Page 57 of The Evening and the Morning
“I guessed that.” Edgar knew that hoggets were one-year-old sheep. “To cross by the ferry is a farthing for each man or beast.”
“I know.”
“For twenty sheep, two dogs, and you, that will be five pence and three farthings.”
“I know.” Saemar opened a leather purse attached to his belt. “If I give you six silver pennies, you’ll owe me a farthing.”
Edgar was not prepared for financial transactions. He had nowhere to put the money, no change, and no shears to cut coins into halves and quarters. “You can pay Dreng,” he said. “We should be able to take the herd across in one trip.”
“In the old boat, we had to transport them two at a time. It took all morning. And even then, sure enough, one or two of the stupid buggers would fall in the water, or panic and jump in, and have to be rescued. Can you swim?”
“Yes.”
“Ah. I can’t.”
“I don’t think any of your sheep will fall off this boat.”
“If there’s a way to do themselves harm, sheep’ll usually find it.”
Sam picked up a sheep and carried it onto the ferry. His dogs followed him on board and explored excitedly, sniffing the new wood. Sam then gave a distinctive trilling whistle. The dogs responded instantly. They jumped off the ferry, rounded up the sheep, and herded them to the riverbank.
This was the challenging moment.
The leading sheep hesitated, needlessly intimidated by the small watery gap between the ground and the end of the boat. It looked from side to side, searching for an alternative, but the dogs cut off its escape. The sheep looked ready to refuse the next step. Then one of the dogs growled softly, low in its throat, and the sheep jumped.
It landed sure-footedly on the interior ramp and trotted happily down onto the flat bottom of the boat.
The rest of the flock followed, and Edgar smiled with satisfaction.
The dogs followed the sheep on board and stood like sentries oneither side. Sam came last. Edgar untied the rope, jumped aboard, and deployed the pole.
As they moved out into midstream, Sam said: “This is better than the old boat.” He nodded sagely. Each banality was uttered like a pearl of wisdom.
“I’m glad you like it,” said Edgar. “You’re my first passenger.”
“Used to be a girl. Cwenburg.”
“She got married.”
“Ah. They do.”
The ferry reached the north bank, and Edgar jumped out. As he was tying the rope, the sheep began to disembark. They did so with more alacrity than they had shown boarding. “They’ve seen the grass,” Sam said in explanation. Sure enough they began to graze beside the river.
Edgar and Sam went into the alehouse, leaving the dogs to mind the sheep. Ethel was preparing the midday dinner, watched by Leaf and Dreng. A moment later Blod came in with an armful of firewood.
Edgar said to Dreng: “Sam hasn’t paid yet. He owes five pence and three farthings, but I didn’t have a farthing to give him in change.”
Dreng said to Sam: “Make it a round six pence and you can fuck the slave girl.”
Sam looked eagerly at Blod.
Leaf spoke up. “She’s too far gone.” Blod was now close to nine months pregnant. No one had wanted sex with her for three or four weeks.
But Sam was keen. “I don’t mind that,” he said.
“I wasn’t worrying about you,” Leaf said scathingly. The sarcasm went over Sam’s head. “This late, the baby could be harmed.”
Dreng said: “Who cares? No one wants a slave bastard.” With a contemptuous gesture he motioned Blod to get down on the floor.
