Chương 36: 4.5

While any man with the muscle could swing a scythe to make hay, there was some finesse for the wheat harvest that closed out Hungry Summer. The peasants of the village were out from morning to mid afternoon working the copper and yellow fields. And as was custom, Father was present in some respects for all the harvest through the barony. Although for most of that, it was from high in the air as he made circuits of each village and its surrounding field.

But less occasionally he was down on the ground to see the peasantry toil. Which was where he was to make the rounds of his more immediately supervised lands. Jewel preferred being down on the ground with him for these more stately marches of the manor fields. And Zephyrvam did not mind the opportunity to laze about simply strutting and preening under the attention of the Villagers. You could hardly feel the ebb and pull of the fields from so high up after all.

It had frightened her a bit when she first witnessed a harvest all the way back in her near-hatching youth. Mother, Father and Muriel had fussed over her crying and wailing. Which had also set off Alexander. But she'd been so scared! She was always embarrassed of it now if anyone brought it up. Her entire family had been quite confused by her distress. Jewel was just a sensitive hatchling, she supposed. But it was terribly frightening to watch all the peasants go to the fields like a butcher.

On a scale far more overwhelming then anything she had properly smelled or seen before. As she had grown and become calmer and more able to read the taste in the air to a good summer harvest. Jewel realized that there was quite the absence of actual distress from the wheat. It was late in their lives, the seeds would have gone free soon anyway and felt heavy. Yes, being chopped was a bit of a sting, but they were already growing dry and brittle.

They did not cry out in those sharp undercurrents like happened with fresher cuttings. That helped soothe her and after every year of her life having the same reaping brought to the mostly ambivalent grains Jewel was mostly over it. At this point she could really appreciate the efficient carnage wrought by the peasantry across the rolling shine of ready-to-harvest wheat.

They worked in five men to a team, four reapers with sickle and careful hands, grasping the stalks at a practiced point below the plump head of each. Some would take several in hand at once for decapitation. But others preferred to do them in single stalks. Behind the sickle-bearers was the binder. Grasping hold and tying the free'd heads together and moving them to bushels and bundles. Sometimes the reaper was a bit too fast, or the binder was a little slow and they would fall to the ground.

Other times the bushel was a bit loose and would not hold all of the harvest together, or any other minute little foibles. And so some of the harvest would fall to the ground for gleaning. In the fields of Rochford barony Father's decree was that gleaning rights would go to whichever households fell short the most of their neighbors' store of wheat from the same field team. Disputes between such to be handled by common law.

If such an accord cannot be made the decree was then there would be a total forfeiture of the entire gleaning of that field to Father. In the Manor fields of the neighboring village Jewel had never seen such a dispute. But messengers and headmen from the villages and hamlets of the Barony occasionally arrived to father to inform him of arguments that had come to blows over the rights of a gleaning that grain turn.

In two cases she had witnessed Father had been required to go out to the hamlet and seize half of every peasant's winter grain to put down the bickering. Father was a good lord of course and he made sure that after personally conferring with the headman that each household of the uppity hamlet was bequeathed back enough to last them through the year. But the squabbling had taken him away for days to settle the matter! Jewel wondered if maybe they didn't deserve how kind her Father was.

But here in the immediate manor fields, where she could walk along with Father and Zephyrvam in the winding roads between the fields. Stopping for a moment by one of Tsulogothulan's sharply smelling boggy 'springs'. Which against all reason Zephyrvam had spotted and plucked a frog from.

"I think the harvest will be good this year, Father." He nodded from the show saddle nestled on Zephyrvam's back. Fitted just behind the wing shoulders. Jewel watched the peasants working through their acres. Striding amiably in her light little bounds to keep up with the Gryphon's trot. There was nothing precisely to talk about, no duties either of them needed. But after the unmooring from Muriel's revelation she desperately wanted to speak with him about something.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Not about Alexander or her freakish monstrosity. But anything else?

"Do you think the peasantry will enjoy my dance come the festival carola?" There were a few enterprising chaffinches making for the gleanings from the harvest. Sitting with eager attentiveness in branches or making sweeps for the droppings in the fields. Watchful children with sticks and reed woven lashes were eager to rush in and drive them off. It was almost like Harrowing during spring planting. Father took long enough to respond to Jewel that repeated herself before he did answer.

"I think they will find it lovely, perhaps we should have you make a habit of it? For the other fairs and festivals. But only one or two dances. Bromthil was torn on whether to praise or curse the state you left the Footmen in." That put her wings to flaring a bit. And drove them both into contemplative silence. A few of the less busy serfs bowed to father. They were waiting for the bundles of wheat head to grow fat enough to not be a waste of steps to carry to the cart prepared for today's labors.

It was not really anything important that was said but still it was nice to speak to Father. Jewel pressed on trying to get the most out of their time together ostensibly watching the labors that the Peasantry were quite capable of doing on their own.

"Do you remember when I thought I was a Gryphon?" That drew a surprised chuckle from Father and he shook his head with a laugh.

"You made a very compelling argument on account of the number of limbs. But your Mother was not amused by your idea that Zephyrvam was your sire." Jewel again felt her wings want to flare, she had not known quite how great the impropriety of that childish misunderstanding was at the time. Then again she was only three. She and Alexander had started speaking around the same time. But he was older than her. And looking back on her memories it was clear that she had quickly surpassed him in speech.

Left him struggling to match her. As if she was the elder and he the younger. The sun slowly turned as they made their way round the grain fields. Some further along than others. Not every field was as conveniently close to a family. Some had longer walks or cart rides to begin their labors. Some had less firm hands working the sickles or bundling the wheat head together. Some had fresher youths not yet learned in all the ways of a harvest and thus were clumsy with a greater portion of gleaning at their feet.

At a particularly egregious one father slowed Zephyrvam's trot to a slow walk and then as he surveyed the laborers' poor form even made the excuse to stop at another of the Bog springs for the excuse of watering. Jewel watched them with him. Her eyes were better than his, and though his stewardship far surpassed hers good eyes could make up for a lot. Intentionally fattening a field's gleaning was theft from Father's own hand. Food taken from the hungry mouths of the rest of their fellow peasants.

This could be serious. But no, this was just nerves, over rushing and youth. There was not a man or woman in this acre's team older than seventeen winters. No elder to supervise, no knowledgeable parents, uncles or aunts here. No particularly young children to watch for birds.

"Jewel, take a note. I want someone to check the health of the households for the northeast third summer field." She nodded and continued, her memory was better than most. If needed she could keep such a note as surely as she had written it to page. Though normally Jewel didn't hold onto such ephemera so tightly. Having a head full of irrelevant reminders was awful and she actively avoided it after she realized she did not have too.

"Of course, Father, if you like I could do it myself after the Festival?" That brought a pause from him. Jewel reflected how she was almost always given leave to do things such as this. Alexander almost never was. Then a firm nod as Father came to a decision.

"When Muriel has time in the schedule to accompany you." Jewel froze a moment, then considered. They afforded her more than her brother because of her nature. Because she was a Wyrm. But did that mean she could also request things in his stead as well? Like Mother or Muriel might?

"I think it would be good to make a lesson in stewardship about it for Alexander. He does not take to the books and figures of coins. But he is sharper when it's a practical issue." Father gently eased Zethervamp back into a faster trot, nearly a canter all told to make up for the time they lost more closely observing the underskilled serfs for signs of theft from father's grain. Again in his slow way he came around to answering but his tone was thoughtful and appreciative. He liked the idea.

"That does sound like a splendid idea, I know I certainly was never happy to spend so much time with books like some monk. Especially not in the summer. I'll speak to Muriel about your idea." Jewel put her own little extra push into her bounding leaps along the road. Catching up to match his pace. Spying a bit of mischief in Zephyrvam's eyes. It was not a race per say. But the old Gryphondefinitely was enjoying getting a bit more of a stretch in his legs than the amiable trot had been.

Feeling somehow lighter, Jewel gazed over the fields and the harvest. If everyone was going to insist she be held over her dear brother then she would just have to use that to lift him up to meet her.