Space for seven Darcys was readily made and platters of steaming food plopped down by smiling servants before the introductions were complete. The merriment continued unabated and such was the tumult that no one noticed the missing Michael.
Michael Darcy, thirteen, mischievous, and curious, had slipped away to investigate the activity taking place on the far side of the room in a darkened corner.
Resting on a crude wooden table was a shallow, wide-mouthed bowl filled to the brim with brandy, almonds, and large raisins. The brandy was ignited, the eerie blue flames flickering and dancing over the surface of the amber liquid as the raisins glistened and swelled and the almonds sizzled. Brave lads approached the fiery bowl while the girls observed with tense excitement. Their faces illuminated dramatically as they rapidly reached into the bowl and snatched a burning raisin. Quickness was the key. One must grab the fruit and pop it into the mouth to instantly extinguish the flame. Fingers had to be licked clean as well or the brandy would continue to burn. But for a split second the strange blue fire engulfed the fingertips, highlighting eyes that were wide and sparkling devilishly, the boys’ faces demonic in the play of shadow and flame.
The awed onlookers cheered and clapped. After the first daring trio snatched their plump, hot raisins without major mishap, several others stepped forward. Their eyes glittered and waves of bluish light swept over their cheekbones as they searched for a gap in the flames. Someone in the growing crowd of spectators began a song that was rapidly taken up by alclass="underline"
Michael did not hesitate for a second, stepping boldly up to the fiery bowl and unerringly plucking an almond from the middle. He watched the capering flames lick over his fingers for a span of heartbeats before extinguishing behind his lips, chewing the crispy nut with delight. Two girls inched toward the bowl and Michael wasn’t the least bit surprised to note that one was Noella. She glanced to her brother, her grin and dark eyes fey in the lambent light, and proceeded to shoot both hands into the flames, grabbing not one but two raisins from the bowl! She made sure he saw her catch, only then popping them into her mouth. The barest tightening at the corners of her eyes was the only indication that the hot fruit scorched her palate.
Michael threw back his head and laughed. Contending with his sister was second nature, and he would gladly suffer stinging burns to prove he was braver and tougher than she, but secretly he knew that the main reason he so enjoyed taunting Noella was because of her fearlessness.
The game was on! Snapdragon competition raged for a good while. Fresh batches of fruit and nuts were added as more people, young and old, entered into the contest. Alexander was content to retrieve an almond once, just enough to prevent ceaseless jibs of “coward” from his younger siblings, before moving on to more sedate entertainments. Lizzy flatly refused to allow Nathaniel to play, earning his deep displeasure for the remainder of the evening.
At an appointed hour, all activity and music stopped and everyone in the hall was called to order by Mr. Haversmith. His deep bass reached each ear, his speech of welcome and praise to God for Christ’s birth delivered in practiced oratorical tones until the end, whereupon he turned to Darcy with a devilish twinkle in his eye. “And now if those Cambridge alumni among us will pardon the boasting, we here on Haversmith lands yearly uphold a tradition this Oxford man holds dear to his heart.”
He paused, inclining his head humbly in Darcy’s direction. Darcy laughed out loud and lifted his tankard of ale as a salute. “Carry on, Mr. Haversmith. We Cambridge men can appreciate traditions, even those with dubious origins.”
“Thank you, Mr. Darcy. However, all who walk the hallowed halls of Queen’s College in Oxford know the legend to be true.” And abruptly his voice dipped into a dramatic timbre with a perfected storyteller fluency that would rival Dr. George Darcy at his best. “It is a well-known fact that in 1341, an Oxford student walked through the forest of Shotover on his way to Christmas mass, innocently reading Aristotle as he strolled, until”—his voice rose on the last word, a smattering of gasps heard in the spellbound crowd—“suddenly he was viciously attacked by a wild boar! The slathering beast bore down upon the hapless youth, all snarling maw and sharp tusks designed to maim and kill. The unarmed man was doomed. Then, inspiration struck! With outstanding presence of mind he slammed the huge, metal bound tome shut and rammed philosophy into the open mouth of the advancing animal. He held on tight, pushing with all his might, bravely ignoring the wrenching strain to his arms, until the book was securely lodged. Then he leapt away as the raving monster thrashed about, tearing apart bushes, gouging the turf, and knocking over trees as he choked to his death. It was a fair kill. The courageous cadet shared his bounty in a Yuletide feast with the boar’s head dressed and displayed in honor. It is this event commemorated yearly to this day at my alma mater.”
And he bowed, hand lying against his heart. Applause burst forth, Darcy shouting “Bravo!” as loudly as the rest.
“In honor of that resourceful Oxford student and the subsequent tradition, or, if you wish, in remembrance of our Anglo-Saxon ancestry with their Norse rituals in sacrificing a boar to Freyr for blessings in the coming year, or perhaps Saint Stephen whose feast day centers on the mightiest of men slaying the savage boar, this year I give you”—he swept his hand toward the front entrance and lifted his voice to a booming roar—“the head of the boar felled by my son!”
A blast of trumpets heralded the procession of four servants carrying an enormous, ornately designed silver platter upon which rested a massive rosemary and bay garnished boar’s head with a gleaming red apple stuck in its mouth. Mr. Haversmith’s eldest son stood, his expression proud as he gazed upon the soused head, initiating the boar’s head carol in a clearly heard chant:
On the heels of the boar-toting servants came a roisterous troupe of mummers costumed elaborately, as everything from animals to medieval characters and from royalty to peasants. They pranced about, banging hand-held drums and clashing cymbals, and pantomiming comically until the platters were safely placed and the food served. Then, once silence reigned, they acted their allegorical play for the enraptured audience. Always in rhyming verse, sometimes serious and ofttimes humorous, they spun a unique offering of the standard theme of triumph over death and the battle between good and evil.