you used to like her cakes.’
Clip nodded ruefully at this.
‘Granny’s annoyed that Marigold makes the ceremony cakes nowadays – she said in Magus’ time it was her job?’
‘That’s right – it’s one of the things Yul changed when he became magus.’
‘She’s still upset about losing the job even though it was so long ago – she felt honoured to do it in the past. Anyway, she was talking about the old days which she does a lot, and she wanted to know how you were doing.’
‘Really?’
Clip shuddered involuntarily at the thought of the crone. He hadn’t had many dealings with her over the years, still remembering clearly how she’d spoken to him that terrible Winter Solstice Eve up at Hare Stone. Clip recalled how she’d frozen him to the spot and frightened him with her dabbling in Dark Magic. He recognised the malignant power Old Violet held and wanted nothing to do with her or the other women in her household.
‘She was talking,’ continued Swift blithely, ‘about how you and Father were half-brothers.’
‘Oh.’
Clip had no idea how to respond to this. There’d always been talk and speculation, and knowing that perhaps Martin was his half-brother had certainly coloured Clip’s judgement about keeping him on at Stonewylde to run the Hall; he felt he owed the man some familial loyalty. But Violet had never made it public knowledge before that he and Martin shared the same father. He wondered vaguely why she would do so now?
‘Yes, so I reckon that makes me your nephew and you my uncle, and I wanted to be allowed to call you Uncle Clip. Is that okay then? You don’t mind?’
Clip shook his head helplessly, unable to think of a good reason to object, but still sensing something not quite right about the situation. What was Old Violet up to?
‘I suppose if your grandmother chooses to make it known that your father and I are half-brothers …’
‘Thanks!’ said Swift, standing up. ‘I’ll leave you in peace then, Uncle Clip. Hope you enjoy your new books, and maybe I could come and see you again sometime? I’m really interested to hear about your travels and look at all the stuff you’ve got up here.’
Clip smiled briefly, and then his eyes fell upon the unwanted tray.
‘Can you get rid of that for me please, Swift? Discreetly though – don’t let Marigold or Cherry see.’
As soon as the boy had gone Clip decided to escape his tower before anyone else could come barging in. He slipped a cloak over his thin robe, having abandoned ordinary clothes completely several years before, and changed his green felt slippers for the traditional brown leather Stonewylde boots. Taking his ash staff and a small flaxen bag, for Mother Earth was ever bountiful and sometimes offered the most unexpected treasures, he opened the door leading to the flat roof of his tower. From this vantage point, gazing out across the vast expanse of roofs and chimneys of the Hall, he soaked up the golden October sunshine of late afternoon and let his vision roam across Stonewylde.
The trees that massed around the Hall were every shade and hue of gold, daily shedding their final fruits, seeds and leaves onto the waiting soil. All the crops were safely gathered and the autumn sowing completed. Clip turned about slowly on the crenellated roof of the tower, which offered views over the Hall and parkland, but also the woods and farmland too. With one hand shading his eyes he looked across at the hazy fields, in soft gold focus, and reflected on the success of Stonewylde as a self-sufficient community. The cows had been brought down into the close pastures for over-wintering, the lambs were well-grown to face the cold months ahead and the geese were fattening for Yule. The slaughter of the pigs had begun in earnest now for some mediaeval methods were still interwoven with modern farming techniques, although the pork was no longer laid into salt barrels for preservation. Instead it was cured as bacon and ham or
Clip nodded ruefully at this.
‘Granny’s annoyed that Marigold makes the ceremony cakes nowadays – she said in Magus’ time it was her job?’
‘That’s right – it’s one of the things Yul changed when he became magus.’
‘She’s still upset about losing the job even though it was so long ago – she felt honoured to do it in the past. Anyway, she was talking about the old days which she does a lot, and she wanted to know how you were doing.’
‘Really?’
Clip shuddered involuntarily at the thought of the crone. He hadn’t had many dealings with her over the years, still remembering clearly how she’d spoken to him that terrible Winter Solstice Eve up at Hare Stone. Clip recalled how she’d frozen him to the spot and frightened him with her dabbling in Dark Magic. He recognised the malignant power Old Violet held and wanted nothing to do with her or the other women in her household.
‘She was talking,’ continued Swift blithely, ‘about how you and Father were half-brothers.’
‘Oh.’
Clip had no idea how to respond to this. There’d always been talk and speculation, and knowing that perhaps Martin was his half-brother had certainly coloured Clip’s judgement about keeping him on at Stonewylde to run the Hall; he felt he owed the man some familial loyalty. But Violet had never made it public knowledge before that he and Martin shared the same father. He wondered vaguely why she would do so now?
‘Yes, so I reckon that makes me your nephew and you my uncle, and I wanted to be allowed to call you Uncle Clip. Is that okay then? You don’t mind?’
Clip shook his head helplessly, unable to think of a good reason to object, but still sensing something not quite right about the situation. What was Old Violet up to?
‘I suppose if your grandmother chooses to make it known that your father and I are half-brothers …’
‘Thanks!’ said Swift, standing up. ‘I’ll leave you in peace then, Uncle Clip. Hope you enjoy your new books, and maybe I could come and see you again sometime? I’m really interested to hear about your travels and look at all the stuff you’ve got up here.’
Clip smiled briefly, and then his eyes fell upon the unwanted tray.
‘Can you get rid of that for me please, Swift? Discreetly though – don’t let Marigold or Cherry see.’
As soon as the boy had gone Clip decided to escape his tower before anyone else could come barging in. He slipped a cloak over his thin robe, having abandoned ordinary clothes completely several years before, and changed his green felt slippers for the traditional brown leather Stonewylde boots. Taking his ash staff and a small flaxen bag, for Mother Earth was ever bountiful and sometimes offered the most unexpected treasures, he opened the door leading to the flat roof of his tower. From this vantage point, gazing out across the vast expanse of roofs and chimneys of the Hall, he soaked up the golden October sunshine of late afternoon and let his vision roam across Stonewylde.
The trees that massed around the Hall were every shade and hue of gold, daily shedding their final fruits, seeds and leaves onto the waiting soil. All the crops were safely gathered and the autumn sowing completed. Clip turned about slowly on the crenellated roof of the tower, which offered views over the Hall and parkland, but also the woods and farmland too. With one hand shading his eyes he looked across at the hazy fields, in soft gold focus, and reflected on the success of Stonewylde as a self-sufficient community. The cows had been brought down into the close pastures for over-wintering, the lambs were well-grown to face the cold months ahead and the geese were fattening for Yule. The slaughter of the pigs had begun in earnest now for some mediaeval methods were still interwoven with modern farming techniques, although the pork was no longer laid into salt barrels for preservation. Instead it was cured as bacon and ham or
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