Amelie: Wizards of White Haven

by Frances Howitt

  The journey to Jacob’s Landing was bitterly cold but uneventful, to everyone’s relief. Towing wagons meant the pace was very slow and noisy. Their route was also worryingly predictable since there was only one road and they had to stick to it. Foster’s horses were particularly slow and his wagon heavy and cumbersome, even when empty. It got bogged down the first time they strayed off the paved surface of the road to avoid a fallen tree, so they took more care. Freddie couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched from afar. He disliked feeling like a sitting duck and knew from his men’s continual vigilance, they felt the same. Fortunately the trip was short, clearly the main reason for using this merchant, and they reached his holdings at dusk.

  Mrs Foster was a stout matron who ushered them all into the warm whilst sending several of her many children out to take care of the horses and put both wagons in the barn. Freddie tried to hide his amusement that the woman had taken one look at their livery with matching wagon and bustled about to set them at their ease as though they were very important guests. They were shown into a large guest suite where they could wash, relax and warm through before the newly lit fire. This was a far cry from the dealings with merchants on behalf of his clan he’d had in the past. Then, they had been eyed with wary suspicion, and every coin inspected, before anything was grudgingly handed over.

  Later, when amply laden plates of steaming hot roast pork were set before each of them, Freddie reflected on the fringe benefits of being in the wizard’s employ. Making do with cold scraps and whatever he could pick off bushes to augment a kill made them appreciate the green accompaniments to the meal, especially this time of year when fresh greens were scarce. Having a full belly was an unexpected bonus he relished too.

  ‘Spit it out,’ Freddie suggested bluntly to Foster after the meal had been finished and they’d retired to Foster’s office. ‘I can see from your face you’re unsure whether to mention something to me. Let me decide what options I’m prepared to accept.’

  ‘Very well, but I hope you will not be offended by the suggestion,’ Foster said uncertainly, but Freddie merely gestured for him to get to the point.

  ‘Well, as you know, the pickings are a little scarce to fulfil your order. Most of my farmers have already sold their grain or had it commandeered as extra tithe to Lord Aubrey to feed his army.’

  ‘You mentioned this before,’ Freddie reminded. ‘And that we might have to work for our supplies.’

  ‘I know where there should be plenty of wheat to fulfil your order, but because it’s not been harvested, much will have gone bad or fallen. It will not be at its best.’

  ‘What you’re saying is that there is poor quality grain, and we must work in the fields to get it?’ Freddie clarified and Foster nodded. ‘We were expecting as much,’ he admitted with a shrug. ‘Whilst none of us are farmers, we aren’t scared of hard work. Or is there something else that is worrying you?’

  ‘The farm is only a few miles from Cedar Castle, Lord Aubrey’s keep. I cannot be sure that the crop is still there, but it was last week. If a patrol passes, they’ll want to know who you are since they will know the owner is widowed and that her two sons enlisted as soldiers in the keep.’

  ‘Presumably the widow still needs to sell whatever remains of her crop? Well, as long as she can explain our presence as helping out, surely then we should be fine?’

  ‘Of course. Mrs Daily will be known to them. I will introduce you to her in the morning. We’ll leave at first light,’ Foster added and Freddie nodded acceptance.

  Leaving their two saddle horses in the merchant’s stables on his suggestion, they followed Foster’s laden wagon in their empty one. To set them up necessitated a small detour on Foster’s part, on his way to make other deliveries, but it was part of the deal. They arrived at the farm only a couple of hours after dawn. They watched Foster greet Mrs Daily affably, and then take her aside. As they waited beside the house, they could see many signs of serious neglect in the buildings and yard. Freddie wondered how long she’d been here alone; surely it couldn’t have been more than a few months, since her sons must have been the ones to plant the fields? Mrs Daily was a small thin woman of middle years, with wispy greying hair fastened neatly at her nape and wind reddened cheeks. She greeted them with a ready smile however, on learning why they were here. Freddie and his men had donned their official looking cloaks, hoping it would set her mind at ease that they were not bandits or con-artists. Foster did the talking, setting out the deal and making sure the terms were clear to all, before he left to begin his own work for the day.

  ‘Any of you pretty boys ever work the land?’ Mrs Daily asked, her shrewd gaze passing over each of them from their smart new cloaks and shiny boots to their tall muscular bodies. Hard-bitten soldiers every one, but they were not mean looking.

  ‘No, and unfortunately, we haven’t much knowledge of what exactly we’re meant to be doing,’ Freddie admitted. ‘Pretty boys?’

  Mrs Daily simply grinned at him and took his hands, turning them palm up to assess. They were strong hands and had experienced work, but they weren’t gnarled, rough and calloused from hard manual labour. ‘You’ll need gloves or these pretty hands will be blistered before the morning’s out,’ she commented and turned to assess Johnny’s hands next. Shortly they were each given a pair of heavy leather gloves, in varying stages of cleanliness and dilapidation. Leaving their cloaks inside and exchanging their new riding boots for the heavy well worn and comfortable boots they’d each brought for working, they headed out to the barn on her heels. They wordlessly took over hitching up an elderly draft horse to a large wagon and climbing aboard, she took them out to the field in question. Taking them at their word that they knew nothing about reaping, she set about teaching them exactly what they had to do to cut the crop, bind it into sheaves and load on the wagon.

  The work was simple enough once you learned the knack of it, but scything was slow, time consuming and arduous, as was picking it up, bundling and tying the long stems into neat sheaves. Periodically they had to stop and sharpen the scythes as they became blunt, but they all knew exactly how to hone a sharp edge on a blade.

  ‘You’ve filled the wagon quickly,’ Mrs Daily commented in surprise when Johnny later returned to the yard with the wagon. ‘Unload it into the barn,’ she added, gesturing to the long shed to the right of the yard. She held the horse still for him while he tossed the load of sheaves off the back in a frenzy of activity.

  ‘Next time, cover your nose while you do that,’ she suggested as he coughed and sneezed from the resultant clouds of dust. She grinned that his wiping at his eyes were leaving clean wet stripes down his cheeks. ‘You ought to be pacing yourself you know,’ she added seriously. ‘It’ll be a very long day if you exhaust yourself early.’

  ‘I know, but while I’m here, I’m not keeping up with them. Is this how it’s usually done?’

  ‘Well, with a fast team we’d usually concentrate on one task at a time, just stacking in the field to collect later. But if it’s likely to rain we do it this way. You’re lucky it’s been so dry recently, wet grain goes bad fast and clogs everything up. I’ve no idea how much is left in the ears though, or how much of that is still edible this late in the year. We won’t really know how good it still is until it’s brought in and cleaned.’

  ‘We thought as much,’ Johnny said with a shrug. Obviously there was a strong likelihood that they were going to be putting in a lot of effort to harvest what might not amount to much; perhaps that was why no-one else had thought it worth their while claiming it. But, needs must and they much preferred taking leftovers, to going hungry.

  ‘I thought that since none of you are used to this kind of work, you’d be happy to take a break at each wagonload.’

  ‘Yes, that would be nice, but we’d rather gather it in while the weather’s dry. I know it’s been frosty and dry for weeks but it could change any time now,’ he added glancing at the sky critically. ‘Do you get many soldiers passi
ng this way?’

  ‘Yes, they patrol, but don’t come by too often,’ she responded, walking with him back to the field with the wagon. Might soldiers interfere? They’d come for her sons and taken all the other strong young men locally. They’d know no-one should be available to work the land; but it was stupid, everyone needed to eat and she badly needed the money. When they got to the field it was clear the other two hadn’t stopped work. A neat row of cut stems followed each man and the stubble was of a surprisingly even height. The pair walked in tandem swinging the long blades rhythmically and cutting in time with one another. They had learned quickly.

  ‘Want to give Rupert a break?’ Freddie asked as they came up. Johnny was very dusty and the lifting, bundling and tying job was monotonous but not overly taxing, whereas the swinging stroke required to cut the wheat efficiently, was very tiring and used muscles unaccustomed to this motion. Because he was aching, he knew Rupert would be too. As Alpha, it was his duty to care for his pack, therefore Rupert would get the break first, even though his own old thigh wound had been aggravated and was painful. Mrs Daily was here just now, so that too made it a good time to swap jobs. She could show Rupert what to do and where to take the sheaves, while he taught Johnny the scythe.

  ‘Come and have a break,’ Mrs Daily interrupted them, waving a covered basket in invitation. She set out beakers of cider and some thick sandwiches and wasn’t at all surprised the men stopped work immediately and gathered round. Perching on the back of the wagon off the icy ground, they looked surprisingly content with a sandwich in hand. These were not soft pampered men; they were clearly at ease outdoors and used to making do wherever they happened to be. It was obvious they’d worked up quite an appetite too and it was still only mid-morning.

  ‘You’ve made remarkably quick progress,’ she told them encouragingly aware of the shifting about of shoulders as they tried to ease tense muscles. ‘You’re more than a quarter across the field. If it were summer you’d probably be able to finish tonight, but not this time of year with the night drawn in. Better to finish in good light and start again fresh in the morning. Too many accidents happen when people are tired and the light’s poor.’

  Freddie nodded knowing how true that was. He’d seen many a mistake cost a limb on the battlefield or bad injuries occur even in training. The scythes they handled were every bit as long and sharp as a sword. ‘What needs to happen after we bring this in?’

  ‘The next step is to separate the wheat from the straw by threshing. Then winnow to remove the chaff, weevils and anything else that shouldn’t be there. I have a machine, but it’s still a slow process.’

  ‘How many does it take to operate this machine?’

  ‘It’s better with two and you also need a horse to power it.’

  ‘We have our horse doing nothing,’ Freddie reminded, aware her gaze had gone to her single animal hitched to the heavy wagon. The horse was old and thin and unlikely to have the fitness or strength he used to have. Their clan horse was fit however, and more able to handle a long job, even though she was a carriage horse rather than a heavy draught. He’d have to test if she was strong enough for the job. ‘I’ll have a look later,’ Freddie decided and picked up his scythe again. ‘Come on lads, the field isn’t going to magically harvest itself for us.’

  So, while he and Johnny cut the straw into long neat rows, Rupert learned how to bundle and tie neat, uniformly sized sheaves. He had to work fast not to be completely left behind which gave him a fresh appreciation for the pace Johnny had had to work at earlier. But there was satisfaction in working side by side with his pack and that their progress was so clearly marked out in stripes. Whilst aware that the way they were doing it was probably not the quickest, Freddie thought it more important to finish the job in increments. So every time a large stack of sheaves accumulated, they all stopped to help load them on the wagon. Changing the type of physical activity periodically, really helped relieve the strain building in their tight, aching muscles. They also didn’t want to leave their hard work in the field overnight, where bad weather might spoil it, or thieves make off with it. The hunted way of doing things might be slower but they preferred to take the food to safety a bit at a time, rather than staying longer and risk leaving empty-handed. That caution had served the clan well and they weren’t inclined to change a tried and tested method now.

  Freddie called a halt at the end of a row. It was late afternoon and the light fading fast. They’d started the day at the farthest corner, working steadily towards the farm all day, so now, when they were really tired, they had less distance to travel. He estimated they still had about three hours work left to do; far too much to achieve now it was already dusk and besides, they were all exhausted. They loaded up the wagon and returned to the farm to unload. He absently reflected on how hard a farmer’s life truly was. No wonder Mrs Daily’s sons had left. But abandoning their mother to look after a place this big alone, was a cruel hardship he’d never inflict on his own family. But had the sons been given a choice? He certainly didn’t feel it polite to ask if her sons had voluntarily abandoned her.

  Supper was ready when they entered the house and they fell on the thick stew like starving men, to Mrs Daily’s obvious amusement. Being animus gave them additional strength and speed, but they did need more food than other men their size to fuel it. Afterwards, they sat by the fire for a further hour, letting their food go down and recharge their bodies. Although tired and aching from the long hours of unaccustomed labour, they were all fit and used to the feeling. None of them wanted to prolong this chore however, and it was dangerous to be away from the rest of the clan to boot. Collecting some glass sided lanterns now it was fully dark, they lit them and headed out to the barn once again.

  Mrs Daily stifled her protests that surely they couldn’t be planning on working more into the evening, but on their insistence she showed them how the thresher worked. They loaded up one end with straw and hitched up their horse. The horse, walking around in circles beneath the machine, drove “walkers” that took the straw up a chute and into a series of vicious flails. The pounding separated the grain from the straw and, being heavier, dropped it out through the sieve in the bottom, into a box below. Plain straw then came out the other end by itself.

  ‘My husband heard about this invention, and after he lost his leg, traded for one. It takes a lot of the effort out of the job. You just need to continue feeding it, clear the spent straw and keep an eye on the tank ready to empty it.’

  ‘What a marvellous machine,’ Freddie responded honestly. He now understood the reason for her instance on keeping the sheaves small and of a uniform thickness so they could be fed in easily. ‘Does it separate all of the grain?’ he asked picking up some of the mangled straw that had come out of the machine.

  ‘Most of it. No method gets every grain, but it saves a great deal of time and effort.’ She sat and watched them work for a while, calling suggestions as they encountered problems like the thresher jamming.

  ‘You mentioned the next step was winnowing. How is that done?’ Freddie asked, noticing she was having a look in the tank and that it was already quite full. There was a lot of debris in there too, he noted. They didn’t need that rubbish in the final bags where it would take up space, especially as they were paying per bag.

  ‘We used to just toss some in the air for the wind to carry the chaff away. But we found a way to speed that process up too. As you might have noticed, we have quite a breeze coming through the barn, especially if we open the doors at both ends of the building. We found that it works just fine to empty the box into the hopper up there on that platform, open the small hole in the base and let it pour slowly out to the box below. Most of the rubbish is blown free so you can see what you’ve got. From there it’s easy to check it’s clean and bag.’

  Freddie now realised the odd structures he’d already noticed, were all part of the machine, and was impressed. They shut off the noisy thresher, giving the horse a break and hoisted
the big wooden box up and across to the platform designed for it, closer to the door but right up near the roof. The platform had a cradle designed to fit the box and, looking closely, Freddie realised it was hinged and bracketed. The heavy box could thus be tipped up in controlled increments to empty into the upper winnowing hopper. The hopper had a chute shaped base so grain wouldn’t be trapped in the corners. The small hole in the bottom of the chute was closed by sliding a flat metal bar.

  ‘Impressive ingenuity and thought has gone into this,’ Freddie remarked.

  ‘My husband didn’t invent it; but he saw a setup like this and copied it from memory. It works too, as long as we have a breeze which isn’t too strong.’