Mann was in a sorry state. William's repeated military conquests had laid waste to the farmlands and left houses burned to the ground.
Most of the Mann People who resisted the Normans were hanged, but far more starved to death. For a long time, the stench of rot from the piled-up corpses hung heavy in the air, refusing to dissipate.
The stench did not abate until winter.
Yet disease had also begun to spread like wildfire, silent and unseen.
It killed so many farmers that there was no bread to be found, even in this fertile valley.
There weren't enough hands to swing a scythe, not enough women to glean for the threshing, no Mill Master to grind the flour, and no baker for the ovens.
They called the sickness "the Great Death," and it passed from one person to the next, mysterious and certain, as easily as men might clasp hands, a child call a friend's name, or two women share a look.
Now, no one looked at their neighbors, and no one spoke to them.
