Part 1

‘Lynet! Lynet Goodrich!’ The rasping voice, harsh as a raven’s caw, jolted Lynet from her daydream and almost toppled her from her perch in the ancient oak. She peered down through the leaves and her heart sank at the sight of old Eda standing, arms akimbo, at the foot of the tree.

‘Yes, Eda?’ she called back; hoping the politeness of her tone would mollify the old woman.

It didn’t.

‘Don’t you “yes Eda” me, young lady,’ she snapped. ‘Come down from there this very minute.’ With a sigh, Lynet scanned the horizon one last time and reluctantly began to climb down to meet her fate.

‘Just look at the state of you,’ snapped Eda, raking her from top to bottom with an expression of disgust. ‘You’re a disgrace!’ Lynet hung her head, suddenly aware of the fact that the sleeve of her linen undershift was torn and the skirt of her yellow woollen dress was covered in green and brown stains where it had rubbed against the bark of the tree. She tried to wipe them off, but since her hands were filthy too, she only made matters worse.

‘What possessed you?’ demanded the old woman. ‘Do you think because you’re named for a bird you should be roosting on branches?’ Lynet glanced at her hopefully from under her lashes to see if she was making a joke – but one look at her furious face told her she wasn’t.

‘I don’t know what you were thinking of, girl,’ she said, scandalised. ‘If you were thinking at all. Why, half the men in the village could have been peering up your skirts for all you know!’

‘I’m sorry,’ muttered Lynet.

‘I should hope so, too,’ snapped Eda. ‘Here you are, a woman grown and still behaving like a village urchin,’ she ranted on. ‘Why aren’t you at home helping your poor mother with the weaving or the spinning or the cooking?’ She snorted. ‘Why, at your age I was already wedded, bedded and had a child at my breast.’

Lynet hid her expression of scepticism. As long as she could remember old Eda had been as wrinkled and shrivelled as the kernel of a walnut. The idea that she could once have been a young woman with a man in her bed was totally incomprehensible.

‘And we didn’t have it easy when I was young, either,’ Eda continued. ‘Not like you spoilt brats nowadays. There was no time for anything but good, honest hard work. Why, I remember one harvest when…’

Lynet sighed again, this time in boredom. Eda’s tale of Viking raids, famines and village men lost in the battle against the invaders was as old and familiar as a lullaby or the priest’s sermon on a Sunday – and as exciting.

It was all ancient history as far as she was concerned. Why, she hadn’t even been born when William the Bastard invaded and defeated King Harold – but, as far as she could see, his arrival hadn’t changed a thing. The fields still had to be ploughed in spring and the harvests gathered in autumn, no matter who sat on the throne. Oh, there were no more Thegns, now that the Norman invaders had taken over, but even that hadn’t made much difference. The Thegn’s widow still lived in the big house in the middle of the village and was treated with as much deference.

True, there had been a flurry of excitement last year when two dour-faced clerks, guarded by half a dozen men-at-arms, had arrived in the village. For a week they sat at a table under the oak on the common, recording every last detail of who owned what and what rights they claimed. They had even counted the cows! She suppressed a giggle as she remembered how Eda had demanded if they wanted to know how many fleas there were on her old hound.

Their visit had provided the village with gossip and speculation for weeks, but when nothing else happened everything returned to its usual rhythm and it had gradually been forgotten.

‘Well?’ demanded Eda, bringing Lynet back to the present with a bump.

She looked at Eda blankly. ‘Er… well, what?’ she asked.

The old woman tutted in exasperation. ‘I knew it,’ she snorted. ‘You haven’t been listening to a word I said. I asked you what you were doing up that tree in the first place.’

‘I was only trying to see if there was any sign of my father and the others returning from the Shire Court yet,’ said Lynet.

‘Don’t be a fool,’ snapped Eda. ‘’Tis a full day’s march. They won’t be back till after sundown.’ She regarded the sulky girl with shrewd old eyes. ‘Watching for your father, indeed! Sitting dreaming and avoiding your household tasks, more like.’

Lynet lowered her eyes, guilt written all over her face. It was true. Although her first intention had been to scan the horizon, once ensconced in a comfortable nook between two broad branches she’d spent most of the time dreaming about Edric and whether she should say ‘Yes’ when he asked her to marry him, or whether she should make him suffer just a little longer.

Much to her astonishment, instead of continuing her scolding the old woman simply laughed and shook her head. ‘Ah, well,’ she sighed. ‘I’m not quite so old yet that I can’t remember what it was like to have a good-looking young man come courting.’

For one brief instant, as the old woman smiled at her memories, Lynet could see beneath the wrinkles to the girl she must once have been – then she scowled again and the moment was lost. ‘But that’s no excuse for leaving your poor mother to do everything while you sit with your head in the clouds, young woman,’ she snapped. ‘Get yourself off home before I take my stick to your lazy backside.’

‘Yes, Eda,’ said Lynet meekly – then grabbed her stained skirts and took to her heels before the old woman could put her threat into practice.

Back home, Lynet pushed open the door, stuck her head round, and breathed a sigh of relief at avoiding yet another scolding. The stew-pot was bubbling merrily on the hearth in the middle of the house, but there was no sign of her mother. She must be out milking or gathering eggs.

Lynet thanked her lucky stars and set about repairing the worst of the damage she’d done to her clothes. Keeping a wary eye on the door she stripped down to her stockings, stuffed the torn undershift in her chest, to be mended later, pulled on a clean one and wriggled back into her dress. A vigorous scrub with cold water removed the worst of the stains, and by the time the door was pushed open again she was relatively presentable.

But not presentable enough.

‘Good heavens, Lynet, what have you been doing? You look as if you’ve been pulled through a hedge backwards,’ said her mother, little knowing how close to the truth she was. Luckily the question was rhetorical.

‘And where have you been?’ she went on crossly. ‘Here I am up to my eyes in work, your father away, and you’re off gadding about without so much as a by-your-leave.’ She banged the jug she was carrying down on the table so hard that some of the milk splattered out.

‘I’m sorry,’ Lynet said, looking guiltily at her mother’s tired face. ‘Why don’t you sit down and I’ll bring you a drink?’ she coaxed. ‘You take your ease and I’ll do the rest.’

‘What “rest”?’ snapped her mother. ‘There’s nothing left to do. I’ve done it all.’ Still, she took Lynet’s advice and sat down, easing her weary back as Lynet hurried to fetch her a mug of small beer.

‘That’s better,’ she sighed after a few mouthfuls. She glanced sternly at Lynet. ‘But since you mention it the eggs still have to be gathered, and heaven alone knows where your brother has wandered off to. You’ll need to find him and fetch him home. I want him neat and tidy before tonight’s meeting.’ She eyed Lynet pointedly. ‘In fact, I want you both neat and tidy. We do not wish to shame your father.’

‘Yes, mother,’ said Lynet dutifully. ‘I’ll fetch the eggs right now, then go and look for him.’ Grabbing a woven basket she hurried out.

It took her longer than she thought. The hens had been laying away and it took her some time to track them down. Ignoring their cackles of outrage she pushed them aside, plucked the warm eggs from beneath them and laid them gently in the basket. She smiled ruefully. She was in enough trouble already without adding carelessness and waste to her list of sins.

By the time she returned home, deposited the basket on the table and hurried out again, the sun was already sinking in the sky. Luckily she had a fair idea where her brother might be, so gathering her skirts she picked her way down the rutted path that led to the river.

The shouts of gleeful laughter coming from the ford confirmed her guess, and she was smiling as she stepped out of the forest – then she stopped dead, gaping at the scene in dismay. She might have got herself grubby but her brother was ten times worse – in fact, looking at the cavorting, mud-covered creatures in front of her, it was hard to tell which one actually was her brother!

‘Walter!’ she yelled, and a small figure froze in the act of scooping up another handful of mud and two apprehensive eyes regarded her from a filth-covered face. Even his blond hair was a thick greenish-brown where plastered to his scalp. Rolling her eyes, Lynet splashed through the shallow water and seized the offender by one extremely dirty ear.

‘Mother will kill you if she sees you like that,’ she informed him grimly. ‘You look like one of the pigs!’ She shook him, and immediately regretted it as droplets of mud splattered onto her recently cleaned dress.

Despite his screeches of protest and the cheers and guffaws of his friends, she hauled him away. From the corner of her eye she saw one of the others bend and straighten again, and still clutching Walter she whirled round and fixed the culprit with a glare.

‘Just you try it, Willet Baker,’ she warned. ‘Throw that mud at me and I shall give you such a buffet round the ears they’ll be ringing for a week.’ Willet regarded her for a moment, debating his chances of getting away with it, then lowered his arm and let the mud dribble away between his fingers.

‘I weren’t going to throw nothing at you, Lynet,’ he said innocently. ‘Honest, I weren’t.’

‘A likely tale,’ snorted Lynet. She turned her attention back to her brother. ‘As for you, my lad, it’s a good scrubbing before we go home.’ Still scolding – and sounding so like old Eda she would have been horrified had she noticed – she led him further down the river bank to the deep pool that formed beyond the ford.

‘In there and get yourself cleaned up,’ she ordered, giving him a push.

‘But it’s cold,’ he whined.

‘You should have thought of that before you started throwing mud about,’ she snapped. ‘Now do it, or I’ll hold you under myself.’

Reluctantly he waded into the chilly water, and when he emerged he was soaking wet and shivering – but at least he was recognisable again. Lynet grabbed him by the arm and hustled him back up the bank and along the forest path to home.

‘I found him,’ said Lynet, shoving him inside.

Her mother looked up from dishing out three bowls of pottage and shrieked in horror at the sight of her dripping son. ‘What happened to you?’ she gasped.

‘I’m sorry, mother,’ he said, giving her an angelic smile. ‘I tripped and fell in the river.’

‘My poor lamb,’ she said. ‘Let’s get you warm and dry before you catch your death of cold.’ Tutting under her breath she bustled off to fetch a blanket from the chest, stripped off his wet clothes and wrapped it round him, and as she rubbed him dry she glared at Lynet over the top of his head.

‘As for you, young woman, I’m ashamed of you,’ she ranted. ‘What kind of a wife do you think you’ll make Edric? First you run off and spend all day dreaming, and now you let your little brother fall in the river.’ She spotted the mud on Lynet’s skirts. ‘And look at you. How do you expect to keep house for a husband and children of your own if you can’t even keep yourself clean?’

The sheer injustice of it took Lynet’s breath away, and the sight of Walter’s smirking face did not improve her temper. ‘I haven’t even said I’ll marry him yet,’ she said, tossing her head. She glared at her brother. ‘And if it means having to put up with imps of Satan like him, I never will.’

‘Do you expect your father and I to keep you forever?’ retorted her mother. She swatted Walter on the backside, stood up and folded her arms. ‘You know your trouble, don’t you, my girl? You’re spoilt rotten. There’s many a girl would give her eyeteeth for a fine young fellow like Edric, and you keep him dangling like a fish on a hook. You should be ashamed of yourself.’ She wagged a finger. ‘Well you mark my words, there’s many a fish swum away before it reached the cooking pot.’

She might have gone on forever had the sound of the men trudging past on their way back from the fields distracted her. ‘Sundown already?’ she gasped. ‘Your father will be home soon, God willing, and us not even ready for tonight’s meeting. Come now. Best eat before it grows any later.’

Lynet chewed her pottage in sulky silence. It was tasteless at the best of times and the argument had not improved her appetite. She was just pushing her bowl away when there was the sound of a horn outside the village palisade.

‘It must be father,’ she cried, leaping to her feet and running to the door. Peering into the gathering darkness she could see lanterns bobbing along the village street as the men made their weary way home, and five minutes later her father was sitting by the hearth with his boots off and a cup of ale in his hand.

‘You had no trouble on the way?’ asked her mother anxiously.

‘Not a whit,’ he said. ‘Credit where credit’s due, since the Bastard came to the throne a man can walk from one end of England to the other without fearing attack.’

‘And?’ she went on impatiently. ‘Did all go well at the Shire Court?’

‘Give me time to draw breath, woman,’ he said, with a tired grin. ‘I’ve been walking since dawn and I’m bone weary.’

‘Honestly, men!’ Blythe grumbled. ‘What use are you? Getting one to talk is like drawing teeth.’

‘We leave that to our womenfolk,’ he chuckled. ‘Besides, what’s the point of telling you now? I’ll only have to repeat it all again at the meeting.’ He winked at her. ‘Now fetch me some water. The sooner I wash the dust of travel off and get a bite to eat, the sooner we’ll get there and you can hear the news.’

Full night had fallen by the time they were ready. A meeting like this happened so seldom it was a major event and the entire village would be there, so they were dressed in their Sunday best. Blythe fussed round her family, brushing off imagined specks of dust – and driving Lynet mad with impatience – before she was finally satisfied.

Her father, Walter, led the way, with her brother, little Walter walking proudly by his side. Lynet and her mother brought up the rear as they joined the cheerful throng already making its way towards the Thegn’s house.

Large enough to shelter the entire village in times of trouble, it stood in the centre of the village, dominating the smaller houses clustered round about it – but since the Bastard had come to the throne and peace descended its main function was to serve for meetings like this. It was already crowded when they arrived. Ale was already circulating and there was a cheerful hum of anticipation, which grew louder as they walked in.

‘Well then, Walter, got it all sorted out?’ asked Will Baker, slapping him on the back and grinning at his cronies.

‘The Shire Court gave its judgement, yes,’ said Walter, as he made his way to the head of the hall. He winked. ‘Though whether it’s to their liking is quite another matter.’

There was a ripple of appreciative laughter. The whole thing was ludicrous. Peter Attewood’s sow had escaped its pen and devastated Alfred Hobson’s cabbage patch, before settling down to farrow in the remains. Alfred had been so furious he’d proceeded to claim the litter as his, since it had been produced on his land.

Peter, equally furious at what he saw as opportunistic greed, was just as adamant that the litter was his, and since they’d not been the best of friends to begin with, the situation had gone from bad to worse.

‘Pig-headed, the pair of ’em,’ was the general consensus of village opinion – a joke which was repeated with much amusement whenever the subject arose – but the matter had remained unsettled until finally both protagonists insisted it be taken to the Shire Court for final judgement.

There was another buzz of conversation as they arrived. Ignoring each other – and the grunts and squeals from some of the rowdier youngsters – they marched in and took up places on opposite sides at the back.

At the head of the hall Walter smiled at the Thegn’s widow, then rapped on the table for attention. The noise slowly settled.

‘As you know,’ he began. ‘We are here tonight to hear the Shire Court’s judgement in the case of Peter Attewood and Alfred Hobson.’ There were a few more snorting noises, but Walter glared until silence descended again. He nodded at the two men. ‘Come forward.’

The crowd parted to let them through, and standing in front of the high table they glared at one another, then looked at Walter.

‘The Court has decided that Alfred Hobson has indeed a true case.’ Alfred smirked and Peter’s face fell. ‘Therefore it has decreed that the aforesaid Peter Attewood give him two piglets from the disputed litter as compensation for the property destroyed.’

This time it was Peter’s turn to smirk. It hadn’t been what he hoped for, but it was better than losing the whole lot. Alfred made a perfunctory protest, but the Shire Court’s decision was final and to be honest, it was better than he’d expected. Honour was satisfied and the two men shook hands, both feeling they’d come out on top.

The main event over, the evening took on a festive air. The older villagers occupied Walter with eager questions about other cases; the news of the shire and word of distant branches of their families, while the womenfolk eavesdropped or chatted while dispensing ale and bowls of food.

Young Walter sought out Willet to plan more mischief, while Lynet turned round to look for her own friends, and found herself face to face with Edric.

‘Evening, Lynet,’ he said, twisting his bonnet in his hands. ‘You’re looking nice.’

‘Am I?’ she said, giving him a flirtatious smile from beneath her lashes, enjoying the way he blushed and shifted from foot to foot.

‘New gown?’ he asked, going even redder.

‘This old thing?’ she said, with a toss of her head. ‘Of course not. I’ve had it for ages. You men never notice anything.’

‘I noticed how pretty you looked, didn’t I?’ he said, hurt. ‘In fact you’re the prettiest girl here tonight.’

She took pity on him. ‘Thank you,’ she smiled. ‘Do you want a cup of ale? I’m supposed to be helping mother. You can come and talk to me while I serve.’ He followed her eagerly and she spent the rest of the evening making him jealous as she flirted with the rest of the village boys.

The night was drawing to a close when, much to her surprise her father made his way back to the dais, where he tapped on the table for attention again. Silence fell and a cold finger touched Lynet’s spine as she saw the serious expression on his face.

‘Just one more thing,’ he said slowly. ‘I didn’t mention it earlier for fear of spoiling the evening.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t know if it’s just a rumour, but word had it at the Shire Court that the Bastard’s given our Thegn’s lands to some henchman of his.’

His expression became grim. ‘But if true, then the Lord have mercy on our souls.’ A stunned silence followed his statement, and then the hall was filled with a babble of shocked conjecture. If true, what would it mean for the village? Would their homes and land be safe? Who was this so-called ‘henchman’? What would he be like?

Old Eda’s voice rang out above the others. ‘’Tis the bad old times come back again,’ she said with bitter satisfaction. ‘We’ll rue this day, you mark my words.’

Lynet’s first reaction had been a pang of sheer terror, but at Eda’s words she relaxed. The old woman had been preaching doom ever since she could remember and nothing ever happened. It would be the same now.

Why, she thought scornfully, would some fine Norman lord want to come here to the back of beyond? Oh, no doubt he’d pay a brief visit as he toured his new demesne – put a show of power to keep his vassals in their place – but that would be it. He’d return to court and it would be nothing but a nine days wonder.

In fact it might be quite amusing, she thought, a smile curving her lips. So little happened in this muddy little backwater that even the vague possibility of something breaking the monotony was exciting. Who knows, he might even be young and handsome, and in need of a bride.

But dreams of catching the new lord’s eye and being whisked off to a life of idleness and luxury were rudely interrupted by a hand on her arm. ‘What is it now?’ she demanded, glaring at Edric.

‘I must speak with you,’ he said urgently. ‘It is important.’

‘Well, it will have to wait,’ she said. ‘Look, my mother’s beckoning me.’

It was true. The meeting was breaking up. Blythe had already retrieved young Walter and was waiting, with a long-suffering expression, for her husband to stop talking. Catching Lynet’s eye, she tapped her foot and beckoned again.

‘See?’ said Lynet, pulling away. ‘I must go before she loses all patience with me.’

‘She is not the only one,’ he said, tightening his grip. He shook her gently. ‘Do not toy with me, Lynet. I will not let you go until I get an answer. When can we meet?’

Her eyes widened in surprise. His handsome features were set in an expression she’d never seen before. The shy bumbling boy had gone and in his place was a strong, determined man. There was a brief flutter of excitement at the pit of her stomach and heat flushed her cheeks. She attempted to conceal it beneath a show of unconcern. ‘Oh, all right then,’ she sighed. ‘If it will make you happy, I shall meet you at the ford after supper tomorrow. We can go for a walk and you can talk to your heart’s content.’ She shook her arm. ‘Now let me go before my mother comes and boxes both our ears.’

His grip slackened and she pulled herself free, but as she walked sedately towards her family she could not resist a peek over her shoulder. Edric was still staring after her with a brooding expression in his eyes.

Her mother gave her a knowing smile. ‘So, what was he saying to you?’ she asked.

‘Oh, nothing much,’ said Lynet, with a shrug. ‘We were arranging to go for a walk after supper tomorrow, that’s all.’

Blythe’s face fell, but much to Lynet’s relief she was prevented from saying anything further by the arrival of Walter. ‘God’s blood, I thought they’d never be done with their questions,’ he grumbled. ‘As if I know any more about this fellow than the next man.’

He scooped young Walter onto his shoulder and gave Lynet and her mother a weary smile. ‘Well, are we going to stand here all night?’ he asked. ‘I’m so tired I could sleep for a sennight.’ And as if to prove it he gave a prodigious yawn.

The sight of it – not to mention the appearance of old Emmet heading in their direction with a determined look on his face – galvanised Blythe into action. Once Emmet got started they’d be lucky if they got home before dawn. Giving him a brilliant smile she bade him a warm goodnight and, ignoring his disappointed expression, shepherded her family out of the hall.

‘That was a narrow escape,’ she said, breathing a sigh of relief as they set off for home.

‘I know,’ giggled Lynet. ‘He’s as bad as old Eda. Once he starts he doesn’t know when to stop.’

‘That’ll be quite enough out of you, my girl,’ said Blythe sternly. ‘Show a little respect for your elders.’

‘But mother…’ protested Lynet.

‘But me no buts, young woman,’ said Blythe. ‘When you’ve lived as long and seen as much as they have, then your opinion might be worth hearing. In the meantime I’ll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head.’

Lynet subsided into a sulky silence, which she kept up all the way home; a gesture that was somewhat spoilt by the fact that her parents were too busy talking to notice.

Back at the house her mother banked the fire for the night, while her father deposited young Walter on his pallet without waking him, then with a final yawning goodnight they disappeared into the small room Walter had added on to give them a modicum of privacy lacking in poorer homes – and of which Blythe was inordinately proud.

Shivering, Lynet pulled across the hand-woven blanket that separated her sleeping place from her brother’s. Stripping to her shift, she lay down on her own pallet and stared into the glowing embers of the fire, her mind filled with the events of the day. Her thoughts drifted to tomorrow night’s meeting with Edric, then back to fantasies of a handsome knight carrying her off on his white charger, and when she finally did fall asleep it was to jumbled dreams where a mud-covered Edric came courting her, carrying a basket of eggs and riding on the back of Peter Attewood’s sow.

It seemed barely moments before her mother was shaking her awake again. ‘Come along, girl, are you going to sleep till the crack of doom?’ she asked crossly. ‘The sun’s been up nigh on a quarter of the day and your father’s already gone to the fields.’

Yawning, Lynet stumbled to her feet. Her mother, as usual, had been exaggerating. The sun was barely over the horizon. Lynet sighed. When she was in a mood like this there was no point arguing. Pouring a little water into a bowl she went into her parents’ room to wash.

Pulling off her shift she ran the cold cloth over her slim body. She shivered, her nipples hardening at the icy touch, then froze at the sound of a mischievous giggle. Grabbing her shift up to hide her nakedness she whirled round to find her brother peering round the door, but his giggles turned to wails as she dealt him a swift clip round the ear.

‘Can’t I leave you alone for anything?’ demanded Blythe, coming back in from the privy to find him snivelling. She glared at Lynet. ‘What did you do to him this time?’

‘Oh yes, what did I do?’ said Lynet bitterly. ‘It’s bound to be my fault, isn’t it? Little Master Precious would never do anything wrong, would he? I’m surprised they haven’t canonised him already.’ She scowled at her brother. ‘Well for your information, little Saint Walter was watching me as I bathed.’

‘Was he indeed?’ said Blythe, who administered a slap to his other ear, setting off another bout of blubbering. Turning back to Lynet, she sighed. ‘Though why you bother with all that nonsense I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Washing your hands and face is quite sufficient. Everybody knows too much bathing is bad for you. You’ll catch your death if you carry on like that.’

Lynet closed her ears and waited for the lecture to be done.

‘Enough of this,’ Blythe eventually concluded. ‘The day is wasting. Break your fast, then you can take Walter down to the priest’s house for his lessons and come back here to help me with the weaving.’

With a sigh Lynet helped herself to a hunk of bread and cheese and sat down to eat, still glaring at her brother. It wasn’t fair. Why should he be the one to get all the chances in life? As the only son of a ceorl, her parents had high hopes of him. If he did well at his schooling he might even join the church and work his way up to who knew what high office?

The fact that he loathed his lessons and, in her opinion, was as thick as a turnip didn’t seem to come into it. No wonder she had to escort him to the priest’s house. If she didn’t he would be off across the fields or into the woods, despite the beating he would get on his return.

She smiled vindictively. Mind you, Father Oswald didn’t suffer fools gladly, so he got beatings aplenty from that quarter too. It was probably six of one and half a dozen of the other. Considering that, maybe she wasn’t quite as ill done to as she thought.

Quite cheered up by the thought of young Walter getting his just deserts, she finished her bread and cheese and smiled at him. ‘I trust you have your lesson learnt for today,’ she said maliciously. ‘I doubt if Father Oswald will be in the best of moods after last night’s meeting.’

Her brother glowered at her. ‘What do I care?’ he muttered. ‘When I’m grown I shan’t have to listen to him any more. I shall do as I choose.’

‘What a shame that’s so far away,’ said Lynet, with mock sympathy. ‘In the meantime I suggest you follow my example and have a wash. You don’t want Father Oswald mistaking you for one of the pigs.’

‘I don’t need a wash,’ he said indignantly. ‘I’m…’ The rest of his protest was lost as Blythe pounced on him with a wet cloth and proceeded to scrub his face, holding him firmly as he squawked and wriggled. By the time she’d finished he was bright red – but clean.

‘There,’ she said, regarding him with satisfaction. ‘Now be off with you, and behave yourself.’ She gave Lynet a warning look. ‘And as for you, madam, no dawdling on the way home. I want you straight back here to help me. There’s plenty to be done.’

At these words Walter smirked and stuck his tongue out at Lynet behind their mother’s back. She ignored the urge to box his ears again and simply nodded. ‘Yes, mother,’ she said meekly.

Outside, the spring sun was warm on her skin as they walked sedately through the village to the priest’s house. The air was full of the green scent of growing and birds darted overhead, pursuing one another in their courtship flights. This was the time of year for mating, when the whole world seemed fresh and new. There was an answering tingle in Lynet’s blood and the private place between her thighs. She gave a secret smile. Perhaps she would accept Edric after all.

So preoccupied was she with her thoughts that she almost missed Walter’s break for freedom. He was halfway towards the woods before she even noticed, but coming back down to earth with a bump she caught up her skirts and took off after him.

Dodging and weaving like a frightened hare he almost made it, but Lynet’s legs were longer. He was just on the verge of disappearing into the undergrowth when she caught him by the neck of his jerkin and hauled him back.

‘Just where did you think you were going, my lad?’ she demanded, shaking him like a rat. ‘And what do you think mother would have to say to me if I got home and told her I’d lost you?’

‘Ow! You’re hurting me. Let me go,’ he whined.

‘And have you run off again?’ she snorted. ‘I think not. Father Oswald is waiting for you, and I hope he beats you black and blue,’ she added crossly, and still gripping his jerkin she marched him the rest of the way, and stood outside the priest’s house with her arms folded until she was sure he was safely inside.

‘You took your time,’ said her mother on her return. ‘Daydreaming again, no doubt.’ She looked at Lynet’s crestfallen face and relented. ‘Still, you’re here now. Come and help me weave this cloth.’ She smiled coyly. ‘After all, ’tis your wedding bed it will be covering.’ With a sigh Lynet pulled up a stool and joined her mother at the loom.

Blythe was justifiably proud of her skills and the cloth they were working on was one of her best, but that didn’t make the work any less tedious. A hare stew bubbled on the hearth and the smell of that, combined with the heat of the fire and the thin haze of smoke drifting up to the thatch, made the house unbearably stuffy. That, and her mother’s constant chatter, soon gave Lynet a headache, so it was a relief when her growling stomach announced it was time for the midday meal.

‘A good morning’s work,’ said Blythe, laying aside her shuttle and smiling with satisfaction. ‘Now I’d best take your father’s dinner up to the fields. He’ll be hungry after the ploughing.’

‘Let me,’ said Lynet eagerly. ‘’Tis a long walk and you must be tired after staying up so late last night. You were up before me this morning too.’

‘True,’ said Blythe. ‘All right then.’ Bustling around she packed a small basket with bread and cheese, a raw onion and a couple of wrinkled apples stored from last autumn’s harvest. Tucking a small jug of beer in beside them, she handed the basket to Lynet with strict instructions not to drop it.

Lynet rolled her eyes. ‘Do you think I am still a child?’ she asked in exasperation.

‘Sometimes I wonder,’ said her mother dryly. ‘Now off you go, and while you’re at it you can gather some firewood on your way back.’

Lynet needed no second telling. Once she was back in the fresh air her headache soon cleared and she set off at a brisk pace, the basket heavy against her side.

It didn’t take long to reach the fields. As she came over the brow of the small hill that separated the village from its arable land the whole scene was spread out before her, like one of her mother’s blankets. At this distance she couldn’t hear anything, so the tiny figures ploughing the long narrow strips of land looked like black beetles crawling over it.

As she got closer the beetles became men and she could hear the shouts of advice and encouragement – or of anger as some of the youngsters failed to come up to their father’s exacting standards regarding straightness of furrows.

Her father was at the top end of the fields with his oxen, and she lowered her eyes demurely as she walked past the other men of the village, although she was quite aware of their admiring glances.

As she passed Edric she threw him a swift smile. He coloured as his friends nudged him, winking and guffawing at his embarrassment. Despite the chill that still lingered in the spring air he had stripped to the waist and his broad chest was slicked with sweat. A thin line of hair bisected the muscles of his belly, leading her eye down towards the bulge of his crotch. Her own loins warmed in response and she could feel her nipples harden beneath her shift. Scarlet-cheeked, she bowed her head and hurried on.

‘About time too, girl,’ grinned her father as she reached him. ‘My stomach was beginning to think my throat was cut.’ Undoing the harness he allowed the oxen to graze on the grass between his strip and his neighbour’s as he investigated the basket Lynet had brought him.

He helped himself to the food, washed it down with a draught of ale and sighed with satisfaction. ‘That’s better,’ he said. ‘There’s not a woman in the village has a lighter hand with bread or makes a better cheese than your mother.’

He gave his daughter a stern glance, her lack of housewifely skills being a long-held bone of contention between them. ‘You’d do well to take a few more lessons from her before you wed young Edric,’ he advised. ‘We don’t want the poor young fellow starving to death after you’re married.’

‘Who says I’m going to marry him?’ said Lynet pertly. ‘Who says I will marry at all?’

Her father stopped with his onion halfway to his mouth. ‘What? Would you rather become a dried-up old maid, respected by no one?’ he asked in surprise.

‘I could become a wise-woman, like Annis,’ said Lynet. ‘She’s respected enough. More respected than some of the village men,’ she added shrewdly.

‘And with more hairs on her chin than some of them too,’ chuckled Walter. ‘No, no, my girl, that’s a lonely kind of life. You don’t want that. You want a decent man to look after you, and for you to look after too.’

‘I’d rather learn Annis’s charms and simples than how to make loaves of bread,’ said Lynet tartly. In fact Annis had already shown her how to gather some of the herbs that went to make up her salves and potions, but going by her father’s darkening expression this didn’t seem like a good time to mention it. Sometimes even she knew when to keep her mouth shut.

‘But perhaps you’re right,’ she said hastily, ‘and if I was going to marry anyone it would be Edric.’

‘Good lass,’ beamed her father. ‘That’s more like it. Now off home to your mother and let me finish my dinner in peace. I have five more strips to plough before sunset.’

‘Yes, father,’ she said obediently.

Freed of her task she set off towards the woods with a light heart. Gathering fallen branches for the fire was one of those duties she hated in winter. Bundled up in as many layers of clothing as she could find, it was as quickly as she could get it done and back to the warmth of the house before her fingers and toes froze – but in spring and summer it was a pleasure. She could wander for hours with no parents to scold her and no little brother to plague her.

The first hour passed peacefully as she foraged deeper into the forest, gradually amassing a pile of brushwood and fallen branches. She enlivened her task by seeing how many of the plants Annis had shown her she could remember. It was difficult as many were only just coming through and would not be useful until they bloomed, but that only made it more challenging; and there was something very satisfying about her growing store of knowledge.

There was marigold, whose orange flowers pounded with fat produced a useful salve for cuts and bruises. Woundwort for more serious injuries. Wild garlic for cleansing. Eyebright, which as its name suggested could be used to make a wash for eye ailments.

Then there were the more dangerous plants. The ones that, if not handled carefully, could kill as well as cure. Henbane and nightshade; foxgloves, which could be used to speed an ailing heart – or stop it forever; pennyroyal which could prevent pregnancy – or bring an unwanted one to an end.

She was so engrossed in her self-imposed task that at first she did not hear the pounding of hooves. When she did she dropped the handful of leaves she was holding and flattened herself against the nearest tree, staring wide-eyed in the direction the sound was coming from. Closer and closer it came, accompanied by the noise of snapping twigs and breaking branches as a heavy body forced its way through the undergrowth.

As she stood there trembling a massive stag broke into the small clearing. Its eyes were white and rolling and even from where she stood she could feel the heat radiating from its sweating, heaving flanks. For a few moments girl and beast stood, staring at one another in mutual terror, then with a toss of its head the animal turned sideways and fled.

Once it had gone Lynet sank to her knees, shaking. Oh, she’d probably been safe enough from the deer – they were only truly dangerous in the rutting season – but what had caused it such terror? Tales of the wolves that haunted the deeper parts of the forest came back to her, or the wild boar that could gut a man with their terrible tusks, and another wave of fear washed over her. She had come farther than she thought and the light was beginning to fail.

Scrambling to her feet she ran back the way she had come, barely pausing to scoop up the armful of firewood she’d collected, and did not feel safe again until the outskirts of the village came into sight.

‘About time, too,’ grumbled Blythe when she arrived home. ‘The fire is almost out. What kept you?’

Lynet opened her mouth to tell her tale, then thought better of it. If her mother thought she’d been in danger she might put her foot down and forbid her to go in the forest again.

‘It took me longer than I expected,’ she said. ‘There is little fallen wood left near the village.’

‘So I see,’ said Blythe tartly. She regarded Lynet’s pale face and relented. ‘Still, that’s hardly your fault. What we need is a good storm to bring down the old wood.’ She brightened. ‘Still, the ploughing’s almost done. After the sowing your father and young Walter can go out with the cart and see what they can find.’

That problem dealt with to her satisfaction, she turned to another. ‘So Edric is taking you walking after supper,’ she said, then scowled at her daughter. ‘I trust you will finally put the poor boy out of his misery?’

‘I might… and then again I might not,’ said Lynet lightly. ‘That is for me to decide.’

‘One of these days, young woman…’ began Blythe, but thankfully the arrival of her husband and son put paid to the impending lecture and the subject was dropped as she bustled around, dishing up the supper of hare and onion stew and pouring beakers of ale.

Unfortunately it was raised again as soon as supper was past and their few dishes wiped and put away. ‘I was speaking to Edric’s father this morning,’ said Walter. ‘We thought to have the wedding this year, after the harvest’s in.’

‘What wedding?’ asked Lynet, tossing her head. ‘I haven’t even said I’ll marry him yet.’

‘Who’d want to marry you anyway?’ muttered young Walter, giving his sister a venomous glance. True to her prediction, Father Oswald had not been in a good mood and he had felt his wrath on several occasions that day – and it was all her fault.

‘Hold your tongue, Walter,’ ordered his father, glaring him into silence. He turned his attention back to Lynet. ‘So what’s your answer to be, girl?’

‘You’ll have to wait and see, won’t you?’ teased Lynet. ‘Just like Edric.’ He opened his mouth, but before he could say a word she cut in again. ‘And I had better go and get ready. I don’t want to keep him waiting, now do I?’

‘“Don’t want to keep him waiting”?’ said old Walter, smiling wryly after his daughter. ‘She’s done nothing but keep him waiting. I’m surprised he hasn’t lost all patience with her.’

But when she reappeared in a fresh green gown, her long fair hair combed into a shining braid that fell almost to her slender waist, even he was forced to admit that his daughter had grown into a woman worth waiting for.

‘She’s nearly as pretty a lass as you were when we first wed,’ he beamed, slipping an arm round Blythe’s waist.

‘Were?’ said Blythe in mock outrage. She dug a sharp elbow into his ribs. ‘And what am I now, pray? A raddled old crone?’

‘You’re still the only woman for me,’ he grinned. He gave young Walter a gentle cuff on the ear. ‘And you can stop pulling those faces, my lad,’ he chuckled. ‘Just you wait. You’ll be a lovelorn swain one of these fine days. It’ll be a different story then.’

‘Not me,’ said young Walter confidently. ‘I shall never marry.’ He stuck out his puny chest. ‘Girls are stupid. I won’t have a woman telling me what to do. I’ll live as I please, hunting deer and fishing all day.’

‘Should’ve been born a lord then,’ said his father, his good humour vanishing. ‘Try hunting the King’s deer and you’ll be hanged as a poacher,’ he said grimly. ‘A hare for the pot’s all the hunting you’ll be doing, and think yourself lucky to be allowed that.’

A tentative knock on the door broke the tension. ‘That must be Edric now,’ said Blythe, patting her hair. ‘Are you ready, Lynet.’

‘Of course I’m ready,’ sighed Lynet. ‘He’s only taking me for a walk, not to court.’

‘Who knows what a walk might lead to?’ said Blythe, as she opened the door and smiled at Edric. ‘Good even, Edric. She’s all ready and waiting for you.’

‘Oh, mother!’ exclaimed Lynet in disgust.

Grabbing her cloak she marched past her family and out the door before they could embarrass her further, barely giving Edric time to mutter, ‘Good even, Mistress Goodrich, Master Goodrich,’ before he turned and hurried after her.

Once they were out of sight of the village, Lynet allowed Edric to take her hand and lead her down towards the ford, but when he tried to turn off the path into the woods she remembered the stag which had frightened her earlier that day and became uneasy.

‘Not this way,’ she said, pulling back. ‘Let’s go along the path beside the river.’

‘Whatever pleases you,’ he agreed, but that was almost all he said. Two or three times he cleared his throat nervously, but other than to comment on the fine day they’d had and to point out a pair of water rats, his conversation floundered.

After walking a quarter of a mile like this, Lynet had had enough. ‘I thought you said you wanted to talk to me,’ she said crossly. ‘So far you’ve barely uttered a dozen words.’

‘I do,’ he muttered, ‘but not here. Anyone could come along.’

Lynet doubted it, but she couldn’t stand much more of this. ‘All right,’ she said, ‘if you wish to be private I know a place. Follow me.’ Letting go his hand she turned away from the river down a narrow deer path that led into the woods.

He stumbled after her, complaining as the path narrowed even further, then gasping in surprise as the thick undergrowth gave way unexpectedly to reveal a small clearing. ‘I didn’t know this was here,’ he said.

‘Nobody else does,’ said Lynet smugly. ‘I found it one day when I was hiding from mother.’ Pulling off her cloak she laid it on the ground and sat down with her back against an enormous fallen branch. ‘Well, don’t stand there gawping like a booby,’ she said. ‘Come and sit beside me.’

‘I’d rather stand,’ he said.

‘Please yourself,’ she shrugged. ‘Well? Are you going to tell me what it is that’s so important?’

‘Yes, I am,’ he said. He folded his arms and gazed down at her. ‘But first, answer me one question. Are you going to marry me or not?’

‘I might… and then again, I might not,’ she smiled, repeating the words she’d said to her mother.

The muscles at the side of his jaw clenched. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ he said hotly. ‘I want a proper answer, and I want it now.’

‘Oh you do, do you?’ teased Lynet. ‘And if I’m not prepared to give one?’

His gaze did not waver. ‘Then I shall take it as a “no” and look elsewhere,’ he said. He ran a hand through his hair. ‘I won’t be toyed with any longer, Lynet. I can’t wait forever. I need a wife and I need children. If you won’t have me, then I’ll ask Alice instead.’

Lynet’s jaw dropped. ‘Alice?’ she gasped. ‘Fat Alice? Peter the Swineherd’s daughter?’ She began to giggle. ‘You might as well marry one of his sows.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with Alice,’ he protested. ‘She’s got fine childbearing hips. She’ll give me the children I need.’

‘I’m sure she will,’ agreed Lynet, with a snigger. ‘She won’t just give birth, she’ll farrow.’

‘She may not be beautiful, but she’s a sweet-natured girl,’ said Edric quietly. ‘She doesn’t use a sharp tongue to wound people the way you do. She’s kind and decent,’ he smiled wryly, ‘and from what I’ve seen she’s a far better housekeeper than you’ll ever be. She’ll make me a good wife.’

‘If she’s so wonderful, then why are you still courting me?’ demanded Lynet. ‘Why aren’t you married to her and knee-deep in little Alices and Edrics already?’

‘Because, God help me, my heart’s been set on you since I first turned a man, that’s why.’ He sighed. ‘It’s like a madness in my blood.’ He shook himself. ‘But no more. Either you give me an answer now, or tomorrow I ask her to marry me.’

Lynet looked at him, gauging her chances of keeping him dangling just a little longer, but the set of his jaw told her that he meant what he said. She pouted a little, then shrugged and gave in to the inevitable. She’d always been going to have him anyway, and she’d be damned if Fat Alice was going to snatch him from under her nose at the last minute. ‘Oh, all right,’ she said ungraciously. ‘If that’s how you feel, yes, I’ll marry you.’

For a few moments he stared at her, scarcely daring to believe his own ears, then he fell to his knees beside her and took her in his arms. ‘Oh, Lynet,’ he murmured, then his mouth came down on hers.

At first she responded, then as his kiss became more demanding, his tongue pressing against her lips, seeking entrance, she stiffened. Father Oswald’s words about the sins of the flesh came back to her and she pressed her hands against his chest in a feeble attempt to push him away, but his desire had been too long suppressed to be denied now. His hand found her left breast, cupping and kneading the warm flesh. She closed her eyes and shuddered with pleasure.

‘No, we mustn’t,’ she moaned, but his thumb found her hardening nipple, sending tantalising sensations through her whole body. She moaned again, but this time in acquiescence. Her lips opened and his tongue slipped between them, exploring the warm, softness of her mouth.

With a groan he tore himself away and sat up, dragging his tunic off over his head. Lying down beside her again he slid his hand under the hem of her gown and shift and eased them up. She shuddered again as he stroked the soft curves of hip and belly. Maddened by his touch, she raised her body and allowed him to draw off her clothes entirely, leaving her naked and defenceless before him.

‘Y-you won’t hurt me, will you?’ she asked, looking up at him with frightened eyes.

‘I could never hurt you, my love,’ he promised. He kissed her again, then lowered his head. His mouth found her breast and he suckled gently, running his tongue round the hard bud of one nipple, while his thumb circled the other.

The throbbing in her lower belly was becoming unbearable. With a moan she rolled onto her side, rubbing herself against him, feeling his manhood, fully risen, pressing against her belly. With a groan he pushed her away, fumbled with the lacing on his braies and released himself.

At the sight she recoiled with shock. Thick and stiff, its head purple and swollen, his member must have been a full nine inches long. A wave of panic washed through her. She would never be able to take that inside her! He would tear her in half!

‘No!’ she wailed, trying to pull away, but he was too strong for her. Holding her down with one hand he resumed his slow caresses with the other, until her body ceased its trembling and her desire began to mount again. As her legs parted he gently stroked the white flesh of her quivering thighs, gradually moving higher until he reached the downy cleft of her vulva.

She stiffened again, tensing against the rough invasion of her body, but he merely parted the soft lips enough for his fingers to find the hard bud of her clitoris, teasing and tantalising until she groaned and pushed against him, demanding more. Only then did he slide one finger into the hot, wet tightness of her virgin cunny and begin to move it gently in and out.

Her eyes closed as she gave herself up to the new sensations pulsing through her, then she gasped as he withdrew his finger and knelt between her thighs. She whimpered as she felt the tip of his massive cock pushing against her. The lips of her vulva parted and she felt it sliding inexorably inside her.

At the feel of the silky heat Edric’s control deserted him, and with one juddering thrust he forced himself into her.

She shrieked as he took her maidenhead, her fingers digging into him, her head tossing from side to side in mingled pain and pleasure, then pleasure became uppermost as he moved inside her, slowly at first, then faster and faster.

She twined her legs round his waist, her hips arching as she took him deep inside her, then screamed again as she felt his hot seed spurt and her own release overwhelmed her.

Panting, he withdrew and collapsed beside her. As their ragged breathing eased he slipped an arm around her and cradled her close, pressing his lips against her tangled hair.

‘I hope I did not hurt you too much,’ he whispered when they had begun to recover.

She yawned and stretched like a contented cat. ‘A little,’ she confessed. A slow smile curved her lips. ‘But ’t’was worth it.’

‘It will be better next time,’ he promised. ‘Then there will be pleasure with no pain.’

‘And when will that be?’ she asked, running a teasing finger down his chest.

‘Give me time to get my strength back, wench,’ he chuckled. ‘But mayhap sooner than you think.’ Taking her hand he placed it on his member, and she felt it stir again. Smiling, she leaned over, allowing her breasts to graze his chest as her fingers coaxed him into hardness again. He grabbed her and rolled her onto her back…

Lost in their newfound pleasures, they were completely unaware of the cruel eyes that watched their writhing bodies with sardonic amusement. By the time they got home the moon had risen and all the houses were in darkness – except for Lynet’s. Even from the edge of the village she could see the dim light of tallow candles flickering at the horn windows.

‘My parents must still be awake,’ she said. There was a tinge of apprehension in her voice. She had left the house an untried girl and come back a woman, and she was convinced her mother would know the minute she clapped eyes on her.

‘Good,’ said Edric cheerfully. ‘I cannot wait to tell them the good news.’ He smiled at her. ‘I am sure they’ll be pleased.’

They were.

‘I am so happy for you,’ cried Blythe, wiping a tear from her cheek and hugging them both in turn.

‘And about time too,’ said Walter, slapping Edric on the back. ‘At the rate things were going, Blythe and I were beginning to think we’d never have grandchildren.’

‘Grandchildren?’ gasped Lynet, scandalised. ‘Heaven forbid, father! We are not even wed yet.’ The thought flitted through her mind that if she and Edric were to continue as they had then she must visit Annis for the potion that prevented pregnancy. It would not do for the daughter of a ceorl to go to her wedding with a big belly.

‘Anyway,’ she went on plaintively. ‘The way you’re carrying on anyone would think you were glad to see the back of me. Have I been such a burden all these years?’

‘Of course not, my love,’ smiled Blythe. ‘Your father and I just wish to see you as happy as we’ve been, that’s all. Now let us drink to your future.’ She clapped her hands, waking young Walter in the process.

‘What’s going on?’ he whimpered, sitting bolt upright on his pallet. ‘Is it Vikings?’

‘Of course it’s not Vikings,’ said Blythe, resolving to have a quiet word with Old Eda about some of her more hair-raising tales. ‘We’re celebrating. Your sister and Edric are going to be married.’

‘Poor Edric,’ he muttered, casting his future brother-in-law a look of gloomy sympathy. ‘He doesn’t know what he’s letting himself in for.’

‘That’ll be enough out of you, my lad,’ said Blythe. ‘He’s lucky to get her, and don’t you forget it. Now, what was I saying? Ah, yes, a toast.’ Fetching the blackberry wine she made every autumn and saved for special occasions, she poured generous beakers for the adults and a smaller one, diluted with water for young Walter.

‘To Lynet and Edric,’ said Walter, taking his and raising it. ‘Long life, prosperity and happiness.’

‘Lynet and Edric,’ echoed Blythe.

One drink led to another and young Walter soon fell asleep again as the adults sat round the table and discussed the future and the arrangements for the wedding. The tallow candles had burnt down to stumps and dawn was beginning to streak the sky when Edric finally left.

‘Thank goodness the sowing’s done,’ yawned Walter as he closed the door. ‘At least we can lie abed tomorrow.’

He was wrong.

‘What in the name of God is that?’ he demanded, hurrying from the other room with his undershirt flapping over his braies. Blythe followed after him, wrapped in the bed-blanket. Young Walter leapt from his pallet and ran towards her, clutching her round the waist as he stared at his father with frightened eyes.

Lynet stirred on her pallet. ‘’Tis just someone blowing a horn at the gates,’ she said sleepily. ‘Perhaps it’s a peddler.’

‘That’s no peddler’s horn,’ Walter snorted, pulling the door open and staring out. ‘Listen to it, girl. It sounds like the Last Trump on Judgement Day.’

Still heavy-headed from the unaccustomed wine, Lynet sat up – then froze, suddenly stone cold sober. Her father was right. The strident braying pierced the ears like a dagger. How had she slept through it? Scrambling from her bed she joined him at the door. ‘What is it?’ she whispered.

‘Heaven only knows,’ he said grimly, ‘but we’ll soon find out.’ He turned to face his family. ‘Get dressed,’ he snapped, closing the door again and putting down the crossbar, ‘and make haste about it.’ Casting apprehensive glances at one another they hurried to obey.

When they were all assembled again, Walter faced them. ‘Son, fetch my pitchfork from the cowshed,’ he ordered.

‘Yes, father,’ quavered young Walter, scurrying to do as he was told.

‘Blythe, Lynet, you must each take one of the sharpest knives and keep it concealed in your sleeve,’ he said. His face set. ‘You may have need of it.’

Lynet bit her lip to stop it trembling as she did as she was told. From some of old Eda’s stories – the ones she did not tell in front of the children – she knew there were some things worse than dying. If this were an attack by the sea-wolves then a swift thrust of the knife would be a mercy.

Walter looked at his wife. ‘Take Lynet and young Walter and go and hide at the charcoal burner’s hut,’ he ordered. ‘If all be well I shall come and fetch you back again. If not…’ his voice trailed off.

Blythe glared at him, hands on hips. ‘I will do no such thing, Walter Goodrich,’ she snapped. ‘A woman’s place is at her husband’s side. Whatever this is we will face it together. Lynet may take young Walter, but I am staying with you.’

‘I’m not going either,’ said Lynet stubbornly.

‘Nor I, father,’ said young Walter. He waved the ancient sickle he’d found in the cowshed. ‘I shall help you take care of Lynet and mother.’

‘So be it,’ sighed Walter. ‘There is no time to argue, but keep behind me.’ Taking the pitchfork from his son, he stalked towards the door and threw it open.

The rest of the village was of the same mind. Every single man, woman and child seemed to be making their way towards the gates, and all of them armed in some way. Scythes, pitchforks and sickles had all been pressed into use as weapons. Lacking those, the women clutched cooking implements, even pots and pans in some cases. There were even a few greybeards, tottering along with ancient spears or swords, which had obviously been recovered from their hiding places in the thatch.

Shouldering his way to the front of this motley crew, Walter joined the rest of the village leaders as they marched towards the gates, but just as they reached them the blaring horns suddenly ceased.

Into the hush fell an imperious voice. ‘In the name of King William of England, I order these gates to be opened.’

There was a brief exchange of glances, then Walter nodded and two of the men rushed to do as they were bid. As they were pulled open a shocked gasp ran through the crowd. Row upon row of men-at-arms stood waiting outside, the morning sun glinting off helmets, breastplates and serried ranks of pikes and spears. If they attacked no one would stand a chance.

At their head stood three men on horseback, and behind them an elderly man seated on an equally elderly donkey. When the gates were fully opened the tallest man rode in, followed at a respectful distance by the other two and, after a short tussle of wills, the donkey and its rider. The villagers fell back, muttering amongst themselves.

Bringing his horse to a halt the leader looked slowly round the apprehensive faces and the muttering died away.

‘I am Sir Ranulf le Ferrier,’ he announced. ‘Your new lord.’ He eyed them arrogantly. ‘And all here are my vassals.’ His accent was difficult to follow, but his meaning was clear. This was not a man who would brook any opposition to his will – as his next words proved.

‘If you obey me all will be well,’ he went on, his cold glance travelling from face to face. ‘If you do not…’ he paused meaningfully, and when he spoke again his voice dripped venom, ‘…then you will rue the very day you were born.’

Lynet shivered. This was not the romantic knight of her dreams. This was some creature from a nightmare. She regarded him surreptitiously. His gown was of rich material and much longer than the knee-length ones worn by the village men. He was a few years younger than her father, broader at the shoulders and almost a head taller. His black hair, beginning to grey at the temples, looked as if someone had put a pudding basin on his head and cropped it round the edges.

But it was his face that shocked her most. A scar from some old battle wound ran from brow to jaw on the left side, puckering the flesh and twisting his mouth into a permanent sneer. Deep-set eyes looked coldly on the world from beneath heavy brows and that, together with the sharp cheekbones and high-bridged nose, gave him the appearance of some terrifying bird of prey.

With a jolt she realised he was looking back. His thin lips lifted in a sardonic smile, and she shrank back to conceal herself behind her father’s broad back. Her heart pounded with fear. Why had he regarded her like that? It was almost as if he knew her already!

Losing interest in her he continued with his speech. ‘I intend to build my castle here,’ he announced. ‘An enterprise to which you will all contribute.’ He indicated the dark-robed man on the donkey. ‘My clerk and confessor, Father Anslem, will also come among you taking your names and stations so that I may know what duties you owe me as your lord.’ He paused. ‘And should I be called away,’ he nodded towards the other two horsemen, ‘you will answer to my cousins, Sir Giles and Sir Simon, in my place. Is that clear?’

There was a mutter of reluctant agreement and he smiled coldly, revealing sharp white teeth. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Then I suggest you make the most of today, for tomorrow you will begin work in earnest.’

Tugging on his horse’s reins he led his little retinue out of the village. His men-at-arms parted respectfully to let him through, then wheeled and marched after him, leaving the villagers standing in stunned silence.

Thus began the worst spring and summer in living memory. At the crack of dawn the following morning, every able-bodied man, woman and child was pressed into service in the building of Lord Ranulf’s castle.

Day after day passed in unremitting toil as the men folk, aided and overseen by Ranulf’s men, were set to digging an enormous ditch round the small hill that overlooked the village. The earth from this was shovelled into wooden barrows by the women and children, then hauled off, along with layers of stones dug from the fields, to be piled on top of the hill, which gradually rose till it towered over its surroundings.

When that was done the top was flattened, paid journeymen were brought in and the building of the castle – or ‘motte’, as Lord Ranulf called it – began. The forest shrank as trees were felled to provide wood for the motte itself and the various storerooms, granaries, bakeries, kitchens and smithies that rose on the flat ground below it that formed the bailey.

Sharpened stakes formed a palisade around both and a bridge was built, linking the bailey to the motte, while another deep trench was dug to the river so that water poured into the surrounding ditch and a huge moat was formed.

As the work progressed Lord Ranulf would occasionally ride round watching from his horse as the villagers laboured. When he did Lynet was conscious of the way his eyes lingered on her, and the way the thin wool of her gown was plastered to her body with sweat. It was always a relief when he turned his attention elsewhere. There was something unnervingly speculative about his gaze.

It was also a relief when sunset came and they could escape back to their own hearth.

‘I’m so tired,’ moaned Lynet, collapsing on her pallet after yet another day of exhausting labour. ‘I can barely summon the energy to eat.’

‘You must,’ said her mother anxiously. ‘Otherwise you will fall sick.’ She smiled tiredly. ‘Your father is out hunting for hare. When he comes back I shall make a nourishing stew. That will perk you up. I’m sure he’ll not be long.’

She was wrong. It was two hours before he returned, and when he did he only had a single hare. He flung it on the table with an exclamation of disgust. ‘One!’ he said. ‘And I was lucky to get that! With Lord Ranulf’s men encamped beyond the hill and living off the land there is hardly any game left. If this goes on much longer we shall all starve.’

‘At least he still allows us two days a week to tend the fields,’ said Blythe placatingly.

‘Not because he has any care for us,’ growled Walter. ‘Only because he would not be much of a lord if we all died of hunger and there was no one to lord it over. We do all the work yet he is the one who will reap all the benefits.’ He slumped at the table, his face set in a mask of exhaustion and resentment. ‘It was an ill day for us when that bastard first set foot in the village.’ He glared at his wife as if it was her fault. ‘You mark my words, woman; ’twill be a poor harvest and a worse winter.’

‘Nonsense,’ Blythe said briskly, ‘we have survived harder times. Anyway, it is almost over now. The castle is nearly finished. Once it is most of those men-at-arms will disperse and things will go back to normal.’ She patted his hand. ‘Young Walter is already dozing; why don’t you lie down as well? I’ll call you when supper is ready.’

‘Perhaps I will,’ he agreed. He gave her a weary smile. ‘You’re a good girl, Blythe. Better than I deserve.’

‘Get on with you,’ she blushed, ‘and take your dirty boots off before you lie down. I don’t want mud all over my clean covers.’

Once he had gone Blythe turned her attention to supper. ‘Fetch me in a cabbage and a couple of onions, Lynet,’ she said, as she deftly skinned and gutted the hare.

With a groan Lynet hauled herself to her feet and went to do as she was told. When she came back from the lean-to where they stored their winter supplies, Blythe had poked the fire into a blaze and set water to boil. Smiting the hare into gobbets, she flung the pieces in the pot along with the chopped cabbage and onions and added a double handful of barley to thicken it.

‘There,’ she said, wiping her hands and nodding in satisfaction. ‘Give it an hour and we shall eat as well as Lord Ranulf himself.’

‘I doubt that,’ said Lynet.