I was sorting seeds from last year's harvest when the rider came to the farm. Or at least I was supposed to be; it's slow and tedious work, identifying which ones will sprout, and my mind tended to wander. That's probably why I was the first to notice him. At first I thought it was Leoffweard but only for a moment; he lacked my brother's fiery-red hair.
I was the first to run out to meet him. It was more interesting than sorting seeds! But he wouldn't tell me what his business was. In fact, even when pa set down the plough and let Hathgar rest in the field, the rider wouldn’t tell him any more than that the Thane wished to see ma at the Mead Hall, and that she should bring her loom.
If it weren't for that last part, we might have worried that there was some trouble. What would the Thane wish to see my ma about? But she had always been known for the quality of her weaving; and her small hand-loom, passed to her by her mother and well worn from use, was her most cherished possession. Surely the Thane must have heard, and want her to weave something. What an honor! I was envious of my own mother; she would get to meet the Thane himself, and see the Mead Hall!
Pa put a quick end to this reverie. "You can't walk all the way to the Mead Hall," he told her. "Not with your leg all like that." She'd slipped on some ice that winter, and even after her leg healed, it was never quite right; she got tired if she was on her feet more than an hour or two, and could sometimes be clumsy. "And afore you even think it, we can't spare Hathgar, not now when the ploughin' is happenin'!" Hathgar was a draught horse anyway, so not meant for riding, but he would do in a pinch. But it's true, a few days without him now would mean our livestock would be hungry all year and might all die over the winter, if the crops didn't get in before the rains. "Sorry, she can't go," pa told the rider, plain as that.
Well, you don't go telling the Thane, or one of his riders, no! But my pa was an ornery man when it came to simple and practical matters. The rider was clearly irked, and I got worried what might come of it, but it turned out much more simple. "The Thane orders that Lithwyn come, and soon. Find a way. I am sure he will make good by your family."
It took some thinking and some arguing and more than a little carrying on before pa finally decided that one of the children could walk with ma, carry her loom, and make sure she made it safely. He wasn't happy about that, since the family couldn't spare any hands at the time of sowing, almost as much as it couldn't spare Hathgar. It was bad enough that ma wouldn't be there; he was even thinking about asking Aelfwyn to come back and help out some, though she was already carrying her third child.
When I think back on it, it makes me sad, that pa was so convinced the farm couldn't spare any useful hands, and that meant he could send me. But when he told me, it was all I could do to not burst into glee at the idea that I would see the Mead Hall, and maybe even see the Thane, myself. It was quite certainly the most exciting thing ever to happen in my life.
The Mead Hall was everything I dreamed. Grand, festooned with banners, lit by the flickering of fires that burned year round, full of the smell of roasting meats and baking bread. And while I scarcely dared hope I would see the Thane, I actually met him, and he shook my hand, and told me to call him by his name, Gladsúnu. He was graceful and cordial and welcoming, and very grateful that we'd come so soon.
As we'd surmised, he wanted something woven, and had heard that ma was the best in town, and for this he wanted the best. After many years of being a widow, he was courting again, a pretty young girl named Agelwyn, and he wanted a tapestry of her favorite flower as a courting gift. He wanted us both to stay in the Mead Hall until it was done, and promised we'd be well provided for. Ma objected about the farm needing our hands, and he immediately sent someone to bring two more draught horses from his own stable, for our farm to use for the season. He also sent along a pouch of silver coins, as fat a pouch as I'd ever seen. It would be a good year for the family.
I got to spend several weeks as a guest at the Mead Hall, with no more work to do than run errands for my ma, fetching materials for her, bringing her food to her, and helping where I could with the weaving, though I could rarely do more than hold a ball of yarn and try not to tangle it. But most of my time was spent wandering about staring at the great banners and tapestries, or dining at the Thane's table on the best roasted meat and plentiful bread -- often in the company of the Thane himself, who always seemed amused by my rambling tales of anything that popped into my head, even the most trivial of matters. And meeting the people who tended the Mead Hall and served the Thane, including a young, pretty, dark-haired girl from the kitchens who I went on several moonlit walks with.
Gladsúnu was so pleased with the tapestry that he gave ma another bag of coins, and we returned to find the farm had done quite well in our absence. Pa was irascible and grouchy about it, but the loan of horses and the silver had allowed him to not only get more land ploughed than usual, but also get a few long-delayed repairs to the barn done. The crops were doing well, and the weather had been fair. Everything seemed like it could only get better and better.
