SIFLEDE by Judith Arnopp
London, October 1066
When the Normans come, Southwark’s residents need to fight, flee, hide or die...
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| About Judith's story |
Silfede - London 1066
I began writing professionally more than twenty years ago when I was heavily into the late Anglo-Saxon period. I still have a fondness for everything relating to Harold Godwinson. My early books, Peaceweaver and The Forest Dwellers, are both set before, during and after the Battle of Hastings. But the main thrust of my career has focused on a later time frame and I have produced many books set in the late medieval and Tudor era.
I have enjoyed detailing the lives of people like Margaret Beaufort, Henry VIII and at the other end of the social spectrum, Joanie Toogood, a prostitute from Southwark. I also wrote about the experiences of a company of nuns from Yorkshire at the time of the dissolution of the monasteries.
None, however, has captured my interest like the Anglo-Saxons.
When I was approached to write a short story for Courage I knew immediately I was heading back to Harold II. I have always been fascinated by transitional periods and the time of the conquest was certainly transitional. The arrival of the Normans saw cultural, social and political traditions in England change forever. The English - those that survived the conquest - were suddenly faced with a new king, and a new language. Their long-held traditions were forbidden, and the noble-born women who did not flee to the safety of the nearest nunnery were married off to Normans, their lands taken and their bloodline diluted.
But the English did not fall quietly into line and post 1066 is replete with uprisings and resistance. My story, Silfede, fictionalises one of the first acts of resistance against the Conqueror. I hope you enjoy it.
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| read a snippet |
SIFLEDE by Judith Arnopp
London, October 1066
When the Normans come, Southwark’s residents need to fight, flee, hide or die
Mother is dishing out chores, and
since I’m her only daughter, I bear the brunt of the domestic jobs. She has a
sharp tongue and a stinging slap, her softer side only appearing when one of us
is ailing, and today I am as healthy as I’ve ever been. Dismayed at the pile of
vegetables in want of peeling, the pies in need of baking, and the teetering
tower of pots waiting to be scoured, I tuck my shawl over my head and scuttle
away from the hustle of the settlement. The street seems busier than usual as I
duck down alleyways and around corners, avoiding the eye of those who know me.
Some of the neighbours call out a greeting but I do not slacken my pace until
the noxious stench of the tanneries dissipates into the fresher air of the
marsh.
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