Free Apples and Prayers by Andy Brown Page A

casting seed. ‘Those beggars knocking at the Barton’s gate each month don’t arise from nowhere, you know. They’re men like me. Ploughmen put out of work by enclosure. Rampant shepherding. And it’s the King’s law that protects them, Morgan, making outlaws of them. See how many men have moved away from these parts in recent months? Seeking to make their living elsewhere, where they might. Why, Morgan, even your own departed brothers…’
    â€˜You leave my brothers out of your quarrels, John Toucher,’ I warned him. ‘They went abroad from their own choice, as well you know. And that was many years ago. I don’t know why you make such a thing of it all. These changes can’t happen here. My Lord won’t let it happen.’
    â€˜Your Lord is letting it happen, Morgan! He should mind his obligations to us, his loyal tenants.’ 
    By now I had to stop him. 
    â€˜Be ashamed of yourself for suggesting it, John Toucher. It’s you who should be mindful of your tongue and obligations,’ I shouted. ‘My Lord’s never shown anything but kindness to me, to you. And to those beggars attendant on his gates.’
    â€˜And why is that, Morgan?’
    I turned my eyes away, as his words began to make tears form in their gentle wells.
    â€˜From guilt!’ he went on, shouting at me in misdirected fury. 
    Behind him, two crows krekked in the treetops and lifted into the air, like ashes on the heat of a fire. I wished then for this heated talk to end and for the morning to return itself to rights. He, however, was going to finish his piece. 
    â€˜Your Lord feels guilt for those men he’s displaced. Nothing more, Morgan. Open your eyes to the truth. There’s more profit in sheep than there’s ever been in arable, we all know that. It won’t be long before we too are pushed aside for the landlord’s further gain.’
    With this he had me at a loss. I wouldn’t hear slanderous talk of my Lord. And yet it was true that many men in local parishes had lost their land and even that some village commons had been enclosed to make way for grazing. Our own church green was being abused, against the laws designed to so prevent it. My Lord must have turned a blind eye to such trespass, or wouldn’t he surely in some way have stopped it? 
    And so, although I smarted at the way he abused my intentions that morning, it struck me there were grains of truth in what John Toucher said. 
    Then again, this was the first time ever that I’d argued with him so openly and it hurt me that he thought so little of upsetting me. All I’d wished for was a few quiet moments together, but he’d firmly rebuffed that. 
    I ran away from him that morning, crying myself back to the Barton. I didn’t turn back to see what he was doing, but then neither did he call after me, nor follow.
    When I returned, I tried to take my mind off our argument by sowing the season’s peas. Besides my usual chores around the hearth, at table and in my Lady’s chamber, my own work for February was mostly in the garden, composting the plot with kitchen waste and digging over twice. Preparing the ground like this always reaps great benefits and sets a precedent of vigour for the whole year. I sowed peas and beans for our pottage. These would also serve for feeding animals, added to their grazing. 
    The moon is always an excellent measure for timing your sowing. I cast my peas and beans when she’s on the wane, for then they’ll surely grow into fuller pods under her influence. Those who sow upon the waxing moon can only look forward to small pea plants, leafy and rope-like in stem and tendril, puny in the pod. 
    That morning, although I sowed the seeds at the right time, I watered them in with my own regretful tears, for John had so wounded my feelings. Between my duty to my Lord and Lady and my devotion to my own man, I felt