A Man of Value by Anna Markland

tension leave Agneta’s body as she sucked in a deep breath. He wondered what was hidden up her skirt that had her in such a state.
    “The Normans and their much vaunted Peace of God , my arse,” he whispered. “Saxons are only safe if they can lay claim to a Norman protector. I wanted to rip out his cursed Norman eyes for the way he looked at you.”
    Agneta cuddled into him more tightly and he pressed his arms over hers. “Once across, we’ll follow the river and the Roman Wall westward, to Carlisle.”
    Agneta shivered. “I daren’t look down. I hate water. I’ll feel safer once we’ve crossed, and I can hand back this burden. The sackcloth is chafing my skin.”
    But Caedmon sensed there was much more to it than a minor discomfort. Would she ever allow him to share her burdens?
    ~~~
    In the tiny village of Wylam, the lodging house didn’t have enough room for all of them. Caedmon, Leofric and Agneta slept in the stables. A beck ran behind the building. The current was too swift for them to enter the water, especially since Agneta couldn’t swim, but Caedmon was able to draw water for drinking and washing. Agneta wouldn’t go near the water.
    “This isn’t very grand, I’m afraid,” he lamented.
    “It’s all right, Caedmon. We have no alternative,” she replied coldly.
    “I’ll keep you warm,” he offered.
    “I’m not concerned about warmth. I just don’t like things that scurry and crawl and stables are full of them.”
    He teased her by walking his fingers up her arm. “Don’t worry, I won’t let the wee beasties bite you.”
    She pushed his hand away with a grimace. “Stop that!”
    He could see she wasn’t in a good mood. In an effort to lighten it, he suggested, “Let’s go inside and at least sample their ale.”
    “Will we be welcome?”
    “I think so. It’s an old Saxon village. Haven’t seen any Normans about.”
    “Aye, the cursed lord of Balliol gave our village to the Priory at Tynemouth,” one of the villagers complained, once the travellers had been judged acceptable, and the conversation inevitably turned to the invaders. “Nigh on eight year sin’.”
    “And do the monks ever come here?” Leofric asked as he joined them.
    “No, Godemite , but they take their due from us. Curse the Normans.”
    “Aye. I’ll drink to that curse,” Caedmon replied, raising his tankard.
    “But you’re Scots. What do you care?”
    “No. We’re not Scots. We’re Saxons. I’m the son of a hero of Hastings, a housecarl to King Harold,” Caedmon retorted proudly. “My fellow knight here, Leofric, is a hero of Alnwick. And my wife is a Northumbrian girl, born and bred.”
    “Northumbria? One of us then? Whereabouts?”
    “Bolton, near Alnwick,” Agneta murmured, looking uncomfortable.
    Caedmon’s heart lurched. Why had he mentioned Agneta was from Northumbria?
    “Ah, de Mowbray’s territory,” one of the villagers observed.
    “Aye,” Caedmon replied, unable to look at Agneta.
    “God go with thee, then, young Saxons.”
    ~~~
    “My father told me of this Hadrian’s wall, but the height and length of it is astounding,” Agneta remarked as they continued their journey. “It must have taken years to build?”
    “Aye, I estimate it’s about ten feet wide and we’ve passed many ruined forts built into it. The Romans surely wanted everyone to recognize they held the power. Just like the Normans. After hundreds of years, you can still see the whitewashed plaster in some places. The sun on it would have made it visible for miles. Arrogant bastards!”
    “Caedmon,” Lady Ascha remonstrated.
    “Sorry, Mother. I’m used to the company of men. My tongue ran away with me. You’d think I was a Scot.”
    He regretted his jest as he felt Agneta stiffen behind him. She kept her hands on his hips, but withdrew her body, and sat rigidly.
    “Keep tight hold,” he tried. “The going here is treacherous in places on these moors. They say it will improve once we reach the old