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“But you know you should. Mead is big now. Even if you don’t manufacture the stuff, you could do demonstration into how it’s made.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Hal says. “Experience holidays are all the rage.” He talks a bit more about this, but I can hear the slight edge in his voice. This is it; he will now have to ask Grandad about the land, and he isn’t looking forward to it. His own tension has somehow seeped into me because I am anxious for the conversation to go well.
Once, the plates are cleared and I bring out the cake, Hal meets my eye and I give him a small nod. It’s our signal and he reaches into his bag under his chair and pulls out a folder but keeps it on his lap.
“You know, Grandad, Hal has made a detailed map of all the beehives and rare bushes down Catcher Hill.” We unfold the A3 diagram and show him. “You see most of them are on the east side, which is Low Catch’s Gardens.” All the protected plant areas are shaded green.
Gabriel, on Grandad’s other side, leans closer to look at the paper. “How will that affect your landscaping? You are going to have people renting soon and they might disturb the hives.”
Hal gives him a grateful look; Gabriel must have guessed where this is going and is giving us the opening we need.
“Hal’s offered to ring-fence all the protected areas.” I explain pointing at the relevant parts on the diagram. “Basically, he will give theses pockets of land to you so no one will touch them. That’s about five acres.”
“Four-point-nine acres to be exact.” Hal says easily. God, the man is so scrupulous, he’s determined not to be seen as a cheat.
“So, in return, we can give him equal pockets of land on our side, here.” I slide my fingertip over the diagram where it’s shaded in grey.
Grandad says nothing. His eyes seem to be on the map but his expression is blank giving nothing away. I don’t know what else to say.
“If we do this exchange,” Hal says. “It will mean redrawing the boundaries of what is your land and what is ours. So, it’s important that you are happy.”
It seems once we’ve started this discussion, Hal has screwed his courage and takes over the explanation. He is calm, his manner is pleasant, but he also speaks clearly and respectfully to my grandfather. He shows him all the other paperwork. “Of course, you might need to take time to study these and show them to your lawyer and ask—”
“Not how we do things on La Canette.” Grandad finally speaks interrupting Hal.
There’s a tiny moment of silence
“He means lawyers,” Pierre says. “But maybe ask the seigneur, he’s a lawyer. And while you’re at it, Elodie you can ask him about support for your plans.”
“The drink of heroes.” Grandad pipes up, making me wince inwardly. He must be getting tired.
Hal, more papers in hand, sits back saying nothing. My mind works fast trying to find a way to bring him back to the discussion.
The doctor said not to correct him, so I just ask, “Why heroes?” If I let him answer, I can find a way to circle the talk back.
“The Anglo Saxons called it that. Had poems about it.” He sounds perfectly sure of himself, it’s me who’s lost at sea with this unexpected jumble of words.
“Poems about what?”
“Mead.”
Oh, no. He does that sometimes; his mind will bounce back to something in an earlier conversation. I think when Pierre mentioned support for my plans, he must have thought about new products for the shop. I wonder if he’s been thinking about this off and on all day.
Grandad is silent for a minute, but he looks like he’s reviewing something before saying it. And then he starts a chant.
I will adore the Ruler, chief of every place,
Him, that made every gift, from the foaming mead-horns,
The choicest pure liquor,
Which the bees collect, and do not enjoy.
Pierre has her phone in her hand checking something, and there’s a bit of a gleam in her eyes.
He continues and his voice is surprisingly sonorous:
I will implore the Ruler, sovereign of the country of peace,
