World Without End

by Ken Follett

  Another juror spoke. "Ninety acres is too much for one man, let alone a boy. Why, it was farmed by three until now." The speaker was Billy Howard, a man in his middle twenties who had wooed Annet unsuccessfully--which might be why he wanted to side with Nate in putting obstacles in Wulfric's way. "I've got forty acres, and I have to hire laborers at harvest time."

  Several of the men nodded agreement. Gwenda began to feel pessimistic. It was not going Wulfric's way.

  "I can get help," Wulfric said.

  Nate said: "Have you got money to pay laborers?"

  Wulfric looked a bit desperate, and Gwenda's heart went out to him. "My father's purse was lost when the bridge collapsed, and I spent what money I had on the funeral," he said. "But I can offer my laborers a share of the harvest."

  Nate shook his head. "Everyone in the village is already working full-time on their own lands, and those who have no land are already employed. And no one is likely to give up a job that pays cash for one that offers a share of an uncertain crop."

  "I will get the harvest in," Wulfric said with passionate determination. "I can work day and night, if I have to. I'll prove to you all that I can handle it."

  There was so much yearning on his handsome face that Gwenda wanted to jump up and shout her support for him. But the men were shaking their heads. Everyone knew that one man could not harvest ninety acres on his own.

  Nate turned to Perkin. "He's engaged to your daughter. Can't you do something for him?"

  Perkin looked thoughtful. "Perhaps you should transfer the land to me, for the time being. I could pay the heriot. Then, when he marries Annet, he could take over his land."

  "No!" Wulfric said immediately.

  Gwenda knew why he was so against the idea. Perkin was nothing if not sly. He would spend every waking minute between now and the wedding trying to figure out a way of keeping Wulfric's land for himself.

  Nate said to Wulfric: "If you have no money, how will you pay the heriot?"

  "I'll have money when I get the harvest in."

  "If you get the harvest in. And then it may not be enough. Your father paid three pounds for his father's lands and two pounds for his uncle's."

  Gwenda gasped. Five pounds was a fortune. It seemed impossible that Wulfric could raise so much money. It would probably have taken all his family's savings.

  Nate went on: "Besides, the heriot is normally paid before the inheritor takes possession--not after the harvest."

  Aaron Appletree said: "In the circumstances, Nate, you might show leniency on that point."

  "Might I? A lord may show leniency, for he holds sway over his own possessions. But if a bailiff shows leniency, he's giving away someone else's gold."

  "But we will only be making a recommendation, in any case. Nothing will be final until approved by the new lord of Wigleigh, whoever he may be."

  That was true, strictly speaking, Gwenda thought; but in practice it was unlikely a new lord would overturn an inheritance from father to son.

  Wulfric said: "Sir, my father's heriot was not so much as five pounds."

  "We must check the rolls." Nate's response was so quick that Gwenda guessed he had been waiting for Wulfric to challenge the amount. Nate often engineered a pause of some kind in the middle of a hearing, she reflected. She presumed it was to give the parties an opportunity to offer him a bribe. Perhaps he thought Wulfric was concealing some money.

  Two jurors brought from the vestry the chest containing the manorial rolls, the record of the manor court's decisions, written on long strips of parchment rolled into cylinders. Nate could read and write--a bailiff had to be literate, in order to compile accounts for the lord. He searched through the box for the right one.

  Gwenda felt that Wulfric was doing badly. His plain speaking and evident honesty were not enough. Nate wanted above all else to make sure he collected the lord's heriot. Perkin was maneuvering to get the land for himself. Billy Howard wanted to do Wulfric down out of sheer malice. And Wulfric had no money for a bribe.

  He was also guileless. He believed that if he stated his case he would get justice. He had no sense of managing the situation.

  Perhaps she could help him. A child of Joby's could not grow up without learning something about guile.

  Wulfric had not appealed to the villagers' self-interest in his arguments. She would do so for him. She turned to David Johns, standing beside her. "I'm surprised you men aren't more worried about this," she said.

  He gave her a shrewd look. "What are you getting at, lass?"

  "Despite the sudden deaths, this is an inheritance from father to son. If you let Nate quibble about this one, he'll question them all. He can always dream up some reason for arguing about a legacy. Aren't you afraid he'll interfere with your own sons' rights?"

  David looked worried. "You might have a point, there, girl," he said, and he turned to talk to his neighbor 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 judgment, which the jurymen would grant more readily. She went to speak to Wulfric. He was arguing with Perkin and Annet. When Gwenda appeared, Perkin looked suspicious, and Annet put her nose in the air, but Wulfric was as courteous as ever. "Hello, my traveling companion," he said. "I heard you left your father's house."

  "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 penny a day, sunrise to sunset--Nate likes his laborers to go home tired. Do you think he'll give you what you want?"

  Wulfric made a face. "He seems reluctant."

  "A woman would handle it so differently."

  He looked surprised. "How so?"

  Annet glared at her, but Gwenda ignored the look. "A woman would not demand a ruling, especially when everyone knows that today's decision isn't final. She would not risk a no for the chance of a maybe."

  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 Annet. She said something sharp to him in an undertone. Her father looked annoyed.

  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 Annet. A true friend? To hell with that. So what do I want? Why am I desperate to help you?

  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 pennies. There was no shilling coin, but everyone talked about shillings just the same. Twenty shillings made a pound. The sum Nate had announced was exactly half what he had originally said.

  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."

&nbs
p; 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 dinner. Most of the villagers could afford to eat meat once a week, and Sunday was the usual day they chose. Even Joby and Ethna could generally manage a stew of squirrel or hedgehog, and at this time of year there were plenty of young rabbits to be caught. Widow Huberts had a neck of mutton in a pot on the fire.

  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 labor 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. Annet wouldn't like it and, to be frank, she'd be right."

  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, or 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 neighboring 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 clamoring 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.

  Dawn broke as she left the houses behind and set out across the fields. Wigleigh had three great fields: Hundredacre, Brookfield, and Longfield. Different crops were grown on each in a three-year cycle. Wheat and rye, the most valuable grains, were sown in the first year; then lesser crops such as oats, barley, peas, and beans in the second year; and in the third year the field was left fallow. This year, Hundredacre was in wheat and rye, Brookfield in various secondary crops, and Longfield was fallow. Each field was divided into strips of about one acre; and each serf's land consisted of a number of strips scattered across all three fields.

  Gwenda went to Hundredacre and began weeding one of Wulfric's strips, pulling up the persistent new growth of dockweed, marigolds, and dog fennel from between his stalks of wheat. She was happy working on his land, helping him, whether he knew about it or not. Every time she bent down, she was saving his back the same effort; every time she pulled a weed, she made his crop greater. It was like giving him presents. As she worked she thought of him, picturing his face when he laughed, hearing his voice, the deep voice of a man yet with the eagerness of a boy. She touched the green shoots of his wheat and imagined she was stroking his hair.

  She weeded until sunrise then moved to the demesne lands--those strips farmed by the lord, or his laborers--and worked for pay. Although Sir Stephen was dead, his crops still had to be reaped, and his successor would demand a strict account of what had been done with the proceeds. At sundown, having earned her daily bread, Gwenda would move to another part of Wulfric's holding and work there until dark--longer, if there was a moon.

  She had said nothing to Wulfric. But, in a village of only two hundred people, few things remained secret for long. Widow Huberts had asked her, with gentle curiosity, what she hoped to achieve. "He's going to marry Perkin's girl, you know--you can't prevent that."

  "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.