This was the third such summer the people of Selby had enjoyed and they made the most of it. For with every year of peace, the likelihood of war closing in upon their fruitful fields and orchards in the next year became greater, and the fear of it also. On some nights, distant lights would burn along the northern horizon, or the western. During some days smoke would rise, like faraway clouds. The people of Selby would stare off into the distances and await messengers. Over the second long summer no messengers arrived. The town built its walls thicker and taller, and cared less what color neckerchief a man wore than how honestly he dealt in his trade and how lightly he danced on the square after market days, and how straight he could stand after an afternoon in one of the Inns, and how fair his daughters were. The people of Selby cared more for Selby than for any victories among the heirs. On market days, after the companionship of the morning’s labor of loading a wagon and selling the wagonload of salt, after the companionship of beer and bread, Oriel and Griff and their master walked home through darkening air in a different companionship.
