Ralph was pleased to see that Nate was also in the hall.
The hunchbacked bailiff sprang up from his bench. “Good day to you, Sir Ralph,” he said.
He had a hangdog look about him, Ralph observed. “What’s the matter with you, Nate?” he said. “Have you brought my hoggets?”
“No, sir.”
“Why the devil not?”
“We’ve got none, sir. There are no sheep left in Wigleigh, except for a few old ewes.”
Ralph was shocked. “Has someone stolen them?”
“No, but some have been given to you already, as heriot when their owners died, and then we couldn’t find a tenant to take over Jack Shepherd’s land, and many sheep died over the winter. Then there was no one to look to the early lambs this spring, so we lost most of those, and some of the mothers.”
“But this is impossible!” Ralph said angrily. “How are noblemen to live if their serfs let the livestock perish?”
“We thought perhaps the plague was over, when it died down in January and February, but now it seems to be coming back.”
Ralph repressed a shudder of terror. Like everyone else, he had been thanking God that he had escaped the plague. Surely it could not return?
Nate went on: “Perkin died this week, and his wife, Peg, and his son, Rob, and his son-in-law, Billy Howard. That’s left Annet with all those acres to manage, which she can’t possibly do.”
“Well, there must be a heriot due on that property, then.”
“There will be, when I can find a tenant to take it over.”
Parliament was in the process of passing new legislation to stop labourers flitting about the country demanding even higher wages. As soon as the ordinance became law, Ralph would enforce it and get his workers back. Even then, he now realized, he would be desperate to find tenants.
Nate said: “I expect you’ve heard of the death of the earl.”
“No!” Ralph was shocked again.
“What’s that?” Sir Gerald said. “Earl William is dead?”
“Of the plague,” Nate explained.
Tilly said: “Poor Uncle William!”
The baby sensed her mood and wailed.
Ralph spoke over the noise. “When did this happen?”
“Only three days ago,” Nate replied.
Tilly gave the baby the nipple again, and he shut up.
“So William’s elder son is the new earl,” Ralph mused. “He can’t be more than twenty.”
Nate shook his head. “Rollo also died of the plague.”
“Then the younger son-”
“Dead too.”
“Both sons!” Ralph’s heart leaped. It had always been his dream to become the earl of Shiring. Now the plague had given him the opportunity. And the plague had also improved his chances, for many likely candidates for the title had been wiped out.
He caught his father’s eye. The same thought had occurred to Sir Gerald.
Tilly said: “Rollo and Rick dead – it’s so awful.” She began to cry.
Ralph ignored her and tried to think through the possibilities. “Let’s see, what surviving relatives are there?”
Gerald said to Nate: “I presume the countess died too?”
“No, sir. Lady Philippa lives. So does her daughter, Odila.”
“Ah!” said Gerald. “So, whoever the king chooses will have to marry Philippa in order to become earl.”
Ralph was thunderstruck. Since he was a lad he had dreamed of marrying Lady Philippa. Now there was an opportunity to achieve both his ambitions at one stroke.
But he was already married.
Gerald said: “That’s it, then.” He sat back in his chair, his excitement gone as quickly as it had come.
Ralph looked at Tilly, suckling their child and weeping at the same time. Fifteen years old and barely five feet tall, she stood like a castle wall between him and the future he had always yearned for.
He hated her.
Earl William’s funeral took place at Kingsbridge Cathedral. There were no monks except Brother Thomas, but Bishop Henri conducted the service and the nuns sang the hymns. Lady Philippa and Lady Odila, both heavily veiled, followed the coffin. Despite their dramatic black-clad presence, Ralph found the occasion lacked the momentous feeling that usually attended the funeral of a magnate, the sense of historical time passing by like the flow of a great river. Death was everywhere, every day, and even noble deaths were now commonplace.
He wondered whether someone in the congregation was infected, and was even now spreading the disease through his breath, or the invisible beams from his eyes. The thought made Ralph shaky. He had faced death many times, and learned to control his fear in battle; but this enemy could not be fought. The plague was an assassin who slid his long knife into people from behind then slipped away before he was spotted. Ralph shuddered and tried not to think about it.
Next to Ralph was the tall figure of Sir Gregory Longfellow, a lawyer who had been involved in suits concerning Kingsbridge in the past. Gregory was now a member of the king’s council, an elite group of technical experts who advised the monarch – not on what he should do, for that was the job of Parliament, but on how he could do it.
Royal announcements were often made at church services, especially big ceremonies such as this. Today Bishop Henri took the opportunity to explain the new Ordinance of Labourers. Ralph guessed that Sir Gregory had brought the news and stayed to see how it was received.
Ralph listened attentively. He had never been summoned to Parliament, but he had talked about the labour crisis to Earl William, who had sat with the Lords, and to Sir Peter Jeffries, who represented Shiring in the Commons; so he knew what had been discussed.
“Every man must work for the lord of the village where he lives, and may not move to another village or work for another master, unless his lord should release him,” the bishop said.
Ralph rejoiced. He had known this was coming but he was delighted that at last it was official.
Before the plague there had never been a shortage of labourers. On the contrary, many villages had more than they knew what to do with. When landless men could find no paid work they sometimes threw themselves on the charity of the lord – which was an embarrassment to him, whether he helped them or not. So, if they wanted to move to another village, the lord was if anything relieved, and certainly had no need of legislation to keep them where they were. Now the labourers had the whip hand – a situation that obviously could not be allowed to continue.
There was a rumble of approval from the congregation at the bishop’s announcement. Kingsbridge folk themselves were not much affected, but those in the congregation who had come in from the countryside for the funeral were predominantly employers rather than employees. The new rules had been devised by and for them.
The bishop went on: “It is now a crime to demand, to offer or to accept wages higher than those paid for similar work in 1347.”
Ralph nodded approval. Even labourers who stayed in the same village had been demanding more money. This would put a stop to that, he hoped.
Sir Gregory caught his eye. “I see you nodding,” he said. “Do you approve?”
“It’s what we wanted,” Ralph said. “I’ll begin to enforce it in the next few days. There are a couple of runaways from my territory that I particularly want to bring home.”
“I’ll come with you, if I may,” the lawyer said. “I should like to see how things work out.”
69
The priest at Outhenby had died of the plague, and there had been no services at the church since; so Gwenda was surprised when the bell began to toll on Sunday morning.
Wulfric went to investigate and came back to report that a visiting priest, Father Derek, had arrived; so Gwenda washed the boys’ faces quickly and they all went out.