Drums beat in the village as traveling merchants from throughout the south of Angleland came to set up their booths and show their wares. Drums answered from a distance as the royal party came closer. The king was coming.
My friends came to my house early to wash their hair and don freshly washed frocks. They braided flowers into their hair. Grandmother was glad of heart and sang little songs as they made ready.
I did the chores slowly. I scrubbed and polished the pots as if it were the only important work in the world. While making the beds, I stopped to smell the scent of Grandmother on the quilt. I dusted the dear rocker and swept the familiar floor. I touched the life I had known and, as I now understood it, the life I loved. This I felt in my heart: tomorrow I would not be what I was today.
We all lined the streets to wait for the king and his entourage. At last, as morning became noon, the king rode into the village while heralds blew their horns and were answered by flutes.
The king came first, and at his right was the royal messenger, Duke Morland, who had told us of the king’s intentions. At the king’s other side was Lord Temsland. The astonishment upon his face was equal to the fury on the face of the duke. Mixed with the duke’s anger was envy—it now appeared that when he and his cohorts had persuaded the king to banish Temsland to this corner of the kingdom, they had inadvertently rewarded him. The sun shone on the bay and the cottages dotted the hillside like flowers, and even the forest looked benign in the golden sunshine.
And then the bell began to ring and our hearts rose to see Lord Temsland’ s joy as he passed a hand over his eyes. John Temsland and his mother rode to greet the party and then joined it. As they passed us, John leaned over to hand me a red rose. The girls around me tittered and offered me quick curtseys when I looked at them. Truly I was safe, just as Beatrice had said. I smiled at the girls and smelled my rose.
We all cheered and showered the royal party with flower petals. The horses’ hooves made a merry sound upon the new cobblestone road.
The lords who had come to gloat looked everywhere in dismay. Their countenances soured as they gazed upon our whitewashed cottages and the flowers that decorated every doorstep and pathway and gaily painted window box. They scowled at our cobblestone road and square, and stared morosely at our new pier and the gleaming bell in the church tower. They would not look into the faces of the people, so like flowers themselves in their bright clothes.
Tailor’s children were brightest and prettiest of all.
The king and queen, on the other hand, beamed at our reception. Village girls walked before them, swirling long ribbons above their heads, and boys beat upon little tambourines. The king and his party slowed down when they came to the row of booths set up for the fair. Merchants bowed low as the king and queen passed.
Once they had passed they filed to the church, and Parson Tom welcomed them and all of us who had followed to the stairs of the chapel. Lord Temsland gave a speech.
“It is good to be home!” he announced with great good cheer. “If only I could tell you how very good it is to be home,” he said, winking at us.
And then he became more sober. “And home it is indeed, I have learned. I have learned something else—that my son is ready to take on many of the responsibilities of a manored lord, and may well perform them better than I.”
At this, the people laughed and clapped, and John blushed to be praised. Lord Temsland, too, flushed at the enthusiasm of everyone’s agreement.
He continued, “I have learned that by opening the coffers, one obtains other treasures, and that...” He paused and looked about him. “Well, enough of speeches. Surely it is time for the fair to begin!”
This time the cheering was deafening.
Parson Tom raised his hand. “God bless this fair,” he pronounced then. “Let the fair begin.”
Someone began to play a pipe, and a few sang together.
I heard the king talking to Lord Temsland as a friend talks with another.
“Tomorrow we will hunt the great hart,” Lord Temsland said to the king. “He has evaded me for many years now, and has grown into a noble animal. He is as intelligent as he is large, helping other deer escape from traps, leading them to our haystacks when it was bitterly cold last winter. My arrows have not been able to find him, but surely yours will, Your Majesty.”
The king smiled and looked with longing toward the forest. “There is nothing I like more than a challenging hunt,” he said.
John and I exchanged a look.
“The hart cannot be caught, Father,” John said. “He is enchanted, perhaps. It would be better if we sought out a more likely target.”
The king frowned. “No beast escapes my arrow, once my heart is in it,” he said.
“Of course not!” Lord Temsland said, and then they both laughed, and the king put his hand on Lord Temsland s shoulder.
I watched Parson Tom slump in his chair and promptly go to sleep. His goiter was larger than usual. One day soon he would sleep and not awake, his goiter having sucked the life out of him.
But I did not want to see such things today. I wanted the noise and music and laughter of the fair, and so I took Grandmother’s hand and plunged into the middle of it.
The morning began with a boulder pull. Everyone predicted that it would be Simon Langley or Barnaby Buttercross who would pull the boulder the farthest. Hadn’t they won, one of them, every year for seven years? But weren’t we all surprised when Stephen Little won the day. He lived in the rockiest part of the parish and had become good at taking rocks out of his poor soil. Lord Temsland was so pleased at the turn of events that he promised Stephen the right to clear another half-acre of forestland that bordered his portion.
When the boulder pull was ended, everyone went to see the booths of vegetables and goods. There were cabbages and rhubarb, corn, leeks and cucumbers, beans and garlic, and white meats of milk and cheeses. There were gooseberries and rye and wheat breads, baked and warm, golden butters in fancy molds, and bunches of picked flowers tied with ribbon. Martha Hornsby sold her famous jams and syrups, and Lord Temsland gave her a great gold coin for one bottle. This made her cry, for all her life she had longed to have a real gold coin to bite of an evening.
A number of youths entered the eating contest, and a great crowd gathered round and bet on who would be able to eat the most currant buns. Jeremy Smith ate until he was sick. Richard Walters had to stop at twenty, and then spent the better part of an hour lying on the village lawn, moaning. Michael Red ate thirty-three buns and stopped, saying that it was a lucky number and that it was the first time in his life he had been full. Michael’s wife was very proud of him and wove his first-place blue ribbon into her hair.
The young lads were stoic when they all lost in archery to Barty Lumberjon. They knew he wouldn’t let them forget his victory until next year’s fair, but freedom from enforced humility came when Adam Wiltweather beat Barty in the arm-wrestling competition. Adam was a quiet lad who would let others win at times and declare he had done his best.
I walked Grandmother around the booths. We touched woolens and silks, tasted strange foods, smelled exotic spices. We saw a man juggle fiery torches, then raw eggs. Grandmother clapped with happiness to see a man who could tie himself into a knot. The villagers proudly showed their calves and bulls and their lambs and ewes and their turkeys and roosters and hogs. Children showed their prize rabbits and donkeys. Grandmother and I laughed and clapped, and I marveled to think it possible that I might be lady over all my people.
Then came the judging of fruits and vegetables. Ben Marshall won, of course, for melons and pumpkins and cabbages and turnips and leeks. The other fruit and vegetable ribbons were shared, one per person, and there was some debate over whether the winners’ produce was truly better than Ben Marshall’s. Biddy Sodwell’s strawberries were bigger, but weren’t Ben’s sweeter? Sam Baxter’s lettuces were larger, but weren’t Ben’s greener and crisper? Still, Ben was happy, and announced over raised mugs that he would marry Best Cook that very night while still in the glow of his triumph.