“Before you, you see our granary. Our mill is fast attached,” Lord Beasley pointed first at a brick-lined hole which was precious low on grain. Next he pointed to the mill which was dilapidated and, except for the slap-slap-slap of the waterwheel, silent. The soldier Halbert felt slight unease, no grain was being milled that day. This was a village that suffered some dire calamity not unlike Aberfoyle’s plague. He would wait until the moments before Vespers to ask Brother Tobias his thoughts. Their conversation might go unheard while the village busily prepared itself for Mass.

 Lord Beasley led them away from the River Avon (“There, see the boy trout tickling? He will grow into a fine fisherman. His family is well pleased.”) and along a cow path to the Oak Grove behind the village. “Here is a place of local fame. In the autumn, as the trees shed, from three counties men travel to reach this spot with their most-prized swine. The truffles found in this Grove are said to taste of Paradise. They sell for their weight in gold.” The lord then pointed back towards the river. “Of course, the Forest of Arden is rich laid with truffles but none as fine as found here.”

James looked at the man in curiosity, “And what think you of these truffles? Are they like Heaven?” He had never heard of a food called truffles but it sounded pleasant. He thought perchance they were roasted with pork. Why else would a man travel cross county with a pig, no matter how prized.

Beasley smiled, “Aye. When I was a lad at my father’s knee, I was given an ounce of truffle on my Communion Day. It did taste of heaven that day. But none in the village may eat. Their value to us is more than food to our lips.” With these strange words, he moved on.

The grove was peaceful and when Beasley and Brother Tobias left the glade to follow the path, Halberd stopped for a moment to offer a silent prayer for his people in Aberfoyle. In his heart he knew that some whom he held most dear must surely have wasted away in the cruel plague’s jaws ere he was long from home.

“Here, where you entered our village, stands the shrine of Warborough. Older than Methuselah, it has stood here to protect the land. It is said that Saint Dubricius, he who crowned Arthur Pendragon, drank from the water of the Avon and slept here without waking for three new moons. His dreams while lying here foretold the death of Merlin.” The two Scotsmen bent low to look in the small cleft of the rock. They could see scatterings of river pebbles, acorns, and wilted flowers... gifts to honor a long-dead Saint.

Brother Tobias ran his palm along the smooth opening and knelt in prayer. The Lord and soldier followed suit. They chanted together.

 “Credo in Deum Patrem omnipotentem, Creatorem caeli et terrae. Et in Iesum Christum, Filium Eius unicum, Dominum nostrum, qui conceptus est de Spiritu Sancto, natus ex Maria Virgine, passus sub Pontio Pilato, crucifixus, mortuus, et sepultus, descendit ad ínferos, tertia die resurrexit a mortuis, ascendit ad caelos, sedet ad dexteram Dei Patris omnipotentis, inde venturus est iudicare vivos et mortuos. Credo in Spiritum Sanctum, sanctam Ecclesiam catholicam, sanctorum communionem, remissionem peccatorum, carnis resurrectionem, vitam aeternam. Amen.”

Brother Tobias ended the prayer with a small blessing to Saint Dubricius “the wise teacher of the Welsh. He taught the Saints Illtud and Samson as well as many other holy men.” Neither the soldier nor Brother Tobias had ever heard the names Pendragon or Merlin prior, but Tobias had illuminated a manuscript on the lives of the Saints of the Isles. Therein he had learned of Saint Dubricius’ true worth as a man and a teacher.

Halpert aided the lord in rising. The man walked without difficulty but kneeling and standing were a chore best not indulged. Yet all this was nothing to Beasley. With tears in his eyes, he clapped his hand on the foot soldier’s arm and to the two Scotsmen he said “It is long since prayer was made at this shrine by a Man of God. May blessings fall on you and yours for this service you have done me.”

They were a somber trio who wound their way back to the village. The sparse buildings, thirty at most, with their rain-soaked thatched roofs, stood in sharp contrast to the bright and bubbling river. The hamlet suited their mood and they moved forward to the charred remains of the Church.

Brother Tobias made a sign of the cross and the three men inclined their heads. Lord Beasley pointed towards a partially standing wall, “It was an unholy night. There are those who say they saw the spawn of Lucifer run out of Arden Forest with brands alit. I hold not much stock in that, they are the same folk who put milk out to charm the brownies and rowan leaves for the faery queen.” The soldier, James, did not speak. Every harvest his mother had set out cream for the Urisk Brownies.

He watched as Beasley poked at the ashes of the fire. “The Earl of Nuneaton has begged for the ashes of this fire for his potash kiln. He says ash from the timbers of a Church are more pure than those from the greatest oak. I have forbidden the removal.” Lord Beasley looked squarely at Brother Tobias when he said his next words, “I have declared that as long as the ash remains, we are still Christian men in Warborough.”

James, son of Halpert, lowered his eyes and chastised himself for calling these men savages.
     

“Father!” A young boy with hair fresh-washed ran up to them amongst the ruins. “The lumber men approach and Pam says I should polish the King’s Knight’s armor!” He held up a bag of cloths and two covered pots.

Lord Beasley lifted the boy high into the air. “This is my fifth son, the young Harold. Named for his uncle who joined the Blackfriars at Northampton.” To the boy he said, “The King’s Knight? And what new faery tale does your sister tell? This man is no knight of the King. Do you see the King’s Seal about him? He is a Scotsman come on quest. But your sister be praised for seeing a need that I overlooked. Once I have finished with the lumber men, we shall groom ourselves for tonight’s feast.”

He set the disgruntled boy down. Scowling, the boy looked up at the tall soldier, “Do you feed your horses wedding pie and cake?”

Laughing, the men accompanied the disheartened boy down to the main square of the village.

            A small crowd had gathered in the muddy square before the Lord’s timbered building. Halpert was heartily pleased to see his chestnut and Brother Tobias’ mare were still tied to the lashing posts. He was startled to see that their coats were shining, the nettles and burrs of the road gone. He wondered if this Pam, sister of Harold, had seen to the grooming of his horses as well.

            He wished to go and stroke the chestnut to comfort it, but Lord Beasley was directing his attention to carts already exiting the Arden Forest. “The lumber of the Arden is greatly prized. Indeed the King and the Dominicans ask only wood for their tithe which is a blessing for our village.” They watched as the carts began to ford the river with the help of young boys who had been fishing in the fast currents.

            Beasley nodded to men in the crowd, “They have made a good haul. Hobbie! Find Kenric and tell him to bring his list of needs. I think there will be extra to spare on this trip, God willing.” This brought a small cheer from the crowd and an elderly man hobbled off in the direction of a thatched hut from back of which smoke was rising in thick, grey plumes.

            As the half dozen carts pulled up, the young lumber men leaped from their carts. Each grabbed a sharpened woodsman’s axe before they bowed to their Lord and awaited his further direction. A few, the bravest, looked boldly at the strangers who stood so near their Lord.  Halpert looked upon them warily. These were not only well-armed men, but strong and muscle-bound Englishmen. They may not be trained in the ways of the sword or lance, but they would chop a man down as easily as a sapling. He hoped they were not prone to wild carousing. He hoped Lord Beasley kept order in his village.

            Beasley ignored the lumber men’s curious looks. He directed all his questions to the darkest of the men, a man of the outdoors who had never known the inside of a cottage. “What news, Stanley?”

            Stanley looked over the soldier with a distrusting eye. “No news, my Lord. Except the Knights Templar have lost one of theirs in the woods. A reward is offered.” He looked bored with the information he imparted. The crowd gathered closer. Brother Tobias gave James an imperceptible look, but the soldier remained stone-faced.

            Lord Beasley questioned further, “What reward is proffered? Did you see any hint of the man while on your way?”

            The dark man examined his foot as he considered the questions. “We saw no signs between here and the road to Wootton Wawen. The reward is 3 mark silver.”

            Beasley nodded as the crowd began to mumble excitedly. “All able-men will meet here at dawn’s first light. Any man who leaves ere that will be subject to the laws of traitor. The silver will be used for the building of the new Church. Now all disperse and prepare for the Mass this e’en.” 

           Lord Beasley turned to a group of middle-aged men who had congregated round the lead cart, “John, Harry, Hobbie, Henry, John O’Spar, and Bob Brookes… you will drive the carts to Nuneaton this day. John, learn you the list of Kenric. The rest, disperse.”

           A big man with lazy eyes, wearing the apron of a blacksmith, began speaking to the John whom Beasley had singled out. Meanwhile, the Scotsmen watched the other elderly men climb into the carts where they perched atop the lumber.

            “Godspeed you, our prayers will be with you this night.” Lord Beasley waved them to begin the slow four-hour journey to Nuneaton.  John was the last to go. As he began the climb up the grade, Kenric was still calling out items, “Make sure the tool steel is compact! There should be no bend! If there be no grinding stones, ask for emery. I can craft a fix. If the wax is cheap, buy seven score but only under two-pence. No accounts visit their smithy! He robs the stranger!”

            James, son of Halpert, smiled. So. Even the next village was considered as strangers. How different was this land from the Highlands. He followed the Lord into his home with the boy who would be squire at his heels. He wondered if it would be unseemly to ask this ‘Harold named after his Uncle away at the Blackfriars’ if his storytelling sister was the selfsame girl who had stood next to him at a window slit earlier that day. A girl with curly, auburn hair.