Almost from the very first page, it is clear to see that Meonbridge, this little village we’re visiting, tucked away as it is in the rural heartland of medieval Hampshire, is a place of contradictions.
The mill, the essential, ever-beating heart of the village, the place where folk take the chance to exchange news and to gossip with old friends while they wait for their grain to be transformed by the massive stones into flour for their daily bread, seems as busy as it ever has been – and yet it is here, too, that we are reminded, almost immediately, how tentative life can be for the folk who live here.
Meonbridge is a place of contradictions. As we are introduced to our neighbours and are allowed glimpses into their circumstances, it becomes increasingly clear that the Meonbridge that we have entered is not as it once was. There is stability here, a product of the many generations who have lived, worked and died here, and yet there is instability also – everywhere are signs of the aftermath of the mortality that struck so hard and so quickly over the few months before we arrived. We learn that the mortality arrived unbidden, despite the fervent prayers of the villagers, and struck deeply into their lives. It affected everyone, randomly plucking away old and young, men and women, sinners and saints, and leaving those who survived unscathed shocked and reeling from the loss of so many friends, family and neighbours. Some of those infected by the plague lingered, in agony, for days. Others simply took themselves to bed and didn’t wake up in the morning. Sir Richard, lord of the manor of Meonbridge, issued orders which he hoped might prevent the mortality from taking hold in his village. None were to enter, and none were to leave. But, despite this, arrive it did.
Those who survived, then, have little choice but to pick up the pieces of their shattered lives, surrounded as they inevitably were by constant reminders of their loss – empty cottages, left behind when whole families succumbed; orphaned children, left to fend for themselves; spouses left alone without the families who had been their whole world; fields left untended because there were too few left to work them.
The agony doesn’t end there, though – in this deeply feudal society, there are fees and fines to be paid to the manor for the deaths of all those who perished; there are fees to be paid for the transfer of tenancies from dead husband to widow or children; there are rents to pay for crofts and fields and cottages, and there are all the problems of trying to balance their obligation to work the manor fields as well as tend their own – in a world where those left behind by the mortality must do the work of two or three just to survive, it seems small wonder that the cottars, those with no fields of their own, and who therefore labour for daily payment, are seeking more money for their efforts, and small wonder that surviving tenants are seeking respite from their manorial obligations in favour of looking after their own plots.
So, against the apparent backdrop of ancient, carefully nurtured feudal stability, the first seeds of instability are allowed to take root – nurtured by a growing sense of social and economic unfairness, and watered by mutterings from the lowest ranks….those with most to gain, but still a great deal to lose.
And then, throughout, we have wondered what might have happened to Alice atte Wood’s daughter Agnes. The girl had simply vanished, shortly before the mortality arrived, and the inability to look outside the village for her under Sir Richard’s closure of the village has more than doubled the grief Alice feels following the death of her husband and one of her sons. One thing is certain - Alice's worries, hopes and dreams are infectious. The more we are drawn in to her story, the more we share them.
So many questions, so many threads – all skillfully tangled and untangled by a wonderfully gifted author….but for me it is the details, sometimes large and important, more often small and intimate, that mark this book out as superb. The characters we meet are beautifully rounded and lovingly drawn….and are allowed to quietly emerge from the page at just the right level of detail, and at just the right moment. The book is saturated with expertly researched descriptions which capture the essence of medieval life, and we are quickly exposed to, and absorb, the feel of slippery mud squelching underfoot on the road between the village and the manor, and the comforts and discomforts of rural living; of cold, damp homes with little furniture, minimal lighting, and the almost universal reliance on a diet of home-grown potage for sustenance.
I loved this book. It’s one I’m sure I’ll return to in the future - and I really look forward to further books in the Meonbridge Chronicles series. Just brilliant!