Historical Setting, 629 C.E. Serf’s farms at Metz
“Will, your oats have full heads already! Your field is thriving!”
“I’ve learned the secret of growing things.” He is bursting to tell me.
“Really? There is a secret? I thought it was just lots of work and care.”
“You see it there, in the clean diapers hanging on the bushes. Everything needs both the clean and the dirty. You can’t have one without the other.”
“Yes, there’s some truth in that.”
“It’s all about knowing what to water and what to bury.”
“You make us proud to be your family, Will.”
Layla comes out with the baby and Ana is delighted to see them both looking so well. Hugs all around. Ana relishes her turn to hold the baby – that’s why we came. Dear God, let this time flow slowly.
With a storm gathering I need to seek shelter for the horses. Will suggests we walk them up to the castle stable, but he isn’t sure of the cost. Yes, he did say, “walk” them up. I would suppose he doesn’t ride. So, we walk.
This is the stable for the Waldelenus guards of course and the horses we borrowed from Greg know this stable as their home. The stable master thinks I am Greg, and expects no boarding fee from me. I explain I am a relative of Greg visiting family. The stable master decides the horses are also visiting family. Guests stay free.
The rain starts hard without any tender vanguard of droplets, so Will and I stay inside the stable until the deluge recedes a bit.
We make small talk with the stable master. “I see there are meadows here for pastureland. Yet Greg and Gaillard bring the horses and mules up to our farm for pasture.”
He looks at Will who is starring into the rain and not really listening to us. The stable master whispers to me alone, “Greg and Gaillard have their secrets. If they prepared horses for their journeys at these castle pastures there would surely be a serf to tell other armies where they were going. It only takes one disloyal serf.”
I guess I never really considered the clandestine nature of Greg’s work.
I can see Will is very worried over these heavy rains. I assure him, “Even if a rain like this lays your oats over, as long as the stalks aren’t broken they can rise up again. Don’t worry.”
“There are lots of worries, Grandpapa Laz, lots of worries.”
(Continues tomorrow)
Lazarus Ink 