Quest of Hope: A Novel by C. D. Baker Read Free Book Online Page B

gathered, women being strictly forbidden. The elected village chief, or reeve, was a mean-spirited, blustery yeoman named Lenard who proceeded to review a number of issues, including the village’s constant plea for a wall and news of a grinding machine driven by wind. “A peddler told the monks of it and they’ve some interest. Seems a tower’s been built in Normandy and atop it is some contraption of arms with windsails. It catches the wind and turns the grindstones below.” Lenard paused as the men muttered in disbelief. After some debate, they finally decided harnessing the wind was too much of a risk.
    The reeve then announced the appointment of a new hayward to oversee harvesting schedules, and he reviewed the status of the sheepfold, the swineherd, and the condition of the ox teams, as well as complaints of firewood allotments and sundry fees. “I’m told the mill fees may increase,” he added bluntly.
    An angry murmur rippled through the group.
    “Aye, but the abbot says ‘tis needed. Enough of it. I’ve other news as well. The abbey plans to build a larger bakery so you’ll be needing to buy from them again, and only them. When it’s finished you’ll be closing up the village oven and you’re expected to eat less Mus and buy more bread.”
    “Nay!” shouted an angry voice, quickly followed by a chorus of protest. Bread was life itself and they surely preferred it to mush, but they feared the monks’ prices.
    “You’ve no choice. I should tell you now that you’ll soon be buying their beer as well.”
    “Curse them, those—”
    “Hold your tongue, man, or burn in the Pit!” Lenard was incensed. “I’ve two more things. There’s talk of a witch with a babe in the east wood by Münster. Arnold’s brought us news of bat’s wings and heads of chickens. He’s seen a lean-to of sticks and heard a baby’s cry in the night. Is it not so, boy?”
    Arnold stepped from the darkness. “Ja, I swear to these things. I’ve heard reports from pilgrims north of the Lahn as well.”
    “Men,” continued Lenard, “we’ve all lived with witches and their spells, fairies, sprites, gnomes, and the like. We’ve a good, stout church here in the village. Keep your families true to the Holy Virgin. I don’t want any of you seeking out this witch to help with harvesttime, planting, sickness, or troubles. We’ve no need of her spells and magic; they’ll only bring us trouble to be sure.”
    The reeve looked hard at his men. “Now, one last thing. I’ve given thought to the strumpet Emma and her freak child. Methinks she’s no witch, but strange to be sure and uncommon. I think she does not belong here but the monks say to leave her in peace.”
    The men laughed. “Have you seen that little beast of hers? Big nose, crooked eyes …”
    “Front teeth sticking out and …”
    “Aye, and ears too! Have you seen its ears? We could use them to catch the wind for that windgrinder!”
    The group howled. Lenard, laughing with the others, settled them. “Well then, good men, tell your kin and householders to keep a safe distance but leave the two fools be. They seem content to watch the water.”

     
    The harvest of 1177 had been poor and Kurt’s household was worried. Adding to their misery were the unbearable moods of Baldric who had lost his wife to childbirth several months before. The angry bear now prowled about the forests and villages in search of a target for his fury.
    Poor harvests were a particular problem for the abbey. Good stewardship required revenues be collected regardless of conditions. After all, the abbot owed considerable fees to the Lord of Runkel for protection and to the see of Mainz as well. Certain that an abbey bakery could turn a quick profit, the abbot insisted work continue on its construction in Villmar. He planned to eventually construct a bakery in each of the abbey’s villages as well, and, in time, breweries. In addition, he had been entertaining new ideas on crop