*
Shortly after returning home, Richard sent his squire Ralph to keep watch over the smaller manors under his lordship, where the families of wayward fyrd-men still huddled in their wooden huts. When the first treacherous tenant returned home from service to Lord Goodwin, Ralph rode back to Richard and informed him immediately.
Richard called forth all his loyal men. He told them to arm themselves and prepare their horses. To one man he gave two horses and a wagon, which would follow behind the others.
As Osbern rode with the retinue towards the distant farmhouse, he remained dubious. His disappointment caused by his dull trip to Lundenburg made the boy unwilling to hope he might ever see action.
“Son. Have you sharpened your sword lately?”
“Oui. I mean, yes.”
“Good. I don’t want you to use it yet. But I want you to be prepared, all the same.”
The faintest gleam alighted in Osbern’s dark eyes. “To fight?”
“Oui.”
Osbern smiled, his hand gripping the pommel of his small sword readily.
When they neared the little farmhouse, Richard pulled his horse to a stop, making all his men wait with him. He looked upon the sagging Saxon hut, the sheep in the fields, and the soft tendril of smoke drifting from the cabin to the sunrise. Two young children, a boy and a girl, played outside with the dogs. He thought he heard faint laughter resounding from within the little home. He wondered if the husband and wife were trying to find some privacy before they came out to begin their work. When Richard inhaled deeply, he smelled bread and wool, two common staples of a quaint Saxon home.
“My lord?” Sir Fulbert, who held a burning torch, looked at his lord expectantly.
As Richard exhaled, he accepted that nothing would be the same after this. His tenants had always thought of him as a tyrant. Now he would have to be one.
He nudged his horse and rode closer.
When the kids spotted the dark shapes thundering through the fields, they hurried inside, where there soon resounded a great bit of yelling and shuffling around. Then out stepped the tenant, still tying his belt around his tunic, blinking with shock and dismay at the sight of twelve mounted Normans with torches at his doorstep.
In the orange glare of the dawn, Richard recognized the man’s gawking face as Dougal’s, the same pathetic soul who had been late paying his rent.
“Dougal.” Richard squeezed his horse’s saddle with his gloves and shifted so that a loud creak from the leather indicated his bulk upon the beast. Steam blasted from the stallion’s flaring nostrils as it snorted. “I hear that you ran off to join Goodwin’s fyrd instead of King Edward’s.”
Even the hues of twilight could not give color to Dougal’s pale, bloodless face. The Saxon trembled as he fell to one knee. “Th-that’s not true. I only went … to town. T-to Shrewsbury, yes. And it took me a few days to … to gather the supplies I needed.”
Richard glanced at his squire, Ralph, who had witnessed Dougal’s return. “He’s lying, Suzerain,” said the squire in Norman. “I saw him return from the south. And he was dressed for battle.”
Dougal watched this exchange with terror blazing in his eyes. Even if Ralph did not have such a clear case against the tenant, the look on Dougal’s face confirmed the truth. “You could have stayed home,” said Richard in a low voice. “I did not even ask for your service, for I knew you needed time to get rent. Instead, you felt so strongly for your cause—a cause rejecting the hospitality of your Norman allies—that you ran off to battle anyway under the banner of Goodwin the exiled.”
“No …. No please, you don’t understand! Please …!”
The man was nearly hysterical now, bowing low in the mud and pulling at his hair. He already knew he was doomed. For a moment, it irritated Richard that this man was so afraid of him, even though Richard had never given him cause to be. Now, Richard would validate that terror.
He nodded to Fulbert, who rode closer to the house with his torch raised high. Then he wound back his arm to fling it.
“NO! WAIT!”
Richard raised a hand to his knight, relieved. Indeed, he had no desire to burn down a perfectly good cabin on his own plot of land. But he needed to show the tenant he was serious. “If you wish to keep your place on my estate,” he roared, “you will provide me with one slave of your choosing from your family.”
His wife gathered the children about her skirts. Richard took note of them. The young girl with a knot of yellow hair on her head looked to be about six or seven years old. The boy was only about five.
“The slave will be provided for,” Richard pointed out. “And when the time comes, freedom can be purchased.”
As Dougal realized the futility of resistance, his body went limp with defeat. He looked to his wife, whose eyes shimmered with tears. Then they both looked at the children.
Richard tried not to squirm with impatience. The day might be young, but he would have to visit many homes today, and he would have to do it as quickly as possible, so that no one could prepare to put up a fight. He considered giving Dougal a countdown.
But at last a sorrowful groan raked out of the Saxon’s throat. “Audrey,” he groaned.
The mother crouched down and clutched her daughter tightly, tears pouring down her cheeks. Richard quickly surmised that Audrey was the seven-year-old girl. Dougal’s choice came as no surprise. She would be of less use to them than the boy until she came of age to marry. And if they hoped to ever have enough money to purchase Audrey’s freedom—not to mention this land Dougal so desired—both parents would need to stay and work the farm.
The girl, to Richard’s surprise, cried the least of anyone. Instead, she stood sturdily as her family collapsed around her. A scowl twisted the soft features of her face. For a moment, her eyes met Richard’s, gleaming with anger.
“When will you take her?” rasped Dougal.
“Now.” Richard pointed to the back of his retinue. “She can climb into that wagon.”
Richard waited for them make their teary goodbyes for as long as he could stomach watching. Dougal didn’t seem to realize he was lucky to come out of this with his entire family still alive. A girl so young would probably not earn even her scant provisions until a few years from now. For a moment, Richard felt sickened by his own magnanimity. He would need to take a firmer hand with his remaining tenants and select the recruits himself. If he had a household full of young female slaves, he would never accomplish his goal.
“What will she do for you?” asked Dougal, as if glimpsing Richard’s thoughts.
Richard smiled, proud of his readied response. He was finally going to make this sorry country into a proper home for his family. “She shall help me build my castle.”
**
3
Last Tales of Mercia 3:
ELWYNA THE EXILE
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*
SHROPSHIRE
1052 A.D.