The third novel in the Winfrith series is now published and available on Amazon both as a paperback and a Kindle text amazon.co.uk/dp/1500663166 . In a few days it should be possible to 'Look inside' and read a sample but in the meantime here's the opening few paragraphs... 1 The smoke-stained rafters were slowly, much too slowly, beginning to take shape above Winfrith’s head. Nothing would ever make winter daylight come faster, however much she wished it. She lowered her feet to the floor, lifting her shoulders and arching her back, stretching away the stiffness of a night on a hard sleeping platform with too few blankets. Doing her best to avoid the worst creaks in the planks underfoot, she felt her way across the floor to the corner where the ale bucket stood. She slid the dry leather lid gently aside and scooped some of the ale into a cup. No-one had bothered to refill the bucket and she felt the cup scrape the bottom before it was even half full. She screwed up her face as she took the first mouthful, more sour sludge than thirst-quenching liquid. She glanced across to where Olwen and Ourdilic were sleeping. Two girls, not-quite-women, striking enough to draw looks from Alfred’s thegns…both expecting to be waited on hand and foot. She could wake them of course…remind them there was kindling to be gathered, logs to be cut, water to be fetched, onions to slice, soup to cook …but that would mean listening to their complaints, arguing, putting up with their muttering and sour looks. No, better to leave them to stir in their own time. Perhaps they might even wake while she was on her way to the spring and discover there was no-one about to find their clothes or fetch their food. Winfrith picked up the ale bucket and stepped outside into the damp morning air. Heavy grey clouds hung motionless above the trees and rooftops and a few thin spirals of woodsmoke curled listlessly up towards them. She kicked impatiently at the dead leaves around the door. What on earth had persuaded her to agree to look after both girls? It wasn’t as if either one of them was hers. She ought not to complain about Olwen. That was largely her own doing and at least she could feel satisfied at having freed a slave from a harsh master. Ourdilic on the other hand was a different matter altogether. Only such an unworldly man as Alfred would expect the wilful daughter of a dead Cornish king to settle peaceably into a Saxon household. Just because Winfrith had ensured Olwen conducted herself meekly in the king’s presence, Alfred assumed she was just the woman to teach Ourdilic similar ways. He’d clearly had no experience of trying to offer her advice! It wasn’t that Ourdilic resented being brought to Chippenham…quite the opposite in fact. She reveled in it. To her the royal vill was the natural place for a king’s daughter. The fact that her father’s kingdom had been Cornwall and that most Saxons thought all who dwelt there were either witches, monsters or traitors didn’t seem to trouble her at all. She walked the streets with her head held high, assuming even poor Wiltshire folk owed her respect. Winfrith kicked a loose stone across the rutted, muddy track that separated the house from the strip fields opposite. The track passed around the edge of the house before climbing a slight rise and heading out across the moor beyond. She’d had no time to explore it but now she began to follow it, wondering about the other houses which might lie further along its way. Even at this early hour would there be other people waking and stretching, grumbling about how stiff and hungry they were, and railing at the laziness of those still asleep? The thought cheered her up a little. Others had worse lives…had more to complain about probably. Olwen might be at her side for a few years yet but not for ever. If most men were wary of taking freed slaves as wives, Olwen’s blue eyes and slender waist would overcome someone’s hesitancy one day. Ourdilic would surely be off her hands sooner though. Those high cheekbones, the black eyes, the easy long-limbed stride…some thegn or other would be charmed by them before too long. She had land too, enough to encourage even the most suspicious of Saxon thegns to put aside his doubts about the Cornish. She’d have Alfred’s help in finding a suitable husband as well. Why else had he insisted she be given a safe haven in Chippenham? He had to be counting on her one day marrying someone who would bring added power and strength to the kingdom of Wessex. Winfrith had seen hopeful signs too, though perhaps not ones Alfred himself would encourage if he got to hear of them. Ourdilic seemed to have developed an ability to know precisely the moment Alfred’s nephew, Aethelwold, would emerge from the noisy companionship of the king’s hall. She would tie back her thick, wavy hair, demand that someone found her favourite necklace or bracelet for her, and dash outside to make sure he could not pass without setting eyes on her and perhaps even exchanging a few words. And if Winfrith still saw her as a child, even as shy and awkward a man as Aethelwold could surely see the woman she would soon become. Few Chippenham wives would give Aethelwold a second look, despite his rank, but Ourdilic seemed quite unworried by his unimpressive appearance or manner and no doubt he was grateful for any attention at all, even if it did come from a twelve-year-old girl. Unable to get the two girls out her mind Winfrith turned round and headed back towards the house, intending to insist they fetch water before she would serve up breakfast. On re-entering the house she was surprised to find that the wattle panel which divided the room, allowing the girls a private area to sleep in, had already been moved aside. An untidy pile of clothes and blankets suggested the two of them had made a hurried exit. As she bent down to pick up the discarded heap from the floor she heard the unmistakable crunch of horses’ hooves crossing the stony track outside. She moved to the doorway, taking care to keep in the shadows. She was just in time to see Olwen and Ourdilic emerge from between two neighbouring houses as three horsemen were passing. Ourdilic called out a greeting and while two of the riders appeared to take little notice the third hung back, leaning down to say something to the girls. Winfrith had no difficulty in recognising Aethelwold with his lank reddish hair, small eyes and pointed chin. He looked in need of a good meal too, his clothes hanging loosely off his shoulders. Not that his looks appeared to trouble Ourdilic. Whatever he said was enough to cause her to her to throw back her head with laughter and even from the shelter of the doorway Winfrith could see Aethelwold blush with pleasure. Winfrith watched as Ourdilic answered him, reluctant to interfere. It was hard to see what harm could come of a few words exchanged at the roadside. In any case offering Ourdilic advice was generally a fruitless pursuit and if Aethelwold was flattered enough to return Ourdilic’s interest there was little Winfrith could do about it. Alfred would probably see it differently of course. He would no doubt blame Winfrith for not keeping the girl on a tighter rein, but there was also just the smallest chance he might raise no objection to his nephew’s interest. He must know Aethelwold well enough…petulant, wavering, spiteful, plain…not the most marriageable man in Wessex. He might even see Ourdilic as a potential wife for his nephew…if he thought it would bring him the support of the Cornish. Winfrith smiled at her own wishful thinking. No-one knew the minds of Cornishmen and a shared joke and a betrothal were a thousand miles apart. Whatever Ourdilic had said, it was clearly enough to coax Aethelwold down from his horse. The moment his feet touched the ground, she took his arm and began to shepherd him towards the house. Winfrith stepped back from the doorway, hoping she hadn’t been seen, and snatched up an abandoned piece of tablet weave as she crossed to the wall bench. The wooden tablets had been hastily made, the holes drilled unevenly, and what had begun as a simple braid of blue and green threads now looked little better than a tangle of wool. Patience would be needed to rescue it but the task would allow her to observe Ourdilic and Aethelwold without it seeming too obvious. Winfrith began to unpick the braid, expecting to see Ourdilic come through the door at any moment, but if the girl had planned to lure Aethelwold inside, she had clearly thought better of it. The sound of voices suggested they had halted outside, not far from the door. Winfrith found that if she gave up the pretence of weaving and listened hard she could just make out their words. “I thought Olwen would never take the hint,” Ourdilic was saying. “It’s impossible to talk round here without someone’s ears flapping. We could step inside except that Winfrith would be watching us like a hawk.” “I should be getting back…” “You don’t have to go yet. We’ve hardly had a minute.” “There’s much to do.” “But you’ve just spent the whole day watching out for Danes. You must be allowed some time off for pleasure, surely?” “Not much. We…we have to be wary…all the time. There’s not much room for…for, you know…pleasure.” Aethelwold’s voice lurched so uncertainly from high notes to low that Winfrith was forced to suppress a giggle. “Well you must be able to think of better things to look at than forest tracks and horses’ backsides, whatever your precious King Alfred thinks. Wouldn’t you rather rest your eyes on a beautiful woman?” There was a long pause, followed by an awkward clearing of the throat. “I suppose so…all in good time. One day perhaps.” “But why not now? What about the beautiful woman you see before you?” “But you’re not…a woman, I mean…though I’m sure you’ll become one soon.” Winfrith smiled to herself. Perhaps there was hope for the Aethelwold yet. “What’s the matter with you Wessex men? Something in the air gets in your eyes and blinds you? In Cornwall there are girls my age been married for a twelvemonth or more. There’s no-one else you’d rather have, is there?” Winfrith never learned what Aethelwold might have said in answer to that for the weaving tablets slipped from her lap and fell noisily against the floorboards. All she did hear was a curse from Ourdilic and the sound of the girl protesting as Aethelwold made a swift getaway. Winfrith laughed as she picked the tablets up. Ourdilic’s weaving had been about as successful as her own!
Just added it to my Kindle - have been waiting for this. Something to read on the train down for the Udinese game on Friday...
Finishing a book is very strange...you're pleased it's done but start wondering whether to start another. Mrs H says it keeps me out of mischief
Don't know if anyone's had chance to take a look at this, www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1500663166 , the third novel in the Winfrith series. I've had some good feedback from those who've read it, though no-one seems keen to write a review, however brief, this time. Any thoughts welcome...
