Views were divided on this benison.

‘The tithe should be collected,’ said some. ‘It is the King’s due and if the gatherers come and there’s nothing prepared, then the penalty could be harsh.’

This could not be denied and was a cause of much furrowing of brows amongst those advocating this course. Others, less cautious, thought differently.

‘The King’s got no need for our small offering, else the gatherers would have been around fast enough,’ they declared. ‘And in any case, we haven’t had a tithe master in living memory. How are we supposed to know what’s due? We can’t prepare for collection what we don’t know about, can we?’

This was a telling point and invariably provoked much sage nodding, even amongst their opponents.

‘Nevertheless…’ came the final rebuttal, uttered with great significance but never completed. It needed no completion. The penalties for non-payment of the tithe were indeed severe, and not something to be risked lightly, especially as the tithe, calculated by whatever method, was not particularly onerous.

The debate had reached the status now of being an annual ritual, and so too had the conclusion. On the due date, Dalmas Eve, the estimated tithe would be ceremo-niously prepared in the tithe barn for collection by the King’s gatherers and the barn officially sealed by the senior village elder.

Although many matters relating to the tithe were contended amongst the villagers, all, both ignorant and knowledgeable, knew for certain that the gatherers having failed to appear on Dalmas Day or Dalmas Morrow meant that the King had munificently returned the tithe to his loyal subjects.

Thus, three days into Dalmastide, no gatherers hav-ing appeared, the seals would be solemnly broken and the barn opened.