Too Good to Hang by Sarah Hawkswood

Author:Sarah Hawkswood
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Allison and Busby
Published: 2023-09-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

Selewine the Reeve had been patient. He told himself so, and believed it. To have visited Thorgar’s family immediately after the hanging would have seemed callous, since his was the word that had confirmed the sentence and he had overseen the carrying out of it. He would, he knew, have met with a swift rejection of his offer. Now several days had passed, and the reality of their situation would be taking hold in minds at first overwhelmed by grief. Yes, he had been wise.

It was in confident mood that he told his older son to keep an eye on his sibling and went to hammer upon the door of a house in mourning. Osgyth opened the door, already frowning at the vehemence of the claim to be admitted, and as soon as she saw who it was, tried to shut the door in the reeve’s face. He was too swift for her and, with foot and outstretched arm, thwarted her attempt.

‘Now then, Osgyth, remember who I am.’ He tried to make it sound a mild reproof rather than a threat, but failed.

‘Oh, I remember who you are Master Reeve, which is just why I wants to shut this door,’ Osgyth spat back at him, eyes flashing. He laughed, which he knew would annoy her the more. He had no illusions that the girl would welcome him with open arms, but this would be a decision made upon the grounds of good sense, not emotion, and it would be her mother who would persuade her to accept.

‘I can stand here all evenin’, and all you is doin’ is losin’ what warmth you can afford on that there fire. Now, let me in, like a good girl, that I might speak with your mother.’ He was intentionally patronising, reducing her from woman to child, diminishing her importance. Osgyth fumed, but stepped back.

‘The reeve is come, Mother, to tell us what we knows already – that he condemned Thorgar, an innocent man, to a death unshriven and a grave unconsecrated.’

‘You has more sense than to believe that, Win.’ Selewine addressed Thorgar’s mother.

A flicker passed over the woman’s face. Since her widowhood she had somehow become ‘Winflæd’, and the diminutive, used in her youth and always by her husband, Alvar, had been buried also. She had sense enough to know that Selewine used it with intent, but the sound of it rippled through her as a tingling shudder.

‘Do I?’ The words were just to buy her a few moments to calm herself.

‘You do. Sorry I am as it were done, but from what was known, was seen, was said, there was no other way. The laws is clear.’

‘What were said by my brother, a man who nobody ever said a bad word about, were that ’e swore he were unscyldig, and he were ignored, not given time for other things to come to light. It was a death in haste, and at your biddin’.’ Osgyth clenched her fists and her face contorted in anger.

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