Seth Osborne sulked off, still scratching feverishly. His sharp, dirty fingernails tearing at his flesh, drawing blood. He headed towards the garden area where the young upstart Pip 'Digger' Harris was grafting. 'Rate you're going, you'll be on the other side of the land.' Seth mocked, trying to justify the cruel jokes from the farmers. 'As long as me lungs are full of God's air, the sun is shining and those dam swine don't piss on me radishes, I'm going to dig till me last breath.' The older man felt a sense of pride at the young lad's toil. Digger had transformed almost the whole area behind the long line of ramshackled, timber-framed buildings, from a wasteland to a Garden of Eden. Planting fruit trees in neat rows and keeping a small array of animals and beehives on the long stretches of land, it took up most of his days. 'They say good old King Henry III has granted the town a charter for a weekly market, every Monday, and with the annual fairs on the twenty-fourth and twenty-fifth of July.' Digger spoke with beaming enthusiasm, 'The lords of this town said I can sell me goods there, and keep twenty per cent of the profits. You may laugh old man…,' (Seth was too busy scratching to take notice) 'but I'm moving up and onwards…. next »