Last Tales of Mercia 8:
Audrey the Slave
Jayden Woods
Copyright 2012 Jayden Woods
Edited by Malcolm Pierce
Cover design based on the Bayeux Tapestry
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The ten Last Tales of Mercia are stand-alone short stories featuring real historical figures and characters from the Sons of Mercia series. You may read them independently as quick glimpses into an ancient world, or as an introduction to the world of the novel, Edric the Wild. For more news and updates on the Sons of Mercia series, visit www.jaydenwoods.com.
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RICHARD’S CASTLE, SHROPSHIRE
1058 A.D.
All Audrey wanted to do was sleep. Despite her night meal of pottage and bread, her stomach continued to ache with hunger. Despite the thick calluses across her palms, her skin still felt raw from carrying stones all day. Despite the vigor of her youth and the strength of her muscles, her body never ceased to feel sore and weary. And despite seven years of experience with which to grow accustomed to her fate, she dreaded tomorrow so much that her head spun just thinking about it. But the one thing she looked forward to each day was the end of it: that sweet moment she could lay down her body, let her muscles unwind, stare up at the flickering ceiling of the slaves’ hall, and sink slowly into oblivion.
Distractions often made sleeping difficult. Lice ran abundant in the hall, and she spent many nights scratching and tossing in her blankets. Some of the slaves often caused noise, despite their own weariness. A few of them would drown their sorrows in ale and make a great ruckus before finally passing out. A romantic couple often tried to make love quietly under the blankets, but the woman’s moans of pleasure would echo loudly enough to make Audrey blush and stir in her own bed. But Audrey’s fear of the future plagued her most of all. Anxiety that the next day would be worse than the last sometimes chased the relief of sleep away from her.
Over time, Audrey had learned to conquer most of these distractions. She had trained her mind to push aside bad sensations and thoughts until nothing but a blank awareness remained. From that state, she drifted easily into dark slumber.
But something about tonight was different. The voices she heard talking were her own friends, if such things existed in Richard’s castle. The boys had all entered servitude around the same time as Audrey—the year Richard FitzScrob chose to seize control in Shropshire by seizing his his tenants’ children or undesirables. And they were not just telling silly stories to distract themselves from the grim monotony of their everyday lives. No—they were talking about escaping.
She tried to cover her ears. She tried to roll away and scrunch into a ball as if the entire world would cease to bother her as a result. Even then, she could not stop hearing their foolish conversation, spoken far too loudly, revealing their idiocy with every word out of their mouths. Finally, she couldn’t stand it anymore.
Audrey crawled out of her blankets, forcing her heavy limbs to unfold and carry her towards the group of five teenagers huddling in the corner. They shut their mouths upon her approach and stared up at her with guilty eyes. Somehow, despite the fact Audrey was the youngest and smallest of them, they always seemed to wilt in her presence.
“Escaping is easy,” she hissed. An itch in her knot of blond of hair made her reach up and scratch angrily. “Don’t you all understand that? I could have escaped a hundred times before if I wanted to. The reason I haven’t is because there’s nowhere for us to run. If we went home, our families would just have to turn us back in or live in fear of Lord Richard’s wrath while trying to hide us.”
“Fuck our families.” Rodgar’s brown eyes glared at Audrey through the candlelight. He was the oldest of the group at sixteen years, and he liked to take control of any situation, especially if he sensed Audrey trying to wrest it from him. Audrey always felt intimidated by him, for he was much bigger and experienced in the world than she was. The fact he was rather handsome with his dark, chiseled features and long lashes didn’t help matters—but Audrey tried not to think too much about that. Rodgar had probably been the one to start this discussion about escaping in the first place, and he would not let Audrey hinder his plans. “Our families are the ones who gave us up and put us here.”
“They had no choice!” This from Gimm, a skittish and ugly fellow who nonetheless carried an undue compassion for people in general. He was always the first to defend anyone if no one else seemed willing to do so. “Our families had to give us up. Or why else would we be here?” His eyes searched the group, desperate for someone to confirm this for him.
“They might have fought for us, at least,” said Anson, as sullen as ever. He sat next to Rodgar with a deep-set frown on his face. Sometimes he supported Rodgar, other times he backed Audrey; generally, he followed whoever took the angriest view of things. “Like that Outlaw a few years ago.”
Audrey sighed. She had never learned the name of the boy who broke into the castle four years ago and cut down the wooden frame of Richard’s keep. If the Normans knew his name, they had successfully kept any slaves from discovering it. They said only that the boy had been exiled from Engla-lond for his crimes and and henceforth was known as the Outlaw. “The Outlaw is the reason Lord Richard wanted us to build the keep in stone so quickly,” she pointed out. She didn’t like speaking against the Outlaw; she admired him as much as anyone. Nonetheless, their lives had become doubly miserable ever since his visit. “He’s also the reason it’s so difficult for us to get our hands on weapons or do anything at all without permission.”
“If you want to spend the rest of your life as a slave here,” said Rodgar, “go on ahead, Audrey. We’ll be sorry to lose you, but it’s your decision. The rest of us are going to escape tomorrow.”
She had heard little bits and pieces of their plan. It would be a miracle if the entire hall hadn’t heard it. The boys would be carrying stones up and down the motte as usual. Lord Richard FitzScrob would be gone, as well as most of the usual knights, and only the son Osbern would be in charge. Rodgar planned to knock Osbern in the head with a rock and then escape down the western escarpment, where the drop was too steep for a wall and no one would see them from the other side of the motte.
“And then what?” she insisted. “Do you have a plan for what happens next? Where will you go? What will you do?”
“I don’t care. Anywhere’s better than here.”
The other boys nodded their heads in grim acknowledgment. Audrey resisted the urge to agree. She hadn’t seen enough of the outside world to know whether Rodgar was right. Maybe he knew better than she did. But what if he didn’t?
She shook her mess of blond hair and snapped at them as she turned to go, “Whatever you do, do it quietly, so I can get some fucking sleep.”
They obeyed, and after that, the hall became so silent that she could hear nothing but her own thoughts. But her thoughts proved worse than the boys’ loudest whispers, for she could not stop wondering whether Rodgar was right.