Read Online Tale of Gwyn by Cynthia Voigt - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Cynthia Voigt
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And if, in these two daysâ
She thought she heard something . . . behind her? She turned to catch a glimpse, but the sound had ceased.
If, in these two days, she had heard of two different bands of men . . .
She heard it again. Stopped again and the sound stopped. Her heart beat loudly. Then she realized that it was only an echo of her own footsteps she heard and relaxed her grip on the staff.
The Innkeeperâs goats didnât distress her as much, somehow, as that old coupleâs one goat, which gave them milk. Gwyn strode along, thinking. She would like to take them a goat to replace their lost nanny, but Da would never permit that. But if his herd was all wandering around loose, who would know about those that didnât return? She could take one goat for the old couple, and nobody would know. But that would be stealing from Da. Except that, in a sense, some of his wealth was hers, for dowry. So it wasnât really stealing from Da but from herself. No, she admitted, it wasnât stealing from Da, it was stealing from Tad, who would inherit. She didnât much mind taking from Tad, who managed to give so little. If she wanted to talk her father into it, she would have no trouble doing that, but it would take weeks and weeks, and the old couple would likely starve by then. It was the right thing to do, she thought, to give them a goat, just one goat out of the Innâs whole herd.
The difficulty would be in having a day to make the journey there and back, when nobody would notice that she was gone. It would take a day to clean out Old Meggâs house. If Rose were the one to come with her, and Rose stayed the day with Wesâs family in the village, then Gwyn would have her day.
The idea unrolled itself in Gwynâs mind, and her spirits lifted. If Gwyn could manage to take the old couple a goat, then she wasnât entirely helpless and they werenât merely victims, and a good could be done, somehow, to counteract the evil that had fallen upon them. Evil would be done, that was the nature of the world; that was bearable if good could also be done.
Chapter 6
D AY AFTER DAY WENT BY, however, before Gwyn could get away from the Inn. Daâs anger and unease at the robbery was fueled by the men who came to the barroom in the evening. The men drank little but talked much, as word spread, and rumors of attacks on isolated holdings and along the Kingâs Way spread. The men, speaking in low voices so as not to be heard by the two Lords in the rooms next door, spoke of dangers and wondered how they would protect their families and their holdings. As she served the tables, Gwyn heard their anger and unhappiness. These were bands of soldiers, rumors said, and the Lords did not care to rule them. The Lords must know of it, some men said. Others argued that the Lords didnât know and ought to be told, but there was no way to approach the Lords in their castles. Over and again Gwyn heard the same words uttered, that the people would be better off without the Lords, who rode the people just as they rode their horses. The Bailiff came for tithe money, at spring and fall, and he cared nothing for anything but that. The Steward sat in the Doling Room, and if you questioned him there he would refuse you food. Soldiers there were, but the soldiers werenât there to protect the people. When soldiers were quartered in the village they appeared unannounced, at the Lordâs orders, for the Lordâs purposes. The soldiers had nothing to do with the people, except to eat up scant stores of food and speak rudely to the women. Aye, men agreed, what little these bad times left to the people, the Lords took for themselves.
Gwynâs mother worked furiously during that time, keeping Gwyn hard at it, washing sheets and hanging them by the fire to dry, baking bread and the apple pastry of which she was so proud. The two horses in the stable must be walked around the Inn yard,
She thought she heard something . . . behind her? She turned to catch a glimpse, but the sound had ceased.
If, in these two days, she had heard of two different bands of men . . .
She heard it again. Stopped again and the sound stopped. Her heart beat loudly. Then she realized that it was only an echo of her own footsteps she heard and relaxed her grip on the staff.
The Innkeeperâs goats didnât distress her as much, somehow, as that old coupleâs one goat, which gave them milk. Gwyn strode along, thinking. She would like to take them a goat to replace their lost nanny, but Da would never permit that. But if his herd was all wandering around loose, who would know about those that didnât return? She could take one goat for the old couple, and nobody would know. But that would be stealing from Da. Except that, in a sense, some of his wealth was hers, for dowry. So it wasnât really stealing from Da but from herself. No, she admitted, it wasnât stealing from Da, it was stealing from Tad, who would inherit. She didnât much mind taking from Tad, who managed to give so little. If she wanted to talk her father into it, she would have no trouble doing that, but it would take weeks and weeks, and the old couple would likely starve by then. It was the right thing to do, she thought, to give them a goat, just one goat out of the Innâs whole herd.
The difficulty would be in having a day to make the journey there and back, when nobody would notice that she was gone. It would take a day to clean out Old Meggâs house. If Rose were the one to come with her, and Rose stayed the day with Wesâs family in the village, then Gwyn would have her day.
The idea unrolled itself in Gwynâs mind, and her spirits lifted. If Gwyn could manage to take the old couple a goat, then she wasnât entirely helpless and they werenât merely victims, and a good could be done, somehow, to counteract the evil that had fallen upon them. Evil would be done, that was the nature of the world; that was bearable if good could also be done.
Chapter 6
D AY AFTER DAY WENT BY, however, before Gwyn could get away from the Inn. Daâs anger and unease at the robbery was fueled by the men who came to the barroom in the evening. The men drank little but talked much, as word spread, and rumors of attacks on isolated holdings and along the Kingâs Way spread. The men, speaking in low voices so as not to be heard by the two Lords in the rooms next door, spoke of dangers and wondered how they would protect their families and their holdings. As she served the tables, Gwyn heard their anger and unhappiness. These were bands of soldiers, rumors said, and the Lords did not care to rule them. The Lords must know of it, some men said. Others argued that the Lords didnât know and ought to be told, but there was no way to approach the Lords in their castles. Over and again Gwyn heard the same words uttered, that the people would be better off without the Lords, who rode the people just as they rode their horses. The Bailiff came for tithe money, at spring and fall, and he cared nothing for anything but that. The Steward sat in the Doling Room, and if you questioned him there he would refuse you food. Soldiers there were, but the soldiers werenât there to protect the people. When soldiers were quartered in the village they appeared unannounced, at the Lordâs orders, for the Lordâs purposes. The soldiers had nothing to do with the people, except to eat up scant stores of food and speak rudely to the women. Aye, men agreed, what little these bad times left to the people, the Lords took for themselves.
Gwynâs mother worked furiously during that time, keeping Gwyn hard at it, washing sheets and hanging them by the fire to dry, baking bread and the apple pastry of which she was so proud. The two horses in the stable must be walked around the Inn yard,
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