Adrian did not return by the main road.
Instead, he led Oliver and Lucy directly into the forest, avoiding the eyes that had followed him through the market—the men staring at his bundles, the travelers driving ox carts north, and the guards leaning on their spears at the gate.
There was no telling what thoughts lay behind those gazes.
Three sacks of rye, a jar of salt, and a new iron shovel were enough to inspire greed in a place where people regularly went hungry.
There were no roads in the forest, but there were no people either.
Shortly before nightfall, Adrian found a flat patch of ground beside a mountain stream, unloaded the sacks of rye, sent Oliver to gather firewood, and crouched beside the water to fill the waterskin.
Lucy remained beside the grain, watching everything he did.
Once the fire was burning, Adrian took out the smoked meat he had prepared for the return journey, divided it into two portions, and handed them to Oliver.
Oliver accepted the meat, broke off a piece for Lucy first, and only then placed his own portion in his mouth.
He chewed slowly, his Adam’s apple bobbing with each swallow.
Lucy held her piece in both hands and took tiny bites, her cheeks puffing out as she stared into the flames.
Eventually, her movements slowed, and Oliver pulled her closer to the fire, letting her lean against him.
Adrian sat against a tree trunk, unbuckled his arming sword, and placed it within easy reach.
After walking all day, Oliver had completely exhausted himself.
He was only fourteen or fifteen years old, thin enough for his ribs to show clearly, yet he had carried a sack of rye from the market without making a sound.
It was not because he had no complaints, but because he understood that complaining would change nothing.
Adrian noticed all of it but said nothing.
The following morning, he woke as the sky began turning gray and allowed Oliver another hour of sleep before they set out.
The return journey took a full day longer than Adrian’s trip to the market.
When he had traveled there alone, he had carried only a bundle and needed to wait for no one.
Now two half-grown children followed behind him—one constantly switching the grain sack from shoulder to shoulder, the other stumbling along as best she could.
Two days later, they finally reached the riverbank.
Oliver’s eyes brightened when he saw the sturdy wooden house and the fence surrounding it.
Lucy peered out from beside his leg, looking from the house to the river and back again, her mouth slightly open.
Adrian leaned against the doorframe and tapped his fingers lightly against the guard of his arming sword.
“Apart from working at the mill and tending strip fields, what else can you do?” Oliver straightened his back.
His voice remained slightly hoarse, but it was far steadier than it had been at the market.
“I can tie knots, my lord.
I helped craftsmen repair manor roofs, so I can patch leaks, and I can weave straw mats.
I also know farm work.
Give me a hoe, and I can work from sunrise until sunset.” Adrian glanced at his hands.
Oliver’s fingers were thick and short, his palms covered in calluses, while the backs of his hands were marked with countless small scratches.
They were more dexterous hands than those of an ordinary tenant farmer who knew only how to plow.
“The land hasn’t been tilled yet.” Adrian straightened and gestured toward the slope behind the house.
“There are two acres.
The trees must be cut down, the roots dug out, and the stones cleared.
The hoe is inside, along with a pickaxe.
Starting tomorrow, you’ll work the land with me.” Oliver nodded vigorously.
“Once the rye has been planted, we’ll build a thorn fence around the fields.
Wild boars will root through the soil, and jackdaws will peck at the seed.
Gather dead branches from the riverbank.
The barrier must be thick and tightly packed.” Oliver nodded again.
Adrian then looked toward Lucy.
She hid behind Oliver’s leg, clutching the corner of his clothing so that only half her face remained visible.
“Lucy, gather dry firewood near the house.
The stove must never go out.
The higher the woodpile beneath the eaves, the thicker the soup we can cook at night.
If you see the jagged-leaf plants growing by the river, gather those as well.” Lucy revealed both eyes from behind Oliver’s leg and gave a small nod.
Oliver continued nodding, his face filled with the relief of someone who had survived a disaster.
Compared with waiting to die in the mud of the market, even exhausting labor with the promise of food and shelter seemed like a gift from God.
“We’ll make soup tonight.” Adrian turned and entered the house.
The stove was soon burning brightly.
He set the clay pot over it and poured in more than half a pot of clear water from the waterskin.
He took several pieces of smoked meat down from the rafters and used the short axe to chop off chunks of fatty wild boar and roe deer meat.
After dropping them into the water, he pinched a small amount of gray salt from the newly purchased jar, crushed it between his fingers, and scattered it into the pot.
The gray-brown grains landed on the meat and dissolved as the water moved around them.
Flames licked the bottom of the pot, and the water slowly began to tremble before breaking into a rolling boil.
The salty aroma of smoked meat drifted from the rim, mingling with the rich scent of fat and filling the entire house.
Oliver stood in the doorway with his nose twitching, while Lucy peered out from beside his leg and stared at the steaming pot, a faint swallowing sound escaping her throat.
The soup gradually turned cloudy, and golden fat shimmered across its surface in the glow of the fire.
Adrian stirred it with two sharpened hazelwood sticks.
The wild boar was fattier, while the roe deer meat was firmer.
Their aromas mixed with the gray salt and lingering smoke, swirling together inside the wooden house.
Adrian picked up a scrap of ash wood from beside the stone platform.
He had split a shallow hollow into it with the hand axe, shaping it into a crude wooden bowl.
He lifted out a piece of fatty wild boar leg, placed it inside, and ladled in a portion of the scalding broth.
Holding the bowl in both hands, he leaned against the rock wall and took a slow sip.
The hot soup flowed down his throat, carrying the rich flavor of wild boar fat and the astringent saltiness of the gray salt.
The meat had stewed until tender and required almost no effort to chew.
Oliver and Lucy remained standing at the doorway.
Their eyes never left the pot, but neither dared to move.
Halfway through his meal, Adrian placed the bowl on his knees and used the hazelwood sticks to retrieve two thick pieces of meat from the bottom of the pot—a wild boar rib and a roe deer leg.
He placed them on two clean pieces of thick bark, then moved the clay pot to the edge of the fire.
“Come here.” Oliver crossed the distance in two hurried steps, striking his toes against the stone bricks without so much as flinching.
He carefully handed one piece to Lucy.
She took it with both hands, lowered her head, and bit into it with her small teeth, her cheeks puffing as she slowly chewed.
Oliver seized his own portion, stuffed it into his mouth, and tore into it so eagerly that his entire body trembled.
For a while, the only sound inside the house was the three of them chewing.
The gray salt was astringent but still salty, and when mixed with the fat of the wild boar, it became a rare delicacy in the wilderness.
Oliver even picked up the crumbs that fell onto the straw bedding and licked them from his fingertips.
Adrian finished the last drop of soup and placed the bowl on the stone platform beside him.
He watched Oliver crouched near the stove, desperately licking the grease from his piece of bark.
Although Adrian possessed memories and ideas from the modern world, he understood clearly that the belief that everyone was equal would not help him survive in England in 867.
In this wilderness, where law existed only at the point of a sword, order depended on hierarchy.
He was a knight, the master of this small territory, and the only person with the weapons and ability to defend it.
Oliver and Lucy, meanwhile, were two children he had taken from the mud of the market in exchange for a few pieces of smoked meat.
He needed to preserve his authority over them.
He would eat the best meat, drink the richest broth, and sleep in the driest bed.
This was not merely greed; in such an age, the strongest person had to maintain his strength and dignity if the group was to survive.
If he behaved like a weak and indulgent benefactor, hunger and instinct might eventually drive the children to challenge his authority, bringing ruin upon them all.
To Adrian, a capable lord was someone who accepted the best portions and safest shelter while still providing his dependents with enough food to live and weapons to defend themselves.
It was a cold exchange, but it was also the kind of order that offered the greatest sense of security in a broken world.
“Leave the bowl on the stone platform and wash it in the mountain stream first thing tomorrow morning.
Once you’ve finished eating, sleep over there.” He pointed toward a pile of hay in the sheltered space behind the stone stove.
Oliver took Lucy by the hand, and the two obediently settled into it.
It was only a heap of grass inside the house, but compared with the cold, drafty mud of the market, it was already heaven.