Sarum - Edward Rutherfurd [248]
All morning he had helped at the sheep-washing, which was carried out in a small pool that the men had created with a wattle dam just below a bend in the little stream that ran across the edge of the high ground.
It was two months since Godefroi had let him work with the shepherds. From morning till night he had been busy on the slopes, his life now regulated by the calendar of the shepherd’s year. At Helenmas at the start of May, the fat lambs had been rounded up and sold; in two days’ time, at the midsummer feast of St John, while the workers in the open fields began to weed the corn, on the slopes above the old ewes would be taken away to market. Today, all the spare villeins were up to help with the washing and shearing. There were almost a thousand sheep to be got through. Expertly the men held the sheep between their knees as they worked with the iron shears to cut away the thick fleeces that the new summer growth underneath was lifting up.
He liked to see the shorn sheep scuttle away as soon as they were freed, with their close-cropped coats gleaming in the sun.
Harold usually accompanied him to his work. The dog was growing more skilled every day, and despite his youth, was learning patience, his bright eyes watching the sheep by the hour, and helping Godric to herd them from ridge to ridge. To celebrate his new life, Godric had made himself a fine shepherd’s crook, and on its curling handle he had carved a figure that captured the dog’s sleek, eager form and character exactly. With the crook in his hand and the dog at his side he experienced a contentment he had never known before.
Nor was this all. He had reason to believe that he was making headway with Mary.
In recent weeks, even the smith and his family had welcomed him.
“If the lord keeps him as a shepherd,” Mary’s mother told her, “you could do worse.”
He had pressed his suit with her, gently but firmly; and he had not been slow to discover how to win her.
He wooed her with food.
The pig he had cleverly salted had lasted some time. He ate it slowly, sometimes alone so that Mary would not take his invitation for granted, and sometimes with her.
His revenge on William atte Brigge was complete. When the tanner had discovered his loss, he had been beside himself with rage and attempted to raise the hue and cry: but since the pig had never been found, he was helpless. It preyed on his mind. In Wilton and in Sarisberie he would suddenly seize a passer-by and cross-question them about it until, to all but himself, the matter had become a joke. And when he realised that people were laughing at him, it made his fury even worse.
“Have you seen a pig?” men in the market place would call out as soon as they saw him coming. And someone else, to anger him further, would be sure to reply:
“Yes, at Shockley farm.”
Once he cross-questioned Mary; but her look of squinting suspicion easily put him off and he gave it up.
Godric had tempted the girl with a remarkable variety of foods that he had been able to trap without risk. On the common land he could take a hare, a pheasant or partridge. And there was another tasty and prolific animal he loved, a newcomer to the island – for it was only after the Norman conquest that the first rabbits appeared in the area. The natives called them coneys, and Godric was especially skilled both at snaring them, and at the delicate business of roasting the small animal’s rich, dark meat.
Twice, even three times a week, he would bring Mary to his little hut to share some new delicacy, and each time he would slyly watch the eager look in her eyes as she saw the meal he had prepared for her.
Gradually her manner softened towards him. Her face seemed to have become less pinched, its lines a little fuller. Once or twice she had even smiled, and now she allowed him to kiss her; he even thought he detected the beginnings of enthusiasm. But he did not try to take matters too fast, and continued his calculated routine until soon their meetings had become, for her, a habit there was no reason to