Most of Sir Walter’s domain was fertile valley, dense forest or barren moorland, but there was an area of marsh whose usefulness was not yet clear.  A swampy shallow strip was thick with osiers from the blown catkins of the pollard willows; reeds grew thick as wheat and higher than a man’s head—­if any man could have walked on the black oozy quagmire; and as Roger had said, the water-fowl, secure from dogs or bowmen, were nested in that wet paradise by scores.  There was a heronry among the trees on the edge of it, but otherwise the marsh was not used save as a storehouse for the basket-makers.  They made paniers, hampers, mews or wicker cages in which the hunting birds were kept when moulting, and even small boats from the osiers and reeds.  But the greater part of the swamp was impassable to a boat and too insecure for foot-travel.  In very rainy weather any one looking down upon it from a height could see that there was a sort of islet in the middle, but no one could have reached it with a boat unless in flood-time; and in very dry weather, when some of the ridges lay uncovered, the water-channels became thick black mud.

Nothing in all this, however, gave serious cause for uneasiness.  A natural preserve for game-birds was a good thing to have.  Forty or fifty varieties of water-fowl were found on Norman tables at one time or another.  The objection to that marsh was that it was too convenient a refuge for runaways.

The serfs upon the land were not slaves, in the sense of being bought and sold like cattle.  They belonged with the land.  A nobleman who became owner of an estate took over with it the right to the obedience and service of its people.  When he had a proper sense of his own obligations there was very little trouble, as a rule.  If the shock-haired peasants toiled and sweated over the building of a castle, their own thatched cottages were so much the safer from invading enemies.  If they paid rent in grain, cattle and fowls they shared in the feasting and gayety on any great occasion.  The castle, with its large household and numerous guests, was a market for the neighborhood.  It gave the people a chance of winning a better living than the stubborn soil alone would yield.  Children growing up knew that if a boy could ride or fight or do any sort of work especially well, his lord would have use for him; if a girl could spin, weave, sew or had a knack with poultry, her lady would have a place for her.  The country folk hereabouts had grown proud of belonging to the Giffard lands.

There were exceptions.  One was Tammuz at the Ford.  He and his black-a-vised kinfolk had little to do with the villagers, and the village had even less to do with them.  It was said that they occasionally helped themselves to a sucking-pig, a fowl, or other produce, and if punishment was attempted, were none too good to burn ricks and maim cattle.  It was said also that they had a hiding place in the swamp.

If the marsh became a den of runaway serfs it would not be well for the peace of the neighborhood.  Sir Walter Giffard’s patience was growing short.  He thought of draining the marsh if possible, when the reeds could be burned and the land reclaimed.