Aftermath
Part Seventeen
November, 1068
HEDINGHAM MANOR: two years have passed
The bells announcing lauds to the Benedictine monks working in the fields echoed across the miles to Hedingham, where Aubrey de Vere was trying to decide where to plant his last batch of grapes, transplanted from his estate at Vere, in France.
Aubrey de Vere, accompanied by his entourage of well paid bodyguards, paused to examine the soil on the hillside's lower slope. "This may do well enough. It's the best I've got here, isn't it?"
"Oui, milord. We might as well plant the vines here. They have to be put in the ground. There has been a frost each day this week."
"How many have I got left?"
"We have planted eleven arpents between Colchester and Thunderley. There will be six arpents here." The head gardener looked without enthusiasm at the task before him. Once more, he thought, these vines will go to waste in this poor English climate.
"I doubt one vine in ten will be producing in twenty years time. But, the Englishman, Siward, has put together a work crew for me. We can trust them to dig, well enough."
"Do your best."
"Here, you have a visitor coming", and the gardener pointed down the hill towards Gospatrick.
Several of de Vere's bodyguards swarmed the new Scottish Lord of Northumberland before he got up the hill, and checked him for weapons. His sword was removed so that he could proceed.
"Monsieur le Gospatrick." DeVere began to walk down to meet him. "What brings you here, old fellow?"
The older man waited for the young knight to reach him.
"Hullo, Lord Aubrey. I'm on me way to the North Umberland. Wish t' see about that mare o' yours. If you'd still be game for the sellin', I'm for the buyin her right this minute, as you'll never ride her. You see lad, she's a fair and easy trotter for old bones. Never more a saddle sore, if she's to be my nag. What about it, then?"
"That depends on whether or not you're still on speaking terms with that lovely cousin of yours. What's her name, again?"
"You mean, Her Royal Highness the Princess Margaret of Scotland?"
"Yes, that's the one."
.....
Edmund handed the larger of the two shovels to Aethelwold. The big fellow grinned at the offering, and accepted it. They were happy to be free of the steaming kitchen. The two of them joined the others in following Siward out to the woodland at the base of the hill.
Ceolwin, the one eyed monk, approached the men from
below.
Edmund joked, "Here comes friar Harold." The overused nickname made reference to the death of King Harold by arrow through the eye. Anybody with one eye out was called Harold.
"We have nothing for you," called Siward to the beggar.
"Leave my men to their work."
When they arrived at the site, Siward explained to them that the stumps left from the last week's logging were to be dug and chopped out of the ground and burned. Already, smoke was climbing skyward from the works on the other side of the rise. It was rumored that the road being built there would access construction of a castle on the top.
"How high will it go, then?" asked Aethelwold, taking the
bait.
"To De Vere top." Edmund cried out, grinning stupidly.
Still, his friend did not get the pun.
"I knew that."
Part Seventeen
November, 1068
HEDINGHAM MANOR: two years have passed
The bells announcing lauds to the Benedictine monks working in the fields echoed across the miles to Hedingham, where Aubrey de Vere was trying to decide where to plant his last batch of grapes, transplanted from his estate at Vere, in France.
Aubrey de Vere, accompanied by his entourage of well paid bodyguards, paused to examine the soil on the hillside's lower slope. "This may do well enough. It's the best I've got here, isn't it?"
"Oui, milord. We might as well plant the vines here. They have to be put in the ground. There has been a frost each day this week."
"How many have I got left?"
"We have planted eleven arpents between Colchester and Thunderley. There will be six arpents here." The head gardener looked without enthusiasm at the task before him. Once more, he thought, these vines will go to waste in this poor English climate.
"I doubt one vine in ten will be producing in twenty years time. But, the Englishman, Siward, has put together a work crew for me. We can trust them to dig, well enough."
"Do your best."
"Here, you have a visitor coming", and the gardener pointed down the hill towards Gospatrick.
Several of de Vere's bodyguards swarmed the new Scottish Lord of Northumberland before he got up the hill, and checked him for weapons. His sword was removed so that he could proceed.
"Monsieur le Gospatrick." DeVere began to walk down to meet him. "What brings you here, old fellow?"
The older man waited for the young knight to reach him.
"Hullo, Lord Aubrey. I'm on me way to the North Umberland. Wish t' see about that mare o' yours. If you'd still be game for the sellin', I'm for the buyin her right this minute, as you'll never ride her. You see lad, she's a fair and easy trotter for old bones. Never more a saddle sore, if she's to be my nag. What about it, then?"
"That depends on whether or not you're still on speaking terms with that lovely cousin of yours. What's her name, again?"
"You mean, Her Royal Highness the Princess Margaret of Scotland?"
"Yes, that's the one."
.....
Edmund handed the larger of the two shovels to Aethelwold. The big fellow grinned at the offering, and accepted it. They were happy to be free of the steaming kitchen. The two of them joined the others in following Siward out to the woodland at the base of the hill.
Ceolwin, the one eyed monk, approached the men from
below.
Edmund joked, "Here comes friar Harold." The overused nickname made reference to the death of King Harold by arrow through the eye. Anybody with one eye out was called Harold.
"We have nothing for you," called Siward to the beggar.
"Leave my men to their work."
When they arrived at the site, Siward explained to them that the stumps left from the last week's logging were to be dug and chopped out of the ground and burned. Already, smoke was climbing skyward from the works on the other side of the rise. It was rumored that the road being built there would access construction of a castle on the top.
"How high will it go, then?" asked Aethelwold, taking the
bait.
"To De Vere top." Edmund cried out, grinning stupidly.
Still, his friend did not get the pun.
"I knew that."
The bells announcing lauds to the Benedictine monks working in the fields echoed across the miles to Hedingham, where Aubrey de Vere was trying to decide where to plant his last batch of grapes, transplanted from his estate at Vere, in France.
Aubrey de Vere, accompanied by his entourage of well paid bodyguards, paused to examine the soil on the hillside's lower slope. "This may do well enough. It's the best I've got here, isn't it?"
"Oui, milord. We might as well plant the vines here. They have to be put in the ground. There has been a frost each day this week."
"How many have I got left?"
"We have planted eleven arpents between Colchester and Thunderley. There will be six arpents here." The head gardener looked without enthusiasm at the task before him. Once more, he thought, these vines will go to waste in this poor English climate.
"I doubt one vine in ten will be producing in twenty years time. But, the Englishman, Siward, has put together a work crew for me. We can trust them to dig, well enough."
"Do your best."
"Here, you have a visitor coming", and the gardener pointed down the hill towards Gospatrick. Several of de Vere's bodyguards swarmed the new Scottish Lord of Northumberland before he got up the hill, and checked him for weapons. His sword was removed so that he could proceed.
"Monsieur le Gospatrick." DeVere began to walk down to meet him. "What brings you here, old fellow?"
The older man waited for the young knight to reach him.
"Hullo, Lord Aubrey. I'm on me way to the North Umberland. Wish t' see about that mare o' yours. If you'd still be game for the sellin', I'm for the buyin her right this minute, as you'll never ride her. You see lad, she's a fair and easy trotter for old bones. Never more a saddle sore, if she's to be my nag. What about it, then?"
"That depends on whether or not you're still on speaking terms with that lovely cousin of yours. What's her name, again?"
"You mean, Her Royal Highness the Princess Margaret of Scotland?"
"Yes, that's the one."
.....
Edmund handed the larger of the two shovels to Aethelwold. The big fellow grinned at the offering, and accepted it. They were happy to be free of the steaming kitchen. The two of them joined the others in following Siward out to the woodland at the base of the hill.
Ceolwin, the one eyed monk, approached the men from below. Edmund joked, "Here comes friar Harold." The overused nickname made reference to the death of King Harold by arrow through the eye. Anybody with one eye out was called Harold.
"We have nothing for you," called Siward to the beggar.
"Leave my men to their work."
When they arrived at the site, Siward explained to them that the stumps left from the last week's logging were to be dug and chopped out of the ground and burned. Already, smoke was climbing skyward from the works on the other side of the rise. It was rumored that the road being built there would access construction of a castle on the top.
"How high will it go, then?" asked Aethelwold, taking the bait.
"To De Vere top." Edmund cried out, grinning stupidly.
Still, his friend did not get the pun.
"I knew that."