World Without End (36 page)

'I just want him to succeed,' Gwenda had replied. 'He deserves it. He's an honest man with a good heart, and he's willing to work until he drops. I want him to be happy, even if he does marry that bitch.'

Today the demesne workers were in Brookfield, harvesting the lord's early peas and beans, and Wulfric was nearby, digging a drainage ditch: the land was swampy after the heavy rain of early June. Gwenda watched him working, wearing only his drawers and boots, his broad back bending over the spade. He moved as tirelessly as a millwheel. Only the sweat glistening on his skin betrayed the effort he was making. At midday Annet came to him, looking pretty with a green ribbon in her hair, carrying a jug of ale and some bread and cheese wrapped in a piece of sacking.

Nate Reeve rang a bell, and everyone stopped work and retreated to the fringe of trees at the north end of the field. Nate gave out cider, bread, and onions to the demesne workers: dinner was included in their remuneration. Gwenda sat with her back against a hornbeam tree and studied Wulfric and Annet with the fascination of a condemned man watching the carpenter build the gallows.

At first, Annet was her usual flirtatious self, tilting her head, batting her eyelids, playfully striking Wulfric in mock punishment for something he said. Then she became serious, speaking to him insistently while he seemed to protest innocence. They both looked at Gwenda, and she guessed they were talking about her. She presumed Annet had found out about her working on Wulfric's strips in the mornings and evenings. Eventually Annet left, looking petulant, and Wulfric finished his dinner in thoughtful solitude.

After eating, everyone rested for the remainder of the dinner hour. The older people lay full length on the ground and dozed while the youngsters chatted. Wulfric came to where Gwenda sat and crouched beside her. 'You've been weeding my strips,' he said.

Gwenda was not going to apologize. 'I suppose Annet scolded you.'

'She doesn't want you working for me.'

'What would she like me to do, put the weeds back in the earth?'

He glanced around and lowered his voice, not wanting others to hear - although everyone could surely guess what he and Gwenda were saying to one another. 'I know you mean well, and I'm grateful, but it's causing trouble.'

She enjoyed being this close to him. He smelled of earth and sweat. 'You need help,' she said. 'And Annet isn't much use.'

'Please don't criticize her. In fact, don't speak of her at all.'

'All right, but you can't get the harvest in alone.'

He sighed. 'If only the sun would shine.' Automatically, he looked up at the sky, a peasant reflex. There was thick cloud from horizon to horizon. All the grain crops were struggling in the cool, damp weather.

'Let me work for you,' Gwenda begged. 'Tell Annet you need me. A man is supposed to be master of his wife, not the other way around.'

'I'll think about it,' he said.

But the next day he hired a laborer.

He was a traveling man who showed up at the end of the afternoon. The villagers gathered around him in the twilight to hear his story. His name was Gram and he came from Salisbury. He said his wife and children had been killed when his house burned down. He was on his way to Kingsbridge, where he hoped to get employment, perhaps at the priory. His brother was a monk there.

Gwenda said: 'I probably know him. My brother, Philemon, has worked at the priory for years. What's your brother's name?'

'John.' There were two monks called John but, before Gwenda could ask which was Gram's brother, he went on: 'When I started out, I had a little money to buy food along the way. Then I was robbed by outlaws, and now I'm penniless.'

There was a lot of sympathy for the man. Wulfric invited him to sleep at his house. The next day, Saturday, he started to work for Wulfric, accepting board and lodging and a share of the harvest as his remuneration.

Gram worked hard all day Saturday. Wulfric was shallow-plowing his fallow land in Longfield to destroy thistles. It was a two-man job: Gram led the horse, whipping it on when it flagged, while Wulfric guided the plow. On Sunday they rested.

In church on Sunday, Gwenda burst into tears when she saw Cath, Joanie, and Eric. She had not realized how badly she missed them. She held Eric through the service. Afterward, her mother spoke harshly to her. 'You're breaking your heart for that Wulfric. Weeding his strips won't make him love you. He's cross-eyed for that worthless Annet.'

'I know,' Gwenda said. 'But I want to help him anyway.'

'You should leave the village. There's nothing for you here.'

She knew her mother was right. 'I will,' she said. 'I'll leave the day after their wedding.'

Ma lowered her voice. 'If you must stay, watch out for your father. He hasn't given up hope of another twelve shillings.'

'What do you mean?' Gwenda asked.

Ma just shook her head.

'He can't sell me now,' Gwenda said. 'I've left his house. He doesn't feed or shelter me. I work for the lord of Wigleigh. I'm not Pa's to dispose of any longer.'

'Just watch out,' said Ma, and she would say no more.

Outside the church the traveling man, Gram, talked to Gwenda, asking her questions about herself, and suggested they take a stroll together after dinner. She guessed what he meant by a 'stroll' and turned him down flat, but later she saw him with yellow-haired Joanna, the daughter of David Johns, who was only fifteen and stupid enough to fall for the blandishments of a traveling man.

On Monday, Gwenda was weeding Wulfric's wheat on Hundredacre in the half light before sunrise when Wulfric came across the field toward her at a run. His face was grim with fury.

She had continued to defy his wishes, working on his lands every morning and evening, and it looked as if she had driven him too far. What would he do - beat her up? After the way she had provoked him, he could probably do violence to her with impunity - people would say she had asked for it, and she had no one to stick up for her now that she had left her parents' home. She felt scared. She had seen Wulfric break Ralph Fitzgerald's nose.

Then she told herself not to be foolish. Although he had been in many fights, she had never known him to strike a woman or a child. All the same, his anger made her tremble.

But it was nothing like that. As soon as he got within hailing distance, he shouted: 'Have you seen Gram?'

'No, why?'

He came closer and stopped, breathing hard. 'How long have you been here?'

'I got up before dawn.'

Wulfric's shoulders slumped. 'Then, if he came this way, he's out of reach by now.'

'What's happened?'

'He's disappeared - and so has my horse.'

That explained Wulfric's rage. A horse was a valuable asset - only wealthy peasants such as his father could afford one. Gwenda recalled how quickly Gram had changed the subject when she said she might know his brother. He did not have a brother at the priory, of course, nor had he lost his wife and child in a fire. He was a liar who had wormed his way into the confidence of the villagers with the intention of stealing. 'What fools we were to listen to his story,' she said.

'And I the biggest fool of all, to take him into my house,' Wulfric said bitterly. 'He stayed just long enough for the animals to get to know him, so that the horse was willing to go with him, and the dog didn't bark when he left.'

Gwenda's heart ached for Wulfric, losing the horse at a time when he needed it most. 'I don't think he came this way,' she said thoughtfully. 'He can't have left before me - the night was too dark. And if he had followed me, I would have seen him.' There was only one road into and out of the village, and it dead-ended at the manor house. But there were numerous pathways across the fields. 'He probably took the lane between Brookfield and Longfield - it's the quickest way into the forest.'

'The horse can't move very fast in the woods. I might catch him yet.' Wulfric turned and ran back the way he had come.

'Good luck,' Gwenda called after him, and he waved acknowledgment without turning his head.

However, he did not have good luck.

Late that afternoon, as Gwenda was carrying a sack of peas from Brookfield to the lord's barn, she walked past Longfield and saw Wulfric again. He was digging over his fallow land with a spade. Obviously he had not caught up with Gram, or retrieved his horse.

She put down the sack and crossed the field to speak to him. 'You can't do this,' she said. 'You've got thirty acres here, and you've plowed, what, ten? No man can dig over twenty acres.'

He did not meet her eye. He carried on digging, his face set. 'I can't plow,' he said. 'I've no horse.'

'Put yourself in harness,' she said. 'You're strong, and it's a light plow - you're only killing thistles.'

'I've no one to guide the plow.'

'Yes, you have.'

He stared at her.

'I'll do it,' she said.

He shook his head.

She said: 'You've lost your family, and now you've lost your horse. You can't manage on your own. You have no choice. You have to let me help you.'

He looked away, across the fields, toward the village, and she knew he was thinking about Annet.

'I'll be ready first thing tomorrow morning,' Gwenda said.

His gaze returned to her. His face worked with emotion. He was torn between love of the land and a desire to please Annet.

'I'll knock on your door,' Gwenda said. 'We'll plow the rest together.' She turned and walked away, then stopped and looked back.

He did not say yes.

But he did not say no.

They plowed for two days, then made hay, then picked spring vegetables.

Now that Gwenda was no longer earning money to pay Widow Huberts for bed and board, she needed somewhere else to sleep, so she moved into Wulfric's cowshed. She explained the reason, and he made no objection.

After the first day, Annet ceased to bring Wulfric's dinner at midday, so Gwenda would prepare food for them both from his cupboard: bread, ale in a jug, boiled eggs or cold bacon, and spring onions or beets. Once again, Wulfric accepted the change without comment.

She still had the love potion. The little pottery vial was in a tiny leather bag attached to a thong around her neck. It hung between her breasts, hidden from view. She could have dosed his ale at any dinnertime, but she would not be able to take advantage of its effects out in the fields in the middle of the day.

Every evening he went to Perkin's house and had supper with Annet and her family, so Gwenda sat alone in his kitchen. When he returned he often looked grim, but he said nothing to Gwenda, so she assumed he must have overruled Annet's objections. He went to bed without taking anything more to eat or drink, so she was not able to use the potion.

On the Saturday after Gram ran off, Gwenda made herself a supper of greens boiled with salt pork. Wulfric's house was stocked with food for four adults, so there was plenty to eat. The evenings were cool, even though it was now July, and after she had eaten she put another log on the kitchen fire and sat watching it catch alight, thinking of the simple, predictable life she had led until a few short weeks ago, marveling at how that life had collapsed as completely as the bridge at Kingsbridge.

When the door opened, she thought it was Wulfric coming home. She always retired to the cowshed when he came back, but she enjoyed the few friendly words they exchanged before going to bed. She looked up eagerly, expecting to see his handsome face; but she suffered an unpleasant shock.

It was not Wulfric, but her father.

With him was a rough-looking stranger.

She leaped to her feet, full of fear. 'What do you want?'

Skip gave a hostile bark, but retreated from Joby in fear.

Joby said: 'Now, then, my little girl, no need to be afraid, I'm your pa.'

She recalled, with dismay, her mother's vague warning in church. 'Who is he?' she said, pointing at the stranger.

'This here is Jonah from Abingdon, a dealer in hides.'

Jonah might once have been a merchant, Gwenda thought grimly, and he might even come from Abingdon, but his boots were worn, his clothes were filthy, and his matted hair and straggly beard showed that he had not visited a city barber for some years.

Showing more courage than she felt, Gwenda said: 'Get away from me.'

'I told you she was feisty,' Joby said to Jonah. 'But she's a good girl, and strong.'

Jonah spoke for the first time. 'Not to worry,' he said. He licked his lips as he studied Gwenda, and she wished she were wearing more than her light wool dress. 'I've broken in a few fillies in my time,' he added.

Gwenda had no doubt that her father had carried out his threat and sold her again. She had thought that leaving his house would make her safe. Surely the villagers would not permit the abduction of a laborer employed by one of their number? But it was dark now, and she might be far away before anyone realized what had happened.

There was no one to help her.

All the same, she was not going without a fight.

She looked around desperately, searching for a weapon. The log she had put on a few minutes ago was blazing at one end, but it was about eighteen inches long, and the other end stuck out invitingly. She bent quickly and snatched it up.

'Now, then, no need for that sort of thing,' said Joby. 'You don't want to hurt your old pa, do you?' He stepped closer.

A rush of rage overwhelmed her. How dare he speak of himself as her old pa when he was trying to sell her? Suddenly she did want to hurt him. She leaped at him, screaming with rage, thrusting the burning log at his face.

He jumped back, but she kept coming, mad with fury. Skip yapped frantically. Joby lifted his arms to protect himself, trying to knock the brand away, but she was strong, too. His flailing arms failed to stop her rush, and she pushed the red-hot end of the log into his face. He screamed in pain as it scorched his cheek. His dirty beard caught fire, and there was a sickening smell of roasting flesh.

Then Gwenda was grabbed from behind. Jonah's arms encircled her, pinning her own arms to her side. She dropped the burning log. Flames leaped up immediately from the straw on the floor. Skip, terrified of fire, ran out of the house. Gwenda struggled, wriggling in Jonah's grasp, throwing herself from side to side, but he was surprisingly strong. He lifted her off her feet.