Bancross

Denholm, Captain of the Garrison at Bancross,

This message will be delivered to you by my man, Ealdbriht, who you may recognise. He will confirm who he is by showing my token, and giving you the agreed password. 

It was a softly lowered sky that rained feather-light droplets upon the village that morning. The mist was not cold, for spring had arrived in earnest, and the rich, brown earth drank deeply of the refreshment, pushing forth in turn its tender, verdant shoots in places where heel and cart did not intrude. The world was taking on its new mantle of brighter daylight, even under an overcast sky.

It was still early enough in the year for a single day to go through various seasons. It had been dull and dark to start with, then the sun had graced the heavens with a bright light until hailstones started falling from a sky rapidly turning as gray as the cloak of the wanderer, Gandalf Greyhame. The ravens in the field to the back took flight from the ground they had been striding over, and made for what shelter the trees offered. 

To Denholm, Captain of the garrison in Bancross,

It has come to my notice that you have in the garrison cell one minor offender of the name, Criba. His master has been asking after his whereabouts, and as the man holds particularly entertaining dinners, I do not want the action of one of my people to cause him offense. 

Hild was still trying to work out quite what her husband was up to at breakfast the following morning. She was talkative at the meal, hoping to find out a little more from him, and tucked into the porridge she had made. Paega was a little quieter, and ate less. He made appropriate replies to her, in a slightly distracted manner. He asked about how her idea for a written menu, for those few who could read, was coming along. He asked if she had found anyone yet to actually write in for her?

“I would like you and Brona to spend this summer with my cousin in Belfalas,” Paega announced. 

Hild looked over at him, seated the other side of the fire from herself, part in shadow, part illuminated by the flames and the candle close by. She laughed. 

Hearrd, the assistant smith, entered the forge to find Ethel already at work on removing a dent from a helmet nose piece. Her expression was one of intense concentration, her eyes were narrowed and focused, her hand raising and lowering her hammer to an already practiced rhythm. She was doing very well.