‘Sixty houses?’ Cecily could not imagine it. ‘The entire street?’
‘Aye.’ Leowine’s eyes were bleak. ‘And with Evie so near her time I thought of you. I know you’re to wed one of them, but I thought…I hoped…in honour of the connection between your family and hers…’
‘Of course,’ Cecily said, and it was her turn to reach out to Leofwine. ‘You did the right thing, and I assure you you are both most welcome.’
Leofwine gave a heartfelt sigh and looked about the Hall, seeing it, she suspected for the first time. ‘And Fulford’s new lord? Where is he? Will he bid us welcome?’
Cecily spread her fingers so he could see her ring. ‘My husband,’ she said firmly. ‘Sir Adam will not turn you away.’
Leofwine tugged thoughtfully at his beard. ‘I trust you are right. Evie is taking it hard, but we are lucky to have Fulford as a refuge. There are those in far worse case than us. I tell you, my lady, it’s enough to make me consider taking up arms for the first time in my life.’
‘Well said!’ Edmund cut in. His crutches clunked against the table as he lowered himself onto the bench. ‘Well said, Leo. Spoken like a true Saxon.’
‘Don’t, Edmund,’ Cecily said, but her protest was swept aside while the two men exchanged greetings and Edmund commiserated with Leofwine on his ill-fortune.
‘I have more news, Edmund,’ Leofwine continued, when he had brought Edmund up to date. ‘News that will gladden your heart. Those Frankish swine didn’t have it all their way.’
‘No?’ Edmund leaned his head on his hand and looked up, his face alight with expectation. ‘Pray continue, Leo.’
Glancing at the Hall door, Leofwine leaned forwards confidentially. ‘The mint, Edmund. The mint in Winchester has been robbed.’
A slow smile spread across Edmund’s face. ‘The Winchester mint? You do surprise me.’
Edmund’s tone did not match his words. Her heart sinking, Cecily’s eyes went from one man to the other, observing their reactions, guessing at the level of their knowledge, wondering at the level of their involvement. Had Judhael been responsible for this robbery? She chewed the inside of her mouth, debating with herself whether she judged it a crime to have robbed the mint at this moment. The Winchester mint was a Saxon mint, and yet with Duke’s William’s conquest it suddenly belonged to the Normans? Was that just? Those coffers had been filled by Saxons, with Saxon silver, for a Saxon king—King Harold.
‘Aye.’ Leofwine’s eyes gleamed. ‘Someone ripped the strongboxes clean from the floor. Must have used the same method—rope and oxen—that was used to pull down my workshop.’
‘Really?’
‘Aye, so there’s some justice.’
Edmund shifted closer. ‘Evie’s brother, I’ll be bound.’
Leofwine’s face became blank. ‘Could be. Couldn’t say.’
Cecily bit the inside of her mouth so hard the metallic taste of blood burst onto her tongue. Yes, it had to be Judhael. Pray God he had not dragged Emma into this. If they were caught the Duke of Normandy would be merciless. What was it Edmund had told her? That the whole of southern England had been laid waste…
Sick with dread, she held her peace. But dread was not her only emotion. She was frustrated too—frustrated and angry. Before Edmund’s arrival, Leofwine had deferred to her, had been content to talk to her. But now that Edmund was here—even though she was lady of the Hall and Edmund had been but one of her father’s many housecarls—they were doing what men always did: talking to each other as though she, the woman, was invisible. Her father had treated her mother in like manner. As a child she had resented it every time he had done this, and despite the passing of the years her view of such behaviour had not changed.
‘Judhael.’ Edmund nodded with satisfaction, but his expression was ugly. ‘Good—it’s time we had some substance behind us. The tide will turn in our favour, Leo. This is but the beginning.’
Leofwine’s face remained closed. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
Cecily shifted, uncomfortable with the way Edmund was leading the conversation, but just then Adam strode into the hall and Edmund clamped his mouth shut. An awkward silence gripped the room.
Adam had been helping Brian Herfu with the slaughtering, and he was numb with cold. He made straight for the warmth of the hearth. Newcomers. A pregnant woman was seated to one side of the fire, cradling the baby Philip, and at the other end of the hall Cecily was standing with Edmund and a bearded Saxon. She did not look happy.
Conscious of the grim aspect he presented, with his tunic and hose begrimed with sheeps’ blood, Adam nodded briefly to the woman at the fireside. ‘The annual winter slaughter,’ he murmured.
The woman swallowed and gave a curt little nod, but her eyes widened and fastened on the bloodstains. Adam knew by the way she lost colour that she had to be thinking of Hastings. Thankful that he had at least had the forethought to wash the worst from his hands in the river, he flexed his fingers before the fire and waited for feeling to return.
‘Adam, we have guests,’ Cecily said, breaking the silence. When she started walking towards him, he left the hearth and met her halfway. He took her hand and she shuddered. ‘You’re frozen!’
‘You can’t wear gloves when killing sheep.’
‘You’ve been helping Brian?’ she asked, surprise in her tone.
‘As you observed yourself yesterday, the practice field needed clearing. Did your father not take part in the cull?’
Slowly she shook her head, quietly observing the blood on his clothes, but she did not withdraw her hand from his. Indeed, she was rubbing her thumb over the back of his hand as though she would impart some warmth to him. ‘Never. But I expect Brian was grateful, since we’re so behindhand.’ She waved at the woman at the fireside. ‘Adam, this is Evie Smith, and this…’ she led him towards the trestle ‘…is her husband, Leofwine. He is a goldsmith. They are come from Winchester and are in need of our help.’
Adam’s insides were in a trice as cold as his fingers. ‘From Winchester?’ Golde Street. Hell, he had almost forgotten about Golde Street. These must be the people she had visited. Cursing himself for letting himself be distracted by a soft body and melting blue eyes, he forced himself to listen.
As she gave him her account of what had happened to Leofwine Smith’s workshop, his mind seemed to split in two. One part of him was attending to the tale his wife was telling while the other was wondering where her loyalties lay. If it came down to a stark choice between the Saxons—‘my people’ as she constantly chose to refer to them—and himself, how would she choose?
Duke William’s plan to throw up a motte and bailey in the south west of the city was not news to him, but he had had no idea that sixty homes would have to be demolished to accomplish it. He noted the stiffness in Leofwine’s posture and found he felt some sympathy for the man. The goldsmith had pride. He resented having to fling himself on Adam’s mercy.
‘My Hall is yours, Leofwine Smith,’ he said, in his stilted English. He wound his arm about Cecily’s waist, to endorse the welcome he knew she had given. Under his arm, Cecily held herself like a block of wood. Upset that her friends had been made refugees? Pray God that is all, Adam thought, giving her a slight squeeze. Her eyes met his, and they were dark with apprehension. Suspicion twisted within him like a cold snake. No, he thought. Don’t, my princess—don’t be thinking of betrayal. But there was more, he’d swear. Something else was eating at her…
‘You