World Without End

David looked worried. “You might have a point, there, girl,” he said, and he turned to talk to his neighbour on the other side.

Gwenda also felt it was a mistake for Wulfric to demand a final ruling today. Better to ask for a temporary judgement, which the jurymen would grant more readily. She went to speak to Wulfric. He was arguing with Perkin and A

“He threatened to sell me.”

“A second time?”

“As many times as I could escape. He thinks he’s found a bottomless purse.”

“Where are you living?”

“Widow Huberts took me in. And I’ve been working for the bailiff, on the lord’s lands. A pe

Wulfric made a face. “He seems reluctant.”

“A woman would handle it so differently.”

He looked surprised. “How so?”

A

Wulfric looked thoughtful. “What would she do?”

“She would just ask to be allowed to continue working the land, for now. She would let the binding decision wait until the new lord is appointed. She would know that in the interim everyone would get used to her being in possession, so that when the new lord showed up his approval would seem like a formality. She would gain her objective without giving people much chance to argue about it.”

Wulfric was not sure. “Well…”

“It’s not what you want, but it’s the most you can get today. And how can Nate refuse you, when he has no one else to bring in the harvest?”

Wulfric nodded. He was working out the possibilities. “People would see me reaping the crop, and become accustomed to the idea. After that, it would seem unjust to deny me the inheritance. And I’d be able to pay the heriot, or some of it.”

“You’d be a lot closer to your goal than you are now.”

“Thank you. You’re very wise.” He touched her arm, then turned back to A

Gwenda turned away. Don’t tell me I’m wise, she thought. Tell me I’m… what? Beautiful? Never. The love of your life? That’s A

She had no answer.

She noticed David Johns speaking emphatically to one of the jurors, Aaron Appletree.

Nate flourished the manor roll. “Wulfric’s father, Samuel, paid thirty shillings to inherit from his father, and a pound to inherit from his uncle.” A shilling was twelve pe

David Johns spoke up. “A man’s lands should go to his son,” he said. “We don’t want to give our new lord, whoever he may be, the impression that he can pick and choose who shall inherit.”

There was a murmur of agreement.

Wulfric stepped forward. “Bailiff, I know you can’t make a final decision today, and I’m content to wait until the new lord is appointed. All I ask is that I should be allowed to continue to work the land. I will bring in the harvest, I swear it. But nothing is lost to you if I fail. And nothing is promised to me if I succeed. When the new lord comes, I will throw myself on his mercy.”

Nate looked cornered. Gwenda felt sure he had been hoping for some way of making money out of this. Perhaps he had expected a bribe from Perkin, Wulfric’s prospective father-in-law. She watched Nate’s face as he tried to think of a way to refuse Wulfric’s more modest request. As he hesitated, one or two villagers began to mutter, and he realized he was doing himself no good by revealing his reluctance. “Very well,” he said with a show of grace that was not very convincing. “What does the jury say?”

Aaron Appletree conferred briefly with his fellow jurors, then said: “Wulfric’s request is modest and reasonable. He should occupy the lands of his father until the new lord of Wigleigh is appointed.”

Gwenda sighed with relief.

Nate said: “Thank you, jurymen.”

The court broke up and people began to head home for di

Gwenda caught Wulfric’s eye as they were leaving the church. “Well done,” she said as they strolled out together. “He couldn’t refuse you, though he seemed to want to.”

“It was your idea,” he said admiringly. “You knew exactly what I needed to say. I don’t know how to thank you.”

She resisted the temptation to tell him. They walked through the graveyard. She said: “How will you manage the harvest?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why don’t you let me come and labour for you?”

“I’ve no money.”

“I don’t care, I’ll work for food.”

He stopped at the gate, turned and gave her a candid look. “No, Gwenda. I don’t think that would be a good plan. A

Gwenda found herself blushing. There was no doubt what he meant. If he had wanted to reject her because she might be too weak, or something, there would have been no need for the direct look, nor for the mention of his fiancee’s name. He knew, she realized with mortification, that she was in love with him, and he was refusing her offer of help because he did not want to encourage her hopeless passion. “All right,” she whispered, looking down. “Whatever you say.”

He smiled warmly. “But thank you for the offer.”

She made no reply and, after a moment, he turned and walked away.

19

Gwenda got up while it was still dark.

She slept in the straw on the floor of Widow Huberts’s house. Somehow her sleeping mind knew the time, and woke her just before dawn. The widow, lying next to her, did not stir when Gwenda unwrapped her blanket and stood up. Finding her way by touch, she opened the back door and stepped into the yard. Skip followed her, shaking himself.

She stood still for a moment. There was a fresh breeze, as always in Wigleigh. The night was not totally black, and she could make out vague shapes: the duck house, the privy, the pear tree. She could not see the neighbouring house, which was Wulfric’s; but she heard a low growl from his dog, tethered outside the small sheepfold, and she murmured a quiet phrase so that it would recognize her voice and be reassured.

It was a peaceful time – but nowadays there were too many such moments in her day. All her life she had lived in a tiny house full of babies and children, and at any instant at least one of them was clamouring for food, crying because of a minor hurt, shouting a protest or screaming with helpless infantile rage. She would never have guessed she might miss that. But she did, living with the quiet widow, who chatted amiably enough but was equally comfortable with silence. Sometimes Gwenda longed to hear a child cry, just so that she could pick it up and comfort it.

She found the old wooden bucket and washed her hands and face, then went back inside. She located the table in the dark, opened the bread box and cut a thick slice from the week-old loaf. Then she set out, eating the bread as she walked.

The village was silent: she was the first up. Peasants worked from sunup to sundown, and at this time of year it was a long, weary day. They treasured every moment of rest. Only Gwenda also used the hour between dawn and sunrise, and the hour of twilight at the end of the day.