Drink, too, was much the same. But instead of the weak penny ale that is all we pages are normally allowed, the cup-bearers poured us twopenny ale, which tasted far stronger.
As it grew later the ale loosened everyone’s tongues, and Humphrey and Oliver began to make rude fun of me. When I sat with my legs apart, Oliver did point to where they joined beneath my thin hose. With much glee he chanted: “Let not thy privy members be laid open to be viewed. ’Tis most shameful and abhorred, detestable and rude!”
The tail of this rhyme I scarcely heard, for just then the minstrels blew a fanfare. Both they and the tumblers had been entertaining us all most skilfully (though some of the minstrels’ songs were saucy and made the ladies blush and bashfully study the floor).
The horns that drowned Oliver’s words announced a subtlety. The subtleties were cunningly fashioned from sugar and almond paste and were one of the delicacies that ended each of the four courses.
They were goodly sweet to taste, though they did not look like food at all. One was modeled as a hunting scene, and another as a mythic beast. But my favorite was one that looked like a great ship tossed at sea.
After the fanfare I remember no more, for this was when (or so I am told) I sickened and fell headlong to the floor.
August 9th, Thursday
Because I am still weak and do not mend as quickly as my aunt would wish, my uncle has sent Simon to fetch a physician from Middlethorpe.
This town is but an hour’s ride from Strandborough, though my uncle said that as he doubts I am dying, Simon need not rush to return before tomorrow.
August 10th, Friday
The Physician arrived today. Leach he is called and the name describes him well, for he is round and sleek and I like him not!
First he had me relieve myself into a glass flask so he could study my water. He held it up to the window to judge the color, and then brought it to his nose. I guessed he would drink from it next, but instead he set it down on the table. Then he took from his purse a folded piece of parchment and, opening it, studied its mysterious signs and marks with great care.
He asked when the sickness began, and for the day, hour, and place of my birth. From another chart he worked out how stood the stars when I sickened (for this also affects his choice of cure). Then he announced: “The boy is melancholic, and Earth fights Fire for control of his body.” This surprised me not a little, for I had thought it was the surfeit of food and ale I had swallowed at the banquet that ailed my gut.
Finally he added that I should be bled, but as this was not a favorable time for such a task he would return, if needed, in a few days.
August 12th, The Lord’s Day
Still I am confined to my bed in the Great Chamber. When I tried to rise this morn, the room swung so wildly about me that I felt sick to my stomach again and my aunt straightway made me lie back down.
Today my aunt received a visitor. This woman, who is called Lady Cecily, is my aunt’s friend and lives in the neighboring manor of Littlethorpe. She brought with her a younger sister, Jane. Together the four women wiled away the day in working at their needlepoint and playing chess and backgammon. Mostly, though, they gossiped of the banquet and of the noble knights they knew. Later, Jane and Isbel tried to teach me backgammon, but my brain was too muddled to make much sense of it.
When they went to eat in the Hall, Mark sneaked in to see how I did, which cheered me greatly.
August 13th, Monday
Doctor Leach came again today, and after much peering and prodding, he declared once more that I must be bled to release the ill humors or fluids that are in my body. Grasping hold of my arm, he straightway chose a vein and opened it with a knife. He told my aunt that this would let out the black bile, of which I have too much. And that as the moon is nearly full, this is a good time for bloodletting.
At length the Leach bandaged up my arm and, taking out a piece of parchment, wrote the letters of my name on it. Then he gave each of the letters a number, summed them all together, and announced: “The boy shall live!”
At this my aunt near swooned with joy, and paid the fat Doctor well for his work. But I feel sicker than ever and my arm hurts abominably.
August 16th, Thursday
Today I am much mended, though my arm still pains me not a little. I cannot think how bleeding someone helps to cure them. ’Tis my belief I am recovered in spite of Doctor Leach’s treatment rather than because of it.
August 24th, Friday
Though I am now full recovered, I did this morn feign illness. The day was bright and clear, and after so much time indoors I had no heart for spending more in dull schooling.
While my cousins and the other pages were at their studies, I slipped out and walked along the river bank toward the forest.
The wheat stands high and yellow in the fields, for reaping will soon begin. At first I saw no one, and had only the skylarks and rabbits for company. But then I spied some sudden movement in the distance and, being curious, made haste to find out what it was.
When I drew closer I spied a man lying on the river bank. He was now perfectly still, gazing into the water. His hand was in the water, too, and near it a fish stirred.
The fish swam right up to the man and over his hand. Suddenly the silence ended, and all was splashing as the man hurled the flapping fish on to the bank.
The poacher (for such I guessed he was) sprang to his feet and then saw me. He looked at me and I at him. We two looked at the fish, which thrashed on the grass. He stooped and picked up the wriggling fish and, swinging it by the tail, brought its head down on a tree-stump.
The fish went still, and he laid it down next to another one.
“Thou hast not seen me, hast thou boy?” he growled. I did not understand him and said nothing. At this he swore beneath his breath and raised his fist. “Thou hast not seen me, nor the fish!”
I turned, but before I could run his hand shot out and grabbed my arm. Then he knelt down and, bringing his face close to mine, began to talk more calmly.
“Now lad, thou shouldst not be here, shouldst thou?” he questioned.
He smelled of onions and ale, and though his voice was soft his grip was not, so I confessed it was the truth.
“Well, then,” he said, “you keep us meeting here a secret and so shall I. Agreed?”
I wished he would let go my arm, so promised I’d say nothing. When his grip slackened I burst free and hurried back to the castle.
August 26th, The Lord’s Day
This coming week the harvesting begins and the castle wheat will be cut. I pleaded with my aunt to let me go into the fields and help, as I do at home.
She said at first ’twas not right for a boy of my good birth to work in the fields. But seeing that I craved it she did bend and bade me tell the Reeve that I could join the castle harvest for a day when work began.
August 28th, Tuesday
I asked Oliver about fishing. He told me that all of the fish in the river belong to the castle — not just those in the stewponds fed by the moat’s waters. Poachers steal many fish, he said, and they go to a different place each time so the Water-Keeper cannot catch them. He said the poachers grill their stolen fish on a single leek leaf, which holds it like a boat. I did not believe him, but when I asked Mark he swore it was true.
August 29th, Wednesday
The villagers hasten to cut their own wheat, while the Reeve mutters and peers at the skies. For when Reeve feels the time is right, they must leave their harvesting and reap the castle wheat instead. ’Tis called a “boon,” which means my uncle commands the villagers to do this work for nothing — it is their ancient duty and they cannot refuse.
Cook and Brewess both curse, for all those who harvest have a great thirst and hunger. By custom the castle must feed them and quench their thirst on a boon-day. But Mark says ’tis not all work, and there shall be some sport when the castle harvest is done. This is all that he will tell me, and he only smiles when I beg to know more.
>
September 3rd, Monday
The past four days being hot, the Reeve held off from the boon-work to let the wheat dry further before it was cut. But today he would wait no longer, and straightway after Mass I hurried to the fields.
Already many people flocked around. The Reeve shouted at them to hasten, for he wanted near twenty acres cut today. The Reeve directs the harvest, just as he does most other business between castle and village.
I saw the poacher I had met by the river. He stepped up to me and said quietly: “Come, lad. I did not mean to frighten thee t’other day.” His voice was gentle, and I was glad to know someone in such a large crowd of strangers. Seeing us talk, Reeve called out: “Ho, David! Thou and Toby are unlikely friends.” There was much laughter at this, but David clapped me on the back and replied: “Aye, and he offers to bind my wheat this day.” So I set to work as a poacher’s helper.
Everyone worked fast. The reapers bent double, grasping the stalks near the ground before cutting them. David watched me until he saw that I knew how to shake out the weeds and use the stalks themselves to tie up each bundle.
Folk paused from time to time to sharpen their sickles or mop their brows and drink from stone jars. For though the sky was dull the day was hot, and the work warmed them.
At noon, everyone rested and ate. Cook had set out mountains of bread, cheese, and meat on wide boards laid across barrels. All who harvested could eat their fill of castle food, and wash it down with plentiful ale. The village folk drained in one day a barrel of ale so large it stood higher than my head.
The field in which we worked is 300 long paces across and as many wide, yet no more than forty men had cut all the wheat by dusk.
When it was done, each reaper took as his right one sheaf of wheat for each half-acre he had cut. David cursed as he lifted his. “This is miser’s pay for such hard work,” he said. I asked him what he meant.
“Boon-work is our duty, Toby lad,” he replied. “None does it willingly. Each man has his own strips of land, and to eat we must labor hard. Just when our crop is ready to be cut, so too is the castle’s. But we gain nothing from the wheat we cut today, for it feeds the castle folk.” And with this he bade me goodnight.
September 4th, Tuesday
Today ended the boon-work. I slipped out to the fields as soon as lessons were over and, as Mark had said, there was a game.
As the sun was setting, the Reeve stood in the middle of the field and tossed high a sickle. With wheat sheaves we marked a ring as wide as his throw was long. Then Reeve fetched a ewe and set her in the middle of the ring.
David bade me keep still and watch what happened next. “If sheep stays in ring until cock crows, the villagers keep her,” he whispered. “But if she runs, ’twill be to yonder table,” and he pointed up at the castle. None dared move save the Reeve. He coughed loudly, but it did not fright the ewe.
We had not long to wait, for in any village there are plenty of cocks, and before a moment was out one called and the village lads rushed forward to claim their prize.
September 5th, Wednesday
My venture in the wheatfields has left me covered in the bites of harvest-mites, and no amount of scratching will relieve the itch.
October 10th, Wednesday
While crossing the Bailey this morn I heard a great commotion coming from beyond the castle walls. I rushed out through the gate and saw a crowd of villagers. In their midst was the Reeve, followed by David. Behind both walked the Water-Keeper. In one hand he carried a small fish, and in the other he held a rope which was tied to David’s wrists.
They walked with difficulty toward the castle gate, for the angry crowd slowed their pace. I saw many that I knew from the harvest.
Mark was there, too, so I asked him what had happened.
“Our Water-Keeper is all for locking David up, just for poaching a tiddler from the castle moat,” he replied scornfully. “He lay in wait all night to catch him!”
At this I swear my mouth must have gaped, for I had thought David’s ventures a secret only he and I shared. This made Mark laugh. “Didst thou not know? Fie, man, everyone in the village takes fish, and hare and pheasant! Thus folk are angry, for they guess the Water-Keeper chose David on purpose, to warn others.”
October 11th, Thursday
David is locked up beneath the gatehouse tower. Though he is a guest in the castle, he is an unwelcome one and would both starve and freeze if his daughter did not bring food and firewood to his cell. By crouching low I can peer in through a grating and look down into his cell. It is small and cramped, and so dark that I can scarce make out his face. It must be damp, too, for the moat is hard by, but he complains not.
October 22nd, Monday
Still David is kept within the cell. It seems he must stay there until the castle court meets next month. Small crimes my uncle judges, and chooses the punishment. But because David’s crime is serious, the King’s judge must decide his fate, and he visits the castle only twice a year.
November 2nd, Friday
Now the weather is cold, and meat does not rot, the stockmen have begun the slaughtering. Pig and sheep are all slaughtered, save only those that are needed for breeding in the spring.
Isbel says: “Angels eat once a day, men twice, and animals thrice. Even a hayrick the size of the Keep would not feed all our livestock through the winter.”
November 3rd, Saturday
I watched the pig-man kill a hog. First he fed her a bucket of acorns, and with his left hand stroked her back. Privily he held in his right hand a hammer. With this he did strike a blow to her head while her snout was in the bucket.
The blow felled her, and quick as a flash he cut her throat. Blood pumped into a bucket that stood ready, for nothing be wasted and blood makes a fine sausage.
I asked him how his left hand could be so kind, yet his right hand so cruel.
“Not cruel, lad,” he replied. “Hogs live only for the day when they shall die and feed us. Yet not kind, either. We do stroke the hogs to calm them, for a happy hog makes tastier bacon!”
The meat must all be trimmed and cut and packed in barrels full of salt to last the winter. But not even salt will preserve the innards for long, so even the lowest servants can gorge themselves on brains and tripe and blood sausage, and for once all our bellies are full.
November 5th, Monday
David will be tried soon. I asked of Simon what would happen to him. “Yonder poacher?” he replied. “Let him rot in jail for stealing our fish.” But when I pressed him, he continued. “Poaching is a felony, so if the court finds him guilty, he shall be turned off.”
At lessons later, I asked Mark what was meant by “turned off.” He whispered back, “Why, hanged, you oaf! Executed.” This so alarmed me that I dropped my tablet, cracking it into five pieces. Beaten once for each piece.
November 9th, Friday
The stockmen gave Humphrey some pigs’ bladders. These we puffed up with air and sailed on the moat. At dinner we ate round, sweet puddings made of more such bladders, filled with pig fat and fruit, and then boiled.
November 22nd, Thursday
Tomorrow the Judge arrives to hear the cases that are to be brought before the castle court. The Judge is the King’s official. It is his job to travel the countryside hereabouts to ensure that lawbreakers are fairly tried.
The court is held in the Great Hall, and Mark has explained to me how it will be (for he has watched before). The Constable brings in each wrongdoer in turn, and a jury, which is twelve men chosen from the village, listens to the story of their crime. If the jurymen agree a prisoner has done wrong, the Judge decides what the punishment will be. If they think not, then the prisoner is not guilty and is set free.
November 23rd, Friday
I crept into the Hall this forenoon to watch the court. First the Water-Keeper recounted David’s capture — he was trapped with the fish in his hand, and two rabbits in his bag. All were the property of my uncle. David hung his head
and my heart sank, for I feared no one would doubt his crime.
When David had spoken for himself, another from the village vouched that he was a good and godly man. But the Judge did not agree.
“Well, jurymen,” saith the Judge. “You cannot doubt that this man is a poacher and a rogue. ’Tis clear he should hang this day.” He let out a deep sigh, and asked: “Come men, what say you? Surely he is guilty?”
I held my breath while the jurors talked softly. Then the foreman (who is their leader) spoke: “Aye, sir, we all agree . . .”
The Judge turned to look at David. But then the foreman continued, “We all agree that he be not guilty as we see it.”
At this the Reeve jumped to his feet and slammed his fist on the table. “Hell’s teeth!” he shouted. “Shall we never stop these outrages?” The Constable scowled at David, and jerked his head to show that he could leave.
I jumped for joy to hear that David would be free, and rushed to tell Mark. He scoffed: “The Judge is an old fool, and the Reeve twice the idiot! The villagers would not send one of their own to the hanging tree, would they? Poacher he may be, but David will never suffer more than a spell in the dungeon.”
December 7th, Friday
This morn my aunt told me that my father is coming! He is expected the day after the feast of Saint Stephen, and I am to return home with him to visit with my family. I cannot wait to see my mother and sisters again, though I shall sorely miss my friends here and hope they do not forget me while I am gone.
December 19th, Wednesday
Went to cut branches of holly and ivy to hang in the Great Hall and elsewhere. Mistletoe, too, from the apple trees that grow by the West Wall. At first Chaplain would not let us bring mistletoe into the Chapel. “A pagan custom,” he called it. But my aunt ignored him, saying: “Each year it is the same. Chaplain dislikes mistletoe because it was held holy by those who worshiped tree-gods. But their religion is older than Christianity, so I see little harm in it.”
Castle Diary Page 3