Fire and Ice - By J. E. Christer Page 0,1

it was slowly becoming easier to live with as the days went by. Her father was buried in the nearby churchyard under the canopy of a sturdy oak with his sword and shield befitting the warrior he most surely was, and where her mother, Hilde, could often be found kneeling and crying. She had been a proud woman descended from Norse nobility and until her husband’s death she was a great lady, always willing to help the people with their troubles and supporting them in their sorrows. She was now a shadow of her former self although she still dressed well; a tall woman, holding herself erect and always welcomed by the people into their homes.

As de Gant and his men disappeared from view a great feeling of relief came over Juliana and she entered the Hall with a lighter step, returning to her bedchamber to think over the past few weeks. She could not bear to think of her father’s death, as to dwell on this matter would be too painful, her temper would rise and then all would be lost. Her mother had told her that she had inherited her father’s red hair, green eyes and temper and since a child had been stubborn and wilful.

After her father’s burial they had gone back to the Great Hall they called home which stood behind the small church on the rise. Her father had built it from stone and unlike most, had erected it with two floors so that most of the bedchambers were away from the animals. It was topped by a thick thatch and had a good strong English oak door so they were horrified when they found a new Norman lord had taken possession. This of course was Richard de Gant and Juliana hated him with all the venom of all the poisonous snakes in the world. At first his men denied their entry but after seeing them, and Juliana in particular, he decided he would take her as his prize, a bounty she vowed he would live to regret. She remembered the lust and greed reflecting in his dark brown eyes and her mother’s attempts to shield her from him until in his frustration he threw her mother to one side, knocking her senseless against the stone walls of the hall. Juliana watched in fear and loathing, thinking he had killed her beloved mother as she lay inert against the wall, but he grabbed Juliana’s wrists and with his superior strength held her fast against his foul-smelling body. He had been drinking her father’s wine and ale and dragged her to the long table which was in the middle of the room in front of the large stone fireplace and pushed her into a seat next to his. Until now she had not uttered a word but relied upon her scornful expression to speak of her feelings. He called for more wine for himself and thrust a cup into her hand which she knocked over in defiance. He immediately stood and dragged her up by her hair to stand beside him, calling to the servants in broken English to refill their cups which they had no choice but to do. His raven black hair flopped forward as he laughed drunkenly and forced the wine goblet to her mouth. She took a good gulp of the liquid but then spat it into his filthy face, daring him with her eyes to try and force her again. She remembered the words he had uttered in his foreign tongue as he pulled her even closer to his body,

“Take care, my lady. That is the last time you will dishonour your new lord. I am Richard de Gant, knight of William, King of all England. Tonight I will teach you a lesson you will never forget.”

She looked away pretending not to understand his words, but her mother had seen to it that she was educated by the monks from the monastery at Barrow, arguing that her daughter should have these skills just as Aldred had. She knew French and Latin as well as a smattering of Norse and she could read and write, but her wits told her not to let him know any of these things. She looked around when she heard her mother stirring and was relieved when two of their most trusted servants went to help her to her feet. They led her away to her bedchamber to tend her wounds. Food was brought to the table