Post of the Month

~ October 2008 ~

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Meg ~ Written by Esther. Posted on the HoS Yahoo group April 2007.

Meg sat in the back of the cart as it creaked its way towards Rufford.

She shifted position slightly to ease a cramp in her back. The sack of grain she sat on was not the most comfortable seat, but cushioned her slightly from the jolts of the cart. The track was narrow, the ruts filled with deep, boggy puddles, the over hanging branches soaking her as they passed under them. Despite the warm sunlight filtering through the trees, everything dripped and glittered with last night's rain.

The cart was loaded with four sacks of grain and various wooden implements – bowls, cups, spoons, all finely crafted and turned. Their maker – the boy's father Cearl - sat up front, steering Sedgeley's small pony along the tree lined road.

Beside her sat Daniel and opposite her his older brother Mark. Both boys legs were spattered with mud where they had climbed down to help their father free the wheels when the cart had stuck in the ruts or to clear the path from fallen branches and debris. Meg thought of Ellie and wondered how Rhiannon had fared through the night. John and the others too. Had they found adequate shelter from the storm?

The forest around them was thinning now, heavily coppiced to provide Rufford with wood for building. Thick hedges of bramble and bracken covered the ground on either side of the track, speared by tall foxgloves.

To their left, the river gurgled its way along and long before they reached the mill, Meg could hear the creak and groan of the water wheel as it turned and soon they came in sight of it. Cearl drew the cart to a standstill as the miller made his way out of his building, wiping his flour dusted hands on an equally floury apron.

"Mornin' Cearl," Eli grinned as he approached.

The miller was a short man with a narrow face, his skin and hair dusted white from the flour he made. He wheezed slightly as he spoke, his lungs congested with grain dust from years in his trade. His gaze flicked across the contents of the cart, measuring the value of the grain sacks within and then up at Meg. He nodded to her, his eyelashes and eyebrows almost invisible due to their coating of flour, his blue eyes startling in contrast.

The two boys hopped out of the cart and Meg moved out of their way to allow them to unload the sacks of grain. She watched Cearl disappear inside the mill with Eli. She could see them within the half opened door, the miller nodding as Cearl spoke and held out a small cloth bag.

The Abbot Hugo sent some of his grain here to be made into flour and Eli was sometimes willing to swap the Abbot's finer flour for the coarser meal that he extracted from the villagers less valuable grains - for a price of course.

The bag of coin, cash hard earned by the villagers, changed hands. It seemed that Eli had been amenable enough this time, although no one could blame him for attempting to cut the best deal that he could. If the Abbot Hugo found out that he was being short changed, Eli's neck would find itself stretched in a noose.

Cearl returned and climbed back into the cart. "I'll be back after the market then," he called to Eli as he shook the reins.

The wiry pony trotted on and within a few moments they were pulling into Rufford proper. It was a large and prosperous village lying just clear of the forest's edge. Cotts stood in rows around a large green, studded by the higher roofed taverns that made Rufford a popular draw for the surrounding villages. Its charter allowed it a small monthly market and it was to this that Cearl had bought his goods to sell.

Stall holders already crowded the green, churned now to a muddy morass from the carts that had passed over it that morning and the town's folk had left their labours of clearing the storm debris to haggle over the goods on sale.

Meg glanced at the bundle at her feet. She too had things for sale – she had gone through Adam's old clothes and sorted out the ones she could not remake into something useful for the baby or that had seemed too valuable to cut into smaller pieces. It had been hard to touch those familiar clothes again, the scent of Adam still upon them, but she needed the money and the unused wool was no good to her gathering moths and holes.

The cart came to a halt at the edge of the green. Cearl was greeted with nods and friendly smiles and the boys climbed down to unload the goods and help set up his stall. The talk of the stall holders around them was all about the havoc wreaked by the storm and the damage it had wrought to crops, livestock and homes. Meg listened eagerly for news of Wickham amongst the babble of voices, but heard nothing.

When they had finished unloading the cart, Mark turned solicitously back to Meg, offering a hand to help her from the cart. She took it gratefully, then turned back to fetch out her own bundle of goods. The clothes she would leave in Cearl's care, but she had one thing to do first before she could begin got make some money from them. She picked up a second bundle, neatly rolled and wrapped.

Cearl paused in his work of setting an awning over his wares to shelter himself from the heat of the sun. "Don't let the priest bully you Meg," he said with a concerned look.

She nodded. I won't," she said and set off up the road with the boys.

Rufford was more prosperous than Sedgeley and the place was full of memories for her. It was here, on the night of the All Hallows Fair two years previously that she had met Adam for the first time. Or rather, they had not met, but had noticed each other.

She had travelled up from Wickham with her sister Mary and their youngest brother Ned during that day, to make the most of the Fair and sell some goods for their mother. A distant relative had lived nearby and they had arranged to pass the night with him so that they could enjoy all Rufford had to offer.The All Hallows Fair was followed by drinking and dancing for all willing to spend there time in such a way and was a chance to meet old friends and relatives not often seen during the rest of the year.

A great bonfire had been built to keep away the unwanted spirits of the dead who were said to roam the night that bridged the natural world and the unnatural world. Across the flames, Meg's eyes had been caught by the figure of a tall, broad shouldered man. He had pulled a hood up around his head to help stave off the cold and at first she had thought it was John, so alike was the two mens build.

She was then still seeing John, although their relationship had cooled since both of them had realised that the life of an outlaw was not to be the one for Meg. Or rather, Meg thought now, since Robert had decided that she could not join them. She had freed the outlaws from the cart in Nottingham when Robert's father had been held at trial and that day things had changed between her and John. There was no more talk of marriage. No talk of him leaving the outlaws for a settled life, or of Meg joining them in Sherwood. Robert's words and their own doubts had put paid to that.

They had still met secretly, away from Wickham to lessen any risk to Edward and the other villagers, but there had been a sense, to Meg at least, of things coming to a close between them. By that day of the All Hallows Fair, she had not seen John in six weeks. It had not been easy to keep such a relationship going, when her parents were hinting that it was time she pick a village lad to settle with.

So, she had stood beside the great bonfire and watched the hooded man closely as he had approached the fire, her chest tightening the way it always did when she knew she was to meet John. But then the man had cast back his hood as he greeted the friends he had met. It was not John - this man was clean shaven, with straight, light hair framing a rounder face. His head had turned and his eyes met Meg's across the fire.

He had not smiled, his look long and thoughtful, neither did he come across to speak to her, surrounded as she was by friends and family and young men vying to dance about the fire with her, but she had been aware of his presence in the crowd throughout that eve. Within three weeks the stranger had turned up in Wickham and had sought out her father. Adam of Sedgeley had not been a man to waste time once his mind had been set on something.

Impatiently, Meg shook off the memories. She was not looking forward to the task in hand and she could not afford to be maudlin whilst dealing with her business. The past was the past and Adam was gone.

With one of the carpenter lads on either side of her, they crossed the green and headed towards the steeple of the small chapel run by Father Michael, Rufford's priest. The boys came here once a month for their lessons and Meg found she was glad of the boys friendly presence beside her.

The chapel was old and cramped, a squat stone building surrounded by a low wall that encircled its graveyard. St Stephen's served a wide area including many of the smaller villages here along the edge of Sherwood. On fine days when the services were packed, the priest often came out onto the green to preach from the market cross.

They passed through the low, covered gateway, circling the platform where pall bearers would rest their coffin whilst they waited for the priest to certify a death before burial. Meg tucked the bundle tighter beneath her arm as they carried on up the path towards the narrow door.

The dimness of the chapel was scored by shafts of sunlight passing through the high, narrow windows. At the far end of the nave, Father Michael was in conversation with two of Daniel's peers; other boys come to learn their letters and psalms, the best of whom would one day be chosen to go to one of the abbeys or monastic houses within the district.

Illuminated by four, tall beeswax candles, Father Michael turned at their approach. He was of medium height, but appeared taller in the dark gown he wore in place of his usual alb and tunic. It was belted at the waist by a narrow twist of rope from which hung a rough, wooden crucifix. Grey hair thatched a wide, tanned face, scored with wrinkles which almost hid his dark brown eyes within their deep creases.

He greeted the boys equally, then bestowed a gracious smile on Mark. Daniel, although he was doing well in his studies, was easily distracted. It was Mark, far ahead of the others in the lessons, who was the priest's favourite. He had high hopes that Mark would one day enter the Abbey of St Mary's as a novice and reflect a little glory back on him as the parish priest.

"Brother Sergius is already here for your lessons, boys. Take yourselves through to the chancel," Father Michael said. He turned to Meg. "And what may I do for you, my child?"

Meg approached him and drew herself upright, her heart beating a little faster beneath her woollen dress. "I've bought Adam's death dues, Father," she said, indicating the bundle she held.

"Sir Walter was here over five weeks ago with his report of the death and it has taken you until now to bring the Heriot?" Father Michael said, his thick eyebrows arching in surprise.

Sir Walter was the King's Crowner, one of the men responsible for investigating deaths both natural and otherwise in the shire of Nottingham. He had spent less than an hour in Sedgeley, taking in a quick glimpse of Adam's body, where he'd been laid out in Meg's cott, to ascertain the extent of his injuries and that they had indeed caused his death.

Sir Walter had followed this with a few half hearted questions for those who had witnessed the accident whilst drinking a good measure of Bartholemew's ale. Then, he had climbed back onto his fine bay horse and ridden out of Sedgeley, with his scribe trotting miserably on foot in his wake.

"Aye," Meg said. "He came. But I have had much to do and I am eight months pregnant." She rubbed her hand over her belly as if the priest might need further proof of the truth of her words.

Father Michael drew himself up, coughing slightly to hide his embarrassment at such an obvious display of fecundity. "Yes, yes. Well. All is in order according to the Crowner. Where has the body been buried?"

"Adam," Meg said, slowly speaking the name as though to remind the priest he spoke of a man, not a thing. "Is buried just west of Sedgeley. The lay priest spoke a few words over his grave last time he visited us."

"Good. All in order then," the priest repeated, then paused, glancing
meaningfully at the bundle she held. "It was ascertained that you would pay the Heriot as one pig, Meg. I see not a pig."

"The pig died Father. Four weeks back, out in pannage. It was attacked by a wild boar and died from its wounds," Meg answered, reciting the words she had been practising to herself all morning. "I have the skin to prove it and Bartholemew will bear witness."

The Priest stared at her. She could read the disbelief in his expression.

"Here's the skin, Father," she said, holding the bundle out to him. "And you can see the gore marks for yourself. I repaired the hide as best I could, but some of it was too damaged so there is a gap along the belly."

"You should have bought the dead pig, Meg, not its skin. The meat would have counted."

"The meat had already spoiled. I still have Heriot to pay the Sheriff's bailiff at Hoxton Farm and I have little enough for that either. This is all I can afford and it is a sore loss to me as it is, Father." She stood her ground, refusing to lower the bundle or drop her gaze.

Father Michael nodded slowly, then took, finally, the outstretched bundle from her hand. "I am sorry you have fallen on hard times Meg. I'll make sure that the Abbot understands when the Heriot is accounted for," he said, his voice mellowing as it lost its suspicious tone. "Is there anything else I may do for you?"

Meg shook her head and the priest bid her good day and passed through the screen to the chancel, to join the boys he must now help teach.

She hurried up the aisle and back out into the sunshine. Once outside, she paused and leaned her head against the wall of the chapel, feeling the heat of the sun soaking into her skin through the rough stone.

"Forgive me," she whispered softly. "'Twas only a little lie."

She walked hurriedly away before God could send evidence of his displeasure with her. The pig that had been chosen for the church tax of Heriot was still grunting her way happily around the forest hunting out last year's acorns. The pig skin she had given to Father Michael belonged to an animal the Carpenters had slaughtered to make hams for their daughter's wedding in another month's time. The pigskin, scraped and cleaned and ready for curing had been thrust into her hands by Daniel's mother.

"Father Michael won't trouble `imself to come checkin, lass," she had said. "You and the baby will need the meat to see yourselves through the winter. What he don't know won't hurt none."

Meg had been touched. The Carpenter's were known for their church going and it must have provoked some discussion for them to help rob the church of its death dues. At least now the priest must say prayers for Adam and she and the baby would have meat to last through the winter or a pig to breed from next year.

She walked out through the gateway and back onto the green. Cearl had already set up his stall. The wooden goods, set out on a worn table, were already attracting some attention from the crowds, for they were well turned articles of a good quality.

Meg fetched her own bundle from the cart, opened up the sackcloth that contained it and set herself down next to Cearl's stall, spreading Adam's belongings on the cloth to keep them from the mud.

Adam had been buried in his best clothes and boots as was the custom. There remained for sale a jerkin, hose, two shirts, a pair of wooden shoes and the hood he had worn when at work in the fields. They were all in good condition and should fetch her a good price.

The wooden bowls and beaker that Adam had used had caused her a few moments of hesitation – should she not keep something for the child to remember its father by? But sentiment was a luxury that she could ill afford, so into the bundle they had gone.

A shadow fell across the cloth and she squinted into the sun to see who waited there. To her surprise she saw a face she knew well. It was Berick, Adam's father. He did not speak for a moment, but crouched down and lifted the beaker in his hands, turning it slowly.

"I'm sorry it has come to this Meg," he said a little gruffly. He looked older and thinner than the last time she had seen him, his white hair sparser where the breeze lifted it from the crown of his head.

He and Adam had once shared the cott in Sedgeley after Adam's sister Ruth had married and gone to live in Rufford. Meg had always liked the old man, but had worried for him when he had told the couple, shortly before their wedding, that he was going to set up house with Ruth and her husband.

"There's no need for that," Meg had told him, but he had grinned at her and winked.

"Think I need to listen to newly weds celebrating their vows at my age?" he had answered. The matter had already been decided and the day after Meg and Adam had come to live together in the cott as man and wife, Berick had settled his belongings on his back and walked the few miles to his daughter's house.

He really needn't have gone," Meg had said as they watched him disappear along the Sedgeley track towards Rufford, but Adam had drawn her to him and kissed her forehead.

"He wanted to. Hylas does not treat Ruth well. Father hopes his presence in their home might put a stop to some of Hylas' wilder behaviours."

They had rarely socialised with their relations in Rufford – Meg had met Hylas only twice, a tall, thin man, goodlooking with a hungry look in his eye that frightened her. Their only child was a boy, small for his three years, often sickly and Ruth, although a large woman, was a cowed one who aquiesced to her husband's every demand.

Berick put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a coin which he threw on the blanket, knowing that Meg would not take it from him if he offered it.

"I'd like to keep this," he said to her, hefting the mug in his hand.

"I don't want no money for it, Berick," she said and tried to press the quartered penny back in his hand. He pushed it away with a tired smile.

"I'm sure you could use it, love. I just wish I had more to offer you."

Meg scanned his tired face, seeing the fans of crows feet spreading from the corners of his eyes. They were deeper rutted than she remembered. He had never before shown his age, Berick, but now he looked everyone of his forty odd years.

"Tisn't right for a man to outlive his children you know," he said, quietly.

Meg reached her hands across the blanket between them and placed them around Berick's own where they held the cup.

"'Twas cruel the way it happened," she said softly. Berick nodded then took a hold of himself.

"And you, Lass, how are you faring with the babe? Not long now, eh?"

Meg drew one of Berick's hands from the cup, placing it against the swell of her belly. The child gave a strong kick and Berick laughed at the sensation. "Now, that brings back memories!" he said, a smile softening his face. "Adam's mother always said he somersaulted like the jester at a mummer's play, before he were born."

Meg returned the smile, glad to see some lifting of his mood. "How's Ruth and Godwin? They fare well?" she said.

"When Hylas isn't about, they do. Thankfully he's oft away on business, but he leaves her little enough to live on when he's gone. I come into market to sell what I can of the goods she makes, but it isn't enough for the three of us."

When she had first married Adam, Berick had visited them often, but he had caught a bad cough at the tail end of the last winter and the walk had become too much for him. Now he only came if there was cart traffic travelling between the two villages. Meg felt a pang of guilt that she had not visited him sooner.

"Come and visit me in Sedgeley, there's folks there would like to see you again Berick." She smiled warmly at the man and he gave her hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it.

"Aye, I will one of these days. Maybe I'll bring my grandson with me. Lord knows he gets little enough fresh air in that old place of Hylas'. The lad should be out and running around the fields with the other boys, not cooped up in a stuffy room whilst his mother wraps him in up in wool." Berick rose, stretching the aches from his legs as he did so and Meg rose with him.

"S'good to see you lass and we'll make it sooner in future. Be sure to let me know if that baby comes meanwhile. It'll be good for our family to have something to celebrate."

Berick turned away, pausing to pass a few words with Cearl at his stall. Both men glanced over at her and Meg wondered what had been said. No doubt Berick had asked the carpenter to keep a close eye on his daughter in law. She eased herself down on her haunches again, tucking Berick's penny away from sight. Straightening the goods on the blanket in front of her, she tilted her head upwards with a smile to attract the attention of the passing goodwives to her wares.