Gawain's sudden question caught Norris off guard. He had been bracing himself for reprimand but instead found himself faced with something entirely unexpected. Should he admit the truth? Or would that confession break some unknown law?
After a moment's hesitation, Norris decided to be honest. After all, several people knew he could read and write. If the lord found out the truth from someone else, that would certainly mean trouble.
"Yes… my lord," Norris answered, clutching the buttons on his worn shirt in a nervous gesture. "I learned… reading and writing."
Gawain raised an eyebrow, confirming his earlier suspicion. Norris hadn't actually written anything yet, only drawn lines on the paper. But just by the way he held the pen, Gawain could tell a lot. In a world where nearly everyone was illiterate, he had seen firsthand how those who couldn't read grasped a pen or awkwardly made lines on paper. Norris's grip, however, was remarkably precise.
Even Hety appeared surprised; she, too, seemed unaware of Norris's literacy.
"Don't worry. Knowing how to write doesn't break any laws, and teaching others isn't a crime either," Gawain said gently, realizing he might have startled the old farmer. "Who taught you?"
With the lord's reassurance, Norris looked slightly more at ease. He rubbed his hands together, offering a somewhat bashful smile. "It may sound silly, my lord… but I was almost set to join the church myself, to serve as a priest to the Harvest Goddess. I learned my letters there."
A farmer's son, nearly becoming a priest? Gawain's interest piqued, and with some prompting, Norris's story unfolded.
Indeed, Norris was born to a family of farmers, freefolk who had tilled the soil on Cecil land for generations. Despite owning a few meager acres, they barely made ends meet, like most common folk of the time. His life was set to be like theirs—a life bound to the fields, with little interaction with priests or the church beyond occasional prayers or sermons.
However, when he was eight years old, a visiting priest of the Harvest Goddess, journeying from the Holy Spirit Plain, arrived in their village.
For farmers, a visit from a priest of the Harvest Trinity was an exceptional and fortunate event. The villagers quickly gathered offerings and, following tradition, sent elders and several children to present them to the priest, hoping for blessings upon their crops. The priest looked at young Norris and declared, "This child is blessed with the Goddess's favor; he is destined to be close to the land."
Because of this one comment, Norris's parents nearly sold everything they owned to support his journey. The village elders pitched in as well, and after securing a travel permit from the knight at the manor, they managed to send Norris to the Earth Mother Church in Tanzan Town as an "apprentice servant." Although each goddess of the Harvest Trinity had her own order, their bond was strong. The main temple of the Earth Mother usually honored both the Harvest and Spring Goddesses as well.
Young novices trained together until their "spiritual aptitude" determined their final path. With no Harvest Church nearby, the Earth Mother Church was Norris's family's only option. Norris studied in the temple for five years before being assessed by higher-ranking priests. The verdict? "This apprentice lacks the spiritual affinity required for the Harvest Trinity."
To this day, Norris remembered the day the church's letter arrived, bearing this single line. The villagers had initially celebrated—they couldn't read, after all. The messenger who delivered the letter had also been drunk and had not explained its content. The truth came out only when Norris returned home with his belongings.
Norris recounted his story in a calm voice, his weathered face betraying no emotion, as if the events were far removed from him. "The years after that were tough. We had debts to pay, and the house was empty. My father didn't survive that winter. But life goes on. We had debts to repay."
His mother took him, along with his younger siblings, to the Cecil manor, back when Lady Rebecca's father was the baron. They pleaded for help, and in his kindness, the baron forgave their taxes, loaned them seeds, and even provided half a sack of grain. With that, and a fortunate crop of wild greens that year, they barely made it through.
"After that, I focused on farming, doing odd jobs wherever I could. I worked as hard as two or three men, and since I could read and write, I'd help the villagers tally weights when traders came through. I could trade that service for a loaf or two. Eventually, we paid off our debts, including the loaned seeds and grain."
Norris lifted his head with a hint of pride. "The year my mother passed, we were able to afford a meal with meat."
When his story ended, Gawain was left in silent thought. Hety, moved, pressed a hand to her chest. "I… I never knew things were so difficult here on the estate. We've tried to provide aid…"
"Charity doesn't change things fundamentally. And these struggles happen every day. It's just hard to see from a manor," Gawain said, shaking his head. Then he turned back to Norris, intrigued. "I noticed the gesture you made earlier. You still have faith in the Harvest Goddess?"
"Of course," Norris replied, his weathered face creasing with conviction. "She watches over all the fields, and the harvest is life or death for families like ours. Which farmer wouldn't believe in the Harvest Goddess?"
Gawain looked at him intently. "Even after all you suffered because of your faith?"
Norris fell silent, then lowered his head. "My lord, that was my fate. Why would I blame the gods for it? Besides, I learned a few things. I can read, though reading doesn't mean much for people like us."
"Literacy is far from useless," Gawain replied seriously, his tone firm. "Norris, you must have a good hand at farming?"
Pride returned to Norris's voice. "My lord, I won't claim to know much else, but farming—well, I know my craft. Otherwise, we wouldn't have made it through those hard times."
Gawain nodded. "You're literate, can do sums, and even had some formal education. That means you understand the new rules Lady Hety read out to everyone, and you grasp the logbooks we're using to track work and yields, right? If I asked you to fill out those logs and manage the fields, could you do it?"
For the first time, Norris hesitated. "My lord… Are you saying you want me to be… an overseer?"
Since Gawain had introduced a system that required measuring and recording labor, the days of illiterate overseers with whips were over. Gawain had relied on household guards and even Hety herself to keep things in order. Now, Norris naturally assumed Gawain might be offering him this role.
"No, not just an overseer. If you prove capable, I'd like you to manage all aspects of clearing and preparing the fields and, later, the entire food production process," Gawain said. "Of course, I won't grant you full authority overnight, and you'll need to consult with Hety. She'll also evaluate your work and guide you."
Norris's expression shifted. "My lord… I'm not sure I understand. Are you making me your steward? But a steward oversees more than just farming…"
"Consider it a new role. Let's call it… 'Agricultural Supervisor' for now. But you should know it's different from other noble titles—it's not hereditary. Unless your children show real aptitude, this isn't something you can pass down, nor is it a lifelong guarantee. If you misuse it or break the Cecil laws, you'll lose it and face consequences. Many new positions in these lands will be the same. Do you understand?"
If Gawain hadn't listed all the limitations, Norris might have hesitated to accept such a sudden "stroke of luck." But Gawain's warnings made him think more deeply, lending the offer an air of realism.
A typical peasant might not have reasoned through it as Norris did, but thanks to his education—nearly at the cost of his life—Norris had learned "logic."
After a thoughtful silence, the graying farmer looked up with resolution. "My lord, if you trust me… I'll take care of every field and every grain that grows on your land."