From Here To 1137 AD; Episode 53, Rabbit Pottage

 This is episode fifty-three of the novel, From Here To 1137 AD. If you would like to purchase From  Here To 1137 AD, it is available on Amazon in Kindle format or paperback. 

Rabbit Pottage

Tom strolled back to Thomas’s farm. A rush of jubilation flowed from his chest to his face. He experienced greater pleasure and freedom than he had while walking to Bouchard’s manor. A smile of completeness and satisfaction radiated from his carefree and confident gait. To Tom, the air was sweeter, the sounds more melodic, and the colors of the surroundings more vibrant.

Upon his return, Thomas showed Tom how to plow a field using the oxen. They laughed at Tom’s awkward attempts to plow straight and handle the team of oxen. 

Thomas stood at a distance and called out, “Give me five years and maybe I can make a farmer out of you.”

Tom smiled as the team jolted him forward. He thought, ‘If I could take you to my time and my farm, you would master it all in a week. He is a sharp lad. Wait a minute, that is my grandpa by at least thirty greats.’

While Tom plowed, heading back toward the house, Thomas drove a wooden pole into the ground. When the team reached the pole, Thomas held up his hand, “Whoa!” He walked back to Tom. “That will be all for the day.”

Tom turned and gestured to the sun. “We still have plenty of daylight.”

“One acre,” Thomas said, “we don’t overwork the team. Tomorrow we plow another acre and rest the oxen. The next day, they will be well-rested for another acre. Then they belong to my neighbor. He will use them for two days at the same rate. He will pass them to the next neighbor. I own two oxen, my neighbor owns two, and so on. At the end of six days, they are returned to me, then two more acres are plowed.”

They unhitched the oxen and led them to the barn attached to the house. 

“You take good care of your animals,” Tom commended as they walked around the side of the house to the front door.

“Do you not take good care of your engine that pulls your plows?” Thomas asked. 

“We do,” Tom said. “If we don’t, the same thing will happen to our equipment that will happen to your beasts. They will break down and become weak or useless. We feed and maintain our beasts, but in a different way.”

They entered the house. Lattice greeted them with a warm smile. 

“Mother,” Thomas said, “you have not smiled like this in a long time.”

“I’m feeling better,” Lattice said. “I don’t know what that potion Tom gave me had in it, but it certainly made me feel better.”

“It is important you eat,” Tom said. “Go outside and feel the sun on your face. Take long walks. That will help you remain as you are.”

A pot hung over the hearth that lay in the middle of the room. 

“Walden,” Lattice said to inform Tom, “a neighbor caught two rabbits today. He gave us one, and I am cooking rabbit pottage.”

“How much did the rabbit cost?” Tom said, opening his money pouch.

“No, no,” Lattice said. “If Walden were caught with two rabbits, he could be punished for poaching.”

“What kind of punishment?” Tom said.

“If from Bouchard’s land, Walden could have been blinded or castrated.”

“What!” Tom said. “For a rabbit!”

“Pouching from nobility’s land is serious,” Thomas said. “For a deer, a man can be hanged.”

“Why would Walden take such a risk?” Tom asked. 

“He heard the man who will duel Bouchard is under our roof,” Lattice said. “He wanted such a man to be healthy and vigorous.”

“Bouchard must be hated,” Tom said.

“Hate is the kindest word that can be used,” Thomas said.

“I am not the only woman he has violated,” Lattice said.

“And my father was not the only man he has killed,” Thomas added.

“I’m surprised someone has not lain in wait and killed him,” Tom said.

“If that should happen,” Tom said, “villagers would be questioned and tortured until the name was given.”

“So, the only way to settle a score with Bouchard is by a duel at the royal court,” Tom concluded.

“Or if he should ever die in battle,” Thomas said. “And given what is known about him, that will never happen.”

Lattice said the pottage was done. She used a ladle to fill three wooden bowls. She placed them on the table where three wooden mugs of ale sat. 

They sat on stools at a table, and Thomas placed spoons next to each bowl. While standing, he drew a knife from his side and sliced the bread that lay in the middle of the table.

They began eating and drinking.

“Lattice,” Tom smiled, “this is very good.”

“Yes, Mother,” Thomas smiled. “It is very good.”

“Thank you,” Lattice smiled modestly.

“You are eating from my father’s bowl,” Thomas said.

“I am honored,” Tom said. He paused; the moment seemed surreal.

“Is something wrong?” Lattice asked, placing her hand on Tom’s wrist.

Tom smiled. “No, I just can’t tell you how good I feel at this moment. It is very special.”

They dipped the bread in the pottage and ate. And they drank from the mugs.

Suddenly, three violent knocks at the door made them all jump.

“Constable!” And the door flung open. 

The constable was a burly man with a scraggly beard. He had bulging eyes above round, red cheeks. He wore a heavy fur coat. A foul odor accompanied him. 

Tom, Thomas, and Lattice stared fearfully at the constable.

“What are you eating?” The constable demanded.

“Rabbit pottage,” Lattice said. “Would you like a bowl?”

“Err,” the constable growled. He looked at Tom. “Who are you?”

“My name is Tom Bales.”

“The one to die by Duke Drake Bouchard’s sword,” the constable said.

“I will die an old man,” Tom said.

The constable sneered. “Walden had rabbits. Did he have two and sell you one?”

“No,” Lattice said.

The constable glared at Tom. “You were at Bouchard’s manor today. Did you pouch it from his property while you were there?”

“No,” Tom said. “In fact, I saw no rabbits. But I did see a swine named Bouchard.”

The constable raised his hand and swiped toward Tom’s face. Tom grabbed the constable’s wrist before it could land against his face.

The constable reached for his knife. “Careful, Constable,” Tom said, sure and deliberate. “If that knife is drawn, I will take it away from you and dig your eyes out with my spoon.”

The constable grabbed his knife. Tom increased the pressure on his wrist.

The constable’s hand let the knife drop to the floor and grabbed Tom’s hand that was squeezing his hand. 

There was a crack.

“Ahhhhh, Man,” the constable shrieked. “What are you doing?”

“What will you tell others about what happened to your wrist?” Tom said, staring coldly into his eyes.

“I will tell all that I feel.”

Tom released the constable’s wrist.

“If anyone inquires about the rabbit, Lattice,” Tom said to Lattice, “what should be said?”

“It ran into our house of its own accord,” Lattice said.

The constable held his wrist close to his chest and rubbed it.

“You know as well as I that this woman has suffered much humiliation,” Tom said. “She said the rabbit ran into the house. Make certain she is not charged for lying. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my lord,” the constable said.

“I am not your lord or anybody’s lord.”

“As you wish,” the constable said.

“Sit,” Tom nodded toward his chair.

The constable sat.

“You have a broken bone,” Tom said. 

He asked Thomas to fetch four pieces of stiff kindling from the wood pile. He cut a strip of fabric from the constable’s shirt. Tom used the kindling as splints and the strips of fabric to wrap the splints, holding the wrist immobile. 

“Leave this for six weeks,” Tom said. “It will heal and be as good as ever in three to four months.”

“Thank you, my lord,” the constable said humbly.

“Go in peace,” Tom said.

 The constable bowed until leaving the house. Everyone let out a sigh of relief. They chuckled when they were certain he was far enough away not to hear them.

“Let us finish,” Lattice said.

They finished the meal and spent the rest of the day talking about life in 1137 AD Northumberland. 

From Here To 1137 AD; Episode 52, The Insult

 This is episode fifty-two of the novel, From Here To 1137 AD. If you would like to purchase From  Here To 1137 AD, it is available on Amazon in Kindle format or paperback. 

The Insult

The next morning, Tom helped Thomas hitch a team of eight oxen to a wooden plow. 

Thomas gripped the handles of the plow. Leather reins extended from the oxen and draped over his shoulders.

“Are you sure you don’t want to try this?” Thomas joked.

“I have a bad back,” Tom quipped.

“You do?” Thomas said, concerned.

Tom chuckled. “That’s a joke where I am from. It is a lame excuse for not doing work. And we often say it to amuse everyone. However, when I come back from Bouchard’s place, maybe I’ll give it a try.”

“I will be glad to teach you,” Thomas said. “He snapped the reins and yelled, “Hie on!”

Tom watched Thomas plow for a couple of minutes. Something seeming difficult to Tom, Thomas performed with ease. Yet, he recognized the hours of struggling that it took to make it appear easy. He thought, ‘Farmers didn’t love to farm. They were desperate and exploited by the nobility. They were offered work and paid only enough to keep them alive and reasonably healthy from harvest to harvest. By the time the first son was strong enough to pull his weight, the father was near being used up. But they survived and, in time, prospered. They are a hardy breed, a brotherhood stretching from Abel to Thomas, and to me. It truly is the oldest profession.’

Tom walked through the fields on his way to Bouchard’s manor. The sweet scent of spring wafted across the landscape. Sheep bleated. Cows bellowed. Dogs barked. Birds sang. Roosters crowed. An orchestration of nature that many composers will attempt to capture. And their efforts bring to humanity beauty, inspired by what brought a pleasing smile to Tom's face.

In Tom’s mind, he heard the classical records his mother often played and listened to: Vivaldi, The Four Seasons, a favorite, Wagner, Ride of the Valkyries, on windy days. On hot summer days, Gershwin’s Summertime.

‘I am so glad Thomas’s mother could be saved. If she died, he would have been worse off than my situation, except for a debt-ridden, egotistical, highly educated, buffoon brother. But, I love him.’

He came upon several hedgerows that he was able to easily step over. Then he came to one that was four feet high and four feet in width.

Tom looked beyond the hedgerow. A two-story gray-stone house with three matching barns rested in the distance. 

Tom walked along the hedgerow, hoping to find an opening. After a little more than a furlong, he noticed an opening near the ground that appeared as though he could crawl through. So he got down on his belly and crawled through the opening. 

He walked the two furlongs to Bouchard’s manor.

He entered the grounds of the manor and barns. A dozen curious peasants came out of the barns and from behind them. 

A small man dressed in clean peasant clothing, who Tom took to be a servant, ran from the house and greeted Tom.

“Good day, sir. If you do not have business with My Lord Bouchard, politely leave until you are here by invitation.”

“Please say to your master, My name is Thomas Bales. I am a relative of Geoffrey Bales and Thomas Bales, the younger. I wish to speak with the man often referred to as The Swine Bouchard.”

The savant stood stiff and astonished by Tom’s remarks. 

“Be about your business, and repeat every word to your master as you have just heard,” Tom flipped his hand to the servant, hurrying him away.

The servant leaned forward and whispered, “He may flog me for saying that.”

Tom cupped his hands around his mouth and called out, “Duke Drake, The Swine of Northumberland, Lord of Leeches, Sire of Snakes, and renowned raper of peasant women, I am here to demand satisfaction. I bear the Bales family name, and I am here to exact vengeance on behalf of my family. You cowardly cat, cur chicken, and halfwitted and halfhearted heathen hare, never send a servant to do a master’s bidding.” 

Bouchard burst through the front door in a rage. His long, black, curly locks bounced. He wore tight blue silk pants and black buckled boots. Apparently, he didn’t have time to sling on a shirt; he wore only a linen undershirt. His long face and sharp nose parted the wind that he stormed against. In his hand, he grasped a sword and waved it with such velocity that it made a swishing sound.

“I will slit your throat from ear to ear and disembowel you and feed it to the swine,” Bouchard said angrily.

“It will be a fine meal you will be having,” Tom said, “since you are the only swine I see. And certainly not before peasants and servants, they have not attained the breeding to enjoy such barbarism.”

Bouchard slowed his hurried gait and drew to within three paces of Tom. A crooked, evil grin slowly developed. “You are the man I have been hearing about and waiting to gaze upon. You have come to avenge the insolent peasant cuckold, Geoffrey Bales.”

“I will meet you at the Duke’s court, the day after tomorrow. I wish to settle the matter of land disputes, your murder of Geoffrey Bales, the rape of Lettice Bales, and, most recently, referring to Geoffrey Bales as a cuckold. I am assuming you will deny all these well-known and provable charges. And I will demand we settle this as gentlemen—a duel to the death.”

“Gladly, courier boy,” Bouchard said. “It is rumored you accomplished little more in the King’s service than pass notes.”

“And it is a fact you have accomplished little more in the King’s service than pass wind.”

The servants chuckled but covered their mouths with their hands. 

“You will die slowly,” Bouchard said. 

“Bouchard, you wretched pile of buzzard vomit, a question for you to ponder: what is worse than a slow death?”

Bouchard smirked.

Tom smiled. He bowed as if to royalty. “I look forward to our next meeting. See you in court.”

 

From Here To 1137 AD; Episode 51, Saving Lettice

 This is episode fifty-one of the novel, From Here To 1137 AD. If you would like to purchase From  Here To 1137 AD, it is available on Amazon in Kindle format or paperback. 

Saving Lettice

They materialized back at the ravine. 

“You picked this place because you didn’t want anyone to see us?” Thomas asked.

“It would be hard to explain why we suddenly disappeared or suddenly appeared,” Tom said.

They climbed the steep incline and walked back toward the house. 

“When were you planning to duel, Bouchard?”

“In two days, there is a royal court at Whitford Castle’s great hall,” Thomas said. “I was going to plead my case and demand satisfaction. If Bouchard accepted and the Duke approved, we would duel in the great hall.”

“To the death?” Tom asked.

“Yes,” Thomas said, “but sometimes the winner will strike the death wound. He will show mercy, but that will not be the case with Bouchard. He always strikes the death wound.”

“Does Bouchard own a manor nearby?” 

“The ravine is a boundary between us,” Thomas said. “His manor is a mile beyond.”

“He wants to own both sides of the stream for what reason?” Tom asked.

“The stream on our land is the best place to build a watermill,” Thomas said. “He needs our permission to build the mill. My father was willing. My father wanted a share in its profits. Ordinarily, this would not be a problem. Bouchard was not going to enrich a commoner.”

“And that’s where it began?” 

“No,” Thomas said. “Long before that. Drake Bouchard wanted my mother as his legitimate wife. She favored my father.”

“Let me get this straight,” Tom said. “I’ve been doing some reading about the nobility of this period. If your mother married Bouchard, she would not ever become a noble, but she would have a good life, right?”

“That’s right,” Thomas said.

Tom continued. “And if the marriage was legitimate, the children would become nobles.”

“That’s how it is,” Thomas said.

“Your mother gave up a lot.”

“She does not see it that way,” Thomas said. 

“All those years, Bouchard envied your father and lusted for his wife and found a way to dishonor both,” Tom concluded. “He has a sick, dark mind.”

Tom handed the container of the potion to Thomas. “Here, convince your mother to drink all of this.” 

They reached the house and walked in. Lettice lay limp on the table still sitting on her stool.

“Mama! Mama!” Thomas rushed to Lettice’s limp body. “She is dead!”

Tom reached down and felt for a pulse on her wrist. “She has a pulse.”

“Brain!” Tom called out. “Send me an examination device! Place it on the table.”

“Thomas, Tom said, “I will lift her by the shoulders and you lift her legs. We will place her on the bed.”

They gently lifted Lettice. She moaned as they placed her on the bed.

The examination device sat on the table. Tom grabbed the silver metallic device that was about the size of a box of cereal. He lifted her blouse and placed the device in the middle of her chest. Tom pressed a silver button. It hummed. 

The device spoke. “Do you want treatment?”

“Yes,” Tom said.

The device hummed for about a minute.

During that time, Thomas asked, “Will that device cure her?”

“This is the first time I’ve used it,” Tom said. “Brain, will this cure Lettice?”

“There is every indication she will recover,” Brain said. “The examination device has limitations, but her condition did not exceed them. She is being provided with hormones and electrolytes. As soon as she is able, the liquid should be given to her. She should drink it all within fifteen minutes.”

Thomas’s eyes were full of tears. “Thank you, Brain.”

The device stopped humming, and Tom removed it.

Lettice’s eyes opened. Thomas sat her up and helped her drink.

She sat on the edge of the bed. “What happened?”

“You were exhausted,” Tom said. 

“You were near death,” Thomas said. He looked at Tom. “But tome mixed up a potion. I have it to you, and now you are better.”

“What was in it?” Lettice asked.

“Oh, just some herbs and spices I carry with me,” Tom said, “and I mixed a little honey with it to make it taste better.”

“I really feel good,” Lettice said. 

She started to stand, and Thomas gently held her in place. 

Lettice looked at Thomas. “Thomas, I have more wheat to grind.”

“Don’t bother, Lettice,” Tom said. “I will purchase enough for a few days. You should rest for a couple of days.”

Lettice slowly nodded and laid down. Thomas covered her. She smiled and slowly closed her eyes.

“Are you sure she will be healed?” Thomas asked.

“If Brain is sure, that is as sure as it can be,” Tom said. 

“Will you stay with us?” Thomas asked. “It is not as clean and comfortable as what you are accustomed to, but it is all we have to offer.”

“It would be an honor for me to do so,” Tom said. 

“You can have my cot,” Thomas said. 

“A straw bed is all the accommodations I need.”

“The royal court is not for two days, what will you do?” Thomas asked. 

“Well, there is work here, and tomorrow, I’ll call upon Drake Bouchard. I will tell him who I am and challenge him. And to sweeten the pot, I will insult him in every way I know how.”