“Aycliffe stared at me for a long while as if in search of something. All he said, however, was ‘With your mother gone you’re required to deliver your ox to the manor house tomorrow. It will serve as the death tax.’
‘But… sir,’ I said—for my speech was slow and ill formed—‘if I do… I… I won’t be able to work the fields.’
‘Then starve,’ he said and rode away without a backward glance.”
“As the priest chanted the Latin prayers, whose meaning I barely understood, I knelt by his side and knew that God had taken away the one person I could claim as my own. But His will be done.”
“The burial took place amongst the other paupers’ graves in the walled cemetery behind our church. It was there the priest and I dug her grave, in water-laden clay. There was no coffin.”
“For as long as I could recall, my mother had simply called me ‘Son,’ and, since her name was Asta, ‘Asta’s son’ became my common name. In a world in which one lived by the light of a father’s name and rank, that meant—since I had no father—I existed in a shadow.”