Medieval Romantic Legends

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “Now that’s a little more like it,” said the man with a smile. “But I thought the guilds had to stick together in price. So how is it you can sell it to me for so much less than I’ve already been offered by the guild merchants?”

  “I’m not in the guild,” she said. “Not anymore. So I can set my own price.”

  “I don’t know.” He squinted his eyes and looked back to the wharf to where the dockmen were now shouting and waving their hands at Isaac, telling him to leave. “It doesn’t seem like you’re wanted here. And I know as well as anyone that there is no trading on Sunday afternoons, or after sunset. If I start trading with non-guild members who break the rules, word will get out and I might not be able to sell or trade my wares next time I come to port. If no one wants to trade with me –”, he shrugged his shoulders, “I’ll be broke same as you. But I’ll tell you what. I’ll take the silk only – but for two shillings for the whole bolt, and not a farthing more.”

  “Nay!” she shouted, holding onto the silk protectively. She could get more than what he was offering if she walked all the way to Canterbury and sold it on the road to other pedlars along the way. “I won’t do it.”

  “Then we have no deal,” he growled. He turned and headed up the boarding plank and she might have considered following him and making one last attempt if she hadn’t heard Isaac calling to her from the shore.

  “Muriel, come quickly! They’re going to confiscate our wares.”

  “God’s eyes, no!” She shoved the silk back into her travel bag, and looked back to the man who still had her spindle of wool. She needed to get it back. It was her favorite spindle her father had made for her. She’d been using it for demonstration purposes only – to show him the spun wool. She’d never intended on selling it. Besides, he wasn’t buying – he was stealing it from her.

  Her brother shouted for her again, and she knew she had to go to him right away. With her mother long gone, and now her father deceased as well, she was his protector. Isaac was her only family and she would never let anything happen to him. She picked up her skirts and ran down the pier to try to help him as well as save what little she had left in life right now.

  Nicholas Vaughn, Lord of New Romney and Baron of the Cinque Ports, looked up from his conversation with the other barons as he caught sight of a woman on the docks. He knew she wasn’t a whore by the way she was dressed. She was much too covered up, having a mantle wrapped tightly around her, made of brown wool instead of the crimson color worn by whores. Her hair was pulled up and tucked under a linen coif that she had tied behind her head, and she had a travel bag slung over her shoulder with a bolt of cloth sticking out the top. This could only mean one thing. Trouble. Aye, trouble was brewing like a storm over the sea and he had to keep his eye on this one.

  “Romney, what distracts you?” asked Baron John Montague from the Hastings Port, using Nicholas’s port as his name as was proper. John was the eldest of the three friends, and also had the biggest castle. He thought highly of himself, and while he was quick to strike with a sword, he was as slow as a turtle when the subject of remarrying came up since the death of his wife.

  The Confederation of the Cinque Ports consisted of five major ports – Dover, Hastings, New Romney, Sandwich, and Hythe. Established over a hundred years ago, it was created by William the Conqueror. Its purpose was to supply ships in defense of the coastline as well as in times of war overseas for the king. Merchant and fishing ships were used, and the ports were required to supply 57 ships, each with a crew of 21 men and a boy, for 15 days a year in service to the king as he saw fit. In return, the barons and portsmen were granted privileges, among them being the exemption of certain taxes as well as governing their own town and holding their own court.

  “Something caught my eye, and it’s not a fish,” said Nicholas.

  “Nice looking bait,” added Baron Conlin de Braose from Sandwich with a nod of his dark head. Conlin was by far the best looking of the three of them, and with the most muscles, and he knew it. He was also a lodestone when it came to women being attracted to him instantly. It was a skill that Nicholas wished he possessed at times. “So are you going to let her hook you?”

  “Hold your tongue,” Nicholas told him, bringing his attention back to their conversation. “Whoever she is, she is not a whore nor a noble, so I have no interest in her whatsoever. And you know as well as I that a woman on the docks all alone and at this time of day, can only mean trouble.”

  “Trouble you say?” John was suddenly interested, always the first to want to step in when needed. He craned his neck and focused his bright blue eyes the color of the sea to look down the wharf at the girl.

  “My lords, your ships are ready to set sail,” said the Tidesman, bowing in front of the three barons.

  “Thank you,” said Nicholas, having had plans to sail to Hastings next, since the three of them were taking the time to inspect each others’ ports as well as do a bit of trading amongst them. “However, there is a storm approaching, so we’ll wait til first light rather than take the chance of hitting the storm head on.”

  “Aye, I don’t fancy having my ship torn to pieces if we hit a cliff,” added John looking very upset all of a sudden. Any talk of bad weather always seemed to rattle his nerves.

  “Me neither,” said Conlin. “There is naught so important that it can’t wait til the morrow. One more night drinking ale and sharing a few laughs with good friends sounds fine to me. Let’s go back to the manor house before it rains.”

  The two barons turned to go, but Nicholas once again glanced over his shoulder at the girl. He heard his Collector of Customs and his Tide Waiter telling her she was to be fined, and she was arguing with them as if she had the right to.

  “Go ahead, I’ll meet you at the manor house. I have a matter to attend to first.” He strode quickly over the wooden walkway as thunder boomed overhead. The wind picked up, whipping his long cloak behind him. It had just started to rain when he approached them.

  “Baron Romney,” said the Collector of Customs, nodding in a half bow. “We were just removing this woman and boy from the docks.”

  “Were you,” he answered, seeing that they were not in control of the situation at all.

  The wind blew the coif loose from the girl’s head. She caught it before it hit the ground, her cape opening in the process. Her golden hair came loose, blowing like a maelstrom around her. She was a small wench, the top of her head not even reaching his chin. Her hair was like spun cornsilk, and hung down to her waist – as was the customary length of hair for women of the time. She wore a sleeveless amber colored kirtle laced down the front and belted high on her waist that was long, all the way to the ground. It wasn’t the coarse, brown material, or canvas worn by the peasants. She also had what looked like a fine spun white, long sleeved chemise she wore underneath it. This told him she must be from the middle class instead. Probably a merchant, by the looks of the travel bag on her shoulder with the bolt of silk sticking out the top. “Who are you and why are you here?”

  Her head snapped around at his command and she looked suddenly frightened. Her indigo eyes flashed over to the boy in the cart, and though there were no words exchanged between them, he recognized it as a warning to the boy to stay silent.

  “My lord,” she said, curtseying dramatically, her sweet voice like the song of a meadowlark filling the air. The wind picked up her mantle and it blew in the breeze behind her, reminding him of a noble instead of who she really was. She quickly wound up her hair and replaced her coif, denying him the pleasure of seeing her silky long hair again. “We were just leaving.” She hurried around to the other side of the cart, giving him a wide berth.

  “Not before you pay your fine, you don’t,” warned the Collector of Customs, reaching out and grabbing her by the arm.

  “Let go of me,” she said, trying to shake him loose. “I didn’t sell anything, so I have no need to pay you a customs tax on my goods.” The song of the sweet meadowlark had sudd
enly turned into the sharp cackle of a raven instead.

  “You are being fined not on the goods but for trying to peddle your wares on the docks, and on a Sunday after the noon hour no less,” the Tide Waiter told her.

  “Let her go,” Nicholas ordered, in a low voice. He didn’t like to see any woman treated harshly, no matter if it was the norm for most men to do so.

  The man dropped her arm and she hurriedly got into the wagon, settling herself on the wooden seat next to the boy. The rain started pouring down now, bringing with it a cold sting. She hurriedly placed her travel bag with the silk beneath her mantle, keeping it guarded from the weather.

  “What about her fine?” asked the collector.

  “Yes, the fine. Let me see.” Nicholas unsheathed his sword from his side, amused when he saw the looks of terror on their faces. Did she and the boy really think he was going to run them through with his blade just for trying to peddle their wares? “What have you got here?” He used the tip of his sword to push aside the blanket covering the goods in the cart. He saw about a dozen closed barrels and more bundles wrapped securely and wedged tightly into the spaces in between. “Open them,” he instructed his men, and stepped aside. As the dockmen moved forward to do so, the girl stopped them with her words.

  “Nay! Please don’t. There is spun wool and bolts of finely woven cloth in there that will be soiled by the rain.”

  “Don’t tell us what to do,” growled the Tide Waiter, reaching forward, but Nicholas stopped him.

  “Leave it be,” he told the man, sheathing his sword in the process.

  “But my lord,” started the man, but once again Nicholas stopped him.

  “That’ll be all,” he said, dismissing the men.

  “Aye, m’lord,” they answered and turned away. The rain fell harder now as he looked back up to the girl. She stayed hidden under her coif and the boy wouldn’t make eye contact at all. He had the feeling he’d seen these two before, but couldn’t place them.

  “You are obviously merchants, though your faces are only slightly familiar. Tell me – what are your names?”

  “I am Isaac, m’lord,” the boy blurted out, getting an elbow to his ribs from the girl in return.

  “We are just poor merchants trying to make a living,” she spoke up, looking at her feet now. “Please let us go m’lord and I assure you we won’t do it again.”

  “Nay,” he answered, not wanting to let her go. She intrigued him with not only her beauty, but with her determination and fierceness to be here at all right now. “I have not been the Lord of New Romney for that long yet,” he told her. “Since my main concern is on the docks, I have yet to meet everyone from town. I’d like you to tell me your name.”

  She hesitated, but then sighed and spoke softly. The meadowlark had returned. “I am Muriel, and Isaac is my brother,” she explained. She glanced at him from the corners of her eyes, giving off a mysterious essence.

  “Since you two are naught more than a woman and boy, I assume you work for a man. Tell me – who is he?”

  “We worked for our father . . . William Draper, but he is dead.” Slowly and carefully, as if she were waiting for a certain reaction, she peeked out from under her coif. Her eyes held the innocence of a child, yet her body told him she was indeed a full-fledged woman. Her face was exquisite with high-sculpted cheekbones, a turned up petite nose, and a mouth that reminded him of a ripe berry – one that he desired to taste. He had no idea how she’d escaped his attention for all this time, as he had never met her before.

  “I am sorry to hear of your loss,” he said, thinking the name Draper sounded very familiar. Still, he couldn’t put his finger on it right now since he was so distracted by the beautiful woman. He heard someone shout his name, and looked back to see his bailiff hurrying down the wharf to join them. The girl’s eyes followed his gaze toward the man, then she hurriedly hid her face again.

  “May we go now, my lord?” Her words were rushed – as if she had something of more importance to take care of at the moment. “The rain will damage our wares.”

  He knew nothing would be ruined by talking for another minute. Still, there was something upsetting this girl and he wondered if perhaps he was scaring her. He didn’t like scaring women and children. It wasn’t in his nature to do so.

  “Aye, you may leave now,” he gave her the permission. “But the next time I find you breaking the rules, I will not be so kind-hearted.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” said the boy, shaking the reins of the horse as they started away.

  The girl never did say thank you. She just grabbed the reins from the boy to make the horse go faster.

  “My lord, why did you let her leave?” asked his bailiff walking up to his side. Nicholas’s squire was with him, holding the reins of Nicholas’s horse in his hand.

  “What do you mean, Gilbert?”

  “That is the daughter of the man who is two months late in paying rent on the marshland that is yours.”

  “Of course,” he said, now remembering exactly why the name Draper sounded so familiar. “And that is why she looked so nervous.” His eyes followed their wagon that was rolling at breakneck speed over the wet earth. Rain dripped down Nicholas’s neck and slid down his back, but he didn’t care. He didn’t like the fact the girl had been trying to deceive him, and he was going to have to do something to remedy this situation.

  “Did you perhaps get the money from her, my lord?”

  “Nay, she didn’t pay me, but I plan on collecting the money due, myself.”

  “She’s been avoiding me ever since her father passed away last week,” Gilbert told him.

  “How did he die?” Nicholas spoke, but his eyes were focused on the girl all the time.

  His squire, Roger, spoke up to answer. “I heard the man was attacked on the road to Canterbury and killed. His wares were all stolen, except for his cart and horse.”

  “Really,” he answered in thought. “Why is this the first I’m hearing of it?”

  “I’m not sure, my lord,” answered his squire. “I thought the guild had told you. But mayhap they figured since they were a self-governing town, they didn’t want to bother you with their problems.”

  Nicholas wiped a strand of wet hair from his face. “The roads are not safe, but I thought the merchant guilds sent out men of their own with their traders for protection. If they needed the protection of me and my men, it seems they would have asked.” Something didn’t seem right here. Especially since the goods were taken, but not the cart or horse.

  “The Clothmaker’s Guild found him breaking the rules, by taking his goods to Canterbury to sell,” said the bailiff. “Plus he was behind in paying his guild dues as well.”

  “So, it sounds as if the girl and her brother are in a bind.” Nicholas watched the girl’s cart as it disappeared down the road leading into town.

  “That’s correct,” said Roger with a nod. “The guild won’t accept her now that her father has betrayed them and died without paying what he owed.”

  “And that’s why she was on the docks trying to peddle her goods.” Nicholas nodded with a slight smile. The girl was feisty and afraid of nothing. He liked that.

  The cold rain chilled his body, and though he knew he should hunt her down and settle this right now, he had his friends waiting back at the manor house with a warm fire and a tankard of ale.

  “Shall I go after her, my lord?” asked Gilbert.

  “Nay,” he said, taking the reins of his horse and mounting in one quick move. His black cloak hung down over the sides of the animal as he turned it in a full circle preparing to leave. “I’ll handle the little chit myself. I haven’t made many trips to town since most my business keeps me on the docks, but I plan on changing all that soon.”

  “What if she won’t pay you?” asked his squire. “Will you have her flogged?”

  “I don’t flog women nor children, you should know that,” growled Nicholas. “Now don’t worry about the girl, I told you I will
handle it on the morrow.”

  He urged his horse forward, and the clip clop of the horse’s hooves on the wooden wharf echoed in the wet air. Lightning flashed across the sky and Heaven’s thunder rumbled in his ears. Cold, sharp spikes of rain beat against him, and he couldn’t help feeling like this was an omen of something to come. This was just the tip of something bigger that was hidden underneath, he was sure of it.

  And though he didn’t know what he planned on doing with the girl, something had made him let her go without reprimand or without a fine. He regretted it already, knowing a girl like her wouldn’t stop coming to the docks to sell her wares, but rather had only told him what he wanted to hear in order to suffice him. If her father truly was dead and she was excommunicated from the guild, things would only get worse for her than they already were now. And as much as he wanted the best for her and her brother, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be the one to pick up the pieces once she fell.

  Chapter Two

  Muriel awoke the next morning to a loud pounding noise. She rolled over on her sleeping pallet and opened one eye, trying to focus. She hadn’t slept well at all after the episode yesterday on the docks. Her stomach was in a knot. She knew times were rough if she couldn’t even manage to sell her wares to a questionable tradesman who looked to be as dishonest as the day was long.

  And then she’d been cornered by the handsome baron of the ports, and was only glad he didn’t realize exactly who she was. If she hadn’t managed to get away, the bailiff would have told him about her debt.

  She heard pounding again, and jumped up, pulling her gown over her head quickly, making her way to the stairs.

  Like all merchant shops in town, they lived in the upstairs of the small two-storey building made of stone and wood. The storefront and their workroom were downstairs for all to see, as well their distaffs of wool, their vertical loom, and anything else that was used for spinning, weaving or sewing. The upstairs was used as their private quarters, mainly to eat and sleep. This basically consisted of a table and benches, and a second room separated by a hanging cloth with pallets on both sides.