There was a young woman, who came, draped in clothing too loose for her frame into the town of Woodhurst, and she glared with proud defiance at any who stared too long at her bulging belly.
She was clad in the garb of a noble woman, yet rarely bestirred herself from the house in which she stayed. Yet some say that one night in the mead-hall her pride melted away, and she begged the Reeve’s son to wed her, and he said that were she delivered of a daughter he might do so, for no other man’s son would inherit his father's seat.
It is said she did not cry out in labour, but that when a daughter was given to her, hair dark as a raven's-wing, then the son of the Reeve said he would not take as a daughter a whelp of Dunland. Then her eyes were red and she clung all that night to her child.
For one month did the woman nurse her infant, until a messenger came bearing gold, and came to a family of Woodhurst, “For a wetnurse and the fostering of the child,” said he, but they understood that it was payment also for their silence.
Then spoke the woman these words as she gave her daughter to a family of the father's kindred.
“Wayward on war-paths I wandered astray
and purposed for peace, promise forgot.
Hall-desolate damsel, dark that night
that brought a babe to burdened world.
Which kin will call? What kith is thine?
Of words weave a path, Wigfrith I name thee.”
This was the gift of the woman unto her daughter, and this the blessing and curse of the woman who bore her. So then the woman, dry-eyed and straight-backed, rode from Woodhurst and did not look back.
These are the rumors of events that transpired some 25 years ago.
