Tale of Gwyn by Voigt Cynthia

Author:Voigt, Cynthia [Voigt, Cynthia]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Atheneum Books for Young Readers
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

ON THE DAY WHEN THE village bell rang out to summon them, people gathered quickly. Only Da and Gwyn went from the Inn. They were fairly sure they knew why they had been called so there was no need for everybody to go. There were more than fifty people gathered around the well when the Lord read the announcement, sitting high on his horse with four soldiers close behind him. He was Hildebrand himself, the people murmured, but Gwyn didn’t think this was so, because Hildebrand would be a man of years and this Lord was too young, and he kept close to the soldiers as if he was unsure what would happen were he to ride alone. Hildebrand would not have been unsure, Gwyn thought.

The Lord, whoever he was, unrolled the paper and read out the news: The taxes for that year would be a quarter of a holding’s crops and earnings. Then he added something unexpected: Lord Hildebrand was offering one gold coin for every unmarried man who would become his soldier. The coin would be paid to the man’s family. Men who wished to take advantage of this could report to the Steward at the Doling Rooms, or the Bailiff when he came to gather the taxes.

When he had rolled the paper up again, he turned his horse and rode away, with the soldiers close behind him. Nobody spoke until the sound of hoofbeats had faded entirely away.

“Osh aye, and I didn’t know where the tenth was coming from,” one farmer said.

“At least you’ve got three sons,” the Weaver answered him.

“Osh aye, and what if they had taken a half?”

The people agreed that a quarter wasn’t as bad as it might have been.

Hearing that, Gwyn turned away. If she were a Lord, she would have put that very rumor about, just so that the people could take some comfort when the taxes were not as great as rumor had numbered them. She suspected that the Lords had done just that, to keep the people quiet.

That night in the barroom, several men took Da aside, leaving Burl to fill the mugs and take the coins. Gwyn watched these conversations. Once the Innkeeper nodded his head and shook the hand offered to him. The other times he shook his head and the man went back to his table to bury his face in his ale. The Innkeeper’s holdings would increase this year, Gwyn thought.

Most of the men had left by the time the Fiddler entered. The Fiddler was an old man, as thin and bent as his own bow, who played for the dancers at the fairs and eked out the coins that fell into his cap to keep himself in his little house through the rest of the year. His clothes, shirt and trousers, were so patched that even the patches were worn threadbare. He was a timid man who avoided company except when he was among them to play. But when he put his fiddle under his chin and drew his bow across it, the music danced out bold and glad.

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