Hellion Read Free Page B

There was an air of comfortable prosperity to the region, as well there should have been.
    There were small ports that were home to fishing fleets andalso welcomed trading vessels from the Baltic and Dutch states. The landscape was rich with cattle and sheep. The Suffolk area of East Anglia had been the most populated Saxon region in England owing to a law called Partible Inheritance, which allowed a man to divide his estate equally between all his children. This was not the custom in the rest of England.
    As the road wound through the gentle terrain, Hugh realized that they were curiously isolated from the rest of the world. None of the large, important roads ran through the area. The air was cold and damp, the silence almost overwhelming. Away from the court and its distractions, he realized that winter was a colorful time. The branches of the trees were black against the gray sky. In the marshes the reeds and grasses ran the gamut of color from reddish-brown to gold, springing from the rich, dark earth or the ice-edged marshlands of the rivers and streams that seemed to crisscross the landscape.
    The countryside, he could see, was good for pasturage, as well as for growing crops. He wondered exactly how much land Langston possessed, and whether it had enough serfs to work it. What did they grow? Did they have both cattle and sheep? A mill? With every step his horse took, Hugh Fauconier was more and more eager to see his ancestral lands.
    “There, my lord, just ahead, and across the river,” Father Bernard said. “It is Langston Keep, if I am not mistaken.”
    They were on a small bluff overlooking the Blyth. Hugh scanned the countryside. “There is no bridge,” he noted.
    “Then there has to be a ferryman somewhere,” Rolf replied practically.
    They directed their mounts down the incline and along the riverbank until they were almost directly opposite Langston Keep. There they saw across the river a flat, bargelike vessel, but there appeared to be no one about. Then Hugh’s squire, Fulk, spotted a post hung with a bell on the shore. Nudging his horse over to it, he rang the bell vigorously, and a moment later a figure was seen running to the ferry.
    “Good lad!” Hugh praised the young man. Then he lookedacross the Blyth to Langston Keep. It was, the king had said, situated upon the site of his grandfather’s old hall. It was indeed of stone; and he was curious as to how the stone had been obtained. The keep was rectangular in shape, two stories high. It was set upon a motte, an earthworks mound, as was customary; giving it added height from which to spy upon the countryside about. The motte was surrounded by a wide, deep, water-filled trench. The top of the motte was enclosed with a wall, and from within the enclosure rose the keep. A wooded drawbridge stretched across the water to the keep’s entrance gate. It is very impressive, Hugh thought.
    Then the ferryman was upon them, and there was no more time for contemplation as he waved them aboard.
    “You cannot take all of us,” Hugh said, noting the size of the vessel. “Fulk, Giles, you will cross after we have, for you have the pack animals in your charge.” The two squires nodded.
    The river was not broad, but while it looked smooth as glass, there was a strong current to it. The ferryman was obviously an expert at his task, and soon had them on the other side. The two knights and the priest made their way up the bluff, across the drawbridge, and through the barbican into the keep’s bailey. Within they could see the entry to the tower itself, and a stables. A young serf boy ran to take their horses. From the dwelling an elderly man came to greet them. Upon reaching them, he stared hard at Hugh Fauconier, moving closer to peer into the knight’s face.
    “My lord Hugh,” he said in a trembling voice. “How can it be? They said you died at Hastings, and your sons with you.” Tears welled in the servant’s eyes, running down the grooves age had made