since Father Willibald had not been permitted to officiate at the burials or to say a mass for the souls of the dead. To her surprise Earl Wulfrum had raised no objection to her attending the funerals or made any attempt to interfere. In any case, his men were taking care of their own dead. A few of the Viking warriors stood at a distance watching the events with a careful eye, their presence a reminder of the new order.
A cold breeze stirred the branches of the forest trees around and Elgiva shivered, drawing her mantle closer, fighting down the fear in the pit of her stomach. Like a leaf swept along on the current of a stream, she had no control over the events that would shape her future. Everything she had known and loved was gone as though in a past life. True enough, she thought, she had been someone else then. And now? Now she was a prisoner like all the rest, little better than a slave. Not quite, she amended. Ever since Wulfrum had announced his intention to marry, his men had regarded her as his domain. She had not been troubled or molested in any way, though they looked their fill whenever she appeared. Neither had a hand been raised to Osgifu, who came and went to her mistress’s bower without hindrance. To the best of her knowledge, the earl’s promise that there should be no more killing had been kept; now most of the Saxons serfs had been put to work, albeit under the watchful eyes of their conquerors. Only the fugitives rounded up in the forest remained chained and under guard. Rumours abounded as to their eventual fate, though Elgiva had been cautiously optimistic.
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