In and out of the great gateway rough carts were rattling every moment, full of apples and wheat from the farmhouses round.
A row of patient oxen were stabled in a pen, hastily knocked up with beams of fir, in one corner of the bailey. In the field by the castle side, the swine shrieked horribly as a serf killed them relentlessly, and in the kitchens the women boiled, dried, and salted before glowing wood fires.
Long before dawn, scouts on swift horses had been posting along the Norwich road, and messages had been sent to all the villeins proper to fulfil their pledge of service.
Tongues wagged unceasing.
"Come ye here, cripples, and give a hand to this beam."
"Have you gotten your money safe, minter? The bastard son a letcheth after coined monies."
"Aye, and after more things than coined monies. Gundruda, beauty, Roger hath a fat Turkman privy to him, and going always in his train. He will marry you to the black man!"
"By the rood, then, I'd as soon wed him as you!"
"Roger taketh with him always a crucet hûs, my son."