Released from duty with a charger selected from the herd that had lost their riders, Thomas was like a boat unmoored, with sail set, and with a warm breeze aft. He sailed home, but gently. The weather was dry, early fall. Many of the crops were already harvested. The grains were in and he saw peasants in the farm yard threshing with the flail. He stopped. Women in homespun and dust caps winnowed the chaff and seeds. The breeze carried away the chaff as the ladies deftly caught the seeds for the next toss. He pictured his own yard: Mother, Father, brother and himself. ‘God! It was pleasant to be a farmer.’ He shook his head and rode on.

Apples and pears were ripening on the trees-not ready for picking, but tempting to the children’s eyes. Early grapes were being picked. Straight they went to the press for nouveau wine.

That set him to hurry. He drove his new charger at a canter for a mile. Then he rested, horse and man. He rode with no one. He needed time to think. One thing he knew; he hated war even though he was proficient at it. He had too much conscience.

Four days out of Laval, the friendly arms of Trivett lane oaks welcomed the troubled rider. Mother was at the house yard gate. ‘How did she know someone was coming?’ Thomas applied leg pressure and his charger cantered up the lane. He drew rein at the gate and leapt like his brother William to the ground. Mother came to him and he clasp her in a bear hug and swung her round and round until she begged him to stop He kissed her cheeks and she returned his busses.

“What will you have to eat my Son?” Just as he suspected. Mothers never worry about where you have been or why you were there. They just want to enjoy your company and be certain you are healthy. “How long will you stay?”

“Mother, I want one of your farm lunches. Nothing would please me more. I think I am home for a week for harvest.”

A dark cloud passed over her face. “Where is Will?”

“Squire William is employed as a clerk in the assessment of the new state of Maine.”

“Squire William?”

“Yes, Mother.”

Now it was her turn to swing her son about. “He is in good health?”

“ Our Will ?” She nodded assent. “He came through the war without a scratch. I still have a full pot of heal-all salve.”

“ You go and get your father and I’ll prepare lunch.”

“I must tend to my charger first, Mother. Then I’ll get the old fellow.”

“You hadn’t better let him hear you say that!” and both laughed a little. “Your steed is a fine looking gelding, Thomas. What is his name?”

“I’ve only had him four days and he hasn’t told me what to call him yet.”

“Oh, Thomas,” and she pushed her way into the kitchen.

What should he call him? He hadn’t been thinking about that. The horse was just a means of transportation. The animal was certainly easy to ride. “All right, you are now Easy Walker!” The horse looked at him with ears alert and Thomas could have sworn Easy frowned. “Horses never frown.”

“Who are you talking to?”

“Father,” and Thomas grabbed the old man in a fierce hug. He didn’t throw his father around. Father was too much like a stump. Thomas towered over his old man.

“It’s good to have you home, Son.” And his first question was, “What are you doing here?”

King’s Man

“I came to help with the harvest.”

“You didn’t get sent home?”

“Well, yes, I did.”

The old man looked surprised. “Why?”

Thom couldn’t tease any longer. “The war in Maine is over, Father. The province is secure as a part of Normandy. Our William is working as a clerk for William fitz Osbern to put some order in the state. I got a week off to help with the harvest. Nearly the whole army did.”

“Where have you been?”

“We camped briefly at Alencon. Then we attacked Mortagne, burned Mamers, fought a major battle at Bonnetable, destroyed Mayenne, and finally met the Maine army at Laval. It was a terrible battle, Father.”

“And our arrows?”

“They saved our lives, Father.”

“You were both unharmed?”

“Yes, Father. Will saved me from an attack at Mortagne and I killed a swordsman who had Will at his mercy.

“Good.”

“We swore to watch each others back, Father.”

“Good Boys!” The old man was pleased. “That’s a fine looking charger. Where did you get him?”

“He came out of the herd of riderless horses after the battle of Laval.”

Thomas Senior had to check the animal. He looked at the teeth, the eyes, the legs and the feet. “I like him. He could stand some farrier work, but he is sound.” They both looked around Easy. “He’s a good choice , Son.”

They put him up in the stable with hay and oats and a superficial brushing and a promise of more later. Conversation revolved around the farm and vineyard, brothers and sisters, the arrow guild, Sir Richard and Jean. Thomas thought that strange. He expected his father to try to live the war through Thomas’ own actions. He asked no questions about the campaign. “Father, you asked no questions about the war?”

“Son, did I ever tell you stories about my battles?”

“No, Sir.”

“A soldier only tells stories he wants to tell. He suppresses much. You will tell me what you wish to tell me or you will ask for assistance in understanding the events. Only then would I ask questions.”

“Thank you, Father. I do not wish to speak of war now.”

Off they went to the kitchen with an arm over the others shoulder. It was a reach for Thomas Senior. But, Family was a love affair.

Mother had enough food for six on the table. There was yesterday’s soup made with a ham bone and dried peas. There was plenty of pork in the dish. Yesterday’s soup is always best. Soup has to age and stew a little for flavor. The bread was fresh. Strange that Thomas didn’t smell it on her when they met at the gate. He put it down to excitement. The two men broke the bread and dipped it in the soup. There was a bowl of early apples and some fresh grapes. It made for a noisy, but satisfying lunch.

After lunch, Thomas Senior and Junior thanked Mary and off they went. They harnessed a horse and hooked her up to the skid. Both rode it out to the early vines. It was a pleasant day and they worked one on each side of the row. They discussed arrows, bows, crossbows and mounted archers, but Father never questioned about the actual battle. They argued over the necessity of new innovation, the crossbow. It really wasn’t new, but they were just coming into widespread use by the French. Thomas Senior was a long bow man through and through. “My Boy, the long bow is faster, stronger, more deadly, easier to

handle. An archer could have two arrows through a crossbow man before he got the thing loaded.”

“I agree, Father, but a common soldier can pick up a crossbow with little training and kill.”

“That’s it! New fangled machine! An archer must practice!”

Thomas Junior was enjoying this by-play. Father Thomas had not allowed discussion before Junior left home. Father was still ‘right’, but he listened to what young Thomas had to say. They filled the crate and rode the skid back to the press. Thom’s older brother was busy. This early press would go as nouveau wine- four to six days old. It was a contest among the vintners. Who could get the new wine to market first? Whose wine was the best? Later pressings would be aged.

Two days of picking and conversation of father and son filled the sunny autumnal days. Thomas had never been closer to his father. Thomas Senior was no longer the authoritarian figure; he was a work-mate and partner with loving family feelings. They worked side by side; they joked side by side; they loved side by side. His older brother asked Thomas to help with the threshing. Thomas was glad for the physical exercise. It offered more relief from his feelings. The sheaves were thrown down from the stack and the two younger Trivetts beat the oat stalks with the jointed wooden staff, the flail. The seed and chaff fell to the ground and the barren straw was raked away with the six inch teeth of the wooden hay rakes. The straw was piled for cattle food and animal bedding. Both father and mother gathered the seed and chaff in large flat baskets. They tossed the material into the air for the wind to blow away the light material. The seeds fell back into the basket and were stored in the barn for animal feed, grinding, and next year’s planting. What a time for banter, teasing, and fellowship. Thomas never realized how little he knew his family. He had only been interested in himself it seemed.

At eleven, Mother would leave the men to prepare some lunch. That food was the food Thomas enjoyed. The week was over too quickly and the new squire had to prepare for his return to the castle.

One evening father and son sat with their backs to the western wall of the house watching a falling sun.

“Father,” Thom began, “I don’t like war. I am proficient. I have practiced Sir Richard’s lessons. I’ve killed. Mais, I hate it!”

“Good!”

“It wasn’t so bad when the enemy was trying to kill me. My desire to live, my fear of the unknown and my fear of pain motivated me. When we burned Mamers and the inhabitants, and when we destroyed Mayenne and massacred the town and farm folk, I gagged. I wanted to be sick. I hated Duke William and his maniacal orders. I don’t want to be involved again in savagery.”

“Son, if you did not feel that way you would no longer be a man. You would be like the weasel in the chicken house, who can’t stop killing. Do not fear for your soul. You are not a murderer, nor will you ever be a murderer. Dogs can be trained for anything. They might be a gentle pet for a child, they might herd the flocks, they might hunt or capture vermin, and they might be trained to kill. A man too may be trained to kill, but God has given man reason and family has given man love. Because of his mind and his soul, he’ll never become the weasel or the killer dog. This is a time of great state turmoil and strife. Your job may involve killing, but never grow to enjoy it. Yes?”

“Mais oui, Mon Pere.

And both men sat and contemplated until the cooling evening air and the escape of stored sunshine in the wall drove them inside.

The following day Thomas saddled Easy, hugged and kissed Mother and Father, Father for the first time, and with sorrow in his heart left what he would call home for his life time. He had come to terms with war and eased his saddened soul. His week of labor had been a labor of love remote from the stress and trauma of war.

Easy was frisky. Father had been generous with the newly threshed oats. The horse bucked three times without dislodging Thomas, but Easy had not had his mind set on throwing Thom. He grasped the bit in his teeth and ran. Thomas kept a taut rein, but let him go. Thomas was reminded of old Trouble.

With a half mile gallop and a half mile canter, Thom was soon at the castle gate. He was challenged by the castle sentry on duty, one of the men impressed into service while the army was in Maine. Thomas passed the time of day with Cook who wanted to know where her boyfriend William was. She feigned surprise that the Trivett boys were now squires for she already had heard from Sir Richard. She invited Thomas in for meals anytime, but he knew he was not likely to accept the offer. Tim, the hosteler, was back and Easy was stabled, unsaddled, watered, curried and brushed. He was fed, but no oats!

Thomas reported to the barracks and stored his gear. Then he reported to the armory. Sir Richard was there to Thom’s surprise. He was certain Sir Richard would have been on the ride ‘round Maine with Duke William. “About time you got back, Trivett! Where in hell have you been?” was Richard’s greeting. Thomas smiled.

“I didn’t realize, Sir, how much you’d miss me so I worked a week at home with Father.”

“And where’s my bottle of nouveau wine you smart ass!” Thomas brought a bottle from behind his back. “Well don’t just stand there. Sit down and figure out these hen scratches you call writing. How can I take stock of supplies with notes like Squire Jean and Squire Thomas record.”

Thomas understood now that Richard was nearly illiterate. Brother Will had been right. The knight and squire settled in for a long day at the books. Sir Richard had tallied every item in tens. All Thomas had to do was check the items off against their dispersal of weapons before the war. As the army returned a clerk could note the return of weapons. Finally at six o’clock, “Thomas, come to my house for supper. My wife wants to meet you. For the life of me I can’t understand why.” Thomas smiled and thanked him. Off they went to Sir Richard’s small estate beyond the walls of Rouen. They rode easily and conversed.

“How are your parents?”

“They are well. Mother is still a beauty, but Father is aging. We worked together all week and I came to know Thomas Trivett the man.”

“Parents get smarter the older WE get.” And Sir Richard was pleased with his philosophy.

There must have been eight children who welcomed them at the gate. Sir Richard’s demeanor had softened the closer he got to home. He was now so gentle and pliable the little ones could twist him around their fingers. Squire Jean was there too with his ample peasant wife. Thomas had never thought of either friend in a family situation. The three men tended to the horses and cleaned themselves for supper. Thomas was introduced to the wives. He bowed gracefully to Jean’s wife Matilde. “Enchantez, Madame.” He was afraid Matilde might slap him on the shoulder and knock him over. Instead, she giggled. He bowed even deeper to his hostess, Joan. She was a petite blond, pert, green-eyed, shapely even after bearing so many children. “Madame, Je t’adore!” The ladies excused themselves to finish dinner preparations. Richard dragged the squires into the sitting room. “Trivett, where in hell did you get that stuff for the ladies. My God!” Jean smiled. Thomas blushed.

In the room was beautiful blond hair from crown of head to waist-line. The hair flashed as the head swung to welcome the men. ‘God, I’m stunned!’ realized Thomas. His mouth hung open. Obviously, a younger version of Joan gracefully dipped to place the burden of a tray with decanter and goblets on the rough hewn table. Thomas found her glance sought his. The almond shape of her eyes was highlighted by an iris not of blue, not of green, and not of gray. They took on the color of the room. They must have been hazel, but they sparkled. Thomas hadn’t closed his mouth. One look in the hazel eyes, presently gray, and Thomas ‘ face began to burn. He forced himself to break contact with her intriguing irises. Her button nose was inherited from her ravishing mother. Her lips glistened and spread to reveal the whitest teeth in an ingratiating smile and all was surrounded by glowing alabaster skin and rosy cheeks. Her father was still talking to Thomas and Jean. Thomas heard nothing. His mind was not computing. The young lady scowled at her father. She gave him a nudge and jerked her head toward Thomas.

Father Richard paid no attention. The child kicked her father’s shin. “OUCH!” Then Richard looked and she nodded toward Thomas. Richard finally caught on. “Jo-Anne, I’d like you to meet Squire Thomas Trivett. Thomas, my daughter Jo-Anne.”

Thomas came to life. Unfortunately, his tongue was still in a stupor. He bowed before the teen-age Venus. “En…En…En…”,but his tongue was more like sole leather and he continued his oral stumble, En…merde!”

Sir Richard and Jean doubled over in laughter. They hung on to one another to keep from falling down. Thomas could feel the blood rushing to his face even to the tips of his ears. Maybe the rush of blood released his tongue. “Pardonnez-moi Madamoiselle! I was tongue-tied. I meant enchantez enraptured. Pardonnez-moi Jo-Anne.”

The other two men laughed even harder, tears streaming down their faces.

“Non, Thomas,” Sir Richard snorted, “You are deep ‘en merde’!” and gales of laughter exploded again.

Thom raised his shoulders and extended his arms and hands pleading forgiveness. Jo-Anne frowned, fists clenched on shapely hips and stamped her dainty foot at the two staggering revelers. Richard and Jean regained some semblance of control. Jo-Anne cinched her waist sash even tighter and red-faced Thomas surveyed her hour-glass figure, “ Some people have little idea of how to treat guests, Thomas!”, and she turned to look daggers at Richard. “Would you have some wine, Thomas? It won’t be as good as Trivett wine.”

“We’ll have some, Daughter.”

“Pour your own!”

“It appears not only Thomas is ‘en merde’, Sir Richard,” snickered Jean. “However, Thomas has been marked by the darts of Eros.”

“Don’t get any ideas about my daughter, Vintner!”

“Father!”

“It’s not just his ideas, Sir Richard!”, laughed Jean.

“Jean! Ignore them Thomas; they are uncouth! Pardonnez-moi, I must help Mother and Matilde.”

“Certainment! Jo-Anne. I am enchanted!”

It was Jo-Anne’s turn to blush which only endeared her more to Thomas. She briefly touched his hand--on purpose?, by accident?-- and left the room.

“You are in deep trouble, Thomas. That girl has set her sights on you.” Jean observed.

“She is so beautiful!, cried Thomas.

“Well, you can forget it, Farmer. My daughter will not be involved with a stumbling farmer turned squire . Got that!”

“Yes, Sir Richard.”

“Sir Richard, you’ll have no say in the matter if Jo-Anne has set her cap. What a charmer you are Thomas. ‘En merde!’” and a fresh round of hilarity broke out.

“I am so embarrassed.”

“Don’t worry about it Thomas because we’ll never let you forget it.”

Finally the teasing ended and Sir Richard revealed he had an ulterior motive for asking his squires for supper. “My Boys, I have a problem that is good news and I need your assistance with the problem. Duke William is sending me back to Mamers. You remember our utter destruction of the town and estate. The Count of Mamers was killed in our attack and the Duke had expropriated the remnants of Mamers. I have been chosen to restore the area to productivity. It is one of the finest farm areas in all of France. I cannot revitalize the town without help. I want Jean and Matilde to come south with me to supervise the rebuilding. Of course, as free citizens they have the right of choice. Thomas I would like you

to supervise my estate daily. Of course, you have freedom of choice too.”

“Sir, Matilde and I owe you so much we would never refuse you. I will definitely go, but I will ask Matilde.”

“And I, Sir Richard, would be pleased to come to work here each day.”

“No doubt! I saw your slavish googly eyes on my daughter. She’s no Angelic so keep your hands to yourself! Thank you, Men. We’ll plan after supper over a brandy.”

Another rush of blood reddened Thomas. He hadn’t realized his trysts with Angelic and Marie were general knowledge. One of the little ones came to call them for supper and led them to the harvest table. It was a noisy happy busy gathering. The little ones sat at their own table, but Richard and Joan believed in teaching by example. Every one of the children watched the parents for manners. Every place had a metal plate, a wooden bowl and a great extravagance, a spoon and knife. A shoat had been roasted on the spit and the tantalizing smell of roast pork titillated the taste buds. They couldn’t have pork without apple sauce and Joan was a modern mother who had recognized the need for milk for the children and vegetables for all. Garden turnip, carrots and peas were steered on all the children’s plates and two loaves of bread quickly disappeared. The little ones gobbled it down and were requesting to leave the table almost before the adults started.

Thomas was very involved with Jo-Anne’s ten year old brother John who asked more questions than the two year old who just discovered the word ‘why?’ Whenever the young squire looked up it seemed Jo-Anne was surreptitiously eyeing him. She quickly looked away and seemed in conversation with Matilde. Finally, John begged excusal for he was as busy as any ten year old.

“Well, Thomas, how do you like the bread?”, asked Joan.

“It’s delicious, Madame. “, he replied.

“Jo-Anne made it.”

“Mother!” Now it was Jo-Anne’s turn to blush, but she didn’t.

Matilde and Jean recognized the battle plan- the assault on fortress Thomas Trivett. Thomas was out-numbered two to one. Two scheming blond beauties would nail his hide to the wall. Jean winked knowingly at his wife an she smiled behind her hand. Richard was oblivious to the attack on young chauvinism. He was more inclined to say, “Women!” Enough said.

“This is your father’s nouveau wine, Thomas?” Joan proffered.

“I helped Father pick last week while my brother ran the press.”

“Did you make this wine, Thomas?” Jo-Anne asked. This put Thomas on familiar ground for the first time that evening. He could talk for hours on wine and the farm. Jo-Anne seemed interested and Thomas could learn to look her in the eye. Her eye color had changed as it was susceptible to the light. ‘What an intriguing face,” he thought. ‘My God! She is beautiful!’ As she served about the table, occasionally, the home-spun shift with the carmen sash traced her shapely body. She was no one hundred and eighty pound mattress like Angelic. Thomas imagined he could enclose Jo-Anne’s waist with his hands. He wouldn’t have known if she had just been wearing her homespun shift, but the carmine sash accentuated her shape.

After the main course, Joan served a hot bread pudding with thick cream and Thomas was willing to sit and appreciated the meal, and bask in the glow of the two ravishing blondes of the house. It was not to be. Sir Richard called both squires to the sitting room to discuss the plan for Mamers. To tell the truth Thomas was only physically present. His mind dwelt on the future and his heart was lost in the hazel almond eyes. ‘It’s a good thing William didn’t see her first,’ he thought.