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Note: Most modern historians no longer use the term “dark ages” and prefer Early Middle Ages because they were a time of great inventiveness and change.
Silea and the knight galloped north through the summer forest on one stolen horse. Seated in front, he zigzagged by branches, but they both had inevitable scratches and cuts. He might have injuries for all she knew, but he seemed indestructible. Silea had last night’s arrow wound in her arm still wrapped. They sweated and their hearts beat wildly after escaping the Saxon camp. She had tried to keep her breasts from bouncing against his back, and she had to clutch him tighter to flatten herself to him. Her damp shift and his tunic were drying against their skin.
Just a week ago she was also en route to Dukes Owain’s lands, but from her homeland to the west, Laon. The marriage with Owain had made sense. She had met him a year ago, last summer in the year 411 A.D. when his war party travelled through her land after first bargaining with, then defeating Angles and Vandals to the east. However, there could be more invasions from any direction. Fifteen years older than she was made no difference to her Uncle, or anyone really. As long as there were no blood feuds between their families. She had always thought she could be married at Laonhenge, but no matter. Owain was tall, rich and kind to her, although thin and asceticlooking. He had never married as he fought late Roman Empire coastal raiders who attacked from the north and east in boats.
Rome had been sacked last year by Visigoths. The last few emperors had made it clear that Britain would have to defend itself from raiders. When raids were less during the RomanoBriton rule, so was trading. Even though they could have raiders on all sides of their islands now, Owain joined other chiefs to hold back the Saxons and also the Picts.
She loved her western lands, with its rocky beaches and her freedom to go riding in the surf after she learned her Latin and household duties. They respected the water spirits. Silea, at age 25, was excellent at organizing and commanding, but less eager to do baking and cheesemaking and needlework. She was the heir to the land, and she could bully her uncle, as leader of their fortifications. They had basic peace with Gaelic settlements along the coast. Now that the Romans had left, their agricultural and war practices were starting to be renamed with British words like furlong furrow long was the distance an ox could plough before taking a rest.
But now she rode fast with this annoying army auxiliary, now knight, who had complicated things. This was the second time he had saved her neck in a week. Knighted after he had also proven himself to Owain. I wish I had rescued his vexing ass twice too instead of once, she thought. Then he’d be deferential to me. Or maybe not, with all his inappropriate comments. She was grateful for her life, at least, as the baleful sun looked down.
Last week when she went east, she would be a peace weaver between their British tribes. Owain was Dux Belloram (leader of wars), or ‘Dukes,’ as the government decentralized and returned to the cities. Silea wasn’t the least bit worried that she was not a virgin for her wedding. At 19, she and a young visiting minstrel had once solved the riddle of hormones and secret body parts. The kissing was enjoyable but the act was nothing special to her.
In the traveling wagon, just as she itched in her wool dress for the tenth time, their group had stopped suddenly and blood coursed through them all at a situation. Although she wasn’t supposed to, she had peeked past a drape of the wagon. Her three ladies in waiting didn’t dare, but they all heard the metallic sound of swords unsheathing in the protective circle around them. “Maybe a small skirmish with locals,” said Lady Silea. However, the small band riding down a ravine had coarse sacks for robbery on their saddles.
Then they heard their own men start to attack and the dreaded sound of metal ripping skin, grunts and yells and screams coming from the hillside. Silea had peered out one of the other side’s open window drape and saw no mounted guards, only an riderless horse with a dead body on the ground, and more of the ravine sloping down.
Taking a small apple out of their basket, she had lured the horse to them, boldly sticking her head and arms out to grab his bridle, and tied him around the base of two cutout windows. “Better to have a horse handy than not,” she had told the ladies.
Her guards had moved a bit to fight several paces away, and two attackers’ voices were almost to the fighting side of their wagon! One shouted, “Grab only Lady Silea.”
Silea urgently told her ladies, “They want me. Ladies, stay together and goddess bless.” She pushed herself out the window, untied the horse, jumped on and tried to canter it away quietly. She always wore full skirts that could mount a horse, and she was glad she wore green to try to blend in with the forest.
Even as she heard her guards come back to fight these two attackers, a third and fourth down in the ravine yelled, “There!” and she had to kick in her heels to make her mount gallop along on the Roman road. Her head covering flying away, long brown braids streaming behind her, she could hear her two pursuers come up to the road. She was making progress, too, until the horse went down with a sprain.
Silea rolled off and immediately ran through the thickest part of the forest. Her pursuers saw, tried to ride after her, and were forced to dismount and look for her on foot. She had climbed the biggest tree she could find and tried to hide herself in the crook, twenty feet high.
But the two attackers seemed just as far away, starting to go in circles tramping through the undergrowth. She quietly drew out her iron knife. Suddenly, she heard grunts and a scuffle, and someone was fighting the two attackers. Swords clashed and clanged. And then they were practically underneath her.
A traveling man was furiously fighting one, then another. He maneuvered one pursuer right under her tree, and then turned to the farthest man, whom he felled. Silea knew what to do, jumped down on one, and slit the pursuer’s throat as they both tumbled to the ground.
She quickly rolled away and saw flash of sword as the new man stabbed her pursuer too. It was almost ual in its thrusting finality.
The man sheathed his sword, put both his palms up and came toward her, seeing her holding the knife with her eyes blazing. “Friend,” he said, as their eyes met. “I saw them attack your escort. Your men have won.”
“And my ladies?” She saw he was a young merchant or soldier, with a dirty but good brown tunic, brown leggings and Roman boots. Short and a bit heavily built, with unruly dark blond hair and beard. Brown eyes bored into her.
“They’re still safe in the wagon.”
Silea hesitated. He saw, and said, “Come with me, you wild princess, or stay there. I’ll tell your retinue.” She had to trust him, sheathed her knife, and followed. They came to the road, quite high up.
The man scrambled up the ravine, lay down on the road and held his arms down for her. “Jump up, and I’ll catch ya.”
“No thank you.” Silea carefully climbed up. She thought she could make the last few feet, but he caught her anyway, strong arms pulling her up, then around her butt, her breasts practically in his face.
“Well, you could cushion your fall.”
Her eyes burned scathingly as she pulled away from him. “Watch your tongue, brandisher! I’m Lady Silea of Laon.” She was well aware her body was like no wispy maiden, but with a thicker waist and strong limbs. She was the same height as he was.
“Are you sure you’re not a woodland divinity? You can jump on me any time, you brave lady. Pretty too.”
She slapped him. Even though he certainly was demonstrative.
“Ha, I’m just speaking the truth,” he said.
Silea was unnerved. Her eyes wandered to his midsection and she thought she could see a hardon. Blushing, she looked away and he laughed.
“Yes?” He came right up to her.
It had to be a joke, and she could flirt back jokingly. “Well, I don’t even know your name, sir.” She tried to half smile but her brows were still scrunched up. She pulled leaves and twigs out of her braids.
“Raine,” he said in a softer but deeper voice, rolling the ‘R’ in the back of his throat. He fixed his eyes on her steadily. No man would do this politely.
She was transfixed for only a second. I can see how he bags his women. Probably a lot, too.
“How did you leave the Roman army so young? Did you…”
“Desert? No. I was a citizen soldier. I’m a little short, you know, even though they weren’t picky toward the end. I’m a free man.”
“Fortunately, I hear my group.”
Raine heard them too. “I want you, but I’ll settle for a kiss.”
She ignored him and turned to call out to the knights. They came over, asked if she was alright, found out the , and clapped Raine on the back. They always looked at Silea respectfully; now even more so, and attended to the stray horse.
By the time she was back to the wagon with her ladies, her lead knight was thanking Raine and asking him questions.
“I’m a warrior for hire,” he said. Her ladies giggled nervously. Why should I not be surprised, thought Silea.
“Our noble, Owain, will reward you for aiding Lady Silea.
“I’ll join you, then,” said Raine.
Silea couldn’t say anything. But in Owain’s company, Raine wouldn’t dare harass her. As exasperating as he was. The procession started out again and her ladies wiped her hand and combed the long ribbands out of what was left of her braids as Silea calmed herself from the excitement. One of them said he looked like an ugly troll. She told them, however, his bravery was no joke.
Owain’s fortifications were truly a castle, built on high ground with a commanding view. Built by slaves and soldiers, it consisted of ramparts and ditches just north of Hadrian’s wall, but far enough from Pictland. It enclosed a town, with two stone villas for nobility, and thatched houses and shops. The ramparts were also to hold off anyone with plague symptoms at the gates.
The ‘Dukes’ himself in highly carved helmet of mixed metals and the court all came out to welcome her, everyone from her retinue also dressed in their best colorful capes over Roman style garb. Silea wore a blue gown with a long overvest of rich cloth as she placed her hand in Owain’s.
He murmured, “I heard about the incident. We’re pleased you have arrived. Shall we have the wedding in two weeks?”
“Yes, my lord. I’m glad to come to your lands,” she said loyally.
Then, all the men went to the great hall and the visiting women were escorted to their new rooms. Silea was not pleased. She would have asked her intended husband if she could stay, even if in the background, if she knew he had a war council so soon after her arrival. The last thing she heard was Owain saying, “We’ll have to make peace with the Saxons. Britain is starved and poor after all the fighting.” And then her ladies were unpacking in their new rooms, which were large and comfortable.
One of her ladies noted they had more slaves here than back home to empty pisspots, fetch water and work. They all had a brief discussion of how many, many Bretons had been enslaved and sent to Rome and other colonies over the years. Silea only knew what her late mother had told her: it was just the way of the world. Many creatures of all kinds in the world were captured; some were treated badly; some well. Some released. Far back in time it was this way. Silea and her ladies had compassion for brandings and mutilations, but slaves had to be treated differently. This is how all her ladies were reared. In a violent culture.
Owain did visit, hours later, to see if she was comfortable. “I’m most impressed with the soldier who fought off your attackers.” Silea had helped, but she asked instead how the war council went. He laughed, saying he knew she would ask, and he told her they actually were going to strengthen some outposts in two days. There would be a feast in her honor tomorrow. He kindly bid her goodnight.
She met the nobility and clergy, the knights and their ladies at the banquet and was pleased by all the attention to her and her traveling party. A roast pig, pheasant, barley and rye bread with quince jam, summer vegetables, plums, cherries and honey cakes were served. The ale had a pleasant raspberry taste, and Silea wanted to remember to make that at Laon, but it could be years until she went back. Everything was lighthearted and festive so she was determined to enjoy it. Raine had a new tunic in their host’s colors and he raised his cup to her silently. She ignored him and just listened to conversation about her new home.
Owain’s advisor, whom she had met today, was said to be descended from the banished druwides. He was talking to some of the noblemen about education.
One of the knights said loudly, “Paulus of Tarsus said that salvation comes only through faith in the Jesus Christ, men must not lay together, and women must keep silent.”
“You sound like a Greek or a Jew. Preaching about a Messiah was common in Paul’s time.”
“We know they’d give us their God and take away our Dagda and Belatucadrus.”
“The Saxons at least have as many gods as we do.”
“The Christian God may come to drive out the old ones.”
“It would take an act of the gods.” Everyone laughed.
The next day, after a group had gone to the outposts, two knights escorted her party around the town surrounding the castle. It was enclosed by fortifications. She could ride outside to the nearby farms worked by slaves and serfs, escorted, of course. Inside the walls, the streets had been freshly swept of animal droppings and the latrine trench to the north layered with ash.
Merchants, soldiers, bakers, metal workers, weavers and their families seemed to all come out to welcome her from thatched huts or wooden buildings, and she smiled back. Men and woman laboriously ground grain on large flat rocks near the granary. Food vendors served those who didn’t have a kitchen. The Roman baths looked enticing. The noble families in stone villas vied for her attention, and she liked and spoke to the quiet Lady Gisela. She seemed wellrespected and with a lot of common sense.
Silea and her ladies went back to Gisela’s Romanesque villa the next day. They were welcomed into a pretty mosaic courtyard by a slave.
“Lady Silea!” Gisela welcomed them all and poured them wine in a sunny room. “How was your journey? Are you getting settled?”
“I am as settled as I can be,” Silea said with a laugh. “We did have an incident on the road. Robbers, and then a lone mercenary, I think killed the ones surrounding me. He was so annoying though.” Everyone chuckled.
“My husband can be trying at times. Sir Caxton. He’s at Sir Owain’s side now. But we, shall I say, I, observe a great deal of the castle’s happenings. And I know you will be excellent in your new role, my dear.”
“I hope we’ll become good friends.” Silea clasped her hands.
When the outpost party returned a week later, all talk was about Raine distinguishing himself in combat. Now many ladies began to notice him, especially when they heard he’d be knighted and offered a seat on the war council. Her betrothed, Owain, greeted her with a kiss on the forehead and said he had to change his clothes for the banquet.
Silea went to the stables to look over the horses, and she saw Raine instructing a young squire on the care of his own steed.
“Lady Silea,” Raine said kindly, his eyes following her every movement.
She could not afford to snub one the men to be knighted, so she nodded at him and continued along the stalls. With her boots, she wore a dress that would not drag in the dirt, but it had pockets for oats and she let her own horse eat some out of her hand.
Another knight shouted at a boy and beat him with his whip. “Never touch my sword again!”
Silea didn’t like to see this. She saw Raine had followed her and he shook his head in the direction of the others. She took his meaning: don’t interfere.
“What are you doing down here?” she demanded of Raine. She thought she was having a private moment.
He paused. “As I told you last week, a friend. And to look out for you a bit.”
“I don’t need you.”
“Are these people and lands all that you hoped for?” he asked.
“Don’t be cheeky.” Her eyes flashed. Do not shed a tear for Laon in front of him, she forcefully told herself.
“Or cocky?” he asked, smiling a bit. That made her gasp at the innuendo. “Silea, Silea. A Roman name with the heart of a Briton warrior. I came here for you.”
“You’re an arrogant cockalorum,” she frowned. “Don’t say such things. All the luck you’re going to have is getting knighted.”
He laughed. “I am lucky. Because I believe the Lady of the Castle is supposed to kiss the newly knighted man.”
She scowled.
Raine continued. “I’m only sorry I didn’t find you first before the Dux did. When I saw you, warrior woman like Boudicca, in that tree, with your wild eyes, I would have gladly died in your lap.”
Was that a joke? Silea thought so. “Will you ever stop debating my engagement? I’m getting married in a few days, you jobbernowl.”
Raine folded his arms and stood quietly for once.
She didn’t want to tell Owain about all this talk lest he think her unchaste for listening. “Who’s Boudicca?
“When Rome first came here, on the eastern coast, she was leader of the Eceni tribe and killed thousands and thousands of Romans who tried to take her land.
“Oh! What happened to her?”
“When she and her daughters were defeated, flogged and worse, she drank poison rather than be under Rome’s thumb. But a great lady.”
“We should honor her more. Many Britons were killed, left or were enslaved. Britons did not bow down easily to you Romans.”
“It’s true,” Raine said, unruffled. “But every civilization is conquered by another. From Sumeria to Aegyptus and then around Mare Nostrum, or the Mediterranean Sea. You know that means Middle Earth in Latin.” Silea walked away.
Later she asked her friend, “Gisela, at the knighting ceremony, should we present a gift to Sir Raine?” She rolled the R in his name a bit.
“Yes, my dear. Excellent thought. I’ll walk with you to the steward and you can get an ornate goblet from the coffers.” Silea picked a plainer one that would suit him better. He’d probably sell it.
So at the knighting, she smiled warily and presented just the gift to Raine. He kissed her hand and she withdrew it to under her veil, rubbing it softly with her other hand.
At the feast, people drank heavily mead and wine and the knights grew a bit raucous. Her own ladies in waiting, now a group of six, teased Raine and other younger men. Silea watched out of the corner of her eye as she sat next to Owain. Raine was unmoved by either drink or lady, it seemed. “No, girls, there is only one lady for me.”
Silea was unsettled.
Owain took her hand to kiss it dryly. “You look very beautiful, Lady Silea. I’m happy that we’ll be wed.”
She smiled, but it was probably just her new rubycolored finery that got the compliment. And the way to engage his attention was to talk about battles.
She asked him, “Why did Rome never conquer Hibernia, the Celtic island to the west?”
“Hmm, probably because of alliances there, distance, supply chain problems.”
“Yes. And perhaps all the changes of Emperors.”
“Perhaps. And commanders occupied by Picts to the north, in Caledonia.” Then the person on Owain’s left needed his attention, and he turned away.
Raine stood near her elbow. “We did trade, though. Maybe Rome conquered the Eirish with views and beliefs rather than swords.” He smiled and the lady on her right drew him into conversation.
Dancing had started, the short lutes and drums picked up the pace and Silea felt like she was back home. Owain excused himself to retire, and she followed dutifully to head to her own rooms. She could have stayed there with Gisela and Caxton. Silea decided to find a quiet place where she could get a breath of air.
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