By Rachel O’Neill
FIRST PLACE in November 2025 Competition
I hurry towards the Great Hall, The November wind stinging my face. I should have had the litter and horses readied, it never does does to deal with King Henry with red-rimmed eyes. The gossip of the marketplace is that he admires me. I confess it appeals to my vanity, that is, until I heard the words, ‘The Jewish whore does more than lend the King money, she lends her body too’.
I am used to their envy. I could buy Winchester, its buildings, and its inhabitants many times over and they know this.
Rounding the corner, towards the West Gate, I am deliberately jostled by two sniggering men. I should have had one of my sons with me, or my maid, Alice. Though she is a servant, as a Christian, she is often afforded more respect than myself.
I recover my balance and my dignity, and with deliberate slowness, I approach the Hall. Inside the courtyard, a sudden eddy of wind pulls leaves and dust into a whirl. They dance, dervish-like. I shield my face, but when the wind drops, I am no longer outside the Castle. And the noise deafens me. Metal carts career down the centre of the road without horses, huge stone buildings tower above me, and people clothed in strange garments walk past. They ignore me. I am outside The Jailhouse, and it has transformed into a convivial place with men drinking ale in the pale autumn sunshine.
What is this place? I look around and see a sign, ‘Jewry Street’. What is this new mockery? The crowd of strangers parts briefly and I see…I see a statue of myself! I am holding the hand of my youngest, Asser. I am striding, purposeful. Strong. If this is the world I used to live in, it has changed. It has changed.
Judge’s comments – “An enjoyable read. I particularly liked the contrast between new and old. The way Licoricia was ignored also invoked something of her medieval surroundings and the modern world.”
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