“Bloody peasants! Always an excuse! Too much rain. Too little rain. Bullfinches ate all the fruit buds. The sheep got foot rot. Excuses! Taxes are taxes, and taxes they will pay!”
The farm looked prosperous. Neat, solid buildings, walls well maintained, ditches clear. The farmer’s clothes were well worn, but of good quality. He stood in the doorway, hat scrunched up in his hands, head bowed. A strong man, perhaps forty years old, showing the broad-shouldered build of an archer. I remembered him from the war against the Scots ten years before. A good man. “My Lord, I know I am in arrears. I have paid all I can. It has been a bad year. The storms back in April destroyed the barley, and two cows drowned when the river burst its banks. My wife caught the fever, and has been bedridden since, my daughter looking after her. I can pay the arrears next quarter day, my Lord, please. I have served you well.”
I shrugged. “I remember you, Jed, from the Scottish wars. The King wants men, men at arms, fully equipped. As you know, armour and war horses are expensive.”
“My Lord, we have barely enough to keep us alive, three mouths to feed, a sick wife. Please, my Lord.”
“How much does he owe?” Walter, the reeve, consulted his lists. “Seventeen shillings, my Lord. One cow and forty sacks of barley.”
“My Lord,” Jed interrupted, “I have no barley, the whole of the crop was lost, and two cows. Please, my Lord, allow me some grace.”
I shook my head. “You have a daughter? Bring her! Ready for travel.” I smiled, an evil smile. Bring her out! Ready for travel!” He seemed to shrivel, to shrink. “Please my Lord, she is all we have. She nurses my wife. Our son,” he sobbed, “our son was killed fighting for you in your war with Lord Montague, last year.”
I had had enough of excuses. “Bring her, now! Or I burn your house, with all of you inside!”
He scuttled into the house. I would give them a few minutes. After all, how long does it take to strip a girl? I heard a soft cry, the girl’s voice. “Father, no. Please, who will look after mam? Please?” The sound of tearing cloth. The soft sound of bare feet.
The girl was lovely. Pretty, innocent. A bit lacking in the tit department, but firm and strong. She would keep me amused for a while, perhaps as much as two months. There was pleasure to be had between her thighs. After that? My soldiers would enjoy her for a while, then, in say half a year, I would sell her to old Madge. She was always in the market for reasonably fresh girls. Once they were in her house they did not last very long. Exhaustion and abuse wore them out quickly. I nodded to Gwynn, the leader of my archers. “Bind her hands, a rope around her neck, she can run beside my horse.”
Gwynn moved to her. “Hands behind your back, love. We don’t want you trying to escape, or covering that sweet cunny, now do we?” His hands roamed freely as he bound her hands. She moaned softly, shaking her head, as he cupped a firm, round buttock in his horny hand. “Nice bum, lass. I do like a firm, tight arse. His Lordship will pass you on to us when he tires of you, before sells you to old Madge. Open you up nicely, we will. Madge’s girls work had. Do you a favour, we will, stretching you.” He passed the rope’s and to me. “Fine little piece, my Lord. Lovely arse.”
“Will I ever see you again, Rosey?” The farmer held his daughter’s shoulders for a moment. I smiled at him as I tied her leash to my saddle. “She should be at Madge’s in about six months. A few pennies will buy you some time with her.” I spurred my horse, the girl braking into a run to prevent being dragged, and strangled. I liked the way her breasts bounced firmly as she ran. Perhaps I would keep her for three months, especially if Gwynn’s assessment of her charms were accurate. Gwynn would simply have to wait his turn.
“Peasants! They never learn! But they do breed fine daughters.”
