The Yeoman's sidekick

Chapter 4: Ultimatum

The kitchen was small and I found it hard to move around without bumping into Isolda as she went about filling a near shallow tub with soap and water to scrub the dishes. Isolda didn't trust me enough to handle the washing so instead I handed her the dishes I collected from the table and at her direction scrapped the uneaten food into a wooden bucket she said were for the pigs out back. Resigned to her harsh but kind directions I did what she bade me do and surprisingly enough, I didn't fuss over the menial task which I found odd. She seemed to speak with an absolute authority that was final and unquestionable and I quickly understood that I did not want to be the target of her dissaproval. After the work around the small hut (one could hardly call it a house) was done, Isolda asked me if I could go feed the pigs and after Oliver and Baltor had gotten back we'd finish our interrupted talk. She began to explain to me what to do while we both stood outside the front door. Oliver had long since left to go hunting; he had said to me with a smile before going, "I'll make you a fine pelt Myra, I know you'll love it."

Baltor had nodded and winked at me before he too left and said he'd be back shortly.

"Now Myra," Mrs. Woodford stated reasonably, "under no circumstances are you allowed to open the gate or enter the pen, don't even try to fill their trough, just throw the scraps into the pen, like so," She pretended to hold an invisible bucket and then violently thrust to show the invisible scraps flying out. I nodded trying to keep a serious expression on my face.

Isolda realized how ridiculous she looked and straightened with a dignified sniff and grinning in good humor I picked up the bucket and made my way to the far side behind the hut.

"Argh!"I yelled with frustration and slumped against the wood posts that closed off the snorting and squealing porkers. No matter how hard I tried the slop stuck to the inside of the bucket and no amount of vigorously shaking would unstick it. It was getting later in the day and the heat of the midmorning sun began to sear the top of my head. I looked out dejectedly on the wide grassy plains. The hills rolled and dipped and the windy rush made a low shushing sound, faint seedlings and tufts of dandelions carrying along on the wind in the direction of the woody forest towards my left. On my right I saw the same tall buildings walled off by large stone towers all interconnected by seemingly ten feet high walls. I could barely make out an arching wood drawbridge and dirt road leading that way and much too far to discern seemed to be some rocky mountains behind. It almost looked like a mirage and if I ignored it long enough the homesickness and fear became bearable, at least so I told myself.

With a sigh I looked at the pigs then at the bucket, the pigs had begun to crowd around where I was in squeals of impatience. Irritably, I removed my dirty glasses and squinted in the sunlight taking my time in rubbing the lenses with my white tunic in rough circular motions, the movement soothing my temper a bit. I placed my glasses back on and was satisfied at the clearer surroundings as I bent to pick up the bucket again. A flash of metal seemed to glimmer out of nowhere. It was the necklace around my neck I had forgotten. I stumbled back as if it burned me and quickly wrestled it over my head and threw it away. My pace quickened as my eyes stayed transfixed on the emerald dagger gleaming on a patch of clumped weeds. I tore my gaze away and looked at the bucket and the now agitated pigs squealing and snorting even louder.

My anger grew with every thought of those stupid girls and that stupid old wrinkle-bag of bones and that stupid, stupid necklace. With a growl I hefted the pale of slops over my head and hurled with all my might, my anger and frustration dissipated into nothing but a hollow emptiness as the scraps unceremoniously landed with a nasty plop among the horde of pink fat pigs who foamed at the mouth and crowded around in gluttonous eager squeals. Suddenly tired I sat criss-cross and rubbed my neck as the sun tried to melt my back. A small swarm of flies buzzed over a pile of mud or something and the sound filled my ears like white noise as I just sat, but I didn't want to get up again.

I started at the sound of my name being called and the high note carried away on the wind for a time before fading out and sounding faint to my ears. Grabbing the now empty bucket and springing to my feet I raced around a small shed looking building beside the animal pens and fence, a little hidden away tucked to the side and across the semi-short grasses to the front entrance where Isolda stood with her hands on her hips. "I did it Mrs. Woodford." I placed the bucket at her feet and waited. The hefty woman wiped her hands on her dirty apron and rubbed her rosy cheeks in a tired gesture, "How long you took girl, was enough time for you to run twenty laps 'round the house and back." 

"Oh"

I smiled wide, gums showing in chagrin till my cheeks hurt, "sorry ma'am."

She tutted and gestured inside, a small quirk at the edge of her mouth, "come along now, you'll get better. I set tea inside." gratefully I wiped the sweat off my brow and entered the cool house. Oliver and Baltor each sat around the table nursing an earthenware glass that looked a little bit like a cantarrito; rounded in shape with a raised rim. Since It would be rude to take any other place I was forced to sit inbetween both men so Isolda could sit beside her husband. A similar mug filled with some kind of tea was placed before me. I took a sip and to my relief it was not hot. It tasted of vanilla and chamomile sweetened with raw honey. Which seemed a strange combination and a looked into the mug at the floating bits of honey comb and loose chunks of vanilla sticks. It wasn't bad at all. My chest panged at the comforting taste and I thought again of all the unanswered questions that bounced around my head.

Before my self defeating habit of overthinking could hit me Oliver spoke up.

"Myra, I was jus' explainin to Baltor that if you plan to stay you may have his old room. But before any long term arrangements are made I must introduce ya to the Baron. You see, I am a man of humble means and am not who I used to be-" Mr.Woodford shrugged helplessly, "and I fear I may not be able to provide everythin' for you." I surged up and was about to protest but he raised his hand up and continued, "If tha' is the case I want ta make sure you are properly cared for and regardless if my fears come to pass I am unsuited to properly educate you like all other children in tha castle ward." at this Baltor piped up, "Since we know not your station and parentage, if you cannot tell us, it is a gesture of compassion and kindness that our good baron take you on as a ward and be educated within the castle walls, but, my father has offered to care for you as his own instead of being admitted to the ward. Which is why a meeting with the Baron is required." I sank in my chair and mulled over this new information, fiddling with my mug absently. I looked up into all their expectant faces, I could tell Oliver was trying not to show his anticipation. My voice cracked slightly but I swallowed it down, "I-I don't know what to say."

I really didn't, I mean, not too long ago I was running for my life after beating up that girl, I didn't evne know how I got here nor how long I'd stay. A few weeks? Forever? My palms began to get slick with sweat. And what did that old crone mean about the perfect candidate? Also, where exactly was I? 

Isolda came over to the back of my chair and put a reassuring hand on my shoulder, "take yer time lass. You can still change yer mind about staying or not but to be safe I suggest we go see the Baron anyhow."

"Ya aren't alone kiddie" Baltor patted my arm resting on the table awkwardly and I looked up at  all their open gazes, understanding and patient. I wondered how I had never met anyone like them before, so genuine and honest. Not an ounce of fake sympathies and kindness. "Ok" my voice felt small to me but the silence amplified it till it seemed I had shouted my answer. Isolda patted me then removed her hand; all nodding in agreement.

Oliver stood, scraping his chair back, "we leave tomorrow." 

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ANDDDDDDD CUT!