circuit of the village. This did not take long. Alvescot was small before plague struck. Now there were barely a dozen families to serve this forlorn forested fragment of Lord Gilbert’s manor of Bampton.
Alvescot’s inhabitants completed their march around the hamlet and broke apart to attend to their own business. Gerard possessed a cottage near the churchyard and soon I saw him approach, limping slightly, favoring his left leg and foot.
The verderer had walked in such manner since I put his head together nearly two years earlier. He and his sons had been felling an oak in the forest between Alvescot and Bampton. A limb of the tree smashed his pate when he failed to move quickly enough from under the falling tree. He complained also of feebleness in his left arm. Why this should be so I cannot tell, for it was the right side of his skull, just above his ear, which suffered the blow.
I greeted the man, and he smiled warmly, as a man might to another who has saved his life. He guessed the reason for my visit. “You’ve come about beams, eh?”
“Aye. Will they be ready to transport to the castle by Whitsuntide?
“Ready now. Hewed, stacked, an’ dryin’ since Candlemas.”
“Excellent. And how does your head? Are you troubled yet with headaches?”
“Oh, not so much. ’Tis not me head that gives trouble…’tis the weakness in me arm an’ leg.”
“This does not improve?”
“Nay. Same as has been since you patched me up.”
This condition puzzles me. Mondeville wrote nothing about such a phenomenon, nor has any other surgeon so far as I know. That a man might lose some function of his body from a thump on the head is well known, but why the loss would be opposite to the place of injury I cannot guess.
“I’ll send carts to haul the timbers to the castle. How goes Lord Gilbert’s woodland? Did many trees fall over winter?”
“Nay…no but one, an old beech come down just after Twelfth Night. ’Twas too bitter to do aught ’bout it then. But after the Feast o’ St Edward we hewed it to timbers. They be stacked along wi’ the oak, if Lord Gilbert needs more than planned for ’is new stables.”
As we talked we walked across the muddy lane to Gerard’s hut. He led the way to the toft, where in a wood yard behind the house he showed me the pile of oak and beech awaiting transport to Bampton. All was done as required. No fault could be found with the forester’s work, although for the frailty of his left hand and leg I assumed his sons and assistants had done most of the work under his direction.
Beside the beams was a rack of pollarded poles drying under a thatched shelter. Gerard followed my gaze.
“Rafters…got to cut ’em when they’re the right size, or there’ll be no use for ’em. Wait ’til they be needed an’ they’ll be grown too large. I’ll send a stack w’ the beams. No use for ’em here, since plague.”
At the rear of his hut, between the building and the wood yard, I saw a heap of wattles ready also for the new stables. Gerard saw my eyes move to the pile, and spoke. “Cut ’em just three days past, so they’ll be green- like an’ bend easy. Poplar. They’s best for wattle.”
As I walked past the pile of wattle sticks I absently grasped a wand and flexed it, as if to try the forester’s opinion. The twig bent readily, indeed. I replaced it and strolled on.
The door to the rear of Gerard’s cottage stood open to the warm spring day and I glanced in as I walked past. A bench occupied the doorway, placed so as to catch the sun. On it were a dozen or so of the straightest poplar shafts, a knife, and a scattering of goose feathers.
Gerard again noted the direction of my gaze and spoke. “Can’t shoot arrows now, since me eyes is gone cloudy an’ me arm’s too weak to hold a bow steady, but nobody makes a truer shaft. All say so.”
“You use poplar?” I enquired as I picked up one of the unfinished arrows.
“An’ alder…for practice, like. Was we t’be at war wi’ the Frenchies again I’d use ash. Poplar be good enough for practice.”
“And hunting?”
“Hunting?” The verderer stepped back in shock. “Lord Gilbert hunts wi’ hawks an’ hounds an’ none other may hunt in this wood…’Tis my job t’see t’that.” He concluded this remark with some vehemence.
“You’ve seen no sign of poachers in Lord Gilbert’s forest? No unburied bones or entrails?”
“Nay! Me an’ me lads keep a sharp eye for such practice…well, Richard an’ Walter do. Me eyes, you know…’Twould be worth me position to allow thieves to take Lord Gilbert’s deer.”
“Do you make arrows to sell, or are they for your sons’ use? I saw Richard two weeks past, I think, at the castle of a Sunday afternoon.”
“I make ’em, mostly to keep me ’and in practice, like. Not much use for arrows now’t we ain’t got Frenchies t’shoot at. ’Spect that’ll change. Usually does.”
I agreed. Peace is too valuable to use overmuch. It must be parceled out in small quantities, interspersed between large amounts of war. King Edward would soon find reason enough to resume war in France, I was sure. Or the French king would find cause to attack English possessions. Gerard knew this as well as did every Englishman, and Frenchman too.
The beams, ready or not, could not be taken to Bampton until Friday, for Tuesday and Wednesday were also Rogation Days, and Thursday was Ascension Day.
I awoke early on Ascension Day and after a breakfast of maslin loaf and ale went to the castle parapet to watch the dressing of the Ladywell. This well is ancient, its water said to bring miraculous cures to the ill who seek relief in faith. Even beasts are said to recover health if brought to drink water from the well.
Devout men of centuries past had built a small grotto about the well. Even before I mounted the parapet faithful men and women had begun to bedeck the stones with flowers. Before St Beornwald’s bell rang for matins the Ladywell — so named as sacred to the mother of Christ — was covered in blooms.
I left the parapet and castle and joined others in procession to the church. Many carried new willow shoots in honor of the day, bundled with blue ribbons of linen or woolen strips.
Ascension Day mass is, to me, a joyous event. I am reminded that Christ said He would one day return in like manner as He departed. Such a day will indeed be a joy, for after it there will be no more pestilence or famine. Princes will no longer war upon each other and the commons. I might almost wish Christ may return tomorrow.
But should He do so I will never hold a dear wife close, nor shall I watch children and grandchildren play about my feet. Much sorrow will be ended when the Lord Christ returns, but some joy also. Considering all, it is my wish that our Lord delay His return awhile yet. Perhaps when I am bent with age and stumble upon my way with rheumy eyes and unsure step, then perhaps, when I have seen sons grow to honorable manhood, then I might be pleased to see Christ appear in the eastern sky. Well, I think our Lord will appear when He is ready, which time neither I nor any man can know. So it will behoove me to be ready when He is. Although I do pray He will tarry until I find a good wife.
Early Friday morning I sent six men, six horses, and three carts to Alvescot to haul the beams to the castle. I thought two trips from each would complete the work. It was near the twelfth hour, the sun hanging low above the west forest, when the heavily laden carts appeared a second time through the trees bearing their burdens.
The carts and their tired horses and villeins passed through the gatehouse and made their way toward the southeast corner of the castle yard, where the marshalsea was to be extended. I watched as the beams were unloaded, having nothing better to do until the evening meal, when from the corner of my eye I saw John Holcutt standing under the gatehouse in conversation with a woman.
I perceived nothing unusual in this conversation so paid it no mind. But a few moments later the reeve approached, smiling, holding a spade in one hand and some obscured object in the other.
“You seem pleased with yourself, John”
“Aye. I have done Lord Gilbert good service this day.”
“How so?”
The reeve held forth the spade. It was iron, and well made. “I have added this to the castle tools…for two pence. And,” he continued, “two nails, for a farthing.”
John lifted the object in his left hand and presented it for my examination. It was a block of wood — beech, I think — about the length of a man’s hand, half as broad, and two fingers in thickness. Driven through this wooden fragment were two iron nails, each as long as a man’s fingers.
