4.6

Jewel mused on the day and the pacing of the harvest while she curled up in the water of her bath.

By the pace of the local demesne and Father’s comments on the progress from the rest of the barony, they were about three days away from the ending of the harvest. Which would mean the festival to celebrate the end of the hungry summer would begin.

What stores of wheat from last year remaining would be ground and made into fair, soft breads and cooked in hot fats kept in the larders of the barony. Sheep's butter would go for the local demesne and the ones further along-stream (she had heard that others used pig lard or ox butter which sounded wrong on many levels). And then there would be the carola and Jewel would dance.

She shifted and shimied with excitement, she wished that somehow the peasantry could finish sooner!

But only cruel and stupid lords tried to force the harvests beyond their pace.

It took most teams of five peasants a half day to work through an acre. So it was written by Sir Broghuilidad the Silvertongue.

A written statement Jewel was inclined to agree with. Of course, there were some that could work a bit more in that time without excess gleaning (her and father had seen two more overly-youthful teams at harvest this year!).

But those were balanced by the slower and more careful that lagged behind.

There were a few overly elderly for the work or cautious mid-aged teams this year. The slower teams take a bit more of their daylight hours to barely manage their acre.

Jewel thought they were good signs despite the delay. Better a careful but slow harvest in good weather then rushed harvest and accidentally stealing from Father by over-glean.

She mused on this while gently cradling her copper bucket to her chest. She’d already rinsed out her hair. But this was her bathtime and Jewel was allowed to cuddle her favorite bucket in private!

She mouthed a saying that seemed appropriate, her voice buzzing around the water in her throat but the words were incoherently muffled by it.

“A cautious hand in grain-turn was a full belly in spring plough.”

It was a saying on the lips of the peasants to their kinder when Jewel had made her visits before. Said most of all in spring through to the hungry summer.

In homes and open fields away from where they thought she would hear them.

She might even ask Muriel about the apparently secret lessons the Peasantry taught their youngsters.

Apparently her Governess actually did like both her and Alexander?

That thought was still deeply disturbing to Jewel’s understanding of a properly ordered universe.

Maybe later she would feel ready enough to ask. But not yet, she was still very imbalanced by the idea.

It was an interesting way to do their lessons, in place of books or a governess. Muriel had never taught her or Alexander like that. Sir Broghuilidad the Silvertongue had not written anything like it down, he even suggested some things counter to it and other sayings they murmured and even sometimes sang to each other in the fields.

But Jewel liked the little rhymes and phrases that passed through the village in a chatter outside of ‘earshot’ of her or her family.

It said so very much with very little.

Not like some of the histories she and Alexander had to read.

Jewel nuzzled her pail a little and gave it a tiny lick like she used too when she was two.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

She really wished there was a way to bring the festival sooner.

To speed the sickle cutting of the wheat.

The counting and stacking for the first granary tally before the gleaning rights would be given.

So they could all finally get to the harvest festival and the dancing and the wonderful carola.

And Jewel's own dance!

The thought of there being a dance that would be hers and yet shared with everyone made her Wyrmfire flutter and do its own dance up and down her coils.

Hmmm the water was starting to feel a bit stale in her lungs.

Time to end her bath.

Jewel smoothly pulled herself up and out of the water, shaking herself out in quick little twists then running claws and a sturdy wooden comb carefully through her mane.

She really tried not to get the bathing room overly soaked when she left the bath but a few puddles were inevitable.

Poor Jorge had to do the work as a bathman as well as helping to manage quite a number of the other castle staff.

Maybe father could pay for some more help with his duties?

Probably a lot more of the staff honestly.

It’s not like they didn't have the room to house more servants.

Most of the manor was closed off for years without use.

The stones sat quiet and sleepy with only their memory of the throngs of footmen, squire, knights and other soldiery that once strode them.

Jewel was just finishing up with her oiling and placing her pail in its prize place high on the shelf when one particular puddle in the stone turned ink black with silt and then erupted in a half dozen croaking frogs.

She turned to look down at the suddenly significantly more swampy puddle.

“Are there required etiquette lessons for Wizards on the manner in which one interrupts a lady’s bathing that is only technically not interrupting?”

The Wizard of the Bog Puddle did not emerge, but one of the mysteriously arrived frogs croaked with their voice.

“Apologies, your Father asked if I could do something to assist the staff.”

Jewel blinked a bit and tilted her head.

That was certainly a novel use of a wizard that none of the histories had ever brought up.

Generally wizards were only described when casting or breaking terrible spells and enchantments, making powerful artifacts or laying waste to cities, great beasts, armies or all three at once.

The idea of doing something domestic with them put a smile to Jewel’s lips as the frog continued to speak with an exasperated tone.

“I thought I was doing so much better at this then Fizzbunches, Euewyn or even Urul!”

Ah this, Jewel knew what this was.

She had heard cooks and scullery maids do this.

“But The Kitchens say frogs are unfit meat and my water leaves the dishes dirty somehow!”

The Bog Wizard was venting.

“The Butcher complained that I made the blood rot!”

Jewel could feel her lips peeling back to reveal her teeth with the grin that grew. If Tsulogothulan was venting to her that could mean only one thing.

“Both the Armourer and the blacksmith apparently find everything I do far too damp for their precious metal.”

Jewel was Tsulogothulan’s friend!

The tirade continued, passed from one frog to another whenever their tiny bodies had to pause for breath.

“And don’t even get me started on the maids! How can water be ruined?! It’s water! But no apparently I’m no good for washing either! Even though I leave the clothing completely free of all corruptive foulness it’s still ‘filthy’ and smells like ass!”

Jewel waited to see if there was more, when none emerged she looked around at the bath and then down at Tsulogothulan’s puddle with consideration.

“Well, how good are you at pulling water out of things?”

Jewel had never seen frogs try to sputter indignantly before.

But she was going to treasure the memory for the rest of her life.