The Conquest

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Ailith, wife of Goldwin the Armourer, swept her gaze around her long hall, inhaled deeply of the rich, forest scent, and sighed out with pleasure. Great swags of Yuletide evergreen garlanded the roof beams and the timbered walls. At spontaneous intervals she had hung kissing bunches of the sacred white mistletoe and blood-berried holly. Above the place of honour near the hearth, a magnificent pair of stag's antlers had been nailed, and the reflected firelight stained the broad edges and polished tips of horn a glossy crimson.

Tomorrow night her brothers had promised to find time from their duties as bodyguards of the great Harold Godwinson, Earl of Wessex, to bring her the traditional Yule log and stay to dine. She was greatly looking forward to the meal, for apart from Goldwin, Aldred and Lyulph were the only family she possessed, and their visits were precious.

A sudden commotion at the door heralded the return of her two serving women from the markets in the heart of the city. Braying in protest at the weight in his laden panniers, the pack ass was led round the side of the house by the younger maid, Sigrid. Wulfhild, puffing and plump, staggered into the long hall, her arms weighted down by two net bags of provisions.

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