"And have found to our undoing," lamented Ralph.
"See, there is light behind that shutter, I will creep up and look
in," said Etienne; "rest you all here."
There was no glass in common use in those days, and, save when horn
was employed, people--the poor at least--had to choose, even in the
daytime, between darkness and warmth; for when they let in the
light, they let in the weather.
Looking through the chinks in the shutters, Etienne gazed inside.
It was the farmhouse occupied by a former lord, Elfwyn of
Aescendune, during the Danish invasions, as recorded in a former
Chronicle, and was larger and more commodious than usual in those
days. There were several smaller houses, or rather huts, around;
but if they had inmates, they were all silent--perhaps asleep, for
the hour was late.
Beside a fire, kindled beneath a large open chimney, such as were
then in use in the bettermost houses--for the poor were content
with a hole in the roof--sat a youth of some sixteen years of age,
busily attending to a large pot over the fire, from which, from
time to time, savoury fumes ascended, the odour of which gladdened
even the olfactory organs of our young Norman aristocrat.
Etienne knew him: it was Eadwin, the son of Wilfred's old nurse,
for whom he had an ancient grudge, which he at once resolved to
gratify.
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