The Ballad of LLewellynn
By Robert Rowen
Text Copyright © 2012 by Robert Rowen
All rights reserved
To Mary for all your support, encouragement, love and faith that made doing this possible
Britain, 473 AD
The great room was quiet at last. A once blazing fire dwindled to embers in a hearth large enough that two men could lay head to toe within it. Servants bustled back and forth between the great room and the kitchen to clear away the evening’s feast. They carried off the platters that had been laden with meats and cheeses, breads and vegetables, and threw the scraps to the dogs.
The lady of the house wore a fine gown of light blue cotton, cinched at the waist with a dark blue sash and gathered at the shoulder with a silver brooch. She called out to an empty handed worker. “You there! If you’ve nothing to do, take a broom to this floor.” As the girl in a frock made of brown home spun wool did as she was told, her mistress turned her attention to the manse’s main doorway. The heavy oak door had been barred properly after the departure of the last of their guest. All was secure.