World Without End

86

The priests said Sunday was a day of rest, but it had never been so for Gwenda. Today, after church in the morning and then di

The boys had gone to another village for a football game, their usual recreation on Sundays. Football was the peasant equivalent of the nobility’s tournaments: a mock battle in which the injuries were sometimes real. Gwenda just prayed her sons would come home intact.

Today Sam returned early. “The ball burst,” he said grumpily.

“Where’s Davey?” Gwenda asked.

“He wasn’t there.”

“I thought he was with you.”

“No, he quite often goes off on his own.”

“I didn’t know that.” Gwenda frowned. “Where does he go?”

Sam shrugged. “He doesn’t tell me.”

Perhaps he was seeing a girl, Gwenda thought. Davey was close about all sorts of things. If it was a girl, who was she? There were not many eligible girls in Wigleigh. The survivors of the plague had remarried quickly, as if eager to repopulate the land; and those born since were too young. Perhaps he was meeting someone from the next village, at a rendezvous in the forest. Such assignations were as common as heartache.

When Davey came home, a couple of hours later, Gwenda confronted him. He made no attempt to deny that he had been sneaking off. “I’ll show you what I’ve been doing, if you like,” he said. “I can’t keep it secret for ever. Come with me.”

They all went, Gwenda, Wulfric and Sam. The Sabbath was observed to the extent that no one worked in the fields, and the Hundredacre was deserted as the four of them walked across it in a blustery spring breeze. A few strips looked neglected: there were still villagers who had more land than they could cope with. A

Davey led them half a mile into the forest and stopped at a clearing off the beaten track. “This is it,” he said.

For a moment Gwenda did not know what he was talking about. She was standing on the edge of a nondescript patch of ground with low bushes growing between the trees. Then she looked again at the bushes. They were a species she had never seen before. It had a squarish stem with pointed leaves growing in clusters of four. The way it had covered the ground made her think it was a creeping plant. A pile of uprooted vegetation at one side showed that Davey had been weeding. “What is it?” she said.

“It’s called madder. I bought the seeds from a sailor that time we went to Melcombe.”

“Melcombe?” Gwenda said. “That was three years ago.”

“That’s how long it’s taken.” Davey smiled. “At first I was afraid it wouldn’t grow at all. He told me it needed sandy soil and would tolerate light shade. I dug over the clearing and planted the seeds, but the first year I got only three or four feeble plants. I thought I’d wasted my money. Then, the second year, the roots spread underground and sent up shoots, and this year it’s all over the place.”

Gwenda was astonished that her child could have kept this from her for so long. “But what use is madder?” she said. “Does it taste good?”

Davey laughed. “No, it’s not edible. You dig up the roots, dry them and grind them to a powder that makes a red dye. It’s very costly. Madge Webber in Kmgsbridge pays seven shillings for a gallon.”

That was an astonishing price, Gwenda reflected. Wheat, the most expensive grain, sold for about seven shillings a quarter, and a quarter was sixty-four gallons. “This is sixty-four times as precious as wheat!” she said.

Davey smiled. “That’s why I planted it.”

“Why you planted what?” said a new voice. They all turned to see Nathan Reeve, standing beside a hawthorn tree as bent and twisted as he was. He wore a triumphant grin: he had caught them red-handed.

Davey was quick with an answer. “This is a medicinal herb called… hagwort,” he said. Gwenda could tell he was improvising, but Nate would not be sure. “It’s good for my mother’s wheezy chest.”

Nate looked at Gwenda. “I didn’t know she had a wheezy chest.”

“In the winter,” Gwenda said.

“A herb?” Nate said sceptically. “There’s enough here to dose all Kingsbridge. And you’ve been weeding it, to get more.”

“I like to do things properly,” Davey said.

It was a feeble response, and Nate ignored it. “This is an unauthorized crop,” he said. “First of all, serfs need permission for what they plant – they can’t go raising anything they like. That would lead to total chaos. Secondly, they can’t cultivate the lord’s forest, even by planting herbs.”

None of them had any answer to that. Those were the rules. It was frustrating: often peasants knew they could make money by growing non-standard crops that were in demand and fetched high prices: hemp for rope, flax for expensive underclothing, or cherries to delight rich ladies. But many lords and their bailiffs refused permission, out of instinctive conservatism.

Nate’s expression was venomous. “One son a runaway and a murderer,” he said. “The other defies his lord. What a family.”

He was entitled to feel angry, Gwenda thought. Sam had killed Jo

Nate bent down and roughly pulled a plant out of the ground. “This will come before the manor court,” he said with satisfaction; and he turned and limped away through the trees.

Gwenda and her family followed. Davey was undaunted. “Nate will impose a fine, and I’ll pay it,” he said. “I’ll still make money.”

“What if he orders the crop destroyed?” Gwenda said.

“How?”

“It could be burned, or trampled.”

Wulfric put in: “Nate wouldn’t do that. The village wouldn’t stand for it. A fine is the traditional way to deal with this.”

Gwenda said: “I just worry about what Earl Ralph will say.”

Davey made a deprecatory gesture with his hand. “No reason why the earl should find out about a little thing like this.”

“Ralph takes a special interest in our family.”

“Yes, he does,” Davey said thoughtfully. “I still don’t understand what made him pardon Sam.”

The boy was not stupid. Gwenda said: “Perhaps Lady Philippa persuaded him.”

Sam said: “She remembers you, mother. She told me that when I was at Merthin’s house.”

“I must have done something to endear myself to her,” Gwenda said, extemporising. “Or it could be that she just felt compassion, one mother for another.” It was not much of a story, but Gwenda did not have a better one.

In the days since Sam had been released they had had several conversations about what might account for Ralph’s pardon. Gwenda just pretended to be as perplexed as everyone else. Fortunately Wulfric had never been the suspicious type.

They reached their house. Wulfric looked at the sky, said there was another good hour of light left and went into the garden to finish sowing peas. Sam volunteered to help him. Gwenda sat down to mend a rip in Wulfric’s hose. Davey sat opposite Gwenda and said: “I’ve got another secret to tell you.”

She smiled. She did not mind him having a secret if he told his mother. “Go on.”

“I have fallen in love.”

“That’s wonderful!” She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “I’m very happy for you. What’s she like?”

“She’s beautiful.”

Gwenda had been speculating, before she found out about the madder, that Davey might be meeting a girl from another village. Her intuition had been right. “I had a feeling about this,” she said.

“Did you?” He seemed anxious.

“Don’t worry, there’s nothing wrong. It just occurred to me that you might be meeting someone.”