Townsend Decades Challenge

Playing the Ultimate Decades Challenge by Morbid Gamer in The Sims 3. Featuring: The Townsend family. she/her, 30, German.

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All You Want To Know And More

Why, hello there! Glad you made it to my corner of the internet.

This blog chronicles my current playthrough of Morbid Gamer’s Ultimate Decades Challenge, following a family of sims for many generations from the year 1300 onwards, starting in northern England.

Warning: While I enjoy history and research as I go, this is in no way, shape or form intended to be historically accurate. This is a silly sims challenge first and foremost. I'm here to have fun and hopefully entertain you, though I do throw in historical facts here and there.

Also the usual UDC trigger warnings for upsetting topics such as deaths of all ages for all kinds of reasons, lots of wars and epi- or pandemics, lots of religious themes and also allusions to sexual violence and physical and mental abuse.

More infos under the cut.

Posting Schedule: Wednesday to Sunday, ca. 3 PM UTC +3 CEST

For some 19th century sims, see my other side blog @moonlightfallsdiaries

Current Households:

Townsend Branches | Glennborough | Junior Branches | Nobility (updated per posted year)

Family Tree (spoilers up to 1349)

Navigation:

Chronological | Introduction Post

Recaps:

Recap 1300 - 1309 | Recap 1310 - 1319 | Recap 1320 - 1329 | Recap 1330 - 1339

By Generation:

Gen 0: Benedict Townsend | Gen 1: Benjamin Townsend | Gen 2: Malcolm Townsend | Gen 3: Hugh Townsend

By Decade:

1300s | 1310s | 1320 | 1330s | 1340s

Links:

Morbid Gamer’s Ultimate Decades Challenge

Plumbob’s and the Past’s UDC

My Mods and CC

If anyone is interested, I could upload my spread sheet as well, but I currently don't have it online.

Some technical details

I’ll be playing this challenge in The Sims 3, which means no Ye Olde Cookbook, Royalty Mod, Simple Living Lot Trait or the like, but I’ve heavily modded my game to achieve a more immersive gameplay.  This challenge will start – but likely not remain in -  the gorgeous custom world of Praaven, which is both medieval and completely roadless.

A link to a post with the mods I use can be found above.

For the most part, I’ll be following the rules defined by Morbid Gamer, with some deviations:

I’ll take some inspiration from Plumbobs and the Past’s ideas to make the challenge a bit more interesting. For example, when my sims go fishing, I’ll have them pay a fee, I’ll deduct 10% of the proceeds for whatever they harvest or sell from household funds, I will use PATP's dowry rules, and probably more.

Instead of starting with three teenagers, I decided to start with two young adults that have already been married for a bit and have two children and a toddler. I had a bit of a story in mind involving the proverbial lady of the house and the local Earl, so I wanted to jump right into the action.

As Sims 3 has no option to plead with the Grim Reaper (although you can play a match of chess with him or be saved by your pet, but you would have to have a pet that likes you for that to work, or both a chess table and enough skill points) I substitute that action with rolling a d4 when a Sim I’d like to live rolls to die. If it’s a 4, they survive.

Since I think it’s boring if most sims (barring historical events) die at exactly 6/13/20/30, I’ll sometimes roll a die to see how many years of life a sim has left. Those years can never be more than the sim would have to live until the next life stage. If, for example, a sim fails their young adult roll, I’ll roll a d10. 10 means the sim dies immediately, 5 means they live to be 25, etc. A teenager or a child, accordingly, can only roll a d7.

Illegitimate children are not automatically out of the running, they just rank after all their legitimate siblings in the succession. So it's legitimate sons, then legitimate daughters, then illegitimate sons, then illegitimate daughters, and after that the nearest-related side household. Rule may be taken liberty with as is dramatically convenient.

For the most part, no re-marriages for side households. The heir, however, can and will remarry as necessary.

I’ll be starting with a family of farmers, the Townsends, but just for the fun of it, I’ll also be rolling for the two resident noble families, that of the Earl of Petersmarch, who resides in the city of Praaven, and that of Baron Elbenhawke, whose family seat is in the hills just above the Townsend’s village. As they are not even proper side households, I’ll only mention the nobles’ fates on the side, mostly as a little info text at the end or mentioned in the story as relevant.

Honestly, I’m just curious about how long their lines will last.

I've taken some heavy inspiration for the layout of this info page from @lilabella12, whose wonderful Decades Challenge you should really go check out.

Trigger Warnings:

Death (even of children, toddlers and infants) due to a plethora of causes

War

Epi- and pandemics,

Maternal death

Stillbirths

Likely at least mentions of miscarriages

Mentions or depictions of various substance abuses

References to sexual assault/coercion

Religion

Adultery

The sims featured in this likely often just won’t have a good time

[townsenddecades]

1348 – Day 3 – De Bellefaye Home

At sixteen years old and still in training as a knight, Guillaume de Bellefaye is fairly young to take a wife, but Alexandre is so anxious to have his legacy secured that he arranged a marriage for him regardless. The biggest detractor to marrying early is lack of something to live on, after all, and in his home, his new good-daughter will want for nothing. As he is still in training, Guillaume will likely live apart from her for a good while, but the girl is hardly seventeen herself and not likely to mind.

The young woman in question is called Eleanor Ashford, a lively, very prettily behaved merchant’s daughter, whose father paid handsomely for her to marry into the gentry. Guillaume only met her briefly before the wedding, but when she walks into the church that day, in a fine, light dress and with delicate flowers woven into her golden hair, he fears that his jaw might never return to its proper position.

A part of him tries to remind him that appearance isn’t everything and that he hardly knows the woman he is pledging his love and protection to, but the far mightier part, that which is sixteen years old, thinks that the Watcher must be smiling on him to send him a wife as handsome as Eleanor.

As for Eleanor herself, she smiles during the entire ceremony, pleasant as a spring morning. If she has any qualms about marrying a complete stranger, far from where she grew up and the only family she has ever known, she hides them extraordinarily well.

The ceremony itself is short and uneventful, even if there are some family members that aren’t in the best of moods. Louise, now fourteen, and Isabeau, recently turned six, are in the middle of a sisterly dispute and resent having to sit next to each other peaceably as they watch their brother pledge his troth to their new good-sister. They even try to start their argument up again once or twice, but Catherine nips that in the bud every time. She will not have her stepson’s wedding interrupted by two foolish girls. Especially because Louise is old enough to realise that it will be her at the altar in only a few years, and because Isabeau should know that children are meant to be seen, not heard.

In truth, she is quite pleased with this marriage. True, her own children are still quite young and she herself has a few childbearing years left, but Eleanor, like her, comes from a mercantile background, and will hopefully be pliable enough to let herself be guided in a way Juliana flat-out refused and even Louise sometimes struggles with.

She only hopes that young Eleanor has no plans to play the mistress of the household before it is her time. Catherine has no intention of giving way to a girl of seventeen, pretty and well-behaved or not.

After the ceremony reaches its conclusion and Guillaume and Eleanor are declared man and wife before the eyes of the Watcher, there are many congratulations and well-wishes to exchange. Alexandre does not mince words about how proud he is of his son, although Guillaume can’t help but think about how little he has contributed to this day – it was his father who picked his wife and Chatherine who did the arrangements. His only contribution was to say the words that were expected of him. And how could he not, with a bride so lovely?

He does not say this, of course. He simply accepts his father’s praise, thanks him for arranging the match, and promises to be as good a husband to his bride as he is able.

At the same time, Catherine approaches Eleanor to welcome her into the family, to ask her how she is feeling and to tell her all about the celebrations yet to come. Eleanor answers all this very prettily and politely, the very picture of demure grace. If this is her true nature, not just her assuming airs to ingratiate herself to her new family, Catherine thinks it will be perfectly pleasant to have her in the house. She may even be a good role model for Louise and Isabeau to follow, something that is direly needed. Time will tell, she supposes.

Speaking of Louise and Isabeau, once the ceremony is over and their parents are distracted, they go right back to bickering. The only thing they are in agreement of is that they find the entire to-do superbly stupid – and even then, they release their frustration by arguing with each other, the only person, or so it seems to them, who isn’t busy praising the marriage, conveniently ignoring that the two of them will likely spend more time with the bride than their brother for the next few years!

It’s utterly ridiculous to make such a fuss about a marriage where the groom and bride won’t even live together, but when Isabeau points this out, her mother merely tells her to be quiet, and that she’ll understand once she’s older. To Louisa, she says that she is old enough to know better. And they’re both expected to be kind to their new sister.

In truth, they’re both just irritable because they don’t like the changes that have come upon their home – first Juliana leaving, then this newcomer arriving. And they have both heard the servants talking about some illness that is supposedly moving north from the far-away coasts of Italy and southern France. It leaves them anxious, which makes this happy occasion seem even more fraudulent.

But sadly, neither of them has any power to do anything about it.

Previous: 1348, Day 2, Part 7/7 <--> Next: 1348, Day 3, Part 2/9

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Update: there was a fourth sim with the Unlucky trait. This time, I just killed them, because their survival would have affected a household close to the main one. And because it was honestly getting ridiculous.

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Thank you everyone for your input about the Unluck vs Plague thing!

The general feeling seems to be that it think it would be fairer to kill themoff, but I'm still a little unsure. I'll put the reasoning under a Read More because I'll reveal who these sims are and I imagine some people don't want to be spoiled. But put briefly, one of them will die at the beginning of the 1350s anyway and for the other two, I think them surviving is the more interesting plot.

So, Victim #1: Ralph, Lord Petersmarch. He's the one who'll die in 3 years tops anyway, so him surviving would merely give his very young heir/ess a chance to grow a little older and to arrange a marriage for them. That said, said heir/ess becoming a ward of the crown and having their marriage arranged by the King would also be fun.

Victim #2: Henry Watmore, Wilfred Watmore's 13-year-old son, currently apprenticing as a baker under his stepfather. I think his could just be an interesting story, because the entire rest of his family doesn't make it. Does he go at being a baker alone? Does he flee to his family in the countryside? Also, it was absolutely possible to survive catching the bubonic plague, but I imagine it would be interesting to write about how he deals with that.

Victim #3: Georgina Pelham, David Pelham's daughter. Similar to Henry, I thought it might be interesting to write about her dealing with escaping death like that, but in another way that would also prevent her from continuing the family line: I'd like for her to ask to join a convent because she considers herself blessed and wants to dedicate her life to the Watcher in recompense. Again, her surviving just makes for a more interesting story. (Also, both her father and her grandmother escaped death the same way, so it would also be really funny.)

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Question: I am currently busy playing through the Black Death in Praaven. Now, as many of you probably know, TS3 has the 'Unlucky' trait, which among other things includes that Grim automatically revives sims that have it if they die of anything but old age.

So far, three sims were saved because of it.

Now, I didn't give those sims that trait, they got it randomly and I didn't know before. Besides that, all three of them are from side households, and only one is actually part of the Townsend bloodline or married into it.

Is it alright for me to just say they caught the plague and survived, or should I kill them via MC?

Additional info: I did not plead/reroll for a singe sim, but just accepted the results as they were.

[townsenddecades]

1348 – Day 2 – Italy, Spain and France

While, for now, there are only rumours about a spreading sickness to the south (contemporarily referred to as ‘The Great Mortality’) in England and Ireland, that catastrophe is inexorably forging its way through southern Europe, reaching the Italian cities of Perugia, Orvieto, Bologna, Siena and Pistoia in April. In some of these, the death rate is quite high – more than 50% of Siena’s inhabitants perish, despite attempts to regain the Almighty’s favour by outlawing gambling for a time. In Orvieto, the toll is even higher.

In Pistoia, north of Florence, events show that even a catastrophe akin to the end of the world cannot erase class boundaries. As in other places, there are many measures implemented to try to stem the flow of death – corpses are only allowed to be transported in boxes nailed shut, graves have to be dug to a fixed depth, and the participation in funerary services and the purchase of mourning attire are forbidden by law, as is the ringing of bells. This is, of course, meant to uphold public morale, but it is telling that those bans explicitly do not apply to the funerals of knights, lawyers, judges and doctors. Yes again, rules are only meant for those too poor to challenge them.

To the west of Italy, the plague continues its foray into France, striking Toulon, which becomes the site of one of the pogroms mentioned in a previous report.

In Spain, Granada, which will be the site of a royal plague death in 1350, is struck in May.

It may seem incredible that after only reaching the southern coast of France at the end of the previous year, the plague should have swept anywhere close to its northern border, but it’s true; at some point between May and August, most likely in June, it falls upon Paris, which cannot drive it from its gates despite having had ample warning of its coming. The results are catastrophic; about half the city’s population perishes, with the king fleeing to the countryside soon after the plague’s arrival.

At Paris’ famed medical faculty, scholars (at least those that don’t die of it) try to divine the reason why this horror that has fallen upon Europe, and their conclusion is this: an unusual conjunction of the planets is to blame, causing bad air that makes people sicken.

For the people of the time, with no understanding of virology or bacteriology, it is as good an explanation as any.

Previous: 1348, Day 2, Part 6/7 <--> Next: 1348, Day 3, Part 1/9

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1348 – Day 2 – Glennborough Farm

In the glen, life has been without great disturbances for Elias, Ciara and their little family, even if the same cannot be said of their nights. To both their and Órlaith’s great happiness, baby Gráinne has been thriving, with every indication that she will become an equally healthy toddler. At this point, rumours of an illness to the south has started to reach Glennborough, but that seems so remote that they don’t think about it much.  

The main thing worrying them, frankly, is less a mysterious illness in faraway lands, and more the slow growth of their plants. Maybe they’ll be able to harvest some of their produce at the beginning of summer, but that is not at all a certainty if the air warms quickly. Their money is already stretched so thin that they fear for the state of their larder. If they can’t grow anything, and don’t have the money to buy food…

Well. They don’t want to envision that, so they use the heavy rains that have them seek shelter inside most of the quarter to create things they can sell. They hate that they have to rely on the presence of traders, especially because those have become fewer in the last few weeks, but they don’t know what else to do.

Despite this strain on their resources, Elias takes some time out of his day to create something for Órlaith, a small table on which she can play with pieces of wood cut into different shapes. She can share it with Gráinne once she is old enough, and it gives her something to do when she isn’t helping around the house or learning how to knit from her mother.

In fact, ever since holding Gráinne for the first time, the prospect of the house being filled with children has become much less frightening for Elias. They have been handling her well so far, and it’s heartening how well Órlaith has taken to being an older sister. And what’s more, his step-daughter has been a great help on the farm. Who knows how much they’d get done with more helping hands?

Sadly, even if he wanted more children, they simply cannot afford to feed them at the moment. So those considerations are, unfortunately, pointless.

Regardless of the impracticality of having more children, nothing brings Ciara greater joy than watching over her two daughters, especially in those moments when Órlaith is playing with her younger sister. She loves holding and talking to her, always greets her when she passes her crib, and even when she is playing with her blocks and practicing building houses out of them, she looks around and asks Gráinne to look at them. Ciara cannot imagine a sweeter sight.

In fact, probably the only thing that makes her happier is watching Elias coo over their little girl. Him holding Gráinne in his arms didn’t suddenly awaken a great passion inside her; she is still just as little infatuated with him as before. But even so, there is a new fondness she feels towards him. It is strange, but not entirely unpleasant.

Unbeknownst to her, Elias’ feelings have also begun to shift. Maybe he simply needed time to settle in, or maybe it is holding the child they both helped create, but slowly, he begins to realize how coldly he has been treating Ciara. She is the one who gave him this beautiful daughter, and yet, he feels he never showed her proper appreciation for it, even when she bore her pregnancy and the healing afterwards with such little complaint. She simply quietly did the chores needed to keep the household running. And yes, he certainly puts in his share of backbreaking work, but he feels he almost…ignored her, with no explanation. She doesn’t deserve that.

He doesn’t love her like he imagines Nicolas loves Eibhlín, but she was his friend once. Maybe she still is. He isn’t sure. Truthfully, he isn’t sure of anything anymore.

It is with that in mind that Elias approaches Ciara one evening, after the girls are already in bed, and invites her to look at the stars together. “The sky is very clear today”, he explains. “I sometimes snuck with my brothers to do this when we were younger. I…I thought you might like it, as well.”

He is a little awkward about it, but despite her surprise, Ciara quickly agrees. It has been so long since they simply spent time together and talked about anything other than the crops, the children, the household, or anything that wasn’t necessary to their daily lives. She certainly won’t refuse him if he is offering to rekindle their old camaraderie now.

Neither of them quite knows what to say when they sit down in front of their home. They look at each other and then away again, up at the stars or the houses of the neighbours or the old village church. Part of Ciara is waiting for Elias to speak – he is the one who wanted to come out here, after all – but he doesn’t quite know where to start. He doesn’t want to talk about what has been on his mind, but there doesn’t seem to be anything else that wouldn’t be awkward, either. Maybe it was a bad idea to come out here.

It is Ciara who finally can’t stomach the silence anymore. “Did the stars look different where you’re from?”, she asks, the first thing she can think of. Elias blinks at her.

“What?”

“The stars”, she repeats. “I was wondering what they look like across the sea.”

“I don’t know. I was a baby when we left.”

“Oh. Right.” Ciara looks away again, too embarrassed to say anything else.

There is silence after that, closing over them like a sheet of ice. Finally, Elias points towards a cluster of stars.

“That constellation there looks like a cart with a long handle, don’t you think?”

“It does. My sisters and I always called that the wagon.” She laughs. “Not particularly creative, I fear.”

“No more creative than we were.”

She glances at him. “What did you call it?”

“The cart.” There is a smile on his lips, and they can only stand to look at each other for a moment before they are both laughing, at the other as much as at themselves. It finally breaks the tension, and they soon find themselves pointing at other constellations, trading stories they thought up about them as children or were told by others. Ciara listens with rapt attention, eager to capitalize on his openness. She hasn’t felt this free in years.

Their easy banter is only interrupted when they hear calls from inside the house. “Mother? Mother, where are you? I think Gráinne’s hungry!”

For a moment, Ciara actually considers acting as if she didn’t hear, but then, duty reasserts itself and she pushes herself to her feet with a rueful sigh. It wouldn’t be any use to ignore the warning; if Gráinne is fussy enough for Órlaith to notice in the dark, it can’t be long until she starts wailing.

“Duty calls”, she tells Elias, who has risen with her. “And anyway, we should be getting to bed.”

“You’re probably right”, Elias responds, surprised at how late it has gotten. “There is much to do tomorrow. But…this was pleasant. I’d like to do this again in the future.”

He is rewarded with one of Ciara’s gentle, shy smiles. “I’d like that.”

Previous: 1348, Day 2, Part 5/7 <--> Next: 1348, Day 2, Part 7/7

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1348 – Day 2 – Glennborough Hall

For years now, Mariora has only seen her youngest son once in a good while. It seemed wrong to interrupt his training, even if she had been willing to leave her comfortable, secure manor. But this long separation makes her joy all the greater when a messenger arrives to tell her that not only does her son wish to spend his thirteenth birthday in the circle of his family, but that he means to stay for a few months. He has spoken to his father, and Lord Goth thinks it prudent that he should learn the running of the estate. It will be his one day, after all.

“Thank you, my lord”, Mariora says quietly the day Lord Goth arrives with Filimor in tow, after embracing her son and sending him off to greet his siblings. Lord Goth simply chuckles.

“I have no idea what you may be referring to.”

She doesn’t press him, but from the miniscule twitch of his mouth, it is obvious that she guessed correctly – him encouraging their son to spend some time at home is a kindness to her, as much as an opportunity for him to learn the ropes of estate management. Knowing that Filimor will leave again soon enough to train as a squire, she resolves to cherish this gift.

Lord Goth is, of course, present at Filimor’s birthday celebration, which they hold not long after his return. Looking at him as he bends over his candles, a gleam in his bright blue eyes, Mariora can hardly believe what a handsome young man her son has become, and how much he takes after her. There are certainly traces of his father in him – his lips, the shape of his eyes – but he is undeniably hers.

In more ways than one, likely. It was her who made a bargain for his life. If she hadn’t, they wouldn’t be gathered here now to celebrate him becoming a young man. But as she looks at her sons and Eibhlín, and remembers those no longer with them, she wonders, not for the first time, what they would say if they knew. Siobhán, Christopher, Nicolas’ children…any one of them might be dead now because of what she has done. It’s an old refrain, but Mariora can’t stop repeating it again and again.

She can only hope that it has finally been paid now. She just wishes she knew for certain.

If Filimor notices the piercing looks his mother gives him sometimes, he pays them no heed. He is far too busy enjoying the attention he is receiving, even if he wishes that the Wolffs, who have become his family as much as the people he spent the first few years of his life with, could be here now. He wants Francine to see the manor she will one day be mistress of.

But even without them, there is singing, well-made food (even if it is not as abundant as could be wished for, with the main harvest still some months away) and presents. And he is happy to see his brothers and little sister again. Over their meal, they exchange anecdotes and stories, and even Nicolas and Eibhlín, who are still in mourning for two sons, crack a smile every once in a while.

Yes, Filimor thinks he might like living here again, at least for a time.

Eibhlín does her best to enjoy the celebration, as she should. They all need a little levity in their lives – yes, they suffered losses, and sometimes she wants to remind the world that something is missing, but she is also pragmatic enough to know that life can’t stop just because she lost children. Many people suffer losses. Watcher, Mariora lost far more children than she has, and she can still find joy in things.

Determined not to be dragged down by what she can’t change, Eibhlín sings and laughs and talks along with the rest, but the entire time, she feels a roiling in her stomach that is exacerbated by the smell of the food Mariora brings to the table. She bears it for as long as she can, but when she feels her stomach turn, she presses a hand to her mouth and stands up so quickly that her chair screeches against the wooden floorboards.

“Please excuse me”, she mumbles, and then all she can think about is reaching the outside as quickly as she can. She barely makes it two steps beyond the door before she is doubling over and emptying her stomach onto the packed dirt.

She is still heaving when she hears steps behind her. “My love? Is everything…” Then, Nicolas stops. Dimly, Eibhlín thinks that he probably realized that ‘Is everything alright?’ is a foolish question, given the circumstances. A moment later, she feels his hand on the small on her back, but he waits patiently until she is finished, and gives her a rag to wipe her mouth once she feels secure enough to straighten again.

“Thank you”, she mumbles, pulling a face at the acidic taste in her mouth. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“These past few months haven’t been easy”, Nicolas says, rubbing the small of her back. Then, he hesitates. “Is this the first time you’ve been nauseous lately?”

She nods, mutely. But she knows what he is thinking of, already calculating much the same.

She decides not to return to the festivities, but to go lie down a little. It is Nicolas who walks in again and waves off the concerned questions. He’d much rather stay with his wife, but he doesn’t want the rest of the family to think too much about the matter.

Besides, Filimor isn’t the only one celebrating a birthday that quarter. They also use the occasion to toast to Joseph, who is twenty years old now, and thus almost a full adult. Just like Filimor, he receives gifts, among them a pair of sturdy new leather boots, but unlike his youngest brother, he could do without all the attention. Especially because part of said attention are questions from Lord Goth whether he wouldn’t like to marry and offers to bestow a farm close to that of his brother Elias upon him.

“That is a very gracious offer, my lord”, Joseph says carefully, “but I am perfectly content living and working here.”

Lord Goth nods. “Quite right. I’m certain my son will be very grateful. But do tell me if you change your mind.”

Joseph honestly doesn’t think he will. He has no wish to strike out on his own, at least not to establish his own farm. If he were able to go to a monastery or university, on the other hand…But now that Elias is gone, Nicolas needs his help. He will simply have to be content with that until his niece and nephew are old enough to help on the fields.

He is only twenty, after all. He has time.

There is one thing Filimor very much appreciates about living at the manor again: he is finally back with the horses, Ulla and grown-up Branna. They are probably what he missed the most, besides maybe his mother. He can’t wait to go riding again. The Wolff family keeps horses, of course, and riding lessons were part of his education, but it wasn’t quite the same.

“Did you miss me, girls?”, he asks softly as he feeds them carrots from his hand and strokes their big heads. “I hope so, because you’ll be seeing much of me from now on.”

After all, if he is to be master of the lands attached to the manor, he should know them quite well. And what better way to view them than from horseback?

Previous: 1348, Day 2, Part 4/7 <--> Next: 1348, Day 2, Part 6/7

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1348 – Day 2 – Townsend Farm (2/2)

Not long after Gemma’s birthday, on a sunny late afternoon, a visitor approaches the Townsends’ farm with strident steps that belie the fatigue on his face and the dust on his long tunic. In fact, when he spots the house behind a bend in the road, he quickens his pace, energized now that the object of his travels is in sight.

If he had been of a mind to pay attention to anything but his own thoughts, he might have noticed how large the building is, the size of the fields and the order there is to everything, but as it is, he sees none of it. He doesn’t even call out for the farm’s inhabitants, but simply steps through the open gate and makes directly towards the front door.

Which is the moment he is halted by a not unfriendly, but very decided shout.

“Hullo, stranger! May I ask what you are doing on our land?”

Despite his intentions, the visitor can’t ignore so direct a question, and turns towards the voice. An older man, with faded hair that might once have been red, and a slightly bent posture, is walking towards him, far swifter than he expected.

The stranger clears his throat. “Apologies for letting myself in. My name is Gregor Forrester. I was told that my sister Miriam lives here.”

Benjamin can only stare at him, as if he were a revenant risen from the grave. “You’re Miriam’s brother?”, he asks. He supposes that the resemblance between the two should have made it obvious from the first, but Miriam has been with them for so long that he honestly didn’t expect for her to ever see her brother again.

Gregor Forrester furrows his brows. “I take that as confirmation that she is here?”

“Oh. Yes, she is. She’s just inside.” Benjamin clears his throat. “My name is Benjamin Townsend. This is my farm. But we can talk after you’ve seen your sister.”

He nods towards the door then, which is all the invitation Gregor needs. Truly, even if it is rude of him, he doesn’t care about any of these people, or even simple codes of conduct. With only the thought of seeing his sister on his mind, he pushes open the door. The old man can choose to follow him or not – it doesn’t matter a whit.

Miriam, who for that entire time has been sitting at the main table knitting opposite Hugh of course heard the murmur of voices outside. But with how low they were talking, she couldn’t tell who her grandfather-in-law was talking to. All the greater, therefore, is her astonishment when the door opens and she sees her brother, for the first time in years.  

Between one heartbeat and the next, she is on her feet and barrelling towards him. “Gregor!”

“Mira!”

Strong arms catch her, and as if she were still a little girl, she buries her face in his shoulder while he enfolds her in an embrace so tight it almost hurts. They are both talking, but Miriam honestly can’t make out much. Something about how he thought she was dead and how sorry he is and how she thought he was gone forever and how long it has been. Honestly, holding each other again feels too unreal to pay attention to such trivialities.

It is Gregor who finally draws back, hands still on her arms as if he is afraid of letting go. “You’ve grown taller”, he says hoarsely. She tries to muster a smile.

“You haven’t. But you’re a lot thinner, brother. Have you not been eating well?”

“It must have been all that worrying for you. Or rather, the grief.” He grasps her upper arms tightly. “I honestly thought you were dead, Mira.”

This time, her smile is far more genuine, if still tremulous. “I’m far hardier than you think.”

“Obviously.” He studies her face yet again. “But what happened? Please, tell me everything.”

She does. She tells him about her fall, which makes him blanch, about her injuries, about how she called and tried to get back to the path and couldn’t, and about how she finally decided that she needed to seek shelter somewhere. She is dimly aware of the rest of the Townsends moving in and out of the room and of Hugh nearby, but all she can truly focus on is her brother, who buries his face in his hands when she admits how scared she was of not surviving the night.

“Watcher above, Mira, had I known…”

“I survived”, she interrupts him, before he can devolve into self-recriminations. “I had the good fortune of stumbling – literally – upon Hugh and his sisters, and he and his family kindly took me in. But how did you find out I was here?”

Gregor rakes a hand through his hair before replying. He really does look thinner than before, more drawn. There are dark shadows beneath his eyes that make her wonder when he last had a restful night of sleep. “I looked for you for as long as I could”, he says finally, “but I had to get Elissa and Rickard out of the cold. I even returned the next day, but there was still no trace of you to be found. So we had to move on. We ended up in Lüghaven, only days from here, but we had no idea you had survived. We mourned you. And then John Townsend moved there with his wife, and they told me, after they realized who I was.”

John. Miriam must remember to thank him the next time they meet, whenever that might be. She exchanges a glance with Hugh, who looks just as astonished as she does, but finally clears his throat and steps forward.

“I’m very grateful that he directed you to us”, he says, holding out his hand. “Miriam was worried about you all this time. I’m Hugh Townsend.”

“Ah.” Gregor’s face, wonderstruck before, immediately shutters. He stares at her husband’s outstretched hand without taking it. “You’re the boy who got my sister with child.”

Although it is Hugh who he says this to, who immediately pales and lets his hand drop, Miriam flinches back as if struck. This is what she feared all this time. He obviously disapproves, and obviously knows why she married. Maybe she’ll have to revise her gratitude towards John.

“You know about that?”, she asks, with some difficulty.

“That I have a niece now? Oh yes, I do.”

“I apologize for what happened”, Hugh says, exchanging another look with his wife, who returns it with sympathy. She has never seen her brother’s face that cold or filled with so much disdain. “But I’m sure my uncle told you that I didn’t leave her to fend for herself. She’s my wife now, and I love her.”

Gregor’s face turns even colder. “Marrying her in that situation was the least you could do.” Then, as if to show that he is done with the conversation, he turns away from Hugh, focusing entirely on his sister again. “I’m very glad to see that you’re well. Elissa wishes she could have come with me, but besides Roderick, we have a new little one now.”

Despite her sympathy for her husband, who looks crestfallen at her brother’s cold dismissal, she can’t help the happy gasp that escapes her. “You truly did move on with your life!”, she cries out and laughs. “Do I have another little nephew or a niece?”

“A niece”, he responds mildly. “Her name is Mira.”

Against her will, Miriam feels her eyes fill with tears. “You named her after me?”

“Of course we did.”

They stare at each other for a long moment, both lost for words. Of course he would want to remember her. When he was naming her little niece, he thought she was dead. And judging by how he is still staring at her, he likely hasn’t come to terms with the fact that she isn’t. She is happy to see him again, yes, but that must be nothing compared to what he is feeling.

She throws a surreptitious look at Hugh, who obviously doesn’t know what to do, and then smiles brightly at her brother. “It’s a shame I can’t meet my namesake, but why don’t we go up so you can meet our Hannah? I’m sure she would be delighted to meet her uncle.”

Thankfully, despite his obvious distaste for her marriage, Gregor immediately agrees, and she only asks Hugh to speak to his father and grandparents about her brother staying the night before she leads him upstairs.

Miriam can’t deny a certain pride when she scoops up her daughter, thankfully awake and quiet, and turns around to present the baby to her brother. There is much to be proud of with Hannah – she is such a happy, chubby baby, and sure to grow up well.

“Brother, meet my daughter, Hannah. Hannah, be very good now, this is your Uncle Gregor, who has come a very long way to see you.”

Gregor leans forward, his face softening as he meets Hannah’s huge grey eyes with his own. “She’s blonde”, he says softly.

“Apparently, that was the colour of my husband’s mother’s hair. One of his sisters shares it.”

Her brother nods, barely seeming to hear her, so riveted is he by the sight of the baby before him. He gently reaches out to touch one of her little hands, and makes a strangled sound when she grasps his finger. “She’s beautiful”, he says, and then, finally looking up: “I can’t believe you’re a mother now.”

“Neither can I”, she admits. “But I can’t honestly say I regret it.”

“I wish I had kept looking”, he says, still looking at little Hannah. “If I had only found you sooner, all this could have been avoided, and you would be home now.”

“I am home”, she replies gently and places Hannah down in her crib again. This seems like a conversation for which she shouldn’t have a small person in her arms. “I am happy here, Gregor. I truly am. The Townsends are good people, and I could hardly have found a better-situated husband.” Anyone wealthier wouldn’t have wanted a forester’s daughter for his wife.

Her brother is already shaking his head and grasping her hands. “You are too young to be a wife, Mira.”

“I’m sixteen”, she responds. “Women become wives and mothers younger than that.”

“I don’t have a dowry to pay your new family. Elissa and I have only just begun establishing ourselves here.”

“That doesn’t matter.” She presses his hands, even if they are already holding hers very tightly as it is. “Hugh married me without any promise that we would ever find you. They don’t need a dowry – which is yet further proof how fortunate I am in my marriage, might I add. They won’t pressure you to pay anything now.”

“I still wish I could take you home”, he says softly, and she can tell how much it anguishes him that after finally finding her, they are to be separated again within days at most. Maybe he’ll be able to visit from time to time, but likely not often. Truth be told, it makes her own heart ache; but she has made a family for herself, and much as it pains her that her brother wasn’t part of that transition as he should have been, there is nothing any of them can do about that now.

So she smiles at him and gently removes her hands from his. “I know. But I made a very good marriage, I have a lovely daughter, a husband who adores me, as you’ll see once you let go of that ridiculous resentment, and a very kind-hearted new family. The Watcher really must have guided my steps that day.”

She feels the truth of it at every word – even if she cannot fathom how right she is.  

Previous: 1348, Day 2, Part 3/7 <--> Next: 1348, Day 2, Part 5/7

[alintricsims]

The Townsends: 1325 edition!!

I wanted to make new sims for my ultimate decades challenge story, so I asked @townsenddecades if I could recreate her amazing sims in my game and she very kindly said yes!! My game is currently in 1325, so I recreated the Townsend family as they were in that year. If you want to read all about them (and I can't recommend it enough, it's a really well written story), head over to her blog!

Sim Names:

Benedict

Benjamin

Malika

Malcolm

Amye

Frank

Adeline

Cecily

[townsenddecades]

These are so cute!! Not gonna lie, I saw the first picture and my immediate reaction was "Oh my god it's Benedict!!"

I'm still very flattered that you wanted to recreate them, and think you did a fantastic job!

[townsenddecades]

1348 – Day 2 – Townsend Farm (1/2)

For Hugh and Miriam, the shine of having a new baby wears off just as quickly as Malika expected, carried away by night after night of being awoken by their baby daughter’s shrill cries for food or fresh swaddling or her mother’s arms. They expected it to be different when it’s one’s own baby, but that indulgence only lasts for a short while. One night, as Miriam is rocking her baby, bleary-eyed and sleep-deprived, she wonders how much longer she can do this without going mad.

She still adores her, of course, as does Hugh. But that does little to console her when she has to rise, bone tired, to quell her wailing. Sometimes Hugh tells her to stay abed while he goes to look after her, but generous as that is, if the baby is hungry, Miriam is the only one who can do anything about it.

And yet, despite being tired all the time, despite his sympathy for his wife, Hugh catches himself daydreaming about what it might be like for Hannah to have a little sibling. It would be a fine thing for her to have a playmate, and for him to have another child born of his and Miriam’s love. He wants to build a family with her, including a whole bunch of children, to share a bond like him and John or his sisters with each other.  

He brings this up when he and Miriam are talking on their bed once, stressing that they don’t need to try for another child immediately – while she has mostly recovered from Hannah’s birth, he is acutely aware of the toll her frequent pregnancies took on his mother. He doesn’t want that for his wife.

Surprisingly, Miriam doesn’t object at all to the idea of a bigger family – in time. For now, she is quite content with their one daughter.

In late June, another very important event takes place: Gemma, Hugh’s eldest sister, celebrates her thirteenth birthday. It is a little strange, that the oldest of his younger siblings is only now turning thirteen when he is already a father, but then again, Gemma is several years younger than him. His parents lost a child between their births, he believes, and it took their mother a while to conceive again.

As is customary at birthdays, Gemma blowing out her candles is accompanied by a whole lot of cheering. Malika prepared a honey cake with honey from their own beehives, and they sing songs and cry out well-wishes while Gemma ponders her wish. She herself is very solemn, accepting their jubilations and gifts with gratitude but without great emotion. For her, turning thirteen seems to be nothing so much as the sign that her childhood is behind her now. She even puts her hair up in a net, although, as an unmarried girl, she doesn’t have to.

“Well, I’m the eldest daughter of the house”, she says, when prompted. “I should show it.”

“You’re thirteen, Gemma”, her older brother responds drily, with a fond eyeroll meant to make her relax. Instead, she only huffs.

“I won’t be thirteen forever.”

It is rare that a child wishes to grow up faster than pressured to by their family, but Malika and Benjamin decide to let her be, especially because Malcolm – who is still her father – doesn’t seem bothered by his eldest daughter’s attempts at becoming more mature. But then again, Malcolm doesn’t seem to take an interest in anything these days. He does his work, doesn’t speak much to anyone unless spoken to, and even when he responds, it’s mostly short answers. It would worry his mother, but after being away at war, she doesn’t know how she could have expected anything different.

Regarding Gemma, her wanting to grow up isn’t necessarily a bad thing, and she doesn’t give any appearance of being interested in boys at all. Malika has every hope that she at least will wait for them to arrange a marriage for her.

Her birthday meal, in any case, is a pleasant enough affair, with a lot of bantering and joking and many compliments about the cake. Miriam regales the table by telling a funny story from her journey north, which makes even Malcolm smile and everyone else laugh. It is a pertinent reminder that however hard life may be sometimes, there are good times, too. John and Malcolm both survived, John is newly married and is starting a family of his own, Malcolm’s eldest son and daughter both survived into adolescence, his first grandchild is healthy…Truly, they have much to be thankful for.

Even knowing that there are tallage payments waiting for them in the coming year can’t sour that.

After their meal is done and the plates are cleared away, it’s back to work for most of them, including the birthday girl herself. Maybe she would have gotten away with staying indoors and doing some mending instead of toiling on the fields, but she doesn’t even try – as the eldest, she has taken to instructing her younger sisters, which she enjoys far too much to hide inside, even if she has to get her own hands – and her new dress – dirty for it.

Surprisingly, Miriam elects to join them, and laughs when asked whether she doesn’t want to stay near her daughter. “Have you heard how piercing her cries are? I’m not likely to miss them. Besides, Malika is perfectly capable of minding her for a while, and you‘ll be thankful that more hands make the work faster.”

Truthfully, Miriam doesn’t even do it for altruism’s sake – she simply missed feeling the soil between her fingers and talking softly to the plants as she weeds and waters them. But her young sisters-in-law are grateful, which is a pleasant side-effect. As much as she loves her daughter, she thinks that if she dedicated her entire day to her (which is impracticable anyway) she’d go mad.

And Malika is not just perfectly capable of watching her, she is delighted to. True, she’d prefer if Miriam helped her around the house instead of traipsing around the fields, but she adores her great-granddaughter and is only too glad to have some time to bond with her. “You look so much like your grandmother with that hair and those grey eyes”, she tells the baby once as she rocks her, “But with that stubbornness, you honestly are far more like your mother. I wonder who you’ll grow up to be. But you don’t know that yourself, do you?”

Baby Hannah only stares up at her with wide grey eyes and babbles something incoherent, which makes Malika smile. She’ll get there eventually, she is confident of that much.

And then there’s Hugh and Malcolm, sharing the workroom, which is still somewhat strange for Hugh, even months after his father’s return. Malcolm is so quiet these days, and although the scraping and clanging of his tools is hard to miss, there are times when Hugh looks up from painting and is surprised to see his father, at once strange and familiar, there.

Maybe it is something to do with how different things were when his father left. He was still a boy then, and his mother was still alive. Now she is dead, and he has a wife and daughter of his own. He couldn’t bear to tell anyone about these silly, useless thoughts, but after all that happened, he doesn’t know how to interact with his father anymore. Their relationship was difficult even before, but now…

He tries to dismiss those thoughts whenever they arise. There is nothing to be done anyway, other than getting used to his father being back. They don’t even have a problem with each other– whenever they need to discuss something, they do so, and other than that, they stay out of each other’s way. It works.

As it happens, Malcolm isn’t completely removed from his family, much as he prefers to be alone. But he isn’t insensible to his children’s needs, and after much cajoling, Margaret and Effie, his two younger daughters, even convince him to play a game of dominoes with them.

It isn’t much, but to the girls, it is a start.

Previous: 1348, Day 2, Part 2/7 <--> Next: 1348, Day 2, Part 4/7

[townsenddecades]

From 'The Black Death in England' by Kathryn Warner. The Middle Ages were a wild place.

And the worst thing is, 'heir/esses being married off extremely young to avoid abduction' is probably something I'll use for my own writing.

[townsenddecades]

1348 – Day 2 – Abbey of St. Wright

The Honourable Matthew Penrith, son of the earl of Windermere, only notices how late the hour has gotten when the fading daylight makes the cramped handwriting of the tome he is studying nearly indecipherable. He peeks outside then, takes note of the low-hanging sun, and winces. He didn’t meant to spend that much time here. But somehow, the historical treatise the librarian recommended completely engrossed him. It seems that he is capable of some scholarly effort after all.

His back and shoulders twinge when he gets up, so he takes a moment to stretch, orienting himself. He must have spent hours in that hunched position. He wonders that the monks haven’t come here in quest of the book yet, but maybe they simply trust him not to abscond with it. He is the son of an earl, after all, and a man of honour.

And as a man of honour should, he searches for the librarian, who thanks him unconcernedly when he hands him the tome back, and then steps out into the courtyard to return to the stables. His father is surely already expecting him, back at the inn. They aren’t meant to linger here for more than a day.

He has to shield his eyes at first when he opens the door to the walled-in yard, surprised that the sunlight is still brighter than he thought, but then swiftly walks towards the front of the building, where the stables are located. He still needs to have Thunder saddled, after all, and has quite a ride ahead of him if he wants to get back to the village in time.

He is busy calculating how long the ride will take him and if he’ll be late for supper when he opens the door, only to be stopped in his tracks by the sight of his palfrey eating a carrot out of the hand of the loveliest girl he has ever seen. And she hardly seems to notice him.

For a moment, all Matthew can do is to stand there and stare at the girl as she raises a hand to stroke the horse’s head, mumbling softly at him as she does. It is obvious that she has been at this for a while, judging by how comfortable Thunder looks with her. Not that anyone can blame him; she has a pleasant, full voice, and the sweetest face Matthew has ever seen, with huge dark eyes that are, at this very moment, twinkling playfully.

It takes him a few moments to shake himself from the spell this lovely scene has him under. He clears his throat. “I see you met my horse.”

She turns towards him then, without surprise, but with a smile on her full lips. Matthew has the distinct impression that she did hear him leave the abbey; she simply chose not to pay him any mind. “I have. And you have a very fine fellow here, sir.”

“Yes, Thunder is a…very friendly horse”, he says slowly, as he watches the girl continue to stroke his horse, bold as anything. At his words, her smile widens.

“Thunder”, she repeats. “A good name for such a strong fellow.”

“And now that you know my horse’s name”, Matthew says drily, “might I learn yours?”

She turns to him fully then, and dips down into a graceful curtsy. “My name is Marcella Ellesmere, kind sir. I live here with my mother, the Lady Ellesmere.”

He gives a short bow in return. “I am Matthew Penrith, son of the earl of Windermere. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

That, finally, makes those sparkling brown eyes widen, and Matthew finds himself oddly pleased to have rattled her gay nonchalance somewhat. Not that he doesn’t find it charming – it is, very much so – but as the son of a peer, he enjoys having people be a little in awe of him. Although, if her mother truly is a lady, it might explain her unconcern.

“Are you and your mother guests here?”, he asks, by way of conversation – a stupid question, really. Her mother isn’t likely to be a holy sister, or else she would have referred to her as such. But Mistress Ellesmere, once again completely calm, weighs her head for a moment before nodding.

“Of a sort. We came here after my father died a few years ago. Mother felt safer here.”

“Was he a knight?”

He is not surprised when she confirms this. The wife of a lord would likely have dower lands or a son to live with, unless she was very unfortunate. But he nevertheless eyes the girl with interest. The daughter of a – likely rather poor – knight is hardly on equal standing with the son of an earl, but she is no simple peasant, either. And she is bolder than most of the girls of his acquaintance.

“Do you like horses?”, he asks, gesturing towards ever-patient Thunder. “You two seemed rather friendly just now, for two creatures who have just met.”

Once again, he is rewarded with that sparkling of her eyes and a dazzling smile which does odd things to his stomach. “I adore them”, she confides in him, turning towards Thunder to stroke his mane. “We used to have a horse, but mother sold him after we came here. I know it broke her heart, as Ferrier was a gift from my father, but…” She sighs. “Mother said we had no use for him here, and that he would be better off elsewhere. She is probably right, but I miss riding.”

The image of her atop a horse, just as daring as she appears now in conversation, enters his head, and he cannot help himself anymore – he feels drawn to her like he never has to anyone before. He steps forward, reaching for her hand. “I can understand that”, he says, doing his best to smile conspiratorially. “A girl as lovely as you shouldn’t be hidden away here. I could take you for a ride, if you want.”

What he didn’t expect was for her to immediately snatch her hand away and step back, eyes blazing, hands raised as if to ward him off. “Do you take me for a common woman, sir?”, she challenges him. “I am not so naïve as all that.”

Matthew is quite put out by her harsh reaction at first, but when he revisits his words in his mind, it at once becomes clear how she must have interpreted them. And even in the most generous possible interpretation – that he simply wanted to ride out with her so she can taste some freedom – it wouldn’t be proper for an unmarried girl like her to be out alone with a man.

“My apologies, Mistress Ellesmere”, he says formally. “I meant no insult to you. I was simply so moved by your tale that I wanted to give you an opportunity to enjoy the riding you so miss, but I should have thought better of it.”

She studies him for a moment, holding his gaze, and then nods. “Do not fret, sir, you simply startled me. If the sisters here were to find me in a…compromising position, as it were, they would be very cross with me.” She looks around then, to see if there is anyone about to overhear, and then leans forward to whisper: “I believe none of them have ever had any fun in their lives, with how strict they are. It drives even my mother up the wall!”

Matthew can’t help but laugh quietly, more about how beautifully crooked her grin is than about the words itself.

“Then I wouldn’t dream of infringing upon their sense of propriety”, he says solemnly. “I fear my family and I are only passing through, but it may be that we come this way again. Would you mind terribly if I called on you if that were the case? I promise to bring Thunder with me.”

He is rewarded by another twinkling of her eyes. “I would be most delighted, sir.”

Previous: 1348, Day 2, Part 1/7 <--> Next: 1348, Day 2, Part 3/7

[townsenddecades]

To bring some joy into my story posts moving towards the Black Death: I commissioned the wonderful @artist-ellen to draw a younger, more historical version of Benjamin and Malika and look how beautiful it turned out!

[townsenddecades]

1348 – Day 2 – Neville Chapel

In early July, Geneviève Chevalier weds Geoffrey Stirling, son of the Praaven merchant Tobias Stirling, Catherine de Bellefaye’s older brother.

It is not a brilliant match for the daughter of a knight or the niece of an earl, but what she won’t have in status, she’ll at least have in wealth, or so Jehanne comforts herself as she watches the ceremony in their small home chapel. Without her father there to arrange it, it had been up to her husband to see to Geneviève’s future, and he chose young Geoffrey for her. In a way, Jehanne understands him – unwed, Geneviève was his responsibility, and a burden on his purse. Of course he wanted to see her settled. She herself would have liked to keep her sister with her a while longer, but as her sister’s guardian, the decision was Percival’s alone.  

At least her sister seems happy enough, as much as Geneviève ever does. She has been erratic ever since their brother’s accident, nervous and easily started, and prone to saying aloud whatever thought enters her head. This behaviour has only worsened after their mother’s death. But she seems to like young Geoffrey, and perhaps, with how frail her nerves are, it is better to wed her to a merchant’s son. Jehanne doubts that she would be able to bear managing a large household or her husband’s lands.

Still, it is bittersweet, to watch the last of her sisters be married off. Marguerite is gone, Marie across the sea, and Geneviève will be near Praaven, too far away to see her often. With her husband busy and only Robbie and the maids to keep her company, she can already tell that she will be lonely here on the estate.

But such is life. With luck, there will soon be more children to brighten her days.

It is strange, to be back in her childhood home. Geneviève hasn’t set foot on its grounds since she and her mother went to live with Jehanne; even when they went to Praaven for the funeral, she preferred not to go home. She didn’t think she would be able to bear the memories, especially with the river so close by.

She even tries not to look at it as she and her new husband approach their home a few days after their wedding. His family lives in Praaven, where they, too, will reside for a good portion of the year, but his father decided that it would be beneficial for them to have their own home as well, so her uncle offered it as part of her dowry.

In truth, Geneviève doesn’t know how to feel about that. They are so near the river here – what if some other tragedy occurs? It might be safer behind Praaven’s walls. But then again, walls didn’t save Marguerite or her little girl.

Still, she can’t help but flinch at the sight of the water, and quickly walks inside once she alights from her horse. It may not be city walls, but she’ll still feel far better with the walled courtyard’s gates and the house’s door shut behind her. In that moment, she promises herself that whatever children she may bear, they will not leave their safety without supervision. Nothing like what happened to her brother will ever befall them.

While she walks inside as briskly as she can, her husband takes his time, looking around with obvious approval. “I like this place”, he says, once he has entered the main room, taken stock of the kitchen and peered into the bedroom. “I think we will do well here.”

“I’m glad you like it”, she responds, rubbing her wrist. She is uncertain what to do now. She always lived with her parents and siblings here, never alone with a husband. She likes Geoffrey, but she hardly knows him.

He studies her with earnest dark eyes. “It must bring up memories, to be back here”, he concludes, frank as always. Some people might call it impolite, but Geneviève honestly finds it refreshing. Life is too short for pretensions and guessing-games.

She nods and looks around again. “I keep expecting to see my family walk in”, she admits. Perhaps she shouldn’t, but her husband deserves to know where he stands, doesn’t he?

Unexpectedly, his lips quirk into a smile. “I understand. Perhaps we need to make new memories here, then.”

Before she can react, she feels his hands on her sides, drawing giggles from her as she tries to squirm away from them. “What are you doing?”, she gasps, breathless, while he continues his attack relentlessly.

“Making new memories”, he responds with a smile as if they haven’t just been talking about her dead family. For a moment, she almost feels insulted, but that soon drowns in another flurry of giggles. And then, while she is still breathless, he suddenly dives in and kisses her.

It isn’t the first kiss they share, but it catches her completely by surprise, so much so that she stiffens as he wraps his arms tightly around her shoulders and presses his mouth to hers. Noticing her unresponsiveness, he draws back, brow knitted in…she cannot tell if it is confusion or remorse. For a moment, she can only stare at him. Everything happened so quickly that she doesn’t know what to think.

“That was too forward, wasn’t it?”, Geoffrey says finally, remorse winning out. “I’m sorry, I thought…”

This time, it is her that doesn’t let him finish. As swiftly as he kissed her before, she grasps his hands, pulls him towards her, and presses her mouth to his. Unlike her, he responds immediately, eagerly pressing her to him and ravishing her lips as he slowly but surely guides her backwards towards the bedroom.

Geneviève should mind, she really should, but in truth, enjoying the heat of his kisses and caresses is far easier than thinking about anything else in that moment.

Previous: 1348, Day 1, Part 6/6 <--> Next: 1348, Day 2, Part 2/7

[townsenddecades]

1348 – Day 1 – Italy, Croatia, and Spain

(TW: brief discussion of antisemitism)

In January 1348, the plague that has been sweeping along the coast of the Mediterranean reaches the mighty city of Venice, where two months later, the authorities try to upkeep public order by appointing a council of noblemen to evaluate and deal with the situation. And they do – they order that incoming ships be searched and set to the torch if bodies are found aboard, have taverns closed and the sale of wine outlawed. There are other measures as well – punishments for civil servants that fail to do their work, bans on mourning clothes, a release of prisoners, and restrictions on funerary rites. It doesn’t save them. Around 60% of Venice’s inhabitants die, and are carried off to their last resting places by barge.

Also in January, the plague reaches Pisa (via galleys from already-affected Romania), from whence it swiftly spreads inland towards Florence, Venetian-controlled Ragusa (today: Dubrovnik), and, crucially, the papal seat of Avignon.

In Avignon, as elsewhere, the cemeteries are not large enough to accommodate the sudden influx of dead, which has the survivors take another resort to rid themselves of the bodies – the river Rhône. They also try to keep the pestilence at bay by lighting fires and driving strangers away from their gates, amidst a host of other more or less helpful measures. Sadly, one of those measures – and Avignon is not at all the only place to do this – is blaming the calamity on Jews. The medieval Christian mind, always wary of those who are different, swiftly concocts a tale that the entire plague is due to a poisoning of wells by Jews meaning to take over the world. I am certain I do not need to explain en detail what happens after that. Even Pope Clement himself speaks out against the persecutions that follow, pointing out that Jews were as affected by the plague as anyone else. It does not stop the atrocities that are committed nearly everywhere in Europe.

Pope Clement leaves Avignon in May, after donating a new cemetery, speaking a mass absolution and allowing the use of autopsies to try to discover the real reason for the plague. It is estimated that about half of Avignon’s population dies in the plague.

In March, the plague sweeps into Florence, despite their attempts to ward it off after seeing it affect its neighbouring towns. After several natural and financial disasters (courtesy to Edward III of England not re-paying his debts), the city is already weakened, which perhaps explains why the chaos of the plague gives rise to a band of grave-diggers called becchini that terrorize the town by extorting its citizens. Rather cold-hearted civil servants of the city also use the situation to steal hundred of thousands of florins out of the legacies and estates of the dead.

In the same month, the plague reaches Barcelona, where 15,000 people die, as well as Valencia.

Previous: 1348, Day 1, Part 5/6 <--> Next: 1348, Day 2, Part 1/7

WATCHER’S COMMENTARY:

I do not plan to go into detail on (or depict!) the antisemitism that was rampant during the Great Mortality, but it was bad. Bad bad. So it felt wrong not to mention it.

[townsenddecades]

1348 – Day 1 – Glennborough Hall

After the loss of Nicolas’ and Eibhlín’s youngest son in childbirth, the manor is quiet for a while, once again in mourning. It seems a cruel fate, to lose two children so soon after each other. But life has to go on.

There is much work to do, for Nicolas and Joseph especially. Their plants are growing, but slowly, and likely won’t be mature enough to harvest before summer arrives. Maybe, if they make sure that they have enough water, they’ll be able to prevent them from wilting in the heat, but they’re not at all sure. It’s disappointing, but if he were quite honest, Nicolas would have to admit he’s glad of the distraction. Long days out on the fields mean he doesn’t have to look at his son’s crib and think of the boys he lost.

Eibhlín doesn’t have such a luxury. Oh, she certainly has work enough to keep her hands busy, but she is also the one caring for their two remaining children, Moira, now four, and Simon, who is two. Looking at them invariably reminds her of her losses, even after they stop asking about their brothers.

She knows it’s silly to be this emotional about the matter. Children die all the time. She certainly watched her good-mother lose enough of them. But somehow, the fact that such losses are commonplace doesn’t make them any easier to bear for her.

No, what helps is her good-mother’s quiet support. Mariora doesn’t expect her to be her usual self, but she offers quiet advice, and more than once they pray together for their lost children. It’s comforting, to know that she is not alone in this. She also tries to take joy in how healthy and happy Moira and Simon are. They’re the only children on the farm now, other than Alice, and thankfully thick as thieves. Where one goes, the other usually follows. It’s not much, but it’s one of the little things that make these dark months brighter for Eibhlín.

As for Alice, she often finds herself alone these days. The adults, even her mother, are far too busy to bother much about her. True, she does sit with Eibhlín sometimes as she does her mending or sewing, but her good-sister is so uncharacteristically sad that Alice always feels too awkward to stay long.

Her two favourite activities nowadays are caring for the horses and devising strategies for chess matches. Maybe, if she’s lucky, her brothers will have time to play with her again at some point.

Real change only comes when one day in the middle of February, Lord Goth arrives in a rush. He has become frailer in recent years – at fifty-five, he is not a young man anymore – but in that moment, he appears almost like the man of forty Mariora met oh so many years ago. Especially when as a greeting, he takes her into his arms and kisses her soundly.

“My lord, whatever happened?”, she asks, breathless and utterly dumbfounded, when he finally lets her go.

“My wife is dead.”

“…What?”

He looks at her gravely. “My wife is dead”, he repeats. “I received the missive only a few hours ago. She passed away at her sister’s estate, where she has been all this time.” Something flickers across his face for a moment, not quite amusement, but close. “I believe Lady Darling would have preferred not to inform me, but apparently, she felt it was necessary.”

As he says this, Mariora can still only stare at him, unable to think of anything to say. Lady Goth’s continued vitality has been the only thing keeping them from marrying for years, or so her lord always said. “What does that mean?”, she finally makes herself ask.

They have had their arrangement for…oh, fourteen or fifteen years now, to be sure. Long enough that even to the townsfolk of Glennborough, it has become an accepted part of life. But as far as her lord is concerned, she is still simply a woman he raised from squalid circumstances. Would he really want to make her his wife?

Instead of answering immediately, Lord Goth looks around. They are currently alone, but the household is constantly moving around, and once she realizes that her father has come to visit, it likely won’t take long for Alice to arrive. Apparently coming to the same conclusion, her lord takes her hand. “How about we discuss this in your room?”

In response, Mariora simply nods, and allows him to lead her upstairs, her heart racing all the while.

“You know that when I originally proposed this…arrangement to you”, Lord Goth begins, when they are alone upstairs, “I said that it was my hope that since the Irish lords let their bastards inherit as they do their legitimate children, it would be that way for our children also, if it came to that. Now, with my son Mortimer having two sons of his own already and a new young wife, I don’t know that that will be necessary. But if we were to marry, it might still allow me to have our son Filimor and young Alice legitimized.”

“Do you think that would be possible?”

“Possible? Certainly. It’s been done before. The challenge will be convincing His Majesty. But you can leave that to me.” He sneaks a hand around her waist and pulls her close. “I’d also like for you to be provided for after I’m gone. As my widow, you’d have dower lands.”

 Mariora looks up at him, truly studying this man that has been her lover for the past decade and a half. He looks so much older than he did when they started, but for once, there is no lordly distance in her eyes, but complete earnestness. He is offering her safety, even more than rank. For her, and for their children.

She feels her lips quirk into a smile. “How soon could our wedding be arranged?”

“Not immediately, I’m afraid.” He sighs. “I’d like to get this all underway as soon as I can, but estranged or not, Lady Goth was still my wife. I should wait for at least a few months before I enter upon a new marriage. But before the year is out, I promise.”

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