Where the Path Leads-Chapter 12
Two Feasts, Two Men
- By MARY DRAKE –
In the previous chapter, Emily and the other laborers are given a day off from their work to attend a feast at the castle in celebration of May Day.
After the Maypole dance everyone spread out to find a place at the trestle tables since the food was being brought out. Before anyone could partake, however, a small round man in white brocade who wore an elaborately jeweled gold medallion shaped like the sun and a crescent moon, stood to speak. Everyone was quiet and all heads bowed as he lit a tall white candle, tossed some fresh herbs onto the dais as he walked around, intoning strange words and making gestures with his pale pudgy hands. Emily looked around, unsure what was happening. At the high table where the man droned on was Simon Poyntz who was glaring at her. She quickly looked away. Then the man in white brocade spoke about their duty to the Higher Power, represented here on Earth by the illustrious and courageous Baron Longsword who was away fighting to keep them all safe from invaders.
The feast finally began after the portly, bejeweled man sat down, but she soon realized there were two feasts going on, the ordinary one, and the spectacular one. Laborers, villagers, and servants got what she’d come to expect–stew with vegetables, although this had the welcome addition of an unfamiliar kind of meat, and she was thrilled to also have some thick brown bread. The spectacular feast for the ruling folk involved a continuing procession of servants carrying out elaborate-ay decorated dishes–a whole lamb, head and all, arranged on a platter as if it were lying quietly, its legs tucked under it, on a bed of green leaves. A pheasant with its colorful tail feathers spread. Rounds of cheese encircled with some of the violets and daisies they had picked that morning; fresh loaves of rosemary bread still steaming from the oven–they made her mouth water just from the smell; even a cake in the shape of a spring fairy, colored blue, pink, and yellow, with sparkling crystalline glaze on her wings. Rosamond exclaimed over the dessert as it was set before her, and Godwin leaned in to say something that made her blush delicately. A servant took a dainty slice off its wing and handed it to her and she turned, laughing, to place it in Godwin’s mouth.
Beside her, Will laughed too as Cyril joked about someone who made off with a fair maid into the greenwood, thinking it all done on the sly, only later to discover ground pine stuck to his backside, giving him away. Emily didn’t know whether the story was true, but she laughed along with the others. Will offered her more mead from the pitcher, but she shook her head, already feel-ing slightly dizzy. For the laboring folk, the feast was special because it meant they could have as much to eat as they wanted and they had all day off from work. No one seemed to mind or to question the inequalities.
Will played a dice game with Cyril and Isaac, only the dice were small stones. She didn’t understand how it worked, but they each held small stones in their hands and periodically threw them down, in between trading twigs, as if they were betting. She wondered if it was something like poker and what the winner would get–all the twigs? Thea was still eating the stew, picking out the pieces of meat for herself and feeding the vegetables to both of Will’s young sisters as if they were her babies, patting their cheeks, wiping their faces. At the end of the table, the women were all gossiping, except for Sophia who conversing softly with Jonah. Emily shook her head. What was going on with them?
Just then, at the head table, Arthur rose and invited the laborers to have a turn at the May-pole. His announcement was followed by much moving around and excitement. Maria appeared behind Will, grabbing his arm and asking him to be her partner. He smiled apologetically at her as he rose, then impulsively grabbed her hand too and dragged her up front with them, towards the Maypole. Before they could dance, the castle servants had their chance. They mimicked the actions of their masters, only their garb wasn’t so fine–cotton instead of satin and brocade, fewer ribbons for the women, simpler tunics for the men, without gold trim. Simon Poyntz was there, dancing with a pretty young woman in white, but his gaze kept straying back to Lady Rosamond at the raised table. Finally, laborers and villagers were allowed a turn, young girls hurrying for a May-pole ribbon. Will pulled her forward, placing a ribbon in her hand.
“But I don’t know what to do,” she said.
“You’ll catch on.”
A sweet alto voice began singing a madrigal, other voices joining in as a round, as they were accompanied by the lute.
Rose, rose, rose, rose,
Will I ever see thee red?
Aye, marry, that I will,
If thou but stay, rose.
She followed the young woman in front of her, skipping when she skipped, turning when she turned. With the breeze soft on her face, the sun warm on her shoulders, she couldn’t help but smile at the sheer pleasure of the day, the dancing, the slow movement in rhythm to the music. Then a boy took her hand, a younger boy from the village. Will was behind her with Maria. They circled as couples, around and back again, when someone called out and on the next beat the girls stopped and the boys all moved ahead one place.
Suddenly Will was holding her hand; he squeezed it and smiled. Returning his smile she flushed with pleasure as they moved together, thinking less about the steps and more about how warm his hand was in hers, what lively brown eyes he had, and how her steps felt lighter as she danced beside him. When she looked at him again, she was sure his returning glance had was filled with more than just friendship. The girls all stopped to twirl and the boys circled around them. He was everywhere she looked. Clapping came from the watching crowd; laughter surrounded her. Then came the call again, and again partners changed. She felt a pang as he moved forward but she still enjoyed the rest of the dance. When the music stopped, Maria reclaimed Will and led him off to a game of blind man’s bluff, a village boy already blindfolded and thrashing around amid yells of delight.
This was far better than the Renaissance Faire. Had she imagined something between them?
Looking around uncertainly, she glimpsed Simon Poyntz on the fringe of a group of ruling folk gathered around an archery competition. He saw her too, and she quickly turned away, pre-tending to watch some young children lining up for a foot race. Of all the May Day games, however, the archery competition drew the largest crowd of onlookers; they gathered around two straw targets mounted on tripods. It had caught her attention because Arthur was there, but then so was Brutus Morantur, Godwin of Wessex, and the dark haired young man she would later learn was Arthur’s older brother, Edmund, and many of the Longsword knights. After the competition had started, she slipped into the crowd, standing far behind the Baroness and Rosamond. Brutus and Arthur were squaring off to compete. Pulling back his bow, Brutus paused to take aim, momentarily revealing his powerful muscles. Both men let their arrows fly, the Seneschal’s striking dead center, Arthur’s close, but missing the mark. The crowd murmured, Brutus smiling broadly at the Baroness. Chagrined, Arthur looked up and saw Emily. She was sorry he had lost, but she once again felt the fluttery feeling in her stomach that she’d felt when she first saw him at the water meadow.
“A little wide, my lord,” said the Seneschal.
“My brother always did prefer admiring the stag to shooting him,” Edmund said sardonically, stepping forward to take Arthur’s place against the winner.
Emily moved on to where a juggler was busily throwing cloth balls into the air. Musicians were playing while the young boy with the sweet alto voice sang a ballad about Robin Hood to a group of boys sitting on the ground, listening with rapt attention. He sang of the hero robbing the king’s thanes and outwitting the king’s knights sent to capture him. The boys all cheered, some jumping up to begin mock sword fights with sticks.
Not sure what to do next, Emily went to relax under a shady tree where she could watch everything, and after a few minutes felt a wet nose nudge her arm. Big Ben towered beside her, looking even more enormous than the day she’d first met him in the castle courtyard and he had frightened her so badly. His big black jowls hung down on either side of his mouth and his dark eyes were almost hidden by the loose folds of skin. But he wasn’t growling now, just sniffing her, his tail slowly swishing. Tentatively, she reached up and stroked the huge head. To her amazement, he lay down in the shade beside her.
In the company of her new-found friend, Emily spent the afternoon listening to the musicians as the sunlight slid down the castle walls, leaving the game field and feasting tables in shade. She heard raucous cheering still coming from the archery competition where Brutus Morantur was being roundly thumped on the back, Simon grabbing his arm and holding it up in the air. Revelers gradually began wandering away, often in pairs, heading towards the castle bridge, to the Mill road, and towards Blackwood forest.
It had been a pleasant day but she thought it probably was time to head back to the cottage. Rising, looking around for Sophia, she wasn’t aware of someone walking up behind her until she heard his deep voice, full of sarcasm.
“I expect a day off from the water meadow will give you renewed strength to work even harder tomorrow.”
She spun around to face Simon Poyntz, who looked at her with his pale blue eyes that seemed to have nothing behind them, as if they were empty, devoid of life or feelings, yet he cut a sharp figure in his dazzlingly white tunic trimmed in gold around the neck and wrists and tied about his waist with a crimson and gold sash. As he spoke, he reached down to flick a speck of dirt from the white hose that extended down into his calfskin boots.
Darn! She had avoided him all day, until now.
Involuntarily, her hands clenched and her heart started pounding. There was so much she wanted to say to this arrogant man, but his next comment took her totally off guard.
“The Northern peoples who invade our land are godless, perhaps you are as well, since I notice you don’t bow your head during oracion.”
Was he referring to when they worshipped the Higher Power and the round man had been chanting and strewing herbs? Should she tell him that she had no experience with religion? But the response she gave him was more philosophical. “Praying seems like a very personal thing to me. Up to the individual.”
His light blue eyes, the washed-out color of the sky on a hot summer’s day, widened. “Is that what they taught you during your supposed education? Because you couldn’t have read that godless heresy in any sacred text.”
Everything around them had fallen away as they faced one another.
She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. “Look, I know we got off to a bad start,” she said, “but I really don’t want to argue with you. I don’t have to work for you anymore. . . ,” she began, and was going to say . . .because I won’t be around after today, but suddenly Sophia was beside her.
“She doesn’t have to work for you, but she willingly chooses to, since you represent Baron Longsword, and we owe our allegiance to him. Isn’t that true, Emilia?” Sophia was gently linking their arms.
“I’m glad to see that at least one of you remembers where your duty lies, Mistress Weaver.”
“My niece does as well, Master Poyntz. She can hardly forget what she owes, when she works every day to pay her debt.”
The Bailiff was still murdering her with his gaze. “Your charge, mistress, seems to think she’s as intelligent as her masters. And her ideas about prayer are certainly dangerous. Monseignor St. George would be appalled at such heresy.”
Self consciously, she realized the vehemence of his remarks had attracted the attention of those around them. Suddenly, everything was deadly quiet.
“Sir, I assure you, we are as faithful as our ruling lords.”
Emily wondered how Sophia remained so unruffled. When she looked at her friend to see if she was being ironic, she stared incredulously. Where a few moments before had stood a simple woman clad in gray homespun now stood a graceful figure dressed in emerald green and gold, her salt and pepper hair elaborately braided with ribbons and a circlet of gold on her head. Her face, too, seemed radiant. Was she dreaming? Or was this Sophia’s nobility shining through? The jewel in the rough that had been radiantly polished.
“It’s well known that women have no need of education,” Simon continued, to them and his audience around them, “that they should listen in silence to those above them.” He seemed not to notice Sophia’s change, as he lifted his chin and smoothed his blond curls. “After all, it was first man who learned the art of growing seeds. First woman, however, was just instructed to prepare the food grown from those seeds, and since then women have followed the lead of men. They are meant to listen and learn.”
“It is indeed wise to listen and think before one speaks, sir. Both men and women could profit from that advice.”
But Simon seemed deaf to any voice but his own. He eyed the high table where that vision of loveliness, Rosamond, had finally risen from the feast and was daintily washing her small white hands as one servant held a bowl under them and another carefully poured a stream of herb-scented water over them. Momentarily entranced by this simple function, Simon returned his attention to them with even greater distaste.
“See that you treat your betters with more respect, impudent wench. And you, Mis-tress Weaver, would do well to watch you own behavior, since you have no husband to instruct you.” With that, he left abruptly, heading for the high table.
The man was outrageous, Emily fumed. Why did no one ever challenge him? Even Sophia, a wise woman, was subservient to him, although her nobility of character had revealed itself. Emily turned to the older woman, wanting to ask about her splendid garments, but once again Sophia wore her simple grey tunic. What glamour had made her appear so richly clad? Was it the same power that enabled her to maintain her equanimity in the face of insult?
As quickly as Sophia had risen to Emily’s defense, she relaxed, taking back her arm and looking around the castle grounds.
“My dear,” she said quietly, “perhaps you wouldn’t mind making your own way back to the cottage tonight?”
Emily sensed it was a rhetorical question, that she was telling her rather than wait-ing for an answer. Sophia searched the grounds for Jonah, and when she located him, a softness descended over her eyes, a half smile playing on her lips. Jonah had been talking to someone else, but he met Sophia’s gaze with an answering look, as if their thoughts were in perfect agreement.
Emily knew what that look meant; she’d seen couples at school mooning over one another, and she it finally dawned on her what was happening. Bewildered, she decided that the important thing was to escape before Simon had second thoughts and returned to harass her more. She would ask Sophia about her change of clothing later.
“Well, yes, I guess I can do that,” she said reluctantly, “but when are you coming back?”
Jonah was now by Sophia’s side, lacing his arm around her waist and gently moving her away.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be home by first light,” Sophia called back over her shoulder.
“First light?” Emily croaked. The thought of spending the entire night alone in the cottage, probably her last night, suddenly frightened her. There were often strange sounds in the night–hooting, baying, mysterious rustlings in the woods. Sometimes they were far away, but other times, very close.
“What about wild animals?”
Sophia was almost at the bridge that crossed the Castle stream which somehow seemed like a point of no return, after which she would irretrievably lose her friend. “Wait,” she cried.
“All will be well, Emilia,” Sophia called back, the breeze loosening tendrils of her hair. “Blessed be.”
Her first impulse was to run after them, but that would be too embarrassing. Shadows were lengthening as the feast ended. Will and Thea were nowhere in sight. Her shoulders sagging, Emily set off on the high road. It was more open; she didn’t want to take the low road and risk looking like a lost pup, following Sophia and Jonah. Strange how Sophia was mooning around like a love-sick teenager. What had she said that morning? About spring being the time of new life, of choosing a mate? She wondered if courtship was the same for adults as it was for teens. Did Sophia feel the same fluttering excitement in her stomach that Emily felt whenever she saw Arthur? Was that even love? Or just infatuation?
She was so lost in thought that she didn’t notice him following until long after the feasting tables, the banners and the Maypole were out of sight. Then she heard a crunching, wheeled abruptly, and was relieved to see it was only Big Ben trotting a short way behind her.
“What’re you doing here, boy?” she said in mock severity, unable to resist stroking the massive head when he came near. “You’re going to get me in trouble,” but she couldn’t help smiling. The dog belonged to Arthur, so it felt like a link to him, plus she was glad of the company, pleased that the dog who had once growled so fiercely at her now liked her. Big Ben gazed at her with his dark soulful eyes from under the folds of his forehead as she pulled a piece of brown bread out of her pocket. She had been saving it for dinner but now she broke off some and gave it to the dog, letting him eat it while she considered what to do.
Finally she shrugged. Surely he’d go back on his own at some point. She wanted to get back to the cottage before dark, so she turned to take the road across the south field that led towards the bridge and road by the Seneschal’s manor house.
When hoofbeats sounded behind her, the only thing she could think of was the Bailiff, and she panicked for few moments looking around for a place hide, but the wheat fields on either side of the road offered no shelter. The thought of meeting him out here by herself filled her with dread until she saw it was Arthur on his handsome dappled gray.
“Oh, it’s just you,” she said, sighing with relief.
“That’s an unusual greeting, but then you are an unusual woman.”
She laughed; she had been called worse. Still, it seemed strange to be considered a woman when she was only thirteen.
“Do you find me amusing?” he asked in mock offense. “First you take my dog, then you laugh at me. You’re fortunate I’m tolerant.”
This time she only smiled, aware that he probably wasn’t completely joking.
He scowled slightly, as if trying to look serious, but his kind, blue-grey eyes betrayed him.
“I’m not taking him,” Emily said. “He’s taken up with me. I guess he decided he likes me after all.”
“Some say animals see the true nature of people,” Arthur said, dismounting to walk beside her, leading the big grey by the reins.
She considered that. So “dumb” animals weren’t really “dumb”? She wondered, if animals could see what people were really like, why couldn’t people do that with each other?
“You know,” he said gently, “normally you would stop when I approach you, answer when I speak, and generally follow my lead. Because you don’t do that, it makes you unusual, and Simon, in particular, finds it offensive.”
“He’s not “tolerant,” like you.”
“No,” he agreed. “It’s wiser not to offend him.”
To her chagrin, the hierarchies that existed here all placed her at the bottom. He must have witnessed the confrontation between her and Simon.
“Too late,” she said, flippantly.
“I’m not saying I mind how you act.” He added hastily. “Your behavior is just different.” When she remained quiet, he changed the subject. “Do you like dogs?”
She gave him a sidelong look. “When I first came to the castle, Ben growled at me and I was terrified. I haven’t been around them much.”
“Don’t you have any where you come from?”
“Oh, they’re around. I just don’t have one personally.”
“We don’t often see strangers around here, that’s why he growled. Mostly, he’s very gentle.”
“I can tell, now that I’ve gotten to know him.” She wondered, again, if it was the same with people. “Somehow, I can’t imagine Simon Poyntz ever being nice, even if I got to know him.”
“Simon’s got a hard job,” said Arthur, “enforcing the laws. Not everyone complies willingly.”
She was tempted to say that he was unnecessarily harsh in his enforcement, but it probably wouldn’t do any good. They had reached the bridge by the manor house and Arthur stopped.
He faced her and asked jokingly, “May I have my hunting dog back?”
“Of course, my lord,” she joked back, giving a curtsey. “I would never presume to take him.” Arthur?” She said, as he turned to leave.
He had one foot in the stirrup and, when he was mounted, looked down at her, his eye-brows raised. “You are ever full of surprises, Emilia, calling me by my given name.”
She brushed the thought that he had just used hers. “I just wanted to say how much I like your dog, and also,” she hesitated, “. . . ask if I could ride your horse some time.”
He shook his head in disbelief. “Albion’s good with strangers,” he stroked the horse’s muscular neck, “but it’s not usually done, you know, the servant riding the master’s horse. Are you a good rider?”
“I’ve never ridden before.”
Again he looked disbelieving. “Then why. . . ?”
“. . . because I’ve always dreamed of riding,” she interrupted, “but if you don’t want me to, then . . . ,” her voice trailed off.
Albion shifted impatiently and in the growing shadows she could no longer see Arthur’s face clearly, but his voice was gentle.
“I will let you ride him sometime, Emilia Weaver, but good-bye for now,” and he whistled to Big Ben, who dutifully followed after him.
She watched them go, cherishing his promise.
