Chapter 310 - 232: Offspring

Eric, of course, wanted to stay in Tuscany a while longer, but he had to return before Christmas.

When he left Normandy for Italy, Robert had told him that even though Gloucester had been carved out of the Royal Domain to serve as his Earl’s Domain, Robert had no intention of changing the meeting place of the Royal Court. Therefore, the court would continue to convene in Gloucester.

Belem, who had left Tuscany ahead of him, told Eric that the Royal Court convened every year during the Christmas season. He added that there was no more suitable time than Christmas to present the Holy See’s proposal for liberating the Holy City to all the nobility and Knights of the Kingdom.

Eric took his thirty Knights and their attendants and sailed from Pisa to Toulouse. The region around Toulouse was rather sensitive. The current Count of Toulouse, William IV, was the son-in-law of the King’s uncle, Count Moretan—no, now the Earl of Cornwall. To avoid unnecessary trouble, Eric passed through quickly.

Upon entering Gascony, a territory within the Aquitaine Duchy, Eric had originally planned to visit the Duke. However, the Duke was still away from Aquitaine. He was in Iberia, fighting the Moors and attacking Toledo alongside his son-in-law, King Alfonso of the Leon Kingdom.

Eric did, however, meet the Duke’s young daughter, not yet five years old. Under the tutelage of her great-uncle, the Bishop of Bordeaux, the little girl struggled to stay upright and entertain him. The Bishop was a rather stern man and extremely strict with her, and she was at an age where she just wanted to sleep.

To avoid troubling the little girl further, Eric rested in Bordeaux for one night and then departed.

However, before returning to Normandy, Eric had to return to Mann first.

....

「Mann, Fougeres Castle. Late November, 1075.」

A man interrupted his slow, plodding advance on the forest path, stooping to listen to the dull thud of hooves in the distance.

He had spent the morning by the river, searching the east bank for reeds and willow switches.

Once he found the materials he needed, he waded into the water and cut the reeds with a heavy reaping knife. He then ran his calloused hands along the stalks, stripping them of their leaves.

As time passed, the riverbank became carpeted with reeds, the first ones he had gathered already dried by the sun.

The man was a veteran craftsman, able to weave all manner of things from reeds and willow switches: baskets, mats, hampers... He was certain his skill was the best in Fougeres Castle. ’No, the best in all of Mann,’ he thought with confidence.

Years of working with reeds and willow switches had taught him exactly how much he could carry on his back, with a margin of error of no more than a dozen stalks. Once he had gathered what he needed, he climbed out of the water, bundled the reeds, and tied them with hemp rope.

He also tied up the willow switches he had gathered earlier, then shouldered both bundles. The long stalks swayed gently as he walked along the riverbank and into the Forest. He hummed in a low voice, a sound only he would have mistaken for singing.

He was halfway through his tune when he heard the sound of hooves, but he was already too deep into the Forest to take any chances.

The law of the Forest was extremely strict, for the Forest was the Lord’s property. To be caught poaching could mean a fine impossible to repay in a lifetime, the loss of a hand or an eye, or even being hanged on the nearest village green.

Likewise, cutting live wood in the Forest was illegal. Though some lenient lords allowed their tenants to pull down dead branches with long-handled hooks, no one would believe these willow switches were gathered in such a manner—legally or not. If the authorities were to insist they had been illegally cut from within the Forest...

The basket weaver lowered the bundle of willow switches from his back and dragged it into the undergrowth.

He then crouched down to wait for the Knights to pass. He hummed another line of his tune, then caught himself and quickly clamped his jaw shut.

The creak of leather and jingle of metal now cut through the still Forest air. The Knights were approaching.

The lead Knight was riding directly toward his hiding spot. Just as they were nearly abreast of him, however, the leader turned and shouted to the men behind, "Dress the lines, gentlemen! We must make a respectable showing for our Lord on our return."

The thirty Knights shifted their formation with high spirits. Some rode forward while others reined their horses toward the edge of the forest path. Once they had reformed into a column, three abreast, they continued onward, following their Lord.

The basket weaver remained where he was, silent and alert. Seeing that no Knights were lagging behind, he dragged his willow bundle back onto the path and continued on his way. ’Perhaps I was being too cautious,’ he thought.

After all, they were local men, and their Lord was one of the most respected Barons in Mann—one of the few nobles truly admired by the common folk. He had even fought as a Holy Warrior in God’s name, battling Heretics in Iberia. ’Good God,’ the man thought, ’what more could you ask of a nobleman?’

The Baron might have just nodded at him and paid the basket weaver no mind. But if it had been someone else, like a patrol of the Norman King or one of the ever-eager-to-accuse Forest Wardens, it wouldn’t have ended with a simple nod.

....

Fougeres Castle was built on the floodplain formed by a tributary of the Vilaine River. This section of the river was wide and shallow, and thus had no bridges.