Last Tales of Mercia 7: Godric the Thegn Page 3

  *

  Osgifu did not react well to an unconscious youth being flung before her doorstep. Godric began his explanation with the only statement he knew would win her favor. “I am helping him.”

  After that, his wife calmed enough to hear his description of the talk with Lord Richard and the mission he now embarked upon. He followed her to the outdoor kitchens where she plucked warm bread from the griddle and stirred a pot of vegetables. Even when he finished explaining, she did not speak for some time.

  “We were going to kill one of the pigs tomorrow,” she said at last, her voice soft and distant. “I know how much you’ve been looking forward to some pork.”

  “I can have some when I get back.” He reached up and ran his fingers through her red hair. “Osgifu. I need to support Richard FitzScrob. His presence here is King Edward’s will.”

  “And what about forgiving our enemies for their wrongdoings? What about turning the other cheek?”

  “That is not Richard’s way.”

  “Fortunately for you.”

  The comment stung like a barb. She immediately seemed to regret her words, but she could not take them back. She knew Godric rejoiced in an opportunity like this, and the truth would now hang between them like a toxin.

  “I’m sorry, Godric.” She reached out and gripped his hand, though she continued to avoid his gaze. “I don’t like the fact that you’re doing this, and I admit, I don’t particularly like Lord Richard. But if you truly believe it’s the right thing to do, I won’t stop you.”

  They stood quietly for a time, their entwined hands a desperate attempt to stitch the rip she had sliced between them.

  “Have you heard from your sister?” asked Godric. He had tried to avoid talking about Elwyna ever since he heard she was in trouble. All he knew was that somehow, by traveling to Richard’s castle, Osgifu got her out of it. But he couldn’t help but wonder what had happened, and whether it had anything to do with Osgifu’s feelings towards Lord Richard.

  “No.” Osgifu straightened and put a practiced smile on her face. “But she will be safe where I sent her.”

  “And where is that?”

  Osgifu’s smile faltered. Godric realized he probably shouldn’t have asked. But Osgifu seemed so confident, he couldn’t help but be curious. “It’s, uh ... a cabin. Deep in the woods. Deeper in the woods than she was before. I knew about it because Lady Aydith ...”

  “Never mind.” Godric’s stomach turned. “I’ve heard enough. Don’t tell me.” He released his wife’s hand and turned to check on Dudda, who still lay unconscious outside the main hall. Their guest had acquired a companion. A splotch of red hair marked the presence of eleven-year-old Edric, who stood staring at their guest with big blue eyes.

  “Damn,” growled Godric, and made his way towards his son.

  Edric immediately cowered as Godric approached, as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. Godric loomed over him and crossed his arms.

  The stubborn little youth did not back down. “Did you do this, Father?” He pointed to Dudda’s wounded leg.

  “What? No!” Godric crouched down to study the injury. To Edric it must look terrible, but Godric thought it looked better than when he first found the fellow. Now the flesh was swollen and burned, but at least some of it had folded together over the wound, and most of the pus had been seared out. “Well, I did try to heal it.”

  “Looks like you didn’t succeed.”

  Godric scowled. Then he reached up and opened his tunic. He pushed down the fabric enough to bare his shoulder, where an angry knot of flesh still marked an arrow-wound he’d received in Sweden. “My shoulder looked about as bad as his leg many years ago. But I used heat to melt the flesh back together and drive out the bad bile.”

  Edric did not look convinced. His gaze returned to Dudda. “How did he get hurt?”

  “He made some Normans angry.”

  “Normans!” Edric’s little nose wrinkled with anger. He had accompanied Osgifu on her trip to Richard’s castle, and ever since he seemed to despise them. “Bastards!”

  “Edric.” Godric lifted a warning finger. “Don’t you forget that I am a bastard.”

  “But you call people that all the time!”

  “Yes, well ...”

  “Time to eat!” Osgifu’s call saved him from coming up with an awkward excuse for himself. But Edric grinned from ear to ear, aware that he’d bested his father.

  Godric feigned a kick as Edric scampered into the hall, but the little rascal was too fast for him.

  They had hardly begun to eat before Dudda’s groans echoed through the dining hall. Godric told his family to ignore the sound, but Osgifu got up to fetch the boy some pottage. Godric did not budge until he finished his own meal. Then he told Edric to find some honey. They carried it to Dudda and smeared it over the angry injury.

  Dudda watched them with teary eyes, fearful yet desperate to trust them. “What did you do to me?”

  “I did my best to heal you,” said Godric. “Now you must rest. Tomorrow, we ride for Bourne.”