The Vampire & Her Witch

Sir Carwyn Belvin yawned as he sat in his saddle, watching the long train of carts and wagons making its way along the dirt road from the Village of Raek to Hanrahan Town. There was a faint morning breeze that ruffled his tawny hair as he watched over his villagers and he relished in the feeling of the cool air on his clean shaven face, enjoying the respite from the heat of his heavy chain armor and the layers of padding beneath it.

The trip would have been even worse at the height of summer, he thought, but then again, in summer they wouldn’t have needed to contend with dismal weather and the poor condition of the road that led from Raek to Hanrahan.

The road was little more than a dirt track in most places. Countless caravans had tamped the earth down over the years, creating a firm surface that resisted the autumn rains. Still, careless drivers could easily wander into the roadside ditches. The mud there was surprisingly treacherous, deep enough to swallow a man’s foot, and thick enough to claim his boot if he wasn’t careful trying to free himself.

Normally, Sir Carwyn hated the tedious duty of escorting a long train of goods from his village to the markets at Hanrahan Town and Lothian City beyond, but this time was different. This time, as he sat atop his horse, his mind was filled with hope for this year’s harvest and the coins it would place in his purse.

When they reached Hanrahan Town, the Baron’s tax collector would have the option of either taking two parts in twenty of the goods to be sold, or two parts in twenty of the coins they earned when goods were sold at market. In Lothian City, the tax collector would take three parts in twenty and almost never took their payment in anything other than gold and silver.

But for Sir Carwyn, as the knight protector of the village, he was entitled to one part in twenty of everything that was sold from his villagers’ farms in addition to the profits from his own farms. On top of that, he also collected one part in twenty from the farmers in exchange for providing an escort to the market.

Of course, some of that money would be paid out to the dozen armed men who trudged alongside the carts, spending most of their effort on keeping them out of the mud rather than watching for highwaymen at this stage of the journey, but it would still leave Sir Carwyn’s purse fat as a hog by the time they were finished in Lothian City.

It was only then, when they were returning home with fresh goods purchased at market and purses filled with coin, that he and his men would truly be wary of robbers and cutthroats on the road. Few brigands wanted a sack full of flour or a barrel full of pickled radishes when, just by waiting, they could have several bags of silver and perhaps even gold if they attacked a caravan returning from market.

"Worried about your wagon, Sir Carwyn?" the weathered voice of the village purser, Dyfad, said as the man standing beside him followed his lord’s gaze. "You’re looking at it like it’s carrying your child. I promise, it’s built sturdy enough to make the journey, even with as much as you’ve loaded in it this time," he said with a hearty chuckle.

"Does it show that badly?" Carwyn said, chuckling lightly as his face heated in embarrassment when the village purser caught him fretting. "Olwyna thinks that pickling the radishes and the turnips in the village will earn us more from this crop, but those barrels weigh so much more than sacks of raw vegetables would. I’m worried we’ll get stuck in the mud."