It is a clear winter’s day as I set off on the final journey in search of my destiny. The fresh snow is crunching under my leather shoes.
Cenric is pacing forwards and backwards beside me. “Ðæt is forwundorlic wundor! Never has anything like that happened here in Wilburgfos. An Englishman, of all people, at a French manor house! The most noble lord of Cattune himself has come to Wilburgfos to pay his respects to you. Can’t believe it!”
“You’re exaggerating, Cenric.” I try to sound calm, but my heart is fluttering.
“Exaggerating?” Cenric props his hands on his hips as we continue towards the chapel. “The great William Als Gernuns de Perci rides all the way to his vassal’s manor house to dub an Englishman captured in the wilderness and now tamed? This is Wilburgfos, Oswulf, not Wincestre, where they’re always crowning some king.”
We enter the chapel, festively decorated for Candlemas. Father Leofric gives final instructions to the altar boys. Lord Geoffrey and Thibault have put their heads together with a man in chain mail and heraldic tunic, on which five yellow lozenges shine on a blue background.
That must be William de Perci. The man before whom I will bend the knee. The man who will deal me the only blow I will ever receive without fighting back after being dubbed.
More and more people crowd into the chapel – Frenchmen like Walchelin, but also Englishmen like Cenhelm. I even catch sight of a few women at the back: Lady Edeva, in spite of her poor condition, has taken the trouble to attend the dubbing of a fellow countryman. Next to her, Hild is keeping a watchful eye on her mistress. Behind the herb woman and right next to Morwenna stands Solen, looking around the chapel with wide eyes. She spies me, and a smile crosses her face until her dimple appears. Her skin is not quite as rosy as usual, but the radiance of her eyes brightens the chapel more than all the candles placed along the walls and on the altar.
Godgifu I have lost forever, but Solen is here. Within reach. Close enough to hold on to. Never would I leave her alone, as I did Godgifu. I made that mistake once and regretted it bitterly. I’ll never make it again. If only she will have me.
“Stop making eyes at the women!” Cenric nudges me to the side. “C’mon, get over there! Father Leofric wants to start.”
Giving Solen one last look, I put myself next to Walchelin. I hear Leofric’s muffled words. My thoughts wander. Only when I hear my name do I listen. William de Perci beckons me. The master of arms is standing next to him. I step forward. My hands are trembling. Images of Ledlinghe well up in my mind. Ulfgar and I, surrounded by Frenchmen, all eyes on us and our movements. This time, I stand here alone and have nothing to fear from the French. From this day, I am a recognised warrior, not a ðegn nor a huscarl, but a servant of the King of Englaland. I have made it.
Father Leofric holds out the Bible to me, on which I place my hand.
“By the holy writ and by the Lord, I, Oswulf of Ledlinghe, vow that I will be faithful and honourable to my liege lord, William de Perci, and love all that he loves and shun all that he shuns, according to God’s law and according to worldly custom, and never, willingly or intentionally, either by word or work, do aught which is dishonourable to him, on condition that he respect me as I am willing to deserve.”
William de Perci turns to the master of arms, who takes off his belt, sword and all, and hands it over to the liege lord after Father Leofric has blessed it.
“Oswulf of Ledlinghe, you have proven yourself to be a fearless and worthy fighter and are henceforth a warrior of the king. Take this sword as a gift and a reward for what you have done for your country and your king.” He girds me with the sword while I look questioningly at Thibault.
When William de Perci has finished, he makes way for the master of arms. Thibault steps forward and turns me around to face those assembled. “Messires, you see before you the new master of arms of Wilburgfos.”
Who? Me?
“That he is a brave and skilful warrior is known to all who have ever faced him in battle. Having been dubbed, he is now a vassal of the king. He will from now on take over teaching the squires by himself.”
“Amen,” Leofric says aloud and folds his hands.
While the first ones push their way out through the chapel door, I linger on, confused.
“But you are the master of arms of Wilburgfos.” I look at Thibault, frowning.
“Only until I have fully handed over my office to you.”
“But…?”
“I am going back to Normandig as soon as the weather permits, to receive the inheritance of my father, who has recently died.”
“You are leaving Wilburgfos? I am to teach the squires alone?” Loss, fear, uncertainty buzz through my head like flies.
The master of arms puts his hand on my shoulder. “You know this is your destiny, Oswulf. You will be a worthy successor. I can think of no one to whom I would rather hand over my duty. The same goes for my sword, by the way, which has always served me well in battle.” He points to the sword hanging at my side.
I look at him. His brown eyes have a warm, friendly glow that encourages me, and yet, I feel as if the ground has been pulled out from under my feet. “You’re leaving.”
Thibault smiles. “Wilburgfos is too small for two masters of arms. Besides, you have my sword. I will always be at your side as long as you carry it.”
I nod, even though his words do not give me the comfort I need right now. An emptiness spreads through me, smaller than the one that befell me after the death of my family and the parting from Ledlinghe, but still similar.
“We should hurry.” Thibault pushes me forward. “Father Leofric is already on his way to the great hall, and you know what a hungry lion that puny priest becomes when asked to a feast.”
The churchman is just stepping out through the chapel door, turning his head sideways. His gaze wanders downwards and slowly upwards again. He’s licking his lips. Swa gifre swa swine. Slobbering already from his sleazy mouth, although he has not even set foot in the great hall.
“Now, now! Who’s gonna make a face like that on their day of honour?” Cenric makes a deep bow, abjectly waving his hand in the air. “I bow to you, hlaford min. May you teach the French to fight and put the fear of God into them for many years to come!”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t help grinning. “Sometimes, you remind me of one of those jugglers who fool their audience with magic and words, Cenric.”
Cenric frowns. “Do I hear envy in your words? Ah, c’mon, Oswulf!” He slaps me on the back. “You may be a servant to a Frenchman here in Wilburgfos, but you also work for the King of Englaland. It’s what you always wanted, isn’t it?”
The picture of my parents appears in front of me. They’re both smiling at me. “I guess you’re right, Cenric.”
Before I can speak further, the squires surround us, cheering me as their new master, even if they regret Thibault’s decision. Somehow, we are able to squeeze through the door of the great hall in a cluster, where the smell of roast duck wafts towards us.
As we enter, Roul stands wide-legged in front of me and props his hands on his hips. His blonde hair shines in the glow of the fire, and his face is back to its usual colour. He looks at me seriously. “If you are now the sole master of arms, does that mean that we must now exclusively follow the orders of an Engleis?”
I stroke my moustache. “Indeed. And now that Thibault is no longer protecting you, I will make you work even harder than before.”
“Quei?” Roul’s mouth remains open.
Jehan puts his arm around Roul’s shoulders and laughs. “Calm down! The harder we work, the better we get, and the better we get, the sooner we’ll be dubbed and need not listen to him anymore.”
“This is your fault, Roul.” I hold out my right hand to him. “If it hadn’t been for you, there would be no English master of arms now. There wouldn’t even be the Engleis anymore. I don’t know how to thank you for that.”
Roul pauses, but then a smile crosses his face. “Just let me win a fight every now and again.” He takes my hand and squeezes it tightly.
I look around, see the faces of Cenric, Thibault, Jehan, Roul, Jeannot, Walchelin, Cenhelm and all the other inhabitants of the manor. How much things have changed in the last twelve months! Initially outcast and abandoned, I have finally found my place in life and know where I belong. The silly bowl cuts and French singsong are no longer foreign and mysterious. They have become part of my new home. I have a place to sleep, I have food and drink, I’ve been dubbed and have become an integral part of society here at the manor house.
What more could someone like me want?
* * *
I wonder what Morwenna would like to discuss with me. She’s making such a secret of it! And we’re meeting in the middle of the woods, of all places, at this time of year! I shake my head as I steer my horse towards the small clearing in the woods east of Wilburgfos. Apart from squirrels or a hungry fox, no one will overhear us there, that’s for sure.
Through the bare, snow-covered trees, I follow the small trail that leads to the clearing, where two shadows are pacing back and forth.
As they catch sight of me, they stop and watch. Morwenna looks at me with raised eyebrows. Against the white background of the winter woods, it strikes me only now how pale she looks, even though I have long had the impression that she has changed. Her cheeks are more hollow than usual, but her bearing is as erect as ever, commanding respect and reverence. Solen keeps lowering her head or looking uncertainly in another direction when I look at her. Even though her cloak covers her completely, I can see that she’s fidgeting underneath.
A dull feeling of tightness rises in my stomach. “You wanted to see me, dame.”
“Indeed.” Morwenna looks around as if to make sure that we are alone. “Dismount, so we can talk.”
Obediently, I get off my horse and step forward. “I’m listening.”
“I appreciate your complying with my wish, Oswulf. I expected nothing else from you, and now, I see that I have come to the right decision.”
“A decision?”
“I had to take it. It’s a matter of life and death.”
Dryhten min! Solen is fatally ill and will die soon. A tremor runs over my skin as if I were standing naked in a snowstorm. Solen lowers her eyes, but I think I saw a fleeting smile. “Then speak, dame!”
“You could do me a great service.”
I hold my breath as if bracing myself to receive a blow to the bare skull with a two-handed battle axe in a fight.
“Times have changed, as I predicted. However, not in the way I wanted. There are some… changes at the manor house that force me to act.”
The woman speaks in riddles. Just like back then. She drives me mad with her double talk.
“Do you remember our first encounter in the woods last year, Oswulf? At that time, you and your fellow Engleis told me that the woods were too dangerous for two women.”
Abnoba, luck in the hunt, Ostara, fertility. I nod.
“Also, I asked you if you would be willing to protect our lives with yours, but you refused.”
I shake my head in despair. This woman is worse than any English riddle! Why can’t women ever speak in a way that can be understood? “What exactly do you want from me?” I ask irritably, but a glance at Solen makes me immediately regret my outburst. I bite my lips.
Morwenna stares at me silently, as if considering whether to answer my question at all.
I feel like a little boy who has to withstand his mother’s stern look after he has done something stupid and she has found out. “Forgive me, I—”
“You are impatient. That is also a good sign. I do not want to take up your time unnecessarily. Therefore, grant me this single request.” She puts her arm around Solen. “My daughter is the only thing I have left in this life. I’ve lost everything else. I guard her like a treasure, but where I go I cannot take her with me.”
“You’re leaving? Where to?”
“That doesn’t matter. What matters is that someone takes care of my daughter in my absence and stands by her in dangerous times.”
I wait, but she says nothing else, while Solen looks at me coyly from below. “You want me to look after your daughter? I am a master of arms, I teach squires, not girls.”
“She does not need any teaching from you. She has mastered everything to run a household. She needs your protection.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Solen is obedient, hard-working and gifted, and also of noble birth. You will not regret it. If you promise to see to it that no harm comes to her, I want to give her into your care and for her to become your wife.”
I look at her as if she has lost her mind. “You want me to… marry Solen?”
“I see you have understood. Well?”
I’m freezing and sweating at the same time, I feel dizzy, my vision is blurred, the blood rushes through my ears, my heart threatens to burst. I look at Solen from top to bottom and back again. Her eyes shine like dark crystals. “I… I…” Dryhten min! I clear my throat and straighten up, but my voice trembles. “Certainly, I will take care of your daughter if that is your wish.”
“Good, then we are in agreement.” Morwenna takes Solen’s right hand and motions for me to hold out my right hand. Solen’s delicate white fingers brush my skin as Morwenna places her daughter’s hand in mine and then clasps both our hands with hers. “By virtue of my authority as my husband’s widow, I hereby give you my daughter’s hand in marriage. Do you pledge to protect her from all harm and uphold her honour until death do you part?”
My heart tightens at the thought of this beautiful girl being touched by someone else. Godgifu has been dead for almost a year. Don’t I deserve a second chance to prove myself as a husband, now that I have earned the highest honour as a warrior? “I vow by all that is sacred to me to protect Solen. My vengeance will befall anyone who tries to do her an injustice. This I swear on my honour.”
* * *
No one notices how Solen and I leave the great hall. The people are too busy eating to pay attention to us. I pull Solen along behind the armoury, where we won’t be disturbed at this time of day. The sun has disappeared below the horizon, but it is still bright enough to see how beautiful my betrothed is. I brush a strand of hair behind her ear and look deep into her eyes. “Why did I have to find out about this through a messenger from her half-brother? Your mother never said anything about her origins.”
Solen shrugs. “She thought it would be too dangerous if others knew about it before we reached the end of our journey.”
“Sire Geoffrey told the messenger that he would let you continue your journey as soon as you were no longer needed at the manor house. Does he know where your mother is?”
“No. Nobody knows.”
“Not even you?”
Solen looks at me, pressing her lips together. I’m sure she knows, or does she?
“You can’t tell me.”
She remains silent.
“Eventually, we will know where she is. She wrote in her farewell letter that she hopes to be able to requite Sire Geoffrey at some point for what he has done to the two of you.” As Solen lowers her head, I take her hands and stroke them with my fingers. “All that matters now is that you are here. When William de Perci dubbed me and Thibault appointed me master of arms of Wilburgfos, I thought there was nothing more I could wish for. Now, I know there was something missing to bring my happiness to perfection.” I place her hands on my chest and clasp her in my arms. “You must not leave me. We are going to get married soon. Father Leofric will—”
“No, not Father Leofric! He… My mother doesn’t want him to marry us. She says we will get married where the end of our journey is. She’s just not ready to continue the way there. Not yet. But soon. She promised me. Until then, it’s your duty to protect me.”
I stroke Solen’s hair. “I swore that to your mother, yes. I will prove to you that she made a wise decision.”
“I trust my mother’s decision, and I will do everything I can to make you happy and pay my debt for your protection.”
Slowly, I lift Solen’s chin and bend down to her. “I would not mind if you started right now, deorling.”