Our three grown sons ran frightened to report the crime.
Well, in his lordship's dungeon there they lie, who saith there
shall they lie and rot till they confess. They have naught to
confess, being innocent, wherefore there will they remain until
they die. Ye know that right well, I ween. Think how this left us;
a man, a woman and two children, to gather a crop that was planted
by so much greater force, yes, and protect it night and day from
pigeons and prowling animals that be sacred and must not be hurt
by any of our sort. When my lord's crop was nearly ready for
the harvest, so also was ours; when his bell rang to call us to
his fields to harvest his crop for nothing, he would not allow that
I and my two girls should count for our three captive sons, but
for only two of them; so, for the lacking one were we daily fined.
All this time our own crop was perishing through neglect; and so
both the priest and his lordship fined us because their shares
of it were suffering through damage. In the end the fines ate up
our crop--and they took it all; they took it all and made us harvest
it for them, without pay or food, and we starving. Then the worst
came when I, being out of my mind with hunger and loss of my boys,
and grief to see my husband and my little maids in rags and misery
and despair, uttered a deep blasphemy--oh! a thousand of them!
--against the Church and the Church's ways.
Pages:
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292