rumblings of discontent, sporadic acts of retaliation, and of late there were rumors of real rebellion. By the God that made us and the Christ who saved us we were, after all, Saxons!

Names were being whispered, "Did you hear of Ethelred in Essex? Yes he led a revolt. They brought down thirty Norman knights, knights I tell you, not men at arms, knights, before they were trapped and killed. And there was the warrior Aedelric up north of the Humber? Some Norman wanted his cow. Aedelric stood his ground and cut up three men at arms before they lanced him. And oh yes, tell us about Wilmaer the Saxon knight from Mercia who led a band of commoners on rampage killing twenty Normans!"

I listened, the people in our village heard and they listened too. They watched, they watched our Norman overlords, and they watched me. I knew what they wanted, and I knew our time was nigh, for if I did nothing before the coldest weather set in it would be too late. There wasn't enough food.

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It's interesting how God's mysteries unfold; one never knows from one day to the next how the smallest thing, the least slight, the most innocuous act can precipitate a colossal storm. It was exactly that way in our village.

Donnell and I were at the forge; there wasn't anything new or unusual about that. Several of the Norman horses needed to be reshod, and one of the men at arms, one of the better ones, had paid for a new coat of mail; something with smaller and more comfortable links. I liked the man, and agreed to do it.

Lately, most, not all, but I'd say many of the common soldiers had exhibited what I'd call a modest change of heart. Donnell and I supposed we knew the reason; a rumor had been spreading that some of the soldiers were to be selected for a punitive expedition in the northernmost parts of the realm. My guess was none wanted to leave, and Geoffrey would be most likely to pick those whose pasts reflected trouble. It was an easy pick for Geoffrey; send off the worst of the lot, keep the best, he'd have the troublemakers off his hands, and the common folk hereabouts would feel more at ease, grateful even.

Well my man at arms showed up to obtain his armor, but attending him was the mean spirited one eyed man, one other undesirable, and of all people Hugh of Dancy. I could tell as soon as he came in Dancy had some complaint. I'd refinished his primary sword and re-sharpened the blade. I guessed he was unhappy with the outcome. It made little difference to me, but had I been free to speak, I would have told him warriors from among the Saxons usually tended to their swords themselves.

To make a long story short, the cur came in and unceremoniously threw his sword right at me. It was a hard throw. He aimed it right at me, blade forward, but the trajectory turned out to be a little low. I wasn't sure, but that maybe he intended the sword would hit and slice up my calf. That never happened.

I was a soldier, and a very good one. One of my better talents was my nimble nature. The sword came at me at a rapid rate, but I handily sidestepped the advancing blade and caught it in my left hand by its handle, and just as swiftly transferred it to my right hand, my battle hand. The movement was so swift and sure it caught everyone completely off guard.

So there I stood; the village idiot with a sword in my hand, and quite obviously held after a fashion of one who was an experienced warrior, a Saxon Houseman. The three men at arms weren't stupid; they immediately stepped back. Hugh just stood there stupidly wearing his typically sneaky clever sneer. For an instant I didn't know what to do, but then I realized my days of concealment had finally come to an end.

Fool that he was Hugh shouted at me, "Throw the sword down!"

I did; I hurled it straight into his chest. For a second or two he just stood there. He'd worn no armor, only a leather hauberk; the sword went all the way through his body. The base of the blade and hand guard stuck from the front of his chest; the tip and a full thirty inches of blade had gone all the way through and were protruding out his back.

I watched him as he looked in disbelief from the hilt of the sword to me and then back at the sword. It was only an instant, and then he crumpled to the floor. The others were looking at each other; I don't think they realized what they'd just seen or what it meant.

There was no time to think; the town fool disappeared, and the shire's greatest warrior reemerged. The men at arms turned to flee. I grabbed one of the hot pokers resting in the fire, and threw it at the foremost man. Its sharp metal tip went straight through the back of the man's neck; the oafish ass had thoughtlessly doffed his helm. Not hesitating, next I grabbed up a massive hammer. It was a haphazard throw, but it caught the second man squarely in the middle of the back of his head just about where his neck met his skull; brains and blood splattered all over the forge. The third man, the man I liked tried escape out the door. I followed. He'd lost all his warlike training, and was screaming at the top of his lungs. I felt no hatred for the man, no remorse either as I followed him out. I had a freshly sharpened hand axe in my right hand. He never had a chance. I flung the thing just as Edgar and my father had taught me. The poor man had come to get new armor. I guess expecting to wear his new regalia when he left; he'd worn no armor to the forge; the axe went squarely right in the center of his back. I heard his spine break apart from the force of the blow. He ran, or wobbled, a few feet more and then fell face down into the filth and muck of the town's central byway. He lay there dead; his face buried in a still steaming heap of horse shit.

I ran to his quivering body; pulled my axe from his back, and unbuckled his sword. Thusly armed I set myself to my next task.

I was in luck that day; Richard and Geoffrey had gone off in search of three boys who'd runaway some days prior. It was suspected the boys had fled with weapons so taking no chances the Normans pulled more than twenty of their best soldiers out with them. And last, Robert, the one decent knight in the bunch had been recalled to London just days before. Only the monster Henry was left in the village. My time had, at last, arrived!

I made a quick calculation. There were probably just twenty soldiers left about the town, plus Henry of Dulac. I'd already brought three down. Those soldiers who'd been left behind, by my reckoning were almost all of no account; none knew how to use a bow, and three I'd concluded weeks ago to be too old to still be soldiering. My guess was at least two or three were in the tavern at the far end of the town, several were probably asleep in the house they'd commandeered when they first arrived, and a couple were probably hiding in order to keep from being assigned some duty.

I figured not more than three or four men were in the great house; that meant three or four men and Dulac. I scanned the street. The man I'd axed had yelled out, but I could see his call, though frantic, had not been heeded, not been heeded by any Norman.

I saw five or six Saxon boys on the street already armed with a sword or some small axe. I saw others begin to step from their homes. The delight I saw in their eyes was invigorating!

I ran down the street. I ran backward a pace or two as I went and shouted to Donnell, "Find Owen! This is our day!" I watched Donnell rush back inside the smithy. God I hoped he'd listen, the last I wanted was for him to draw attention to himself by brandishing some weapon; we'd already discussed his role; he was to serve as what I dubbed 'Master of the Errand!' I thought it a good job and a good title for man over seventy years old. I hoped he remembered.

I ran further down the main path. I called out to the boys, "Find where the other men at arms are. Take no chances. You all know your responsibilities," they all nodded and headed off. I saw one was equipped with a bow, "If you use that, aim well. You needn't kill; a crippling shot is just as good! He happily tipped his head in response.

This was too good to be true. Dulac was alone in the hall. He certainly had no more than three or four men with him. My only fear was for my sweet wife. My blood was up! I made a dash for the great house.

When I went in, as I expected, the hall was dark and quiet. So as to draw as little attention as possible I rushed silently down the side of the eastern wall. I saw two men at arms, their feet up in a posture of rest beside the weak fire in the main hearth. My axe in one hand and the dead man's sword in the other I made for them. The two soldiers never saw me coming. My axe deftly removed one man's head from his body while the sword I used cleaved straight down the other man's torso, right between his neck and right shoulder. It was a delight to see so much Norman blood squirt in so many directions!

I saw no other soldiers. Now where was Dulac? Where was my wife?

There was a second floor to the great hall. It wasn't pretentious like some I'd seen, and the staircase was narrow and steep. It led to one large room above and somewhat behind the back of the chimney for the main hearth. When Lord Aidan had it constructed it seemed a good idea, but he'd gotten something of a reckless brainstorm that mostly ruined the whole idea.

The main hearth and chimney of the main part of the hall was on the northern wall. The second floor room he'd had built was above and beside the main chimney. Believing he could heat the room at the second floor with the same fire that heated the lower he'd had the chimney cut out so as to expose the upper room to the heat rising up through the chimney from below. Regrettably he hadn't considered the possibility of smoke. In truth he should have; everybody'd warned him of such. When it didn't work, and all he often got was smoke, in his pride he still refused to close the hole off. So as I went up the stairs I expected that second room to be foul with smoke. When I got there I was right.

I pushed open the heavy oaken door. I was right; it was dark and half filled with smoke. This was enervating. I couldn't see anything; the greasy bastard could be hiding, waiting for me.

Where my sight failed me, my ears saved the day. First I heard the faint but unmistakable rustling of what had to be chains. Then I saw her. Curse the filthy piece of shit; he'd chained my wife to the floor at the foot of the bed. I heard her softly moan. Words couldn't begin to describe my hatred for the beast who'd done this to my darling. I crept closer to the bed.

Godyfa saw me; she made as if to speak. I held my hand to my mouth as a signal for her to remain silent. She understood. Then I heard him; the bastard was asleep in the big bed, he was snoring! Oh this was my lucky day!

I walked straight to the bed, and using the flat of the sword I nudged him awake. At first he didn't know what was happening. He mumbled, "Get away bitch."

I tapped his face with the sword; it opened a small cut. This awakened him. He opened his eyes; it was then he knew!

I grinned and replied, "You've got it wrong; it's me, the bitch's husband."

At that he was wide awake! The expression on his face was like a marvel to me. I loved it. At first there was a look of complaint, followed immediately by surprise, and then...stark terror. He murmured, "You."

The blade of the sword was at his throat; I continued to smile.

I had to admire his clever attempt to talk his way of the predicament he was in. He said, "You idiot! Edgar! Get out of here!"

I pressed the blade against his throat, a gentle rivulet of blood bubbled forth, "No not Edgar; rather the Angel of Death. I've come to fetch you home,"

I loved the drama the moment brought, "but if you need a Saxon name I'm Aelfwine, first houseman to Lord Aidan, proud warrior in the service of Harold, rightful King of England."

He tried to get up but the sword held him in place. He raised his left arm in entreaty, "No you're... You can't be him. He's dead!"

I slowly sliced the blade down the center of his chest, more blood erupted from his body, "No I am truly he, and like Jesus I'm risen from the dead. And I am come to send you to hell."

He was frozen with fear. I smelled his urine; the coward couldn't even hold his water. I exulted in the aroma. He begged, "No Aelfwine. This! No! You!"

I had the sword at his abdomen. The soft tissue of his stomach was at the tip of my blade, "Say your final prayer Norman, for you're about to enter a much darker realm," I slowly pushed the blade into his stomach. I wondered what he'd eaten; gas slowly escaped from his freshly exposed entrails.

He first cried out; then he started to cry, "No, oh no, please Aelfwine no!" He was crying in earnest as I opened him up. He whimpered, "I don't want to die."

I felt theatrical. I leaned down and softly whispered, "Everyone wants to go to heaven, but alas," I made a broad theatrical show of a shrug, "no one wants to die," it was exhilarating for me to watch him gasp and babble his life away.

He moaned, "No, Aelfwine..."

Those were the last words he spoke. I pushed the blade down and then up into the upper cavity of his chest. Through the blade I felt one of his lungs burst. I twisted the blade round and round. I think he tried to cry out, but all that I heard was a gurgling as blood from his punctured lungs burst up through his throat. Inwardly I laughed; to think his last intelligible word was my name!

To make certain he was dead I pulled the blade out and chopped off his head. I picked it up and looked at his dull lifeless eyes. I breathed a sigh; at last the demon was gone.

Godyfa faintly called to me, "Aelfwine."

I dropped the head, left the sword, but held the axe. I rushed to the foot of the bed, "Godyfa!"

"Here Aelfwine, I'm here!"

I squatted down and felt the chain, "Where's the key?"

She pointed to the mantle by the door. I rushed over, looked about, retrieved it, and dashed back to my wife. I commanded, "Lean forward." She did. I unlocked the heavy metal collar that so cruelly embraced her neck. I got down on my knees and held out my hands, "Can you stand up?"

With my hands at her elbows she struggled to her feet. I stood with her. She fell into my arms, "Oh Aelfwine. I'm so sorry. Please forgive me."

I placed my right hand behind her sweet head. Her hair hung loosely down below her waist. It was lank and dirty; she been through a great deal. I pressed her face to my neck and whispered in her ear, "There's nothing to forgive. You're my wife. I love you."

She clasped her arms around me, "I've been..."

I wrapped my arms around her. I was aroused by strong affection. I was gripped by tender emotion. I embraced her. I hugged her. For an instant I feared I held her too tight. I pushed her away and looked on her beautiful face, "Oh Godyfa my sweet precious girl," I pulled her back to my chest. I kissed the top of her head. I nuzzled my face in her hair. I felt tears well up in my eyes; it was as if I let her go she'd be gone; she'd vanish. I said, "Say my name. Show me you are real."

She held her arms at my waist. She pushed against me and murmured, "Aelfwine you hold me too tightly. You're hurting me."

Instantly I softened my hold; I thought no hand, no person, no harsh grip shall ever cause the least injury to my sweet gentle wife, not ever, not ever again. With my fingers, though bloody, I gently stroked her sweet cheeks.

Godyfa cast her eyes up at me, "Aelfwine I've been an unfaithful wife. I've done terrible and unspeakable things."

I interrupted her. I pulled her close again and pressed my lips to her ear and whispered, "You've been a good and loyal wife, and more, you've been a true Saxon warrior," I gently pushed her away so I could see her face. She looked gaunt and much overtired. At that moment all I wanted to do was hold her, caress her precious cheeks and neck, tell her how much I loved her, how I've always loved her. I did none of those things. I said, "We've a lot to do. Can you walk?"