The Seventh Lost Tale of Mercia: Hildred the Maid by Jayden Woods Page A

and blinked rapidly, as if her lids might protect her from
the lord’s curious gaze.
    “ Out of the way!” cried the
lord’s companion, unsheathing his sword by a notch.
    Hildred realized she was being very foolish,
and for no other reason than because she was jealous of these rich
and powerful men. She did not move from their path because she did
not feel that she ought to. But what would she gain from defying
them? Nothing but trouble, and she would be even more miserable
than she already was.
    She deflated quickly, dropping her head and
stepping backwards. But even though she got out of their way, for a
moment, no one moved. She hardly dared to breathe. She could feel
the eyes of everyone watching her, judging her, and hoping to
witness an exciting scene, whatever that might entail.
    She heard her own heart thudding through her
veins. She watched the horses’ hooves scuffle in the dirt,
agitated, but not moving forward. She glimpsed Eadric’s boots
clenching the sides of his horse. Why didn’t the lord move on?
    “ You.”
    She flinched at the sound of his voice, soft
yet sharp at the same time. Lifting her head only so far as
necessary, she strained to look at him through her lashes.
    To her surprise, he was smiling. “Chin up,”
he said, and winked.
    Her mouth fell open again as
at last he spurred his horse and galloped onward with his
companion. Her blood roared in her ears. Had anyone else seen that?
Did the thegn just wink at her? His horse flicked a sassy tail and she shook her head
in disbelief.
    She looked down at herself: at the soft green
dress, the freed chestnut hair, and how both of them draped the
swell of her chest. Perhaps she had succeeded in looking even nicer
than she’d intended. Had she really expected to win God’s
attention, or was it actually the favor of wealthy thegns that she
hoped for?
    Whatever the case, she now felt sinful and
childish for her vanity. What good could she really achieve by
looking pretty? At home, her baby brother lay on death’s door. Her
father was so miserable that if a chance at death presented itself,
he would gladly join the rest of their family in heaven. But the
thought of heaven sent chills across Hildred’s skin. Perhaps her
faith was weak, but the comfort of an afterlife was a faint one;
she did not want to die.
    She began whispering her prayers long before
the church came into sight.
    The church was a simple building, its rounded
walls made of twigs and clay, but it rested in a thriving valley.
The small gardens here, whether through tedious attention or
constant prayers, had somehow escaped the rot and malnutrition
infecting the rest of Engla-lond’s soil. Adding to the paradisaical
scene, cattle and sheep dotted the hills, strolling and grazing and
lowing with leisure. Hildred’s hands clenched at her sides. The
mere sight of such healthy livestock made her mouth water. How long
had it been since she tasted beef or mutton?
    Her family had suffered from hunger for some
time now. Last year had been a minor drought, or at least everyone
looked back on it as minor; but in their hunger they had eaten the
seeds of next year’s harvest, and plunged themselves into a worse
famine than before. Her father lost his job plowing another
landowner’s field. The local reeves began to punish people severely
for killing too many livestock for meat. Lord Eadric, she recalled,
had been one of the harshest enforcers of this rule. No one wanted
what had happened to last year’s seeds happen to this year’s
animals. And yet as she stared at them, Hildred could not
comprehend the wrongness of taking a single cow and using it to
help her small family through the seasons.
    She closed her eyes, murmured another prayer,
and kept moving.
    At the door of the church, she stopped. Her
stomach churned within her.
    She could smell food.
    She knew that a small amount of food would be
doled out after the service. The clergy found it a way to ensure
attendance to their sermons.