The Blight of Muirwood
Page 110
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He sat down and snapped a few blueberries off the bush. He ate them slowly, his eyes deep and serious. “I wonder how many men there are.”
Lia sat next to him, grabbing a few of her own. Their shoulders touched. “I wish there was a way we could find out.”
Almost as the thought left her mouth, she heard something. It was the sound of a door shutting. The garden had a low wall, but it was not low enough that they would not be seen if someone walked nearby. Thankfully, there were several fruit trees in the enclosure and Lia and Colvin moved quickly through the growth and hid behind the thick mass of leaves and apricots and plums. She snatched a few and stuffed them into her rucksack, listening to the sound of approaching footsteps. She heard two sets. Craning her neck, she stared towards the manor house.
The first person she observed was a tall, thin man wearing the gray cassock of an Aldermaston but with a dirt-smeared smock over it. There was a pocket in the front of the smock and some wooden-handled objects protruded from it. He was much younger than the Aldermaston of Muirwood, and like Martin had plenty of gray in his dark beard. His hair was thicker, combed instead of untidy. He walked with a serious step, heading towards the gardens, speaking softly to the person beside him. There she was, head slightly bowed – Ellowyn Demont.
* * *
“The mind that is anxious about the future is miserable.”
- Gideon Penman of Muirwood Abbey
* * *
CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT:
Aldermaston of Tintern Abbey
Colvin approached so quietly, she was startled when she felt his breath against her ear.
“I can hardly believe it,” he whispered. “The Medium has brought her out to us.”
As the Aldermaston and Ellowyn approached, their voices could finally be heard. The Aldermaston had a soft voice, one that was slow and rich and full of tenderness. “Are you cold? Do you need a shawl?”
“No, I am quite comfortable,” was Ellowyn’s meek reply.
“I told you, child, that no one will make you marry against your will. You fear something that will not happen. You looked so uncomfortable in there, I thought some air might do you good. Or would you rather be back inside with the men?”
“No,” Ellowyn said, a bit hastily. She glanced back at the manor house and hastened a step. “I would rather be with you. You speak my language. At least…I can understand what you are saying.”
“I would like you to see my vineyard. The fruit is not ripe yet, so it needs pruning. Will you help me?”
“I do not know what to do,” Ellowyn demurred.
“I will show you. It is this way, past the garden.” Their voices faded as they passed the wall and trailed off as they crossed a screen of overgrown alders. Lia could not imagine their luck. No, it was past luck. It was the Medium, as Colvin said. They looked at each other.
“We cannot take her by force,” Lia said.
Colvin nodded. “I agree.”
Lia rubbed her mouth thoughtfully. “Then I will try and persuade him to let her go. It will be dark before long. This is our chance to free her. I feel…I must be the one to speak to him.” She looked down at the Cruciger orb, at the writing still shimmering on its surface. “He will be able to read this.”
Colvin reached out, touching her hand. He nodded in encouragement.
Holding the orb before her, she silently crossed the garden and slipped over the wall, following the direction they went. As she drew closer, she could hear their voices again, deep in conversation. After crossing the sentinels of alder trees, she saw row after row of stakes and trellises of a vineyard. The vines were thick, the broad leaves fat and green, the grapes a deep purple color. The sun was slanting down in the western sky, retreating towards the mountain peaks.
“Why do you cut away so many grapes?” Ellowyn asked.
Lia could not see them, but she could hear them well enough and saw the vines trembling with their movement. She crept forward soundlessly.
“The vines produce more fruit than they have strength to ripen,” the Aldermaston answered. “Slice along the stem, like this. Let me show you. See? A little nick is all it takes and the fruit falls. Collect them in your apron.”
“But which ones do I cut? Which do I spare?”
“You can guess, of course. That is one way to do it. But I use the Medium to tell me which to cut. It knows which fruit will be the sweetest at the time of harvest. Those are the ones we want to save. Look at this cluster. See how tight they are together? If we did nothing to prune it, the ones in the middle will become misshapen. There are too many here. The whole cluster will be sour. But if we cut, here and here…” Lia edged closer and she could hear the fruit fall with little thumps. “Then the rest will grow and all will be sweet.”
Lia sat next to him, grabbing a few of her own. Their shoulders touched. “I wish there was a way we could find out.”
Almost as the thought left her mouth, she heard something. It was the sound of a door shutting. The garden had a low wall, but it was not low enough that they would not be seen if someone walked nearby. Thankfully, there were several fruit trees in the enclosure and Lia and Colvin moved quickly through the growth and hid behind the thick mass of leaves and apricots and plums. She snatched a few and stuffed them into her rucksack, listening to the sound of approaching footsteps. She heard two sets. Craning her neck, she stared towards the manor house.
The first person she observed was a tall, thin man wearing the gray cassock of an Aldermaston but with a dirt-smeared smock over it. There was a pocket in the front of the smock and some wooden-handled objects protruded from it. He was much younger than the Aldermaston of Muirwood, and like Martin had plenty of gray in his dark beard. His hair was thicker, combed instead of untidy. He walked with a serious step, heading towards the gardens, speaking softly to the person beside him. There she was, head slightly bowed – Ellowyn Demont.
* * *
“The mind that is anxious about the future is miserable.”
- Gideon Penman of Muirwood Abbey
* * *
CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT:
Aldermaston of Tintern Abbey
Colvin approached so quietly, she was startled when she felt his breath against her ear.
“I can hardly believe it,” he whispered. “The Medium has brought her out to us.”
As the Aldermaston and Ellowyn approached, their voices could finally be heard. The Aldermaston had a soft voice, one that was slow and rich and full of tenderness. “Are you cold? Do you need a shawl?”
“No, I am quite comfortable,” was Ellowyn’s meek reply.
“I told you, child, that no one will make you marry against your will. You fear something that will not happen. You looked so uncomfortable in there, I thought some air might do you good. Or would you rather be back inside with the men?”
“No,” Ellowyn said, a bit hastily. She glanced back at the manor house and hastened a step. “I would rather be with you. You speak my language. At least…I can understand what you are saying.”
“I would like you to see my vineyard. The fruit is not ripe yet, so it needs pruning. Will you help me?”
“I do not know what to do,” Ellowyn demurred.
“I will show you. It is this way, past the garden.” Their voices faded as they passed the wall and trailed off as they crossed a screen of overgrown alders. Lia could not imagine their luck. No, it was past luck. It was the Medium, as Colvin said. They looked at each other.
“We cannot take her by force,” Lia said.
Colvin nodded. “I agree.”
Lia rubbed her mouth thoughtfully. “Then I will try and persuade him to let her go. It will be dark before long. This is our chance to free her. I feel…I must be the one to speak to him.” She looked down at the Cruciger orb, at the writing still shimmering on its surface. “He will be able to read this.”
Colvin reached out, touching her hand. He nodded in encouragement.
Holding the orb before her, she silently crossed the garden and slipped over the wall, following the direction they went. As she drew closer, she could hear their voices again, deep in conversation. After crossing the sentinels of alder trees, she saw row after row of stakes and trellises of a vineyard. The vines were thick, the broad leaves fat and green, the grapes a deep purple color. The sun was slanting down in the western sky, retreating towards the mountain peaks.
“Why do you cut away so many grapes?” Ellowyn asked.
Lia could not see them, but she could hear them well enough and saw the vines trembling with their movement. She crept forward soundlessly.
“The vines produce more fruit than they have strength to ripen,” the Aldermaston answered. “Slice along the stem, like this. Let me show you. See? A little nick is all it takes and the fruit falls. Collect them in your apron.”
“But which ones do I cut? Which do I spare?”
“You can guess, of course. That is one way to do it. But I use the Medium to tell me which to cut. It knows which fruit will be the sweetest at the time of harvest. Those are the ones we want to save. Look at this cluster. See how tight they are together? If we did nothing to prune it, the ones in the middle will become misshapen. There are too many here. The whole cluster will be sour. But if we cut, here and here…” Lia edged closer and she could hear the fruit fall with little thumps. “Then the rest will grow and all will be sweet.”
