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Author's Chapter Notes:
I got to the computer without the kids near by, so here is the next chapter
The hall settled quickly after all the excitement. Everyone used what they could to make benches into beds: cloaks and blankets as well as the tanned skins that had been stored away in one of the sheds. Helga was pleased they had filled the mattresses with fresh hay that very day. At least there was something soft to sleep on, and they were all grateful that so much stuff had already been moved over to the new hall.

The men were wrapping themselves in their cloaks, more used to bedding down where there was a space. They had saved a lot of the blankets and a few of the furs, but the majority of this year’s sheepskins would be needed at home, a resource they wouldn’t be able to sell come market day. At least there had been nothing on the loom, so they hadn’t lost a length of precious woollen cloth. The flames had taken a lot of the bowls and cups though, as well as spinning wools and spindles. Kuddy would be busy, using his lathe to restock the hall. Helga knew the following day would be a busy one. The ironware would need rescuing from the ashes of the old hall and everything would need a good clean. She would have to set everyone to the task first thing, Buffy would be in no fit state to work, and she would have to have a word with Sara about using drugs on people without permission. Poppy juice was far too strong to just hand out like that; what on earth had the girl been thinking?

William stayed close to Buffy, not letting her out of his sight: he had been so scared he had thought he had lost both of them. He kept stroking Nordlys and touching his wife, as though he couldn’t quite believe she was there, reassuring himself that she was safe. He put a hand over her belly; his child lay below Buffy’s heart again, only this time he would get to see her grow and swell with his seed. He thanked God again for their lucky escape and the fact that He had sent Buffy back to him.

They settled into their new shut-bed, away from the noise and bustle of the main hall. Buffy and Nordlys were asleep before the last of the men had made their way into the house.

William thought about Col. His temper and his stupidity had nearly robbed him of his wife and child, and the man’s obvious antipathy for Buffy meant that he could not stay at the hall; after all, William would not always be there to protect them. The man would have to go, he had nearly killed them all with his stupidity.

William looked at the wood of the ceiling and thought long and deep. Checking that Buffy and Nordlys were asleep he crept out from underneath the blankets and cloaks they had used to make up the bed and slid open the wooden door. He looked round the hall and saw Col pushing his way up the benches. Enough was enough.

William slid his belt around is waist and headed over to the obnoxious man.
Col didn’t notice who was behind him as he started to spread his blanket on the bench, shoving Andrew’s stuff to one side and someone else’s to the other. He was swearing and cursing to himself, complaining about the place he had been given and how far away it was from the fire.

William let him rant and rave for a short time before tapping him gently on the shoulder.

‘What?’ the man snapped, before he noticed William.

‘Don’t worry about your place on the benches, you come with me.’

Col wanted to argue, but he took one look at William’s face and the sword hanging on his belt and felt his throat dry up. He opened his mouth to try and talk but nothing came out; he could feel his bladder tightening and started to shake.

Col nodded as William led the way across the yard past the still burning embers of the old hall and to the huge gates that protected them all from the wilds beyond. William opened the gate and shoved Col through it.

‘Your behaviour is beyond the pale, so that’s where you’ll sleep: beyond the pale. You can take the road to the city and find work there, for I will hold witness against you if you try to stay near us. You have shown absolutely no respect toward your lady and your actions have cost us the hall and could have cost us lives. It was only with luck and God’s blessing that we aren’t mourning a death at this time. You are no longer welcome here: leave.’ and with that he slammed the gate firmly behind the man.

Col looked around him at the pitch darkness; he could hear noises off in the woods, scurrying and rustling noises that made him feel sick with fear.
An owl hooted and called, flying past him on silent wings. The whiteness of its feathers reflected the little moonlight that was shining and made it seem like a ghost.

Col started shaking, terrified of the turn his life had taken. He had gone from having a home and warm bed and food to eat to having nothing, no protection, no warmth, nothing. Col tried to wrap his cloak around his shoulders, but the wind grabbed it from his hands. It cut through his clothes, making him colder and colder. He was a grown man but he wanted to cry like a child. His grand-mother had always told him that his temper and his mouth would kill him and it now seemed that she was right. He would die outside the pale; he only hoped he could make it safely to the town, and he prayed that he would find some sort of work to be able to feed himself.
His stomach ached from hunger and he knew that it would only get worse tonight. The wind cut him to the core: it felt like knives slicing his skin. He could hear someone whimpering and his heart fell when he realised it was him. He stumbled his way towards the trees and tried to keep warm sheltering beneath the canopy.



William looked at the solid wood of the gate and breathed out a sigh of relief. Col had been trouble since the day they had taken over the estate but now he was gone. Hopefully they wouldn’t hear from the man ever again, but William wasn’t taken any chances: he would order his men to keep a watching eye for any problems he might still cause, and his precious Nordlys would be kept under close observation. He couldn’t believe that someone so tiny could completely rule his life.

William did not sleep well that night: he bedded himself down fully dressed and kept his sword close at hand. It reminded him of another night, sleeping in another hall, waiting for trouble to arrive. He felt nothing but relief when Kuddy came to him early in the morning to tell him that Col had been found face down in the stream. The man had drowned in just 18 inches of water.
William looked at the corpse lying in the mud: Kuddy had pulled him clear from where he was damming up the waters and had turned him over. There was a large bruise on Col’s head and blood on a stone nearby. Water was dripping from the man’s open mouth, his eyes staring sightlessly at the leaves on the trees. It was obvious what had happened: Col had fallen and hit his head, rolled down the bank and drowned in the stream.

‘Good riddance to bad rubbish,’ was all that William could think. He knew that was exactly what his wife would say as well. There was no room for sentimentality in her world.

‘Bury him in the graveyard; it wasn’t suicide and make sure that a priest speaks over his corpse when they put it in the ground. That should make sure his ghost won’t walk.’ William crossed himself and walked away from the problem. At least Buffy and Nordlys were safe from him now.

Kuddy turned to fulfil his Thane’s request. The woodsman, too, could feel little sympathy for the man who would now face his maker. Kuddy crossed himself and went to find a sheet to wrap the corpse in before committing it to the ground.





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