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trencher of pottage and a cup of ale. He drew out his spoon and attacked it with gusto as he pondered the best method of staying out of Hamo’s way during the afternoon. Perhaps he would slip away quietly and go to survey the crops in his parts of the fields, as he hadn’t done that for a few days. Despite the fact that he was now to be awarded a substantial wage – about twice what he’d earned while standing in for his father as bailiff, an amount which in itself had been twice what a labourer would be given – as a reward for his position in the earl’s household, the winter would still be bleak for him and his mother if he didn’t manage to get his crops harvested properly in a few weeks’ time, and he couldn’t just leave it all to the man he’d hired to take his place in the fields.
    The men at the lower tables finished their simple fare and got up to go back to work, leaving those at the high end of the hall to continue their meal, more courses of which were still arriving. Edwin gulped the last of his ale and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand as he filed out into the bright sunshine. He took a surreptitious glance around him to ensure that Hamo wasn’t watching – hopefully he’d still be inside supervising – and hurried off towards the gate. There he almost ran into Hamo himself, but fortunately the marshal was busy overseeing the unloading of some barrels from a cart. One of the barrels, a smallish one, slipped as the men manoeuvred it off the tailgate, and Hamo shrieked in alarm.
    ‘Be careful, for God’s sake! That’s the special hippocras for the wedding, to be drunk only by the bride and groom. We can’t get any more of it in time, and it’s worth more than you – I’ll see you flogged if anything happens to it!’
    Edwin watched as the chastened men lifted the barrel very, very slowly and carried it with aching care towards the kitchen.
    Hamo was outraged again. ‘No, not that way! Put it in my office behind the hall. Then I can keep my eye on it to make sure none of those thieving kitchen hands get near it.’
    The men changed direction and Edwin was able to slip past behind Hamo, unnoticed. He hurried out of the inner gate. My office , thought Edwin, he’s already considering it his own. This didn’t bode well for William, and Edwin made up his mind to seek his uncle out later to check on his recovery. But first, the fields.
    After about a mile and a half he was almost regretting his decision. Of course the idea of going to look at the strips which were furthest away from the village had been to stay as far away from Hamo as possible, but the disadvantage was that it was a long walk under the hot sun. He could feel the heat beating down on the back of his neck as he plodded up a hill, and his rather pale face would no doubt soon be burned. His head was boiling under its woollen cap, so he took it off, but then the burning sensation on his scalp got too bad, so he used it to wipe the sweat from his brow and then put it back on again. His headache wasn’t improving.
    As he reached the top of the hill he had a fine view of the countryside all around. It was about another mile to the furthest fields, but he could see them from here: long strips with the golden grain baking in the sunshine, people moving to and fro among them as they pulled out the weeds which could choke the precious crop. He could see another figure on the road making its way towards him; squinting in the bright light, he thought it was a monk. Yes, it was, walking by the side of a horse – no, too small for that, a mule. Most monks in the land wore the black of the Benedictine order, but this one was in a white robe, meaning that he was a Cistercian, probably from the local abbey at Roche. Whoever he was, he was setting a good pace and their paths would soon cross. Between here and there the road dipped again and went through a thickly wooded area, and as he saw the monk enter it on the far side, Edwin thought