London - Edward Rutherfurd [61]
And how delightful the place was. The grassy north bank was high enough to afford a good view of the great sweep of the river, including the marshes on the opposite bank. Less than a mile away to the right lay the ford, whilst to the left, no further away, one could just see through the trees a hint of the huge Roman ruins upon the twin hills. Across the river from them a gravel promontory jutted out from the south bank. “That’s the best place to fish,” one of the men told him. Of the sturdy Roman bridge that had once crossed between these points, the only sign was some rotting timbers on the southern side.
Lundenwic might be small, but as Offa soon discovered, it was surprisingly busy. “The master spends more time here than at Bocton,” the men told him. Boats would come down the river from deep in the island’s interior, and as Cerdic’s activities increased, ships would even make their way up the estuary from the lands of the Norsemen, the Frisians and the Germans. In the stores, Offa found pottery, bales of wool, beautifully worked swords, and Saxon metalwork. There were also kennels: “They always ask us for hunting dogs,” the foreman explained. More intriguing, however, was another building set a little apart. Like the other stores it was a stout hut with a thatched roof, but it was long and narrow, and for some reason its roof was low, leaving only just enough headroom for standing up. Down each side were small pens that might have been for pigs or small livestock. Attached to the posts were chains.
“What are the chains for?” Offa asked. The foreman gave him a sidelong glance. “They’re for our best cargo. The one that makes the master rich,” he quietly replied.
Offa understood. Once again, as it had been before the Romans came, the island had become well known for its slaves. They were sold all over Europe. Indeed, just before he sent the monk Augustine to the island, it was the Pope himself who, seeing the fair-haired English slaves in the marketplace in Rome, had famously pronounced: “They are not Angles, but angels.”
The supply was always plentiful. Some were the losers of occasional conflicts between the various Anglo-Saxon kingdoms; a few might be criminals. But the majority of slaves came to that condition not through war, or even the raids of cruel slave-traders, but because, whether they were unwanted or there were too many to be fed, they had been sold by their own people.
“The Frisians come for a load every year,” the foreman remarked, and then added with a grin: “You’re lucky it was the mistress who bought you and not the master, or you’d be on the next ship!”
It was on the second day of his return that Cerdic gave Elfgiva his ultimatum. He did so in private. Not even his sons were aware of what passed between them. His message was as blunt as it was simple.
“If you will not obey me, then I am going to take another wife.”
“As well as me?”
“No. Instead of you.”
And Elfgiva stared at him with a terrible, dull pain, knowing that he meant it.
He was within his rights. The laws of the Anglo-Saxons concerning women were simple. Elfgiva belonged to her husband. She had been paid for. He could add other wives if he wished, and if she committed adultery not only could he throw her out, but the other man would have to compensate him and provide another wife. If, however, he just chose to replace