What did he care, except that his share of the sale of the wool brought him income, and their meat fed him and his household? "It's fleece," he said with a shrug.
"Wheest, man!" Mac Gordon cried, turning and letting the lamb loose in the pen. The little animal trotted over to its mother and immediately began to drink.
"That lamb's fleece is thicker than any fleece I've ever felt, and hardly a brisde in it," Mac Gordon declared. He grinned at the peasant. "Thomas here knows what he's got, if his master doesn't. That fleece'll make some fine wool. And it's not just the fleece— look at the haunches on him, too! Now that's what I call mutton!"
The Scot clapped his hand on the peasant's shoulders, as if they were the best of friends. "Sheep like this don't come by accident. This clever fellow's been doing some breeding, haven't you, Thomas?"
Thomas's face reddened, and reddened more when Nicholas addressed him in the tone he usually used with foot soldiers. "Is this true, Thomas?"
"Come, man, admit your genius!" the Scot exclaimed. "For genius it is and no mistake."
"Aye, my lord, I've been trying," Thomas said quietly , not looking Nicholas in the eye. "I let the sheep loose on the hills, like always, but I was careful to keep the ewes and rams I thought had better fleece and more meat."
"And there's more like it, he says," Fergus Mac Gordon said. "If that's so, you've got something more precious than gold or silver, my lord, for once metal's out of the ground, it's gone. Sheep like this will keep you rich for years."
Nicholas looked at the lamb again. Could it really be so important? And if it was, could that be the answer to his financial woes?
Perhaps eventually, but not this year. Lambs weren't shorn.
"What would you say to letting me bring some of my ewes here for breeding, eh?" Mac Gordon asked.
Nicholas thought of his nearly empty coffers. "You would have to pay for that."
And so might others—a source of income he'd never anticipated.
The little man's face fell. "How much?"
"My steward and I will have to discuss that." Nicholas glanced at Thomas, who nervously shifted his feet. "Thomas would levy it, and a portion would come to me as a tithe."
Thomas looked as if he'd just won a tournament.
"I'm sure Thomas will be reasonable," he added.
"Oh, yes, my lord, yes!" the young man cried. "Very reasonable."
Mac Gordon's face lit up again. "Then it's a bargain, and I'll tell my son when I go back home. He'll be keen to come when he
hears about these animals. A fine eye for wool, he has, like his father," the Scot finished with a laugh.
"Perhaps on our way back to Dunkeathe, we can talk more about sheep," Nicholas said to the smiling Mac Gordon.
"I'd be delighted, my lord. Anything you want to know about fleece and wool—" He smacked himself on the chest. "I'm your man."
"Obviously you know a good deal more about them than I do," Nicholas admitted.
"Well, I'd wager you could teach me a thing or two about defending a castle," Mac Gordon answered as they strolled back to their horses.
Nicholas nodded as he looked around the farmyard. It was neat and well tended. This Thomas was clearly a conscientious fellow, as well as clever. Yet no woman or children had appeared in the door of the cottage, and he saw no sign of their presence.
After swinging into the saddle, he rode over to Thomas, who was still standing by the fence. "Do you live here alone, Thomas?"
"Aye, my lord, since my father died in January."
Nicholas had a vague memory of Robert mentioning taking a ram as a heriot from a shepherd. "Was a ram the heriot?"
"Aye, my lord. The sire of some of these lambs, he was."
"I shall see that it's returned to you, so that you can breed more of these excellent sheep."
"Thank you, my lord," the young man said, bowing.
"You can expect a visit from Robert Martleby in the next few days."
"Yes, my lord."
"You'll also go to all the other farms on my estate and select the sheep that you think are
"Wheest, man!" Mac Gordon cried, turning and letting the lamb loose in the pen. The little animal trotted over to its mother and immediately began to drink.
"That lamb's fleece is thicker than any fleece I've ever felt, and hardly a brisde in it," Mac Gordon declared. He grinned at the peasant. "Thomas here knows what he's got, if his master doesn't. That fleece'll make some fine wool. And it's not just the fleece— look at the haunches on him, too! Now that's what I call mutton!"
The Scot clapped his hand on the peasant's shoulders, as if they were the best of friends. "Sheep like this don't come by accident. This clever fellow's been doing some breeding, haven't you, Thomas?"
Thomas's face reddened, and reddened more when Nicholas addressed him in the tone he usually used with foot soldiers. "Is this true, Thomas?"
"Come, man, admit your genius!" the Scot exclaimed. "For genius it is and no mistake."
"Aye, my lord, I've been trying," Thomas said quietly , not looking Nicholas in the eye. "I let the sheep loose on the hills, like always, but I was careful to keep the ewes and rams I thought had better fleece and more meat."
"And there's more like it, he says," Fergus Mac Gordon said. "If that's so, you've got something more precious than gold or silver, my lord, for once metal's out of the ground, it's gone. Sheep like this will keep you rich for years."
Nicholas looked at the lamb again. Could it really be so important? And if it was, could that be the answer to his financial woes?
Perhaps eventually, but not this year. Lambs weren't shorn.
"What would you say to letting me bring some of my ewes here for breeding, eh?" Mac Gordon asked.
Nicholas thought of his nearly empty coffers. "You would have to pay for that."
And so might others—a source of income he'd never anticipated.
The little man's face fell. "How much?"
"My steward and I will have to discuss that." Nicholas glanced at Thomas, who nervously shifted his feet. "Thomas would levy it, and a portion would come to me as a tithe."
Thomas looked as if he'd just won a tournament.
"I'm sure Thomas will be reasonable," he added.
"Oh, yes, my lord, yes!" the young man cried. "Very reasonable."
Mac Gordon's face lit up again. "Then it's a bargain, and I'll tell my son when I go back home. He'll be keen to come when he
hears about these animals. A fine eye for wool, he has, like his father," the Scot finished with a laugh.
"Perhaps on our way back to Dunkeathe, we can talk more about sheep," Nicholas said to the smiling Mac Gordon.
"I'd be delighted, my lord. Anything you want to know about fleece and wool—" He smacked himself on the chest. "I'm your man."
"Obviously you know a good deal more about them than I do," Nicholas admitted.
"Well, I'd wager you could teach me a thing or two about defending a castle," Mac Gordon answered as they strolled back to their horses.
Nicholas nodded as he looked around the farmyard. It was neat and well tended. This Thomas was clearly a conscientious fellow, as well as clever. Yet no woman or children had appeared in the door of the cottage, and he saw no sign of their presence.
After swinging into the saddle, he rode over to Thomas, who was still standing by the fence. "Do you live here alone, Thomas?"
"Aye, my lord, since my father died in January."
Nicholas had a vague memory of Robert mentioning taking a ram as a heriot from a shepherd. "Was a ram the heriot?"
"Aye, my lord. The sire of some of these lambs, he was."
"I shall see that it's returned to you, so that you can breed more of these excellent sheep."
"Thank you, my lord," the young man said, bowing.
"You can expect a visit from Robert Martleby in the next few days."
"Yes, my lord."
"You'll also go to all the other farms on my estate and select the sheep that you think are
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