"Yesterday, before you had got in from
hunting, Kendred of Hazelford came, as spokesman for the rest, to say that
inasmuch as the Barn Month is well begun, it will not be possible for them to
labor more upon the building; and, by your leave, they will put off this,
which is not pressing, until after the time of the harvest."
It was several moments before the Etheling spoke, and then his voice was
noticeably deliberate. "Oh!" he said, "so they ask my leave, but stop at their
pleasure?"
"My lord!"--the old man looked at him in surprise--"they act only according to
custom. Surely you would not have them neglect the harvest, which waits no
man's leisure, to put to their hands as laborers when there is no present
need, now that they have completed the barriers by the stream? What present
harm because the drain off the hill has rotted the palisade? All of that part
is toward the forest. How? Do you expect some Grendel of the March to fall
upon us from that direction?"
The Etheling smiled against his will. "Our foe would needs be a Grendel to
reach us from that side." He struck the wand sharply against his riding-boots.
"Oh, it is not that I think the work so pressing."
"In the Fiend's name, what then is the cause of your distemper?" Father
Ingulph inquired impatiently, as he finished the girding-up of his robes and
picked up his staff preparatory to setting forth.
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