*
The pigs had scattered over the hills. She found Hunwald in the barn, the dog whining at his side. He was bleeding from the stomach.
She yelled with dismay as she lifted him up and cradled him in her arms. She rocked him gently, but her mind seemed to spin in circles. “Hunwald? Hunwald!” As she settled him in her lap, more blood spilled from the stab-wound in his stomach. Her eyes widened with horror, too shocked to blink even as tears flooded her vision and nearly blinded her. “Hunwald!”
She practically screamed this time, and at last he stirred. His eyes were even grayer than usual, devoid of life and energy. They seemed unable to focus as he stared into her face.
“I’m so sorry, Hunwald.” Her voice shook with sobs. “Who did this to you?”
“One of ... Lord Alfric’s men.” Golde could not believe Hunwald would bother to call Alfric “lord” after what had been done to him. But such was Hunwald’s nature. “Eadric ... he did not see it happen. Don’t worry.”
She clutched him tighter against her. “Where is Eadric?”
“He went ... with them. He wanted to go, but I tried to stop him ... anyway. That’s why they …” He glanced down at his wound and groaned.
“Oh, Hunwald ... you never deserved any of this. I am so sorry.”
“Please, look after ... look after the pigs.”
It was silly for a dying request, she thought. But she could not smile. “After I find Eadric, I ... I’ll try.”
It was a promise she was not sure she could keep, but hoped she would, anyway. Her arms shook as she considered abandoning him. She had to go after Eadric. But she could not leave Hunwald to die here, slowly and painfully, while elvish sprites festered his wounds and he writhed in lonely agony until his death. Then his dead body would be fodder for the first hungry animal to come along. No, she could not let that happen.
She braced her legs, and heaved up with a great groan of effort. He sagged against her with a trembling grip. “What ... are you ...?”
“Save your breath,” she growled through her teeth. “I’m taking you to a church.”
Hunwald did not own a horse, but she found a cart capable of holding his weight. She strapped on good boots and took some of his coins. She left the rest behind, hiding them under a firm floorboard, hoping this would give her the motivation to return and fulfill her foolish promise.
Then she left Hunwald’s farm, sadly certain that she would never return. She took Hunwald to the nearest monastery and left him with the monks. She leaned over him and brushed her lips against his, so lightly that afterwards she wondered whether they had ever touched at all. In any case, it was much too late for such sentiments. Her life with him was over, and so too was the hope of any true relationship they could have had together. She had lived in a dream, she realized: a dream in which she was not a whore, and Eadric was not a bastard, and one of his possible fathers was not the most treacherous Saxon in Engla-lond.
She resolved that if she found Eadric—and she told herself she would—their lives would change for the better. She did not yet know how.
But she would think of something.
**
READ MORE
Read the Lost Tales in any order you’d like, before or after reading the novel Eadric the Grasper, or completely alone as quick glimpses into an ancient world. For more news and updates on the Sons of Mercia series, visit www.jaydenwoods.com.
The First Lost Tale: Golde the Mother
The Second Lost Tale: Ethelred the King
The Third Lost Tale: Aydith the Aetheling
The Fourth Lost Tale: Athelward the Historian
The Fifth Lost Tale: Alfgifu the Orphan
The Sixth Lost Tale: Hastings the Hearth Companion
The Seventh Lost Tale: Hildred the Maid
The Eighth Lost Tale: Canute the Viking
The Ninth Lost Tale: Runa the Wife
The Tenth Lost Tale: Edmund the Aetheling
(The Lost Tales are available in print at many online retailers)
SONS OF MERCIA series
EADRIC THE GRASPER
Lost Tales of Mercia
GODRIC THE KINGSLAYER
Last Tales of Mercia
EDRIC THE WILD
AUTHOR’S NOTE
The Anglo-Saxon Chronicles, as compiled by various monks until the year 1140, were my primary sources of information. So, too, were the Chronicles of Florence of Worcester and the Chronicles of the Kings of England as written by William of Malmesbury. Without the devotion of these men to chronicle the chaotic events of their time, so little of the Dark Ages would be known. For a full list of sources, or to tell me what you think of my work, visit my blog at https://talesofmercia.wordpress.com.
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