The Merchant's Daughter (2 page)

The young ruffians began laughing and sneering at her.

“Trying to hurt someone who’d never hurt you,” Annabel accused. “For shame.”

The tallest boy crossed his arms, his tattered sleeves flapping. His bare legs were brown with filth. “My mother says you won’t be so high and holy, Annabel Chapman, now that our lord is here. Woe to the Chapmans.” The rest of the boys took up the chant. “Woe to the Chapmans. Woe to the Chapmans. Woe to the Chapmans.”

She stomped through the circle of boys, staring straight ahead as Stephen had done. The boys continued their taunts and insults, but she held her head erect and pretended to ignore them. They drifted down the road, launching a few weak insults at Stephen as they rounded the bend, their gloating laughter disappearing with them.

Stephen was coming toward her. She waited for him to catch up.

“I’ll walk with you,” Stephen said, giving her a sympathetic lift of his brows. “Are you going to the hallmote?”

Annabel nodded. “I have to go to the butcher’s to get a goose for Mother, but I thought I might see how my family fares in the court first.” She tried to look unworried, but she couldn’t fool her friend. They walked together down the dusty road.

“My mother is waiting for me at home to help her patch a leak in the roof. But I will stay with you at the hallmote if you need me,” Stephen offered.

“No, I’d rather you didn’t stay.” Annabel’s cheeks heated at the thought of her friend seeing her family’s name scorned and abused in front of nearly everyone they knew. She’d rather bear her shame alone. “I’ll be fine.”

The two of them passed an old woman bent over the field of beans next to the road.
Let her not notice me,
Annabel prayed as she ducked her head.

The older woman straightened as much as the hump in her back allowed and leveled her narrowed gaze at Annabel. “A Chapman. It will be your turn to tend the fields now that the new master has come, dearie!” She cackled a high-pitched laugh.

Annabel stared at the ground. Today wasn’t the first time she’d experienced the villagers’ contempt, but she blushed again at what must be going through Stephen’s mind.

It seemed to take forever to walk past the woman, for her lingering laughter to fade away. Stephen said softly, “Don’t let it bother you.”

Annabel tried to smile and say something flippant, but she couldn’t think of anything. Dread slowed her feet. Fear crept up her spine and gripped her around the throat as she came closer to the place where her family’s fate would be decided. She imagined each person at the hallmote today, derision and glee mingling on their face, as they too anticipated her family’s reckoning.

Annabel stopped and faced Stephen. “You better go on back home. Give your mother my love.” She gave him a little wave and started to turn away.

“You always have a home with us,” Stephen said.

“Thank you.” She waved again as she walked toward her fate. His words seemed to emphasize even more the trouble she was in.

She would refuse to marry Bailiff Tom, of course, and under church law no one could force her to marry. But by doing so her family would lose the only offer of help they were likely to receive — Tom’s offer to pay the lord for the work the Chapmans had not done. The lord
would
get what was owed him, one way or another. Would the jury order that their home be seized and given to the lord? Or would they devise some other punishment? The old lord had lived far away and never came to Glynval, choosing to send his steward instead, a man who accepted bribes. But the new lord, it was rumored, had come to Glynval to build a proper house and live here. His new steward would make sure he received all that was owed to him.

Annabel shivered at the thought of the new lord, Lord le Wyse. He was getting harder to force from her mind.

The hairs on the back of her neck prickled as she remembered the things she’d heard about him. Exaggerations, surely. He couldn’t be as frightening as people said. But they would all soon find out.

As she rounded another curve in the road, the houses and shops of Glynval came into view. Each wattle-and-daub structure was made of white plaster and a thatched roof. Chicken coops, looking just like the houses, only smaller, crowded in the backyards along with slick, muddy pigsties full of snorting swine. The animals filled the air with their pungent stench. Annabel wrinkled her nose and hurried on, forcing herself to go to the manorial court meeting first before going on to the butcher’s to get the goose.
Besides, the butcher is probably at the hallmote with everyone else.

She passed quickly through the main road of the village, which was also nearly deserted. She turned down the lane that led to the manor house, a structure more like a hall than a house. The upper floor was one big room where the hallmote was held in bad weather. But today, as the weather was fine, though a bit hot and cloudy, the court would be held outside in the courtyard.

She walked up to the outskirts of the crowd unnoticed and pushed through to see the jurors standing or squatting in a group off to the left. Only two men were sitting — the clerk, who was busy writing on a long strip of parchment, and another man Annabel guessed to be the lord’s new steward, who was in charge of the meeting. The steward and clerk would probably only stay long enough to conduct the hallmote and then leave in the morning, off to see to Lord le Wyse’s other holdings.

When the clerk had finished writing, he stood up and proclaimed, “John Maynard complains of John, son of Robert Smith.” Then he sat down.

John Maynard came forward and described, in great detail, an argument he had with John, son of Robert Smith, which resulted from a missing chicken he claimed John stole from him, killed, and ate. John Maynard also brought five men with him who swore on the holy relics either that they knew what he was saying was true or that he was a trustworthy man. John, son of Robert Smith, had failed to bring his own “oath helpers.”

While the case was being decided, a man near Annabel kept looking at her out of the corner of his eye and then nudging
his neighbor with his elbow and motioning at Annabel with his head.

Had her family’s case already been decided? She looked around but didn’t see any friendly face she could ask.

Finally, the case of the missing chicken was decided in favor of the complainant, John Maynard. The jury fined John, the son of Robert Smith, four pence for stealing and consuming the chicken. Four pence was a heavy fine, but chickens were valuable.

The clerk announced the next case. “The steward of Lord Ranulf le Wyse accuses Roberta Chapman and her three grown children, Edward, Durand, and Annabel Chapman, of shirking all their required fieldwork, harvest work, and boon work for the three years past, as of this Michaelmas.”

Annabel felt her face grow hot as she kept her eyes focused on the jury members and the steward. She felt as if everyone was staring at her, but she didn’t want to look around to confirm her suspicions.

Mother came forward and stood in front of the entire assemblage of villagers. She looked tense, her lips bloodless and pursed, but defiant.
Oh, Mother, please don’t make it worse.

The steward called the reeve forward to attest that this accusation was true.

Annabel was surprised Bailiff Tom wasn’t there also, either to confirm or deny that her family had not done the work required of them.

The reeve confirmed the accusation, and her mother refused to deny it. The jury conferred for only a few moments, then the foreman turned to the steward and his clerk and said, “The jurors find that the Chapmans are all equally guilty and therefore must pay sixty pence per person, totaling two hundred forty pence, or twenty shillings.”

The entire assembly gasped.

Annabel felt sick. She had never heard of a fine anywhere near that amount. It was impossible. Her mother’s defiant expression, however, never wavered.

“Roberta Chapman, are you or your children able to pay this fine?”

“No, sir steward.”

“Jury, the Chapmans are not able to pay their fine. What will be their alternative penalty?”

The jury huddled together. Annabel watched them, unable to walk away until she learned her family’s fate. She should have gone straight to the butcher shop instead. More people were staring at her, and she took a step back, partially hiding behind the miller’s overfed son.

Finally the jury foreman broke away from the other eleven and stepped forward. “Sir steward, the jury says that Roberta Chapman, who is not able to pay the fine of two hundred forty pence, will send one of her grown children to work as Lord le Wyse’s servant for the next three years, doing whatever tasks his lord deems fitting, to pay for the three years the family did not do their work. If they are unwilling, they will forfeit their home and property immediately to Lord le Wyse.”

Annabel backed away as murmurs of approval rose from the circle of villagers. Soon she was on the lane, heading back toward Glynval.

Her face still burned from her family’s public humiliation, and she kept her gaze on the ground as she reentered the village, drawing her head covering closer around her face. A few more steps and she’d be inside the butcher’s shop and away from prying eyes.

“Annabel? Is that you?”

She recognized Margery’s voice and groaned. It would be impolite to ignore her, so she tried to smile. “Good morning, Margery.”

Both girls had blue eyes, blonde hair, and evenly proportioned features, so people occasionally remarked that the two of them could be sisters, but Annabel hoped the resemblance was only physical. She always dreaded Margery’s embarrassing questions. Lately she was even harder to take, bragging and smirking at having married the wealthiest man in Glynval
and remarking on the fact that Annabel was still unwed. But Annabel couldn’t imagine marrying such an old man. Or any man, truth be told.

Margery caught Annabel by the arm and leaned close. Annabel leaned back to get away from the smell of garlic emanating from her.

“Have you heard the news?” The girl placed a hand on her slightly protruding belly. “I’ll be a mother before spring plowing!” She giggled then stopped abruptly. She clamped her free hand over her mouth while her eyes widened and her face turned gray.

“Are you unwell?” Annabel grasped the girl’s elbow and took a step away, afraid Margery would heave her breakfast on Annabel’s only pair of shoes.

Margery took a deep, slow breath, then another, and lowered her hand from her mouth. “That was nearly the third time today.” She smiled in spite of her pallor.

“I’ve heard that dry bread eaten in the morning before you rise is helpful for the sickness.”

“All is well with me, but I’m distressed for you.” Margery’s brows drew together.

“Oh, I’m well. I’m on my way to the butcher’s and must hurry — “

“All the people say your mother and brothers have played our lord very false. Some say you’ll all be turned out of your home, your mother put in the stocks — or worse. Where will you go? Do you have any other family who could take you in?” She put one hand on her hip and pointed her finger at Annabel’s nose. “You should marry. I hear Bailiff Tom is looking for a wife.” Her eyes grew wide with excitement at her brilliant new idea.

Annabel’s family deserved to be turned out of their house, as they’d not served their lord according to the law — and now that would indeed be their fate, as decreed by the hallmote, unless she or one of her brothers became Lord le Wyse’s servant. But Annabel had to feign confidence or risk Margery going on about Tom.

“When everyone sees how willing we are to begin doing our share of the work, I’m sure everything will be well. In fact, the jury only moments ago decided our punishment. One of my family will work for the lord in his manor.”

A visible shudder went through Margery. She whispered, “I’ve heard the new lord is a beast.”

“Nonsense.” Annabel fixed her eyes on Margery, anxious to know if she had actually seen him.

“He has a beard and one of his arms is afflicted. He holds his arm up like this — “ Margery demonstrated by crooking her arm across her midsection. She drew nearer, until her lips were almost touching Annabel’s ear. “And he has only one eye.”

“One eye?”

“He wears a black patch of leather over his missing eye, and a scar runs through his beard all the way to his chin.” “You saw him?”

“I heard it from Butcher Wagge’s wife, who heard it from Joan Smith, and she heard it direct from Maud atte Water, who’s to be one of the dairy maids in the new lord’s buttery.”

“You mustn’t believe everything you hear.” She could not let Margery’s description frighten her. Maybe the new lord was only very ugly, and that was why people made up such horrific stories about his appearance.

“I must go now,” Annabel said quickly, trying to walk away. “May God favor your child and bless you. Good day.”

“I’m sorry you’re in haste. You didn’t tell me what you’re going to do when they turn you out — “

“We won’t be turned out. Good day.” Determined to get away from Margery, Annabel headed straight for the butcher’s shop. As she hurried inside, she immediately collided with a man, her sundrenched eyes almost blinded inside the dark shop.

“So glad you could come.”

Annabel blinked as the man’s face came into focus. It was Bailiff Tom.

The bailiff wrapped his hands around her upper arms.

She looked up into his small-eyed, sharp-nosed face, and
then down to the hands that were holding her arms unnecessarily. Even though he wasn’t a large man, he still loomed over her.

Bailiff Tom’s greeting was odd, as if he had been expecting her. He must have arranged with Edward to send her to the butcher shop, where he’d be waiting for her. The realization made her feel sick.

She straightened her shoulders and tried to free herself from his grip by taking a step back, but he did not let go. “Pray excuse me. I was looking for the butcher.”

“Are you sure?” He chuckled in a way that made her stomach clench. His dark, oily hair hung below his ears. He leaned over her, and she smelled his sweaty odor. When had he last taken a bath? It was summer, after all. He couldn’t use the excuse that the water was too cold.