King's Warrior: The Owerd Chronicles, #3

By James Gault

In 11th Century England, King William has achieved almost total domination of the Englisc and turns his attention to Scotland. Owerd, possibly the last of the Britons to be deemed 'lord', faces powerful enemies from all quarters. He seems to hold the king's favour by a thread, which only serves to encourage others to try and bring him down. Treachery abounds as he tries to juggle multiple roles and prove himself and his men worthy warriors for the Norman king. But will his lust for a woman finally prove his undoing?

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Gault
• Release date: Dec 30, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223588139

James Gault

James, or Jim by preference, is an ex Naval Captain who has spent much of his life at sea mucking around in ships and boats. He has had a wide variety of roles from operational to training, policy-making and diplomatic, including voluntary work as a firefighter and marine rescue skipper.He has an abiding interest in history, both fact and fiction. These days the joys of reading and writing are preferred, especially writing about the fictional adventures of others. He lives in a small coastal town in Australia.

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Cover courtesy German creative (Austria) and depositphotos.com

The Great North Road, England

-I-

England Late 1071

It was probably the reunion that did it, though it could have been his changed status now as a formally married man once more. Whichever it was, he – now simply known to all and sundry and more importantly also by King William – as ‘Lord Owerd’ or ‘Sea Lord’ and no longer either plain Owerd Millerson or Sir Owerd of Birdlip – was reinvigorated. With a new wife, he also had a determination to make the most of his life. The spark had been receipt of a message from Osric, his previous sergeant at arms.

‘My lord,’ the message had read, ‘our new church at Birdlip is now complete. In the absence of any local bishop, Brother Thomas has enlisted the support of Abbot Serlo from Gloucester to officiate at the consecration. The planned date is the last day of the year before Advent. I would be honoured if you can join us for the celebration.’

Owerd had stared at the missive and re-read it a number of times deep in thought. His late wife Hilda had been the instigator of arranging for a church to be constructed at Birdlip and that set his thoughts running. He missed her still. He had looked across at Wenna, his Cornish lover, and realized that he had long been taking her for granted. He held no doubts that she loved him and his own feelings toward her had mellowed from their purely lustful origins to a mature regard akin to love. Not the passionate variety that he had enjoyed with Hilda, but love nonetheless. That he should marry her was his immediate thought, perhaps as a surprise wedding at the Birdlip consecration. Fortunately, second thoughts prevailed. He realized that doing so in such a fashion would be taking her for granted even more.

‘Wenna, my love, would you consider marrying me?’

A shriek of joy had answered his question. To the astonishment of the servants who had come running to investigate the loud shriek, Wenna was seen taking Owerd by the hand and leading him back to their bedchamber. She proceeded to answer his question there more physically with a furious bout of lovemaking. Sated, the pair returned to the common-room in more sedate fashion and a string of sealed letters went off by housecarl in order to make the necessary arrangements.

Two days before the kalends of December an impressive company of a dozen mounted riders pulled into the entrance to Birdlip manor. Owerd had brought over half of his housecarls and they had risen to the occasion by currying and polishing everything in sight. With the added touch of Owerd’s innovative Wiltunshire, or Wiltshire as it was becoming known, surcoats of horizontal green and white stripes they drew the admiration of both their hosts and the assembled serfs who had been invited to provide logistical support whilst also taking a cup of ale with their lord and lady of the manor. Those last were Osric and his new wife Sigria who rushed to meet them with evident joy.

‘We are a packed house for the next two days my lord, but I have a guest suite ready for your intended and her maid. I trust Lady Wenna will not object to sharing?’

Owerd had completely overlooked the proprieties by which he and Wenna would not share sleeping arrangements until the marriage was formalized. ‘And for me?’

‘We have a small room over the stable block,’ announced Osric with a mortified expression. ‘I have been forced to provide the remaining guest rooms to Abbot Serlo and another important noble who I am advised will be arriving late in the day. You haven’t invited the king by any chance?’

He left without awaiting an answer or providing any clarification and busied himself organizing refreshments in the common-room. Owerd and Wenna followed him into a delighted throng of people they knew, many of whom had worked for Owerd in one capacity or another. Godric and his wife were here from Aust and Hakon had traveled from Gosport. There was the Norman Sieur Raymond from the nearby manor of Foxcote, Brother Thomas who would officiate at the wedding, Dobson the horse-master and Rhys the Waelisc who was now Osric’s sergeant-at-arms. Altogether it was a diverse group of people, garbed in a wide variety of clothes and colours and of much varied social standing. What struck Owerd was that they looked universally content with their lives and chatted amongst each other with no hint of social superiority from one to another. That even went to his observation of the Norman Abbot Serlo, a middle-aged and bearded cleric of stern appearance to whom Owerd was quickly introduced.

The abbot had clearly been well briefed on Owerd’s initiation of the new church and was spoken to warmly. That warmth extended to Brother Thomas, whose introduction of a learning centre for boys at Gloucester Abbey was drawing much praise. Their conversation was interrupted by the sounds associated with another large group of horsemen arriving at the manor. Despite Owerd’s presence, it was Osric’s role as lord of the manor to greet their new guests and he headed for the doorway. He failed to get there first, though, as there was a shriek from Wenna as she overtook him and darted outside. Looking tired but still imposing was the figure of Lord Condor, the previous Earl of Cornwall, regarded by many as the proper king of the Cornish and about to be Owerd’s father-in-law.

Having dismounted and shaken out a few stiffened limbs, Condor shook Osric’s hand politely, gently patted his daughter on the cheek and then proceeded to grasp Owerd in a bear hug that threatened to break some ribs.

‘Well met, Lord Owerd. You honour me by honouring my daughter, and more so by lifting from me the burden of my other offspring.’ There was a light but weary smile as he said that, then he turned to introduce his son.

‘Cadoc, you have met Lord Owerd once before, though I recall you then paying more attention to your new knife. You will obey him in all matters, however trivial, and without either resentment or demur.’

‘Yes father.’ Cadoc looked to be about fourteen years of age and was fresh-faced and of relatively slight build. He was also polite, which Owerd took to be a good sign for his future wardship of the lad.

‘My lords, please join the rest of us in the common-room for some refreshments before I have you shown to your quarters, which I regret are not of the standard to which you will be used.’

The common-room was by this time abuzz with noise, laughter and, less pleasantly, the odour of too many bodies crammed into too small a space. Osric had wisely begun substituting small beer for the previously supplied ale or there was a distinct possibility of this crowd getting out of control. Lord Condor and the abbot each made a discreet withdrawal to their chambers and Owerd began feeling in need of fresh air. The opportunity came when there was a disturbance at the entrance and Osric went to investigate. Owerd followed. The sight that met them was of a short broad-shouldered man of soldierly appearance being held firmly by two of Osric’s housecarls.

‘Found this man sneaking around the back of the stable block, sir,’ one housecarl announced. ‘Claims to be a sheriff’s man.’

That captured Owerd’s attention as much as anything would. Sheriff Roger and he were not on good terms. He listened attentively as Osric took charge.

‘What do you do here soldier, and why be acting so furtively?’

‘Apologies my lord,’ the man responded, ‘Sheriff Roger was informed of a large body of armed men assembling hereabouts and tasked me with investigating. I sought not to disturb anyone.’

Osric glanced at Owerd who merely shrugged.

‘Take him to the small barn, treat him kindly and get him some refreshments then set him on his way.’ Osric’s instructions were clear and the housecarls released the man from their tight grip and led him off.

Owerd had imbibed a reasonable amount of ale at this stage and was feeling mischievous. He summoned Cuthbert, his newly appointed sergeant-at-arms.

‘There is one of Sheriff Roger’s spies being given refreshments in the small barn. It would give the sheriff something to think on were that spy to accidentally overhear two of our men talking. They could be saying something about me having fifty men here at my disposal so it seems a good plan of mine to take the Gloucester castle and burn it to the ground with Sheriff Roger in it. Mayhap in about three days’ time. You get the idea?’

Owerd slept well that night. His accommodation was spartan and the smell of newly cut timber was strong. That all attested, he thought, to the amount of effort Osric had put in to these arrangements and he was well satisfied that he had passed over the management of Birdlip to his former sergeant-at-arms to good effect. No thoughts of Sheriff Roger disturbed his sleep.

The next morning saw a burst of late autumn sunshine. Fully booted and spurred in his best finery, Owerd joined the assembled throng awaiting the abbot and his acolytes. Brother Thomas came over and briefed him on what to expect, adding ‘Lady Wenna and her father will remain at the manor-house until the consecration is completed so as to prepare for the nuptial mass.’

Just then the abbot, still in simple dress but carrying a large wooden crucifix and escorted by two monks appeared. The gathering was clearly expected to follow them as they walked solemnly to the new church, chanting as they went. The procession wended its way three times around the church building, as apparently was customary, before prayers were said in the entranceway and much holy water sprinkled about. The congregation were then invited to enter while the abbot blessed the font and finally the altar, little more than a large table shrouded in a startlingly white cotton cloth. The solitary bell was then rung, much to everyone’s delight.

With the church thus consecrated, Brother Thomas then assumed control for the nuptials. With yet no benches or seats, the congregation was left to stand until Lord Condor, looking magnificent in burnished boiled leather armour, escorted Wenna inside. Owerd looked upon the very image of a Cornish princess – which she probably was - and had to admit to himself that he was mightily impressed. She looked both ravishing and the embodiment of innocence at the same time. Owerd was happy, and if the beaming smile on her face was any indication, so was Wenna.

The formalities had been blessedly short as were the celebrations. Lord Condor had been generous. A whole cart-load of gifts, albeit loaded on mules, included imported wines, pottery, textiles and silver drinking vessels. All had been offloaded into the common-room and examined in awe by all.

‘I was given to believe, by you no less, that one could not transport goods over the shore at Dintagel,’ Owerd had remarked.

Condor had smiled enigmatically. ‘The Mediterranean is but a boat trip away, Owerd. Tin goes, wine and goods arrive and where that all happens few need ever know. As an honoured member of the family as you now are, all will be revealed in the fullness of time. Meanwhile,’ and here he took him aside, ‘some fatherly advice. My experience of life is that most men accept their lot and are satisfied. If they see unfairness about them, they shrug and think there is naught they can do about it. I believe you to be a different sort of man. Do not hold back Owerd, if you see wrong-doing go ahead and try your utmost to correct the situation. But, please, do try not to get yourself killed in the process. I wish you and my daughter much happiness together: fare thee well.’

-II-

‘The irony, my dear Cuthbert, is that your Sea Lord is drowning! Drowning in an administrative burden of scrolls and parchment that I find tiresome, not to mention irksome and seemingly never ending. I doubt that the good Lord made me to be a sheriff. Did you know that there are nearly two hundred villages in Wiltshire, even more parishes, and every single one seems to have been sending emissaries here for me to resolve some trivial grievance or another?’

‘But Lord, you are a popular sheriff with the burgesses and freeholders and the shire is as peaceful as any I hear of in the land. Even the ale-houses in Sarisburie are quiet since you threatened the owners with fines should their patrons cause mischief.’

‘Oh Lord above, here comes another one.’ Owerd’s comment was triggered by a hammering on the manor-house door and the faint sounds of weeping.

‘Go see to it Cuthbert,’ he added, but before his sergeant could leave the room Thurstan the steward appeared looking much flustered.

‘My lord, there is a nun at the door who claims the abbey has been attacked.’

‘Bring her here to me please Thurstan. Cuthbert, you stay.’

It was little more than a moment before a red-eyed nun in Benedictine garb, both out of breath and appearing the worse for wear, was led in.

‘Be seated and tell me the story Sister.’ He looked across to Thurstan and said ‘I think some small beer might be in order Thurstan, and ask Lady Wenna to join us.’

‘Please take your time and tell me what happened.’

‘Lord, a group of armed men with a cart rode up to the abbey and demanded that the abbess come forth. When she did so, they took hold of her while most of the men disappeared into the chapter house and Saint Mary’s church. After a little while they began reappearing carrying the abbey’s valuables which they began loading on the cart. I also heard screams from within the chapter house so thought it best to run for your assistance.’

‘How many armed men Sister? If you can recall how they were dressed and armed that would be of help.’

‘I saw about a dozen soldiers Lord, though there could have been more, and one man better dressed who remained on his horse while he watched over their work. There were no distinguishing marks on the soldiers, who all had large knives at the waist. The mounted man, though, had a rearing animal on his surcoat: much like the ones the king’s men sometimes wear but only one animal.’

The animal the sister referred to was probably a lion, Owerd thought, and if so, he well knew that insignia. He had noticed it on the shield of Bishop Odo.

‘Cuthbert, I want every available warrior armed and mounted in the forecourt as a matter of urgency.’

Cuthbert left and crossed paths with Wenna as she entered. She was sufficiently restrained to ask no questions but took a stool next to the distressed nun and awaited an explanation.

‘Your name Sister?’ The question was put gently.

‘I am Sister Adela.’

‘Well Sister, my lady wife Wenna here will take care of you until this matter is resolved. You can explain all to her and I am cert she will make sure you are well looked after.’

Wenna was astute. She still asked no questions but simply took the nun by the hand and led her into her private parlour, summoning her maid Kendra on the way. Meanwhile, Owerd was rapidly equipping himself for battle as his mind struggled between anger and caution. Anything to do with Bishop Odo was going to be fraught with danger. Outside he was pleased to see that, unbidden, young Cadoc had saddled his horse and had him waiting at the entrance. He was less pleased to note that Cadoc had also armed himself and evidently expected to join the other warriors. He decided not to make an issue of it.

‘Cadoc, you stay close to me and do not venture off without my permission.’

‘Yes lord.’

‘Cuthbert,’ he called loudly and the sergeant appeared quickly at his side. ‘I want you to take four of our more capable archers and go around the rear of the abbey. I will delay long enough for you to be in position close enough to give covering fire to our main body which will approach from the front. Until we have a better understanding of what is happening, do not engage anyone unless threatened.’

Cuthbert cut out four of the housecarls he had selected and rode off, while Owerd addressed the rest of his men. He was quietly congratulating himself on having increased the number of housecarls at Wilton, such that he now had two dozen warriors to call upon. One of the benefits of wealth, he thought, that he was grateful for.

‘Men, we know not exactly what we face except that there has been some sort of forceful intrusion into the abbey by up to a score of mounted men. This may well be a legal activity authorized elsewhere but there is a report of nuns being manhandled and I will not countenance that. We go in cautiously and in peace but be prepared to defend yourselves and the nuns as events unfold.’

Being only a fraction of a league away, the abbey was soon approached, with Owerd leading a score of his mounted warriors up the approach pathway at a gentle walk. Coming closer to the buildings themselves, he could see a cart in the forecourt with men moving between it and the abbey entrance. Nearby two armed men stood holding a nun. He surmised that was the abbess herself. Toward the rear of the cart a mounted man looked to be directing events and it was toward him that Owerd rode.

The mounted leader was slow in appreciating that he had company. Owerd was thus only a spear-throw away when he drew rein and called out.

‘What happens here? You men unhand that woman.’

The startled man looked very young. ‘Bishop’s business,’ he said ‘who are you?’

‘Sheriff,’ was Owerd’s abrupt reply. ‘And if those men don’t unhand the abbess immediately there will be blood shed.’

‘This is no business of yours sheriff. I am here on the orders of the earl bishop to retrieve items that properly belong in Westminster and to aid the restoration of the cathedral of Canterbury.’

‘Interesting,’ was all that Owerd said. He was well aware that Canterbury Cathedral had burned to the ground just a few years past and that the Norman Archbishop of Canterbury was reputed to have been tasked with its restoration. He paused for a few moments thought, during which he recalled Lord Condor’s words and decided here lay a wrong that needed righting.

‘What you say may be so, but as sheriff I am responsible to the king for the peace and good order of this shire. What I see before me is neither peaceful nor conducive to good order. You will get down from that horse of yours and order your men to lay down their arms.’

As he said that he put his arms behind him and spread them apart – the signal for his men to spread out to cover the abbey and its approaches. The young mounted man looked to be undecided upon what to do. It took some time for him to fully appreciate that he faced a stronger force but eventually dismounted and faced Owerd.

‘I am Jean de Conteville, son of Bishop Odo, and your interference here will bring grave consequences upon you.’

‘I failed to hear you order your men to disarm Sieur de Conteville. Do so now.’

There must have been a streak of foolish obstinacy in the young man for he said nothing and merely glared. That perhaps of itself encouraged one of the soldiers holding the abbess to draw his seax and raise it in a threatening gesture. That this was a fatal mistake was seen by all when the feathered tail of an arrow appeared sprouting almost immediately from his chest. His fellow soldier drew and dropped his seax and let go of the abbess who promptly turned and walked calmly toward Owerd. She appeared unflustered and walked with unhurried dignity.

‘This is a plundering expedition, Lord Sheriff,’ said she. ‘These men aimed to rob the abbey of its valuables and take them elsewhere, supposedly London. I have not seen such but from the cries for help I have heard this past little while, I suspect also that some of my flock have been assaulted.’

Owerd simply nodded in acknowledgement and turned to Ralph, his nearest and a more senior housecarl.

‘Have that man bound,’ he ordered, gesturing toward the Norman leader, ‘then take the men forward and disarm all these raiders. Keep them under guard out in the open so we can watch for trickery.’

Owerd’s men spread out, some dismounting and others riding around the edges of the abbey, to locate and disarm the rest of the interlopers. There came the sound of clashing steel from one side of the abbey, followed by a loud cry of pain. Owerd thought to investigate but was distracted by Cadoc who had ridden alongside him and was pointing across the field to the side where a soldier could be seen running away. An introduction to responsibility seemed in order.

‘Take one man and go fetch him back,’ he directed.

Owerd dismounted and offered his arm to Abbess Hawise. ‘Shall we investigate the damage Reverend Mother?’

The pair walked together into the chapter-house and were equally dismayed at the sight inside. Every cupboard and storage chest had been opened and goods were strewn about haphazardly where they had been discarded