Saint Martin Village was near the harbor and thus considered prosperous within Hereford County. Saint Martin Village was special to Emma; it was part of the dowry her father had prepared for her. After she married, she would officially become its Lady.
A short walk south brought them to the flat coastal plains. A sea breeze swept in, thinning the slightly heavy scent of soil and replacing it with the salty tang of the sea.
They dismounted, and Emma led the other two along a familiar path lined with dairy pastures and apple orchards.
Emma moved to Eric's side and spoke in a low voice.
"I need your help dealing with him."
"I don't do things like murder, arson, or robbery. We are all under the gospel of the Lord; he is my dear brother."
As he spoke, Eric made the sign of the cross. In that moment, he looked as if a ray of holy light was shining down upon him, like a Saint walking the earth.
"It's nothing like that. Just embarrass him."
"But he is my dear brother," Eric repeated with a sorrowful expression, closing his eyes and clutching his chest.
"When this is over, you'll be duly compensated..." Emma held up two fingers to Eric.
"In truth, I saw through to his true form at a single glance. Vile heretic! I shall see the fires of Hell scorch his foul and filthy soul! May my words be forged into a sword to strike down this despicable demon."
Eric's expression immediately shifted to one of righteous fury, and he rolled up his sleeves as he faced the Priest.
Emma: "..."
They continued toward the village on foot, following a dusty path between fields of pale yellow wheat. This allowed her to chat more casually with people along the way.
She saw the grass had grown high. She estimated that in a week or two, the villagers could cut it to make hay for feeding their livestock during the Winter.
The men and women working in the fields stopped and waved to them. "Deborah!" they shouted, "Deborah!"
Emma waved back.
Louis asked, "Did I just hear them call you Deborah?"
"That's right. It's a nickname."
"Where did it come from?"
She grinned. "You'll find out."
Then she kicked Eric, who was standing off to the side, completely zoned out.
"Yes, what could it be? Such a difficult question." Taking the hint, Eric popped up beside Father Louis, his tone deliberately exaggerated.
Louis: "..."
Emma paid special attention to the women, as they were the ones who could tell her all the local gossip—something the men usually paid no mind to.
Hearing the clatter of seven horses' hooves, people came out of their houses. Emma saw a woman she recognized and pulled on her reins. "You're Allen, the baker."
"Yes, Miss. May you be well and happy."
"Your child fell from a tree, I heard. How is he now?"
"He died, Miss."
"I am so sorry."
"They tell me I shouldn't mourn, because I still have three other sons."
"Anyone who says that is a fool," Emma said. "It doesn't matter how many other children you have. Losing a child is a terrible grief for a mother."
Tears streamed down Allen's wind-chapped cheeks, and she held out a hand. Emma took it and gave it a gentle squeeze.
"May God bless you, kind Miss Emma."
Louis watched Allen walk away, then said to Emma, "That was well done, Miss Emma. That woman will adore you for the rest of her life."
Just as Emma was about to disagree, Eric chose that moment to interject.
"No, that depends. You can't keep everyone happy forever."
Louis snorted and ignored Eric.
Along the way, Emma learned that Renie was Gerbe's wife, that Renie's brother, Bernard, owned a flock of sheep, and that the man in a dispute with Bernard was Gaston—the very same man who was refusing to pay his rent.
Emma always did her best to remember names, as it made people feel cared for. Every time she heard a new name in her daily chats, she committed it to memory.
More people joined their procession as they walked. By the time they reached the village, another group was already waiting. Emma knew the people of the fields had some mysterious way of communicating.
She couldn't understand it, but she could see that people busy working a mile away somehow received news of her arrival.
In the center of the village stood an elegant little stone Church with neat rows of round-arched windows. Emma knew that Dean Odo served here and three other villages. Each Sunday, he would visit a different one. Today he was in Saint Martin Village—the mysterious village grapevine had evidently been at work again.
Louis gave the man a wide berth, perhaps feeling that a conversation with a country Priest would lower his Status. Eric, meanwhile, hung back at the rear of the group. He claimed it was because too many villagers were crowding around Emma, but she couldn't help but feel he was being sneaky.
Emma tasted cheese from both Renie and Toqueil, declaring them both so good it was impossible to choose a favorite. She then bought a pot of cheese from each of them, making everyone happy.
She made a tour of the village, entering every house and barn and making sure to speak with every adult and most of the children. Then, once she felt she had earned their trust, she began to hold court.
Emma liked interacting with them, even becoming their friend. 'A beloved Lady,' she thought, 'is one the villagers would only oppose with the greatest reluctance, even if they had to one day.'
The villagers brought a chair for Emma and placed it before the doors of the Church.
Jebel, the village headman, soon escorted a burly man before Emma. This was Gaston, the man who had refused to pay his rent.
He was about thirty, with a thick shock of black hair. Though his face was a mask of anger, Emma guessed he was normally an amicable person.
"Listen, Gaston," Emma said. "Now, tell me and your neighbors why you haven't paid your rent."
"Miss Emma, I stand before you at this moment..."
"Wait," Emma said, holding up a hand to stop him. "Remember, this isn't the King's court."
The onlooking villagers snickered. "We don't need any of that pompous, formal speech," she continued.
Gaston didn't get many chances to make formal speeches, and without clear instructions, this was how he was inclined to talk.
"Just pretend you're drinking cider with friends, and they're asking you why you're so annoyed."
"Alright, Miss. Miss, I didn't pay the rent because I couldn't afford it."
Gerbe said, "Bullshit."
Emma frowned at Gerbe. "Speak when it's your turn," she said sternly.
"Yes, Miss."
"Gaston, what is your rent?"
"I raise calves. Every Midsummer Festival, I am to give your noble father two yearling calves."
"You mean to say you have no calves, is that right?"
Gerbe interrupted again. "He does."
"Gerbe!"
"Sorry, Miss."
Gaston said, "My pasture was overrun. All the grass was eaten by Bernard's sheep. My cows had to eat old hay, so their milk dried up and my two calves died."
Emma looked around, trying to recall which man was Bernard. Her eyes fell on a small, thin man with straw-like hair.
She wasn't sure if this was him, so she raised her voice and said, "Let's hear from Bernard."