[Undómë]

Away -- Wistan's farm - Dunstede

‘I don't mean to be rude, and it is very pleasant here, to be sure, but how much longer, do you think, until goodman Wistan returns? There are still several places I must go before I can return. Will he be much longer, do you suppose? I understand that one of your sons was sent?’ He looked at Mayda expectantly.

‘Why yes, little Alfrid was sent to give him your message,’ returned Mayda. She flicked her gaze toward Ardith, who nodded her head in agreement and sat forward on her bench.

‘It will take some time for Father Wistan to get here, you know,’ Ardith went on. ‘The men have all gone down to the far western field to mend fence and begin to clear that field for plowing. We’ve let it lay fallow for a number of years; let the grasses come up and kept it for pasturage. But now it’s time for getting that field into production and moving the pasture elsewhere . . .’ Ardith flustered a bit, thinking she had said more than was really needed. ‘But Alfrid would have got there by now and they should be on their way back, unless there was one project they really wanted to get finished.’

Cwen beamed at Ardith, giving her an assuring smile. ‘Tis true Master Thornden, And we’re sorry for the inconvenience. But by your own words, you have come early to collect. Had it been nearer the time we usually expect the steward, my dear Wistan would not have gone so far afield or he would have left one of our sons near to conduct the farm’s business.’ She put her plump finger to her chin as if a sudden thought had just come to her.

‘We’re I younger,’ she went on, ‘I would take you out myself to where the men are.’ She shifted stiffly on her cushion as if her hips were aching a little. ‘But these old bones just don’t travel that easily.’ Cwen looked expectantly toward Mayda and Ardith, who both made their very good excuses how they had tasks they really needed to get back to, and no, it just wouldn’t be possible for them to take the time.

Rose all this time had kept quiet as a mouse, making herself as small and invisible as she might. She was, in fact, thinking of slipping silently away and back to her bees. Most of her morning had been spent building frames for her hives, and she wanted to exhange some the old ones filled with honey for the new. She put her mug on the nearby table and slid to the end of the bench she was on. She was just bending down to retie the laces about her breeches cuffs when she heard her name mentioned . . . no, not mentioned, offered, more like, as a solution to the whole problem.

‘Why that’s just the thing, Mayda!’ she heard her mother say. ‘Rose would be just the one. She’d be delighted to take you out to where the men are. Wouldn’t you, dear?’

There was an imperative in that last question that made her rethink her first answer, but she would not altogether give up the hope she might say ‘no’. Her head bobbed up, and she was almost ready to make her own excuses as had the others, save her mother had that look of authority, that is that bone deep knowledge she could exude at the most inconvenient times that she still and would always know what was in the best interest of her daughter.

Thornden had turned, too, to look at her. And while she didn’t wish him ill, she did curse the new lord who had sent such a convenient possibility into the hands of her mother and her sisters-in-law. She was still about to say ‘no’, except that Mayda, from outside the steward’s view, was giving her a severe look and cocking her head toward Mother Cwen. As was Ardith, who had straightened her back quite stiffly and shook her head in a most emphatic manner.

Thorns and thistles!

Her mother would be crushed if she made a scene. And she would never hear the end of it from her brothers’ wives. The lot of them, when banded together in a cause, could make one’s life a living hell . . . if they so chose to do so . . . and wouldn’t they just!

And then of course there was her dear mother, a quite accomplished actress when she wanted something her way and who was and always would be the central jewel of Wistan’s life. If Cwen were happy, he was happy. She sighed thinking how he would look at her with his grave face, saying, ‘Don’t be selfish, now, Rose. Do this one thing for your poor mother who’s done so much for you. It’s just a little thing . . .’ And then, of course, with a half smile, add, ‘Give me a little peace, my darlin’ girl . . .’

‘Well, then,’ she said, her voice a bit muffled as she bent down to untie her cuffs once again, her long blond hair falling forward to hide her face. She stood up, pushing the wavy masses away from her cheeks and stuffed the leather thongs in her pocket. ‘I’ll just fetch a horse for me from the barn. Why don’t you bring your own along, Master Thornden, and we’ll start off from there.

She smiled encouragingly toward him.

Sooner done; sooner he’s gone . . . and sooner I’m free of my ‘obligations’ . . .