During winter, early in the year twelve hundred and sixty seven, life appeared to return to some form of normality. More snow persisted from time to time - flurries descending in slanting drifts shivered around the manor house encapsulating the surrounding countryside, not far from the River Severn. Wavering clouds of moistened fog breathed low over its surface, and from the rooftops, icicles sometimes dripped, forming glistening peaks when the low winter sun appeared lazily above an eastern horizon.
Throughout the Christmas festivities, the hall had been duly decorated with large sprigs of holly and other greenery. All the people from the estate, dressed in their best refinery, gathered within the warmth of its walls, woven tapestries hung each side, helping to keep the chill at bay. Welcoming wall sconces flickered, casting a soft glow over the festivities. As it had become custom, a Christmas feast was shared among those reveling, enjoying themselves in noisy banter after several cups of ale had been consumed. Music played from a raised platform at the end of the hall, as large logs crackled and glowed in the hearth.
There was one duty in particular Richard felt he needed to do, and that was in memory of Thomas, a young man who tragically lost his life, during the latter part of the long siege of Kenilworth, toward the end of the year that had come to an end. He had been killed outright by a stray arrow resulting in a great loss to his family, buried not far from where he fell.
Richard now tried to put that right and his parents were summoned before him. They were not accustomed to being before their lord and found it difficult to face him square on, eyes humbly lowered to the floor. Richard approached them with a certain amount of grace, allowing them several month's free rent in lieu of their son's death. Thomas was a huge asset to his parents and they felt his loss deeply. They were instantly gratified by Richard's gesture and thanked him accordingly, but knew nothing would ever replace the life of their son Thomas.
Young Dafydd had become almost as a new member of the family and in time, Richard learned of his father's loyalties to Simon de Montfort, before he too was killed on the battlefield at Evesham.
There had been a clause of the Dictum of Kenilworth which threatened corporal punishment if anyone considered Simon de Montfort 'holy or just'. Richard was aware of this and Dafydd had learned to favour the same loyalties as his father. He was a fast learner, adapting himself to most tasks. It now appeared that both he and young Hugh originated from similar areas of the Welsh Marshes.
In his twelve years he'd developed several skills from his parents, and Richard considered him a suitable candidate as his personal squire. It was normally highborn youngsters who were sent to apprentice as squires in noble households, but Richard noticed several possibilities in Dafydd's character and hoped in time, to develop them. It was as if he'd appeared out of nowhere, more or less thrust upon them and as he was keen and willing, Richard saw fit to allow Dafydd this unusual attachment within the inhabitants of the manor. After all he was now orphaned and slowly proving to be an asset. The lad was more than happy with the opportunity given him and set about his duties with renewed enthusiasm, dedicating himself to Richard, eager to please.
There existed an uneasy truce with King Henry III, being mindful during the restoration of royal authority of recent tensions, aware that further outbreaks of civil disorder were still possible. The Lord Edward was working hard at political and social reconciliation between his father and the rebels, the realm becoming more pacified.
Katherine's pregnancy was progressing well, and one morning while standing by the warmth of a brazier, Richard appeared dressed for hunting.
The low, nearby hills were shrouded in mist, while a harsh whispering wind sighed over the treetops; slanting sleet-driven rain soaking the ground the night before.
Looking up at him, in her humble opinion she feared for her husband's comfort. She knew not why, having a premonition about the day, mindful of her negative thoughts, before regaining her composure; Richard was clad in warm enough clothes, bent on some serious hunting. To Katherine, it was all too soon to venture out, as the deep wound on his arm was still healing. She bit on her bottom lip, holding her thoughts at bay, for she wasn't happy about him going. She knew Richard looked forward to some hunting and today was one of those days. The ground underfoot had thawed temporarily, therefore placing no danger to the horse's feet, but the previous night's rain made the ground underfoot slippery.
Several hours had passed, when outside the sound of several horses could be heard on the large, cobbled courtyard. Katherine looked out noticing a great deal of movement, as sweating horses had entered the gates, one bearing a low litter. She closed her eyes for a moment, not wanting to believe Richard had been involved in some sort of hunting accident. But alas, she knew only too well.
Immediately Edmund and Hugh were at the scene to lend any assistance.
Katherine sighed, her face tensing, the scene reminding her of when her betrothed Philip was involved in a hunting accident, falling from his horse, killing him soon after. She shivered, the memory still fresh in her mind, which had happened before she ever met Richard.
Martha, their housekeeper clicked her tongue, wiping hands on a cloth as she stood close to the door, opening it wide to allow the men carrying Richard, into the hall. Katherine was at his side in an instant, her expression one of grave concern for her husband.
'Richard, what..?'
'Don't worry...,' he intervened. 'Only a severe bump on the head as I fell, and the wind knocked out of me.' He smiled grimly at her, but she wasn't that easily pacified.
'You could have been killed...how did this happen and so soon after your return from Kenilworth?'
Richard recovered soon enough and sat on a chair, head lowered rubbing the back of it, still feeling a little disorientated. 'A slight mishap that's all...'
'A slight mishap you say...are you badly hurt? What happened?' Katherine couldn't help feeling dismay for her husband. Recent wounds had barely healed.
'I'll live,' muttered Richard, his pride hurt more than anything.
Not long after, Martha presented him with some hot spiced wine, which he drank gratefully. It appeared to revive not only his body, but his spirits - he was glad to be warm again before a crackling fire. Outside was wet and cold where he had fallen, his clothes muddied and damp.
After he'd changed into fresh clean clothes, enjoying the company of his wife, as sparks leapt into the air with a red glow, his body thawed after the chilled air outside. His cheeks were flushed from the cold. Richard felt badly bruised, but thankfully nothing was broken.
He stretched out, beginning to relax more, taking another long drink from his wine cup.
Richard sighed as he glanced over at his wife. 'My horse is fearless as you know,' he tried to explain, 'and content with taking on every obstacle in his path, jumping fallen trees and the occasional hedge; but when presented with a very wide ditch, appeared to think twice about it. He dug in his heels, hesitating, looked at it for a moment and that was when I went clean over his head. I wasn't pleased, but there was nothing I could have done. I think he lost his stride, and the hesitation was to my detriment.'
Richard took another long sip of the wine, accepting a warm pastry from Martha. She had the cook excel herself at Christmas, when an attempt at castle battlements and arrow slits appeared before the gathering, much to the astonishment of Richard in particular. The structure not only looked impressive, but tasted delicious with what was beneath, surprising everyone immensely.
Katherine was relieved to see her husband seemed to be recovering and in good spirits, considering what had happened. It could have been a lot worse, her thoughts still dwelling on the past.
Several weeks later, when winter was almost at an end, spring not far away, the courtyard was once again full of riders, looking as though they'd ridden many miles. The main gates had been left open and they rode through without hesitation. The horses were sweating badly, in need of rest, as were the riders. There was an official air to their presence.
Richard was standing close to the stables, in conversation with his steward, Henry - Edward busy nearby, while Hugh inspected the feet of Richard's horse, Bedwyr. He looked up, startled to see what looked like Prince Edward's banner at their head. Their faces were stern and Richard straightened his back, eyebrows drawing together, when their leader immediately dismounted, withdrawing a sealed message from his tunic.
Richard nodded, briefly acknowledging their efficiency, surprised with the sudden and unexpected intrusion. The tall man with a sullen face, squared his shoulders and faced Richard.
'Are you Sir Richard Trowbridge of the manor of Oakfield?'
'I am of that name,' Richard replied somewhat stiffly, wondering what this was all about, his insides beginning to churn.
The tall man handed Richard the sealed message with a certain amount of formality, the accompanying riders looking on with equally stern expressions. 'I'm requested that you read it immediately,' he added.
Richard was hesitant at first in the company of such a band as these official-looking men, well armed with swords at their sides, their helms polished, now spattered with mud.
He said something briefly to Henry, turned on his heels , and walked briskly toward the main door. He felt the need for privacy when reading this unexpected message, not wishing to share any uncertainties with these men. He'd begun to have serious misgivings with what he was about to read.
Richard entered a small room, broke the seal and read.
It didn't take long and with a feeling of rising indignation, anger and a certain amount of worry, he screwed the message tightly in his hand and stood for several moments before reacting.
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