27
It was a poor harvest. There was so little sunshine in August that the grain had barely ripened by September. In the village of Wigleigh, spirits were low. There was none of the usual euphoria of harvest time: the dances, the drinking, the sudden romances. Wet crops were liable to rot. Many villagers would go hungry before spring.
Wulfric reaped his barley in the driving rain, scything the wet stalks while Gwenda followed behind binding the sheaves. On the first sunny day of September they started to harvest the wheat, the most valuable crop, in the hope that the fine weather would last long enough to dry it.
At some point Gwenda realized that Wulfric was powered by fury. The sudden loss of his entire family had enraged him. He would have blamed someone for his bereavement, if he could; but the collapse of the bridge seemed a random event, an act of evil spirits, or a punishment by God; so he had no outlet for his passion except work. She herself was driven by love, which was just as potent.
They were in the fields before the crack of dawn, and they did not stop until it was too dark to see. Gwenda went to sleep with an aching back every night and woke when she heard Wulfric bang the kitchen door before dawn. Still they lagged behind everyone else.
Gradually, she sensed a change in the attitude of the village toward her and Wulfric. All her life, she had been looked down upon as the daughter of the disreputable Joby; and the women had disapproved of her even more when they realized she wanted to snatch Wulfric away from Annet. Wulfric was hard to dislike, but some felt that his desire to inherit such a big landholding was greedy and impractical. However, people could hardly fail to be impressed by their efforts to get the harvest in. A boy and a girl were trying to do the work of three men, and they were getting on better than anyone had expected. Men began to look at Wulfric with admiration, and women at Gwenda with sympathy.
In the end the villagers rallied around to help them. The priest, Father Gaspard, turned a blind eye to their working on Sundays. When Annet's family had got their harvest in, her father, Perkin, and her brother, Rob, joined Gwenda on Wulfric's land. Even Gwenda's mother, Ethna, showed up. As they carted the last of the sheaves to Wulfric's barn, there was a hint of the traditional harvest spirit, with everyone singing the old songs as they walked home behind the cart.
Annet was there, in violation of the saying that you should first follow the plow if you want to dance the harvest jig. She walked by Wulfric's side, as was her right, being his acknowledged fianc??e. Gwenda watched her from behind, noting sourly how she swayed her hips, tossed her head, and laughed prettily at everything he said. How could he be so stupid as to fall for that? Had he not noticed that Annet had done no work on his land?
No day had yet been fixed for the wedding. Perkin was nothing if not shrewd, and he would not let his daughter commit herself until the question of the inheritance was settled.
Wulfric had proved his ability to farm the land. No one would question that now. His age had come to seem irrelevant. The only remaining obstacle was the heriot. Would he be able to raise the money to pay the inheritance tax? It would depend how much he got for his cash crops. The harvest was poor but, if the bad weather had been widespread, the price of wheat would probably be high. In normal circumstances, a prosperous peasant family would have money saved up for the heriot; but Wulfric's family's savings were at the bottom of the river in Kingsbridge. So nothing was settled. And Gwenda could continue to dream that Wulfric would inherit the land and, somehow, transfer his affections to her. Anything was possible.
As they were unloading the cart into the barn, Nathan Reeve arrived. The hunchbacked bailiff was in a state of high excitement. 'Come to the church, quickly,' he said. 'Everybody! Stop what you're doing.'
Wulfric said: 'I'm not leaving my crops out in the open - it might rain.'
Gwenda said: 'We'll just drag the cart inside. What's the emergency, Nate?'
The bailiff was already hurrying to the next house. 'The new lord is arriving!' he said.
'Wait!' Wulfric ran after him. 'Will you recommend that I inherit?'
Everyone stood still, watching, waiting for the answer.
Nathan turned reluctantly and faced Wulfric. He had to look up, for Wulfric was taller by a foot. 'I don't know,' he said slowly.
'I've proved I can farm the land - you can see that. Just look in the barn!'
'You've done well, no question. But can you pay the heriot?'
'It depends on the price of wheat.'
Annet spoke. 'Father?' she said.
Gwenda wondered what was coming.
Perkin looked hesitant.
Annet prompted him again. 'You remember what you promised me.'
'Yes, I remember,' Perkin said at last.
'Tell Nate, then.'
Perkin turned to the bailiff. 'I'll guarantee the heriot, if the lord will let Wulfric inherit.'
Gwenda's hand flew to her mouth.
Nathan said: 'You'll pay it for him? It's two pounds and ten shillings.'
'If he's short, I'll lend him what he needs. Of course, they'll have to be married first.'
Nathan lowered his voice. 'And, in addition...?'
Perkin said something so quietly that Gwenda could not hear it, but she could guess what it was. Perkin was offering Nathan a bribe, probably a tenth of the tax, which would be five shillings.
'Very well,' Nathan said. 'I'll make the recommendation. Now get yourselves to the church, quickly!' He ran off.
Wulfric smiled broadly and kissed Annet. Everyone shook his hand.
Gwenda was heartsick. Her hopes were dashed. Annet had been too clever. She had persuaded her father to lend Wulfric the money he needed. He would inherit his land - and he would marry Annet.
Gwenda forced herself to help push the cart into the barn. Then she followed the happy couple as they walked through the village to the church. It was all over. A new lord, not knowing the village or the people, was unlikely to go against his bailiff's advice on a question such as this. The fact that Nathan had gone to the trouble of negotiating a bribe indicated his confidence.
It was partly her fault, of course. She had broken her back to make sure Wulfric got his harvest in, in the vain hope that somehow he would realize how much better a wife she would make than Annet. All summer long she had been digging her own grave, she thought as she walked through the cemetery to the church door. But she would do the same again. She could not have borne to see him struggle alone. Whatever happens, she thought, he'll always know I was the one who stuck it out with him. It was small consolation.
Most of the villagers were already in the church. They had not needed much urging from Nathan. They were eager to be among the first to pay their respects to their new lord, and curious to see what he was like: young or old, ugly or handsome, cheerful or dyspeptic, clever or stupid, and - most important of all - cruel or kind. Everything about him would affect their lives for as long as he remained lord, which might be years or decades. If he were reasonable, he could do a lot to make Wigleigh a happy and prosperous village. If he were a fool, they would have unwise decisions and unjust rulings, oppressive taxes and harsh punishments. And one of his first decisions would be whether to let Wulfric inherit.
The rumble of conversation died away, and a jingle of harness was heard. Gwenda heard Nathan's voice, low and obsequious, then the authoritative tone of a lord - a big man, she thought, confident, but young. Everyone looked at the church door. It flew open.
Gwenda gasped with shock.
The man who strode in was no more than twenty. He was well dressed in an expensive wool surcoat, and armed with sword and dagger. He was tall, and his expression was proud. He seemed pleased to be lord of Wigleigh, though there was a hint of insecurity in the haughty look. He had wavy dark hair and a handsome face disfigured by a broken nose.
He was Ralph Fitzgerald.
Ralph's first manorial court was held the following Sunday.
In the interim, Wulfric was depressed. Gwenda wanted to weep every time she looked at him. He walked around with his eyes cast down, his broad shoulders slumped. All summer he had seemed tireless, working in the fields with the uncomplaining dependability of a plowhorse; but now he looked weary. He had done all a man could do, but his fate had been given into the hands of one who hated him.
She would have liked to say something hopeful, in an attempt to cheer him up, but the truth was that she shared his pessimism. Lords were often petty and vindictive, and nothing about Ralph encouraged her to believe that he would be magnanimous. As a child, he had been stupid and brutal. She would never forget the day he had killed her dog with Merthin's bow and arrow.
There was no sign that he had improved since then. He had moved into the manor house with his sidekick, a beefy young squire called Alan Fernhill, and the two of them were drinking the best wine, eating the chickens, and squeezing the breasts of the female servants with the carelessness typical of their class.
Nathan Reeve's attitude confirmed her fears. The bailiff was not bothering to negotiate an increased bribe - a sure sign that he expected failure.
Annet, too, seemed to have a poor view of Wulfric's prospects. Gwenda saw an unmistakable change in her. She did not toss her hair so gaily, or walk with that swish of her hips, and the waterfall tinkle of her laughter was not heard so often. Gwenda hoped Wulfric would not see the difference in Annet: he had enough to be gloomy about. But it seemed to her that he did not stay so late at Perkin's house in the evenings, and when he returned home he was taciturn.
She was surprised to learn, on Sunday morning, that Wulfric still harbored the ghost of a hope. When the service ended, and Father Gaspard gave place to Lord Ralph, she saw that Wulfric's eyes were closed and his lips were moving, presumably in a prayer to his favorite saint, the Virgin Mary.
All the villagers were in church, of course, including Joby and Ethna. Gwenda did not stand with her parents. She talked to her mother sometimes, but only when her father was not around. Joby had an angry red patch on his cheek where she had burned him with the blazing log. He never met her eye. She was still afraid of him, but she sensed that he was now also afraid of her.
Ralph sat on the big wooden chair, staring at his serfs with the appraising look of a buyer at a cattle market. The court proceedings on this day consisted of a series of announcements. Nathan proclaimed the arrangements for getting the harvest in from the lord's fields, stating on which days of the coming week different villagers would be required to perform their customary duty on the lord's lands. No discussion was invited. Clearly Ralph did not intend to govern by consensus.
There were other details of the kind Nathan dealt with every week: gleaning should be completed in Hundredacre by Monday night so that livestock could graze the stubble from Tuesday morning, and autumn plowing of Longfield would begin on Wednesday. Normally there would have been minor disputes about these plans, with the more argumentative villagers finding reasons to propose different arrangements, but today they were all quiet, waiting to get the measure of the new lord.
When the decision came, it seemed curiously low-key. As if he were simply stating another schedule of work, Nathan said: 'Wulfric will not be permitted to inherit his father's landholding, because he is only sixteen.'
Gwenda looked at Ralph. He was trying to smother a triumphant grin. His hand went to his face - unconsciously, she thought - and he touched his broken nose.
Nathan went on: 'Lord Ralph will consider what to do with the lands and give his judgment later.'
Wulfric groaned loud enough for everyone to hear. It was the decision he had been expecting, but its confirmation was bitter. She watched as he turned his back on the crowd in the church, hiding his face, and leaned against the wall as if to stop himself falling.
'That's all for today,' said Nathan.
Ralph stood up. He walked down the aisle slowly, his eyes continually turning to the distraught Wulfric. What kind of lord would he be, Gwenda thought, if his first instinct was to use his power for revenge? Nathan followed Ralph, looking at the floor: he knew that an injustice had been done. As they left the church, a buzz of comment arose. Gwenda spoke to no one, but watched Wulfric.
He turned from the wall, his face a picture of misery. His eyes raked the crowd and found Annet. She looked furious. Gwenda waited for her to meet Wulfric's eye, but she seemed determined not to look at him. Gwenda wondered what was going through her mind.
Annet walked toward the door, head held high. Her father, Perkin, and the family followed. Would she not even speak to Wulfric?
The same thought must have occurred to him, for he went after her. 'Annet!' he said. 'Wait.'
The place went quiet.
Annet turned. Wulfric stood before her. 'We'll still get married, won't we?' he said. Gwenda winced to hear the undignified note of pleading in his voice. Annet stared at him, apparently about to speak, but she said nothing for a long moment, and Wulfric spoke again. 'Lords need good serfs to farm the land. Perhaps Ralph will give me a smaller holding - '
'You broke his nose,' she said harshly. 'He will never give you anything.'
Gwenda recalled how pleased Annet had been, at the time, to have two men fighting over her.
Wulfric said: 'Then I'll be a laborer. I'm strong, I'll never lack for work.'
'But you'll be poor all your life. Is that what you're offering me?'
'We'll be together - just as we dreamed, that day in the forest, when you told me you loved me, don't you remember?'
'And what would life be like for me, married to a landless laborer?' Annet demanded angrily. 'I'll tell you.' She lifted her arm and pointed at Gwenda's mother, Ethna, standing with Joby and the three little ones. 'I would be like her - grim-faced with worry and as thin as a broom handle.'
Joby was stung by this. He waved the stump of his severed arm at Annet. 'You watch your mouth, you haughty minx.'
Perkin stepped in front of his daughter and made a patting gesture with both hands. 'Forgive her, Joby, she's overwrought, she means no harm.'
Wulfric said: 'No disrespect to Joby, but I'm not like him, Annet.'
'But you are!' she said. 'You've got no land. It's why he's poor, and it's why you'll be poor, and your children will be hungry and your wife will be drab.'
It was true. In hard times the landless were the first to suffer. Dismissing your employees was the quickest way to save money. All the same, Gwenda found it hard to believe that a woman would turn down the chance of spending her life with Wulfric.
Yet that seemed to be what Annet was doing.
Wulfric thought so, too. Plaintively, he said: 'Don't you love me anymore?'
He had lost all his dignity and he looked pathetic; yet, at that moment, Gwenda felt more passion for him than ever before.
'I can't eat love,' Annet said, and she walked out of the church.