In the great manor house of Alresford, Hants, one spring day 797 years ago, a gentle-hearted lady lay sick unto death. Outside her chamber windows yeomen's ploughs bit deep into her rich husband's acres, preparing them for the crops that would make him even richer by summer's end. But all Lady Tichborne could think of were the poor villagers in Alresford with little or no land or wheat of their own.
As she had many times before, once again Lady Tichborne begged her husband to give them some of his land. The Master of Tichborne gazed coldly at his bedridden lady. "Very...
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