Chapter 1: The village of Trevby
Along came the crack of dawn, where sunlight peered through the sky, awakening with the gleam of red like blood across the horizon.
Odo, being that he was nineteen years of age was thoroughly accustomed to the ritual of dressing up first thing in the morning, instinctually reaching out blindly for his braies, those baggy undergarments of a beige-white hue and not a year old with a gusset of hemp sewn along the bias and the legs that were of linen, Odo knew this best because he had sewn them himself from the scrap of what Narla had left over from the fabric she used to make her own dress, it was a frugal life they lived, not desperately poor but not rich either. They were hanging up on a rope line, his eyes closed still in sleep-hunger. The braies were hung up on the same rope line that held up banners of plain cloth, providing Odo a space of privacy around his rush-lined bed. There was a pillow made of hempen fabric filled in with straw and the slight scent of fleabane and lavender pervaded his private space, it being a preventative measure to ensure that no fleas would stay on his clothing or his person.
Odo placed the braies through the legs and up to over his groin, tying the drawstring and affixing the garment tightly round the waist. There were two drooped loops of lace hanging off to the side. These were for tying up his hose to his legs to make them stay up under tension.
Braies worn, Odo reached for the ground to reclaim his light yellow hose. Odo twice adjusted them up to his thighs, making sure all the while that the stitched side ran in-line with the back of his thigh.
Odo drew out the drawstring hanging from his braies and pointed them through the holes at the top of his hose, attaching the drawstring of his braies to his hose, tying it taut in a knotted loop, straining his eyes as he did this process in the dark. The hose encompassed the whole of his feet and stuck tightly to Odo's thighs.
Odo lifted himself from his bed before reaching for his white linen undershirt. Odo pulled his head through the hole before finding and putting his arms through the armholes.
The smell of sweat marred the fabric, and Odo knew that it would have to visit the washerwoman soon, the 'bad air' was a great threat to any man in the kingdom, and bad smells always preceded the disease, or so the wise and learned men of the east had said.
Odo reached out for his cote, and repeated the same process as he did with his undershirt. His light blue woollen tunic remained slightly fuzzy even through the years that it had been worn.
The woollen tunic was rarely washed, but when it was, it was washed with tallow soap alongside water that was without ash or lime, to best preserve the dye that had already partly faded. Good-staying blue dye was expensive to obtain but thankfully there was a source of woad which grew locally in a neighbouring village, and if one was enterprising and careful, a few heaping bunches or even a bucket load could be stolen from the nearby village, though one had to be careful to hide it well from the authorities.
Odo reached for his woollen belt which he tied around his lower belly, leaving the excess amount of belt to fall down to his upper thigh in a decorative way. Odo tied his white linen coif around his chin, keeping his hair held back. To finish, Odo grabbed his straw hat which was hanging off a wooden peg on the side of the wall.
Fully dressed, Odo retrieved his bill, an expensive acquisition well worth the cost of a year's labour, or thereabouts.
Odo took it upon himself to cut down branches to be used in the oven and the fireplace. Any hazel or ash poles that Odo could find and cut could also be sold for a small side profit.
Deep into the morning, Odo apprenticed to the local woodsman who also worked as a carpenter. It was he who taught Odo a trade. Sometimes he also paid on a good job but doing bad earned you harsh words and the promise of docked pay.
The nearby forest was owned by Sir Reginald Osprey. Reginald Osprey was fief-lord of nearby Drarby and thus owned the forests and plots of land near it.
Odo, as a tenant of Trevby, was granted the right to coppice trees and fetch 'small things', tiny branches and such, from the common lands and the nearby forest. It would be a bad distinction if Odo was found carrying wood that exceeded a 'small' size, the crime to be paid with a stiff fine plus a beating from said offending sticks, as the different thickness of wood determined if they were timber or not. Timber was a valuable commodity for the fief-lords of the land, and rich nobles don't like having potential money sources drained away. Odo didn't want a beating or a fine, so Odo always stuck to the law that was told to him.
Remembering more, Odo reminded himself why it was a bad idea to defy the law because it was said that Reginald Osprey was a stickler to harsh punishment. People caught killing his deer had eyes plucked out, and even one man, a repeated offender of differing crimes had his penis removed and nailed to a tree for all to see. That man was then tied up to a ladder and beaten to death by a team of men armed with cudgels, his bruised and mangled body left hung up for two weeks afterwards. "You shall defile my lands no more, foul knave, for you have no cock to bugger me with!" Reginald was said to have shouted.
Odo didn't know if it was truth or exaggerated tavern-tale, but it certainly sounded like something that could happen. Odo would count the threat of execution as a great incentive to keeping within the law, whenever he was able to.
It was hard enough that Rolf and the before-reeves paid Odo a pittance for being an orc. It was even worse that his mother earned far less being both an orc and a woman. Narla was a self-made baker, but she could scarcely afford to pay for cribble. Odo noticed Narla's absence on some nights, where he knew she went off to the quern stone to grind her own flour without permission of Martin the miller.
About two or so hours later with two great big shoulders full of branches, Odo decided that it was time to return home. Tied up on his back were three bundles holding poles and kindling and Odo's bill was hanging secured around his belt.
Everything was going fine until Odo heard a commotion up above on the hill near the common-lands.
"Oi, you little shit! stop climbin' through my trees this instant or I'll give you a beating with my waster."
That was the voice of Tommet, owner of the only orchard in the village. It was now a stark field of trees with spindly branches. But, with the right season being Autumn, it grows resplendent with an abundance of pears, enough to fill several barrels worth perhaps... though good luck keeping them fresh. Trevby traditionally pickled the pears in vinegar with cabbage and sold them to neighbouring regions for a profit.
"A pear moulds not a day from the tree." Or so Aegar the 'fine-lipped', one of the village elder's would say. It was not necessarily factual, but the gist was true indeed, for pears went fast in the season.
From the harsh tenor of Tommet's voice, Odo could tell that someone had the bright idea of trespassing through his orchard.
Not too long after, Odo heard scuffling before he felt something brushing past his leg, followed by the appearance of a small tan dyed cote, red hosen and swinging blonde hair. Odo recognised the child as being Johnathon Finnly, whose father was Martin Finnly, the village miller. The boy's mother was Margery Finnly, who worked as a washerwoman, and was known as being the strong-arm of the marriage. A most heinous and cruel woman, when she means to be.
"That's the cursed miller's boy, ain't it?"
