Free An Honourable Estate by Elizabeth Ashworth

here to see the women’s faces as they wondered if their husbands were
alive or dead or if they would ever see them again − and if not how they
would manage to farm the land and feed their children without them.
    Returning to the hall, her legs feeling weak and weary, Mabel
caught sight of a movement in the trees.  Her stomach lurched as she
thought it might be Neville and his men come back, but when she heard the soft
snicker she called out and William’s horse plodded tiredly towards her.
 It pushed its soft muzzle against her hands and she felt its warm breath
as she reached up to stroke the long hard nose, rubbing the small white mark
between its eyes.
    “Hello boy,” she soothed it.  “You look as if you’ve
come a long way.”  She ran a hand along its neck noting the broken,
trailing reins and the muddied saddle.  There was a drying wound along its
flank and blood still seeping down its hind leg from a deep cut.  “Where’s
William?” she asked, but the horse only pushed its head against her, seeking
its own reassurance that it was home and safe.
    Mabel picked up the trailing reins and led the horse to the
stable where she took off her cloak and, after hanging it over a wooden
partition, unsaddled the animal and brought it water and a couple of handfuls
of hay before bathing its wounds and brushing what dried mud she could from its
coat.  Hengist, William called it.  They were almost inseparable, she
knew.  He had ridden the stallion to the Scottish war last year and they
had come home safely, and together.  Now Mabel worried that her worst
fears for William could be true.  What had happened to part him from the
horse?  And if the horse had come home alone where was he now?
    She went to draw more water for the few cows and oxen that
were left in the shippon, feeding them a ration of hay and hoping that the
drying straw would see them through the coming winter months.  She checked
them carefully for signs of disease then went to see the sheep that had been
brought down to pens for the harsh months to come.  She counted three
dead, but would need to call one of the boys to help her to lift and bury the
bodies.  She prayed that the men would come home soon; that they were
hiding in the forest until they thought it was safe and that they had not all
perished.  If they did not come home, she didn’t know where she would get
the help she would need to survive until springtime.
    Back in the manor house she put her cloak and boots to dry
near the fire and went through the kitchen to the bake house.  It was warm
and the aroma of fresh bread filled the air.  Edith was washing dishes and
utensils in the large barrel and Bella was drying them on a cloth and putting
them back on the scrubbed table.  Amelia was sitting near the oven on a
three legged stool playing with a small dough man.  For a moment Mabel
felt annoyance at the waste, but the concentration on her younger daughter’s
face quickly dispelled it and she was glad that Edith had made something to
distract the little girl’s mind from the earlier trauma.
    “It smells good.  You must have been working very hard,”
she told them.  “I think it must be nearly dinner time.”
    “I’ve begun a stew, though it’s mostly peas,” said Edith.
    “Good,” said Mabel, who was sickened of the sight and smell
of peas but knew there was nothing more.  How she longed for the feasts
they used to have, with three different varieties of roasted meat, poultry and
fresh salads from the herb garden.  Even the thought made her hungrier
than ever and she tried to dismiss the images of filled platters from her mind,
though it was not easy.
    Later as they sat eating near the oven to take advantage of
the warmth, there was a scratching noise and Mabel thought at first that it
might be a rat.  She was afraid of rats more than ever now that food was
short and William had promised to bring a cat for the kitchen − although
it would be another creature to