Chapter One
Elmstead, England
January 1066
Swein of Elmstead sat in his hall, watching his daughter stitching near the fire. Ariel was not the same girl she had been seven months ago.
It had taken two months for the changes to break through the fog he had been living in for the past couple of years. He had not known how much he had come to depend on his daughter.
She had kept Elmstead together during his neglect. Ariel had taken care of the villagers, even worked alongside them in the fields. What he found was the greatest blow was finding out his master of arms, Osbern, had been train her how to fight with a battle axe.
He had begun teaching her shortly after her mother’s death, and had continued to do so for the last two years. Osbern had been quick to inform him that Ariel had been afraid if the fryd was called to battle, she would have to lead Elmstead’s men. She had feared her father would not be capable to do it. Osbern had even said Ariel was as skilled, if not better than, any lad her age, which Swein found shocking. Now all had changed.
Swein dropped his gaze to Ariel’s stomach. She was in the last stages of pregnancy. Once her morning retching had become obvious, she had been forced to reveal her condition.
He had watched her mother go through the same sickness in her early stages of pregnancy with Ariel. It was then he took back control of Elmstead. She had gladly handed everything to him. She had been happy and relieved to have her father back, but one thing had not changed—her training with weapons continued.
Even though pregnant, Ariel trained every day for hours at a time. The training had even taken on a new twist. She had asked Osbern to teach her how to use a broadsword.
How Ariel had found out Osbern was the only one proficient enough to teach her, Swein could only guess. Osbern had once been connected to the royal court where most of the Normans in England could be found. He had learned from one of them the art of using a sword. Saxons fought with the battle axe, leaving the swords to the Normans.
In the end, Ariel’s request had been granted. Osbern had managed to find a sword for her, and training had begun the next day. There was a strength to her body that had not been there seven months before.
Ariel looked up from her stitching and gave him a slight smile. “What do you think, Father? Will this do?” She held up the small baby shift she had been working on.
“I am sure it will do just fine.” Ariel resumed her stitching. He still found it painful to look at her.
She was so much like her mother. Blonde hair so light that when in the bright sunlight, it almost appeared to be white. Blue eyes that matched the color of the sky at its bluest. All were the same, even to the full, red lips. In the last two years, as Ariel had grown into a woman, the resemblance had become stronger.
There were a lot of unanswered questions hanging between them. They never spoke about the father of her child, and he would not push her. She would let him know when she was ready.
Ariel put down her stitching before she stifled a yawn with her hand. “If you do not mind, Father, I am off to bed. I just do not seem to have the same energy as before.”
“You will once the child is born. You should slow down, take care of yourself. Maybe the training sessions should stop until after the birth.”
“Nay, I need them right now. Do not ask me to explain, for I cannot. It is just something I have to do.”
Swein rose and helped Ariel to her feet. “It is your choice. I want you to know I will be here for you.”
“I know. Try to understand. You cannot help me with this.” Ariel placed her hand on her stomach. “This is my responsibility. This child is mine to take care of, and I will not fall apart because of it.”
With a kiss on her father’s cheek, Ariel bid him goodnight and left him alone.
* * * *
The bright sunlight coming from the single window high in the wall helped to dispel the gloom inside the hall. Two female serfs quietly cleared away the remains of the morning meal. The shaft of light split as each woman crossed its beam.
Now that her father had once more resumed his duties, Ariel spent more time running the hall. She made sure the rushes were changed on a regular basis and chose the meals that would be served each day. In a way, she was relieved to have just that to worry about. She had another, larger, responsibility to see about in a few months.
She tried to think of the unknown knight every day, and not from any lovesick emotion, either. She just did not want to forget what he looked like when she faced him again, and they would meet again.
The ring he had given her hung from a gold chain that she wore around her neck, hidden beneath her clothes. She had not been able to show it to her father. What would he think? She did not even know the knight’s name. All Ariel had was the engraved emblem on the ring. Swein would think her a fool.
His gold eyes were the other thing Ariel would not forget. No matter how long it took, she would remember the look in them as he had bid her goodbye. He had thought her a good bit of fun and nothing more. At least that was what she thought she had seen. Once they crossed paths again, she would recognize him. She could still see the bemused look on his face. She had been nothing but sport to him. She would change that when she faced him once more.
Her temper rose the more she thought of the knight. Ariel surveyed the hall. It had been built by her grandfather, the first thane of Elmstead. The sturdy timber hall had adequate space to hold a large gathering if the need arose. The tables and benches not needed on an everyday basis were stacked in one corner.
The family sleeping quarters were at the back of the hall, separated by a partition. There were three chambers in total. The larger one was her father’s, which he had shared with her mother when she had been alive. The other two were relatively the same in size. One had been set aside as a guest chamber, and Ariel claimed the other as her own. From the outside, the hall looked like the villagers’ huts, except for being much larger in size.
Ariel found her thoughts interrupted as a man opened the hall door and entered with a gust of cold winter air. She recognized him as one of the Earl of Essex’s men. The earl was her father’s liege lord.
He stepped farther into the hall and then came to stand before Ariel. “I bring a message to Swein, Thane of Elmstead. It is of grave importance.”
From his appearance he looked to have been on the road for some time. Ariel signaled one of the serfs to bring the man some ale. “My father will be here shortly. Please sit and refresh yourself while you wait. He is in the village.”
Her father would undoubtedly be there any minute. When a stranger arrived at the hall, the villagers took note and usually informed Swein. Any news from the outside world was held in high regard.
The door once more opened, and her father entered the hall. Spotting the messenger, he crossed the distance to the man. “You carry a message for me?”
“Aye, my lord.” The messenger reached into a pouch that hung from his belt and then passed a piece of rolled parchment to Swein.
He scanned the missive the Earl of Essex had written. It could not have been good news, for his face became more set and drawn-looking the longer he read.
“Is it not good, Father?”
“Nay, I am afraid not. King Edward has died, and Harold Godwinson has been crowned king. It says the messenger will provide more information.” Swein turned his attention to the messenger and waited for him to speak.
“The earl felt it would be better if I told you in person rather than putting it to parchment. In case you had some questions.”
“Tell me what you know.”
“King Edward died during the night on the fifth of this month. The queen, Harold Godwinson, the Archbishop of Canterbury, and the king’s friend, Robert Fitzwinmark, were at his side before he passed. They were able to rouse him once before he went to his eternal rest. When the king awoke, he spoke of a dream he had had. The earl did not hear exactly what the king spoke of, but it is said the king saw two dead monks who he had known in Normandy. They foretold that with all the wickedness in England, the land would be consumed with fire and war. God would only stop the punishment when a felled tree joined itself back together with no help from man, broke into leaf, and bore fruit.”
It had been rumored that the king had promised his throne to Duke William of Normandy when the duke had come to England some years back. It had never been confirmed by the king, but it had been said the duke had taken him seriously. Now that Harold had been crowned, it would only be a matter of time before the news reached Duke William.
Ariel placed her hand protectively on her bulging belly. The messenger soon cleared his throat and looked at Swein. When he received a nod in return, he continued.
“King Edward called Harold to his side and took his hand. He commended Queen Edith to his protection. As well, he ordered Harold to serve and honor the queen, since she is his sister. Normans who resided at court were to be given the choice of either returning to their land or swear fealty to Harold. Lastly, he gave orders to where he would like to be buried at his new minister, and to have his death announced everywhere without delay.”
Swein nodded to the messenger. “You may rest here tonight. I have no questions. You provided everything I would want to know.”
“I will gladly accept your hospitality, but I must be on the road by dawn tomorrow.”
Ariel went to stand beside her father after the messenger had left the hall. “This bodes ill for England, Father.”
“I know. According to the earl’s letter, the king was buried the morning after his death, and Harold crowned king that same afternoon. It makes no difference that we do not want a foreign king. Duke William will come. There will be no peace for England.”
* * * *
Rouen, Normandy
January 1066
The air was crisp with the sun shining brightly. It made a perfect day for a hunt. Broc St. Ceneri stood in the palace courtyard, waiting, one of the many who had decided to hunt with Duke William that day. He swept the others with his gaze. They were there to curry favor from the duke. By the way they acted toward one another, one would never know they were almost always at each other’s throats. Only on their lands did they practice the art of war on their neighbor’s castles.
Broc was not considered one of them. He was only tolerated because Duke William had taken a liking to him. It did not matter to Broc that he was not accepted. He valued his friendship with the duke above all else. Being a landless knight at the age of eight and twenty, he could not help but think he was lucky to be where he was.
A burst of laughter came from the group of men directly across from him. They noticed Broc watching them, turned their backs on him, and continued to speak in hushed tones. Broc shook his head in amusement. They might not like him, but their wives and daughters did not share the men’s opinions. Being slightly over six feet tall, and with his peculiar eye color, it made him a novelty. Those things were not the only reason they sought him out. He could not claim ignorance about what his face did to women.
He had accepted some of the offers from women who approached him. Mostly widows, but lately, even they did not hold his attention. The face of the Saxon girl always came to mind.
Broc was surprised to find her never far from his thoughts. She had attracted him at first sight. The stuff of her gown had made him think she was a peasant. He usually did not use the peasant girls as other lords did, but this time he had not been able to pass her up. She had looked so innocent with her pale blonde hair hanging down her back. As she had stared at him, it almost felt as if her gaze had gently caressed him.
He had known she had no idea what she did to him. That alone had excited him more than any experienced widow’s caresses could. To have been the first man she had known had been his undoing. He had never felt such complete satisfaction from any other woman.
Duke William stepped into the courtyard, and silence descended. Broc pushed the thoughts of the girl back and smiled as William approached. Their friendship had sprung up when Broc had presented himself to the duke. He had come searching for a place in William’s household. As a younger son from a not-so-wealthy family, there was nothing for him at home. All he could hope for was to be accepted into a rich household. The only thing he possessed worth having was his skill with the sword. William had accepted him on the spot, and had placed him with the knights of his court. The friendship had begun shortly after.
The duke grabbed Broc’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Well, my lad, are you ready for the hunt?”
“Aye, my lord.” William was one of the few Broc did not have to look down on. Even at the age of eight and thirty, the duke’s body was still as heavily muscled as his own. “It seems to be a perfect day.”
“Right you are.” Before William could continue, a lone rider clattered into the courtyard.
The man pulled his horse to a stop and then dismounted. “I bring a message for Duke William.”
The duke walked to the messenger. “I am here. Tell me the news you bring.”
The man gave William a slight bow. “I come from England. The holy King Edward has died. He succumbed from illness. They crowned Harold Godwinson King of England the same day they laid King Edward to rest.”
William’s face went white, then turned red with fury. The messenger took a step back as the duke laced and unlaced his cloak. Without a word, William turned and went back into the palace. When he did not return for some minutes, everyone assumed the hunt was to be abandoned. The other participants dispersed as they mumbled among themselves. Everyone had known Duke William had expected to be the next King of England. Now someone else had taken the throne.
Broc knew how upset the duke must feel. It had been his tales of his time spent in England that had made Broc want to go to that country. As he headed toward the palace, a hand reached out and pulled him to a halt. He looked behind him to find William FitzOsbern had stopped him. He was the duke’s seneschal and one of William’s friends. Broc liked the man as much as he liked the duke.
“I will go to him, Broc. You have not known him as long as I have. I know how to get him out of this mood. When he is ready, I’m sure he will want to talk to you.”
Broc nodded. FitzOsbern was right. He would know what to say to the duke.
* * * *
William FitzOsbern found the duke in the hall. He sat on a bench with his head against a pillar with his cloak thrown over his face. FitzOsbern entered the hall, humming.
At the sound of his voice, the duke looked out from under his cloak. “You might as well stop trying to hide. The news has probably spread throughout the city by now. It’s time to stop grieving. It is time you do something about it. Sitting here under your cloak will not give you the throne of England.”
William dropped his cloak into place and chuckled. “You always know what to say to bring me out of my moods. So be it, my friend. I will call the barons together.”