‘He’d had bad luck of late,“ Simon said, easy enough with her now to tell her the thing at length. ”He lost his bid on some leased land last manor court to Gilbey Dunn, then quarreled with his wife over it and next thing anyone knew, he was gone and so was Gilbey’s horse.“
And hadn’t Mary been furious over it? She’d screamed and thrown things, and what Matthew hadn’t taken with him in the way of clothing she’d dumped into the pigsty and told the pigs they were welcome to it. Anne said it was because it was one thing not to be able to bear a man, the way Mary had long been swearing she couldn’t bear Matthew, but another to find out he couldn’t bear you. Simon had said it was past his understanding how anybody could bear Mary, and Anne had looked at him with pitying patience and said that was because he was Mary’s brother; there were others saw her differently. Tom Hulcote for one. Knowing more than he wanted to about Mary and Tom Hulcote and the less said the better, Simon had dropped the matter, and Anne had let him.
‘What’s to be done about his land if he doesn’t come back?“ Dame Frevisse asked, bypassing the idle side of talk in favor of the heart of the problem of Matthew’s going.
‘His wife will run it for a time, until it’s sure he’s not coming back. Then it will come to manor court at Michaelmas to be decided who’ll have it in his place.“
‘Will it go to her?“
‘Nay, she’d not be able to manage it on her own. The land and messuage will go forfeit back to Lord Lovell, and likely whatever else there is that isn’t all hers will be sold to pay Gilbey for the horse.“
‘A bad business all around. But nothing I need deal with?“
‘It will be all mine when the time comes,“ Simon said regretfully. But it was not so bad as it might be. Mary had land of her own from their father and she’d be able to make do with that. But not happily, and Simon was already hearing about it from her, though what he was supposed to do, he didn’t know.
Pushing that aside, he went on to matters at hand. “There’s Alson Bonde, though. She and her son are priory villeins and there’s something come up between them you maybe should know.”
Dame Frevisse bent her head in the way that Simon was coming to recognize meant she was ready to listen. A woman more keeping of her words he’d never met; it threw him off pace but he gathered himself and said, “Old Alson, after her husband died, was given half the holding for life, and that was well enough with young William, her son, but now she’s wanting to let her land to Martin Fisher for ten years and young William is flat against it.”
‘Why? Why does she want to lease it and why is he against it?“
‘She wants to lease it because it’s too much for him to work alone. It was well enough when it was him and old William, but it’s too much for just him, and his three boys are too small yet to be of much use. Alson wants to lease her share to Martin Fisher, who could use more land than he has, and give the money to young William, except for what she needs to live on, so he can hire help and save him working himself to death before his boys are grown.“
‘That seems well thought on. Why is young William against it?“
‘He just keeps saying his father wouldn’t have done it. He’s not quick of his wits, is young William. A good man but not quick. Lease or no lease, I think to him it’s like the land will be out of the family and he knows his father would never have wanted that and so he can’t want it either.“
Simon hesitated over saying more but, “Yes?” Dame Frevisse asked.
Close-mouthed and sharp-eyed. Someone was blessed she’d become a nun instead of a wife, Simon thought, but only said, “The thing is, Gilbey Dunn’s been nosing in about it. Just a little, his mind not made up to offer for it, but if he does…” Simon paused; but if Master Naylor’s trouble went on for long, these were all things she’d learn anyway, and he said, “Gilbey has a strong eye and a sure hand to his own ends, and since he married a few years ago and has sons now, he seems more set than ever on being even better off than he is. Some say as how it’s his wife that’s pushing him, she being out of Banbury and freeborn and on the young side for old Gilbey…” That was astray from what needed saying and Simon shifted ground to, “The thing is, if he decides to offer for the Bonde lease, he’ll likely offer more than Alson can bear to let pass by and then there’ll be a falling out indeed between her and young William like I don’t want to see.”
‘But there’ll be a falling out if she settles with Martin Fisher, too, won’t there?“
‘Not so bad, likely. Martin’s a good man.“
‘And Gilbey isn’t?“
‘It’s not that Gilbey’s bad,“ Simon allowed slowly. ”Naught the priest should see to.“
‘But?“
‘He’s not much liked in the village,“ Simon said, then added, to be as fair as might be, ”It’s not so much what he does.“ Though that wasn’t strictly to the truth. What Gilbey did was be richer than anyone else and not mind who knew it or care what anyone thought of it. ”He just doesn’t set well with folks. It’s how he is.“
‘So, all around, it would be better something was decided and settled with Martin Fisher and soon, rather than have Gilbey Dunn come in on it, and you’ve some thought on how to do that.“
Simon had, and said more readily than he would have to her an hour ago, “Martin has a half-grown girl and young William has sons. I’ve thought that if, along with the lease, there was agreement made for Martin’s daughter to marry young William’s oldest boy when they’re old enough, then young William wouldn’t mind the lease, the land still being in the family, like. Only I didn’t want to say aught to them about it until I knew the priory would favor the lease to start with.”
Dame Frevisse thought on that in silence for a moment, then said, “I don’t see there’d be objection to it from the priory’s side.”
‘Gilbey Dunn would offer better money, if he comes to it.“
‘It’s better to have peace in a family than money.“
Dame Frevisse said, then added after a small pause, “so long as there’s enough to eat.”
Simon, bypassing whether she’d meant that as a jest or no, went on to, “There’s only the bylaws, then. Seems we might want a new one, saying no one is to take hire outside the village if he can find work here for… well, we’re trying to decide how many pence a day to allow, times and need being what they are. And the rest of the bylaws need to be read out in church next Sunday or so, for those as like to forget them from one year to the next.”
Dame Frevisse nodded her understanding of that. “There are always those will tether their horses in the wheat stubble before Michaelmas no matter what, unless they’re told straight to their face and in front of everyone that they’re not to.”
Simon was about to agree to that with a laugh when his man Watt came at a hurry into sight along the street and by the plank bridge over the ditch into the yard. He stopped short as he caught sight of Simon and Dame Frevisse, then came on, to bow to her without quite taking his eyes from her, because although the priory was just across East Field from Prior Byfield, the nuns were nonetheless an uncommon sight, and said to Simon, “There’s some men ridden in. They’re at the alehouse and want to talk to the reeve.”
Forebearing to ask what Watt had been doing at the alehouse, Simon stood up and made bow to Dame Frevisse, asking, “By your leave?”
Chapter 4
Frevisse gave Simon Perryn leave to go without hesitation, agreed to wait to finish with the bylaws and hear some questions he had for Master Naylor about the second haying, and watched him leave, a sure-striding, square-built man of middle years and middle height in a dark blue tunic of well-woven cloth, un-mended heavy green hosen, and leathern boots that had had good wear and would last for more. There was nothing shabby about his servant either, even rough-dressed as he was for fieldwork, and that spoke as well of master as of man. In truth, everything Frevisse had so far seen of Perryn and his holding spoke well of him, everything well kept and prospering. Here in his foreyard, between the house and the shallow ditch that separated the messuage from the street and village green, the garden was laid out in neatly bordered beds with narrow paths between and crowded full of herbs and summer vegetables- garden peas and beans, summer squash, lettuce and other greens, rhubarb-for fresh eating after all the months there had been only kept food to hand. Along one side of the yard a low withy fence separated the yard from a neighbor’s, while on the other side there was a long byre, right-angled to the house because none but the poorest peasant shared house-space with their animals. Whatever cows Perryn had were long since out to pasture this morning after milking, but there were chickens scattered around the dusty stretch of yard in front of it, questing for what they could find in the way of dropped grain or roused insects; and because messuages were usually narrow-fronted to the street and long to the back, behind the house there were likely a barn, maybe another byre, sheds, probably a sty with pig and piglets for winter pork and bacon, possibly more garden, and maybe other fruit trees besides the pear tree here and, across the yard, beyond the garden, an apple tree with branches beginning to bend to the weight of its apples, its shade sheltering a patch of grass and another bench.