GATTY AND I HAVE FOUND OUT SOMETHING. IT’S A SECRET that can’t be hidden for much longer, because it’s growing, and when my father and mother find out about it, they will be very angry, and there will be a great deal of trouble.
This year the winter has shown its white fist so early that our cattle and sheep are already going hungry.
“I’m hungry myself half the time,” Gatty told me. “It gnaws at my insides, and cramps me up. Hunger’s like a toothache—you keep thinking about it.”
After he had talked with Hum this morning, my father told me we have more hay in our barn than for several years and that he’s allowing each family to take as much hay as one person can carry.
“One load each,” my father said. “It won’t harm us, and it will help them. You remember what Joan said in court? If she can’t feed her cow, the cow won’t milk, and if the cow doesn’t milk, she won’t have anything to drink.” My father shook his head. “The last thing I want is to lose any villagers,” he said. “We’re short-handed enough as it is.”
“And hunger hurts,” I said with some feeling.
“In this manor, Arthur,” my father replied, “children do not give their opinions unless they’re asked for them. How’s your arm?”
“Good. You’ve been cooped up here for too long. Why don’t you go out to the barn and help Hum?”
“Fieldwork,” said Serle.
“No, Serle,” said my father. “Not fieldwork. Hum’s in charge, and Arthur will assist him. You know that.”
“Reeve-work then,” said Serle.
The barn was packed with people and the air was thick with dust and chaff; it was sweet with the scents of summer.
Gatty was tying hay into small, tight bundles; Brian stood up on the top of a hill of hay, throwing forkfuls down to Macsen; Will was bundling and Giles was stacking and Dutton kept trying to lift an enormous load onto his head and shoulders—his face was as red as a coxcomb; Johanna was choking; and I saw Howell trip up Martha so that she fell headfirst into a bed of hay, and then he fell on top of her, laughing; Ruth kept sniffing and spitting; and Slim was sneezing. Everyone was! Then Wat Harelip headed for the door, dragging an enormous bundle of hay behind him, but Hum at once ran after him.
“Carry!” he bawled. “As much as you can carry, not as much as you can haul.”
Wat grinned sheepishly.
“Cabbage ears!” shouted Hum.
“Hum!” I called out. “I can help you.”
Hum glared at me. “You know what your father said.”
“He’s given me permission,” I said.
“Are you making that up?”
“No!” I said indignantly. “Ask him if you like.”
“Right!” said Hum. “You can oversee them. One load for each person, and no more than that.”
“All right,” I said.
“And me and Gatty will carry our loads,” Hum said.
“Not two loads.”
“Says who?” demanded Hum, and he thrust his face too close to mine.”
“I’m sure my father didn’t mean that,” I said uncomfortably.
“I’m the reeve, aren’t I?” demanded Hum. “I’ll do as I want. Anyhow, there’s enough hay in here.”
“I know,” I said unhappily.
“You’re as bad as the rest,” Hum said angrily. “You don’t care nothing except for yourself.”
“That’s not true,” I said, raising my voice.
Now Joan joined in. “You seen my Matty?” she said.
“Who’s Matty?” I asked.
“My sheep! She’s down on her knees, begging for food. Hasn’t got the strength left to stand up.”
“That’s terrible,” I said.
“He’s good with words, that one,” said Hum, “but he’s as bad as the rest.”
“Let him be,” shouted Gatty.
“Why’s that, then?” said Joan. “You soft on him?”
“Not!” said Gatty indignantly, swiping wisps of hay out of her hair. “Arthur’s all right.”
“That’s enough of that,” said Hum. “Come on, Gatty! I’ll load you up.”
By the time Hum had bundled and carted off his own load of hay, the barn had grown quite quiet again. It shook its old, creaking shoulders, and breathed deeply, and I knew that, before nightfall, all the mice and rats would be out and about, eating their fill and gossiping.
Only Tanwen and I were left in the barn, and then Gatty walked back in again.
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s try and get some milk from the kitchen.”
“I haven’t done my load yet,” Tanwen said.
“Do it after,” said Gatty.
Slim was back in the kitchen beating batter, and he wanted to get rid of us, so he let us take a whole pan of creamy milk, and some collops too.
“I know where we can go,” I said, and I led Tanwen and Gatty out of the kitchen and into the little stone building just behind it.
“I’ve never been in here,” said Gatty.
The armory is quiet and still. The two windows are barred so that if the Welsh raiders do come again, they won’t be able to steal our armor.
In the space between the windows, my father’s armor hangs on the shouldered stand Will made for it, with his new flat-topped helmet perched above it. Doublets and coifs hang from nails hammered along one wall, and so does my father’s old coat of mail. It’s quite rusty now. His new one only comes down to his knees, split to the waist, so that he can ride in it.
“Look at it all!” marveled Gatty, and she rippled her fingers over the chain mail and slid them across the plate metal. Then she picked up a pair of fustian breeches from the wooden shelf and disturbed a whole family of wood lice. Some rolled into balls, and some headed for the pile of woolen pads, and some scurried along the shelf and disappeared down a cobwebby crack.
“What’s this made of, then?” asked Gatty, rubbing the breeches between her right thumb and forefinger.
“I don’t know,” I said, “but it’s very tough. The crusaders brought it home from El-Fustat in Egypt. That’s why it’s called fustian.”
“What’s Egypt?” asked Gatty.
Before I could reply, Gatty swung shut the heavy oak door and saw all the weapons behind it: my father’s sword in its scabbard, and his lance which is ten foot long, and his shield, and all the weapons Serle and I use when we practice in the Yard.
“Look at this!” gasped Gatty.
It was my father’s skull-splitter.
“That’s for if his sword snaps,” I said.
“It’s that thick in here I can’t breathe,” Tanwen said.
“Do you want to try some armor on?” I asked Gatty.
“Yes,” said Gatty eagerly.
I looked at Tanwen and narrowed my eyes.
“Who do you think I am?” she said.
So then I shook out a fustian tunic for Gatty, and she pulled it over her head, and put her arms through the holes.
“Really,” I said, “you should begin at the bottom and work up. Otherwise, you get top-heavy and fall over sideways.”
“Come on!” said Tanwen. “It’s hot in here.”
“This next,” I said, and I unhooked the old coat of mail from the wall.
“I can’t wear that,” laughed Gatty.
“And I can’t carry it,” I said. “Not with this arm.”
So Tanwen held up the coat of mail and Gatty reached back with her left arm, then her right arm, and slipped it on.
“God’s bones!” she shouted in excitement.
“Sshh!” I said.
“It’s not as heavy as I thought,” said Gatty. “Not in one place, I mean. It’s heavy all around.”
“It’s much too long for you,” I said. “It’s dragging on the ground.”
“It’s so thick in here,” said Tanwen. “I’m feeling…”
And then Tanwen collapsed. Her eyes were closed, and her face was very white.
“Tanwen!” I exclaimed. “Are you all right?”
But she didn’t answer.
“She’s out,” said Gatty. “Reckon I know what that is.”
“What?”
“She’s pregnant,” said Gatty.
“Pregnant?”
“She was sick as a cat last week.”
Tanwen’s eyelids began to flutter. Then she opened her eyes, and stared at us.
“What happened?” she asked.
“You fainted,” I replied.
Tanwen sat up. “First time I done that,” she said, and then she shivered. “It’s cold in here.”
“You’re pregnant,” Gatty said.
“No,” said Tanwen.
Tanwen said nothing.
“How many months?” said Gatty.
Tanwen put her head between her knees.
“Four, I reckon,” said Gatty knowledgeably. “Can’t go much further than that without it showing.”
Gatty sometimes surprises me with how much she knows. I don’t think Grace would know anything like that.
Tanwen got to her feet, rather unsteadily. “Take that off!” she told Gatty. “We shouldn’t be in here. I can’t stand this place, anyhow.”
Gatty slipped off the coat of mail. It clinked and chinked and fell in a soft heap at her feet.
“Come on, then,” Gatty said to Tanwen, and she took her arm.
“Let me be,” said Tanwen. “I’m not, anyhow.”
“You are and all,” said Gatty.
“Nothing to do with you,” Tanwen said very fiercely. She glared at us both. Then she picked up one of my father’s gauntlets, flung it down on the floor and stormed out through the armory door.
“Who’s the father, then?” Gatty asked me. “You tell me that.”
“I don’t know,” I said.
But I do know, and I wish I didn’t.