Nature's Tribe

by Jacky Gray

  “Anything about what?”

  “About her and C … Oh. There I go again.”

  “What did happen?” Lareeta used her most innocent tone, her eyes wide.

  “Well, she met him … Oh. That’s not fair.” Her face crumpled. “Why do I keep saying things I shouldn’t?”

  Lareeta took her arm. “Freya. My mother gave me some good advice. Before I say anything aloud, I always whisper the words in my head first. Then, if it does not sound right in my head, I do not give it voice.”

  The younger girl nodded. Then nodded again. “Your mother is very wise. I think I would like her.”

  Tears gathered in Lareeta’s eyes. “I’m sure you would.” Unwilling to discuss that part of her life, she diverted Freya’s attention with a tease; a skill she’d not yet mastered. “And my lesson is I must never tell you a secret unless I wish it broadcast to the whole village.”

  Freya’s face crumpled. “What a horrible thing to say.”

  Lareeta reeled back. “I’m so sorry, Freya. I never meant it as such. I merely tried to make a jest. Please forgive me, I would not hurt …” She stopped as the girl’s demeanour swung from tragic sorrow to giggling mischief.

  “Caught you.” She squeezed her arm, smiling widely. “I noticed how serious you are in the workroom; as though your entire life has been spent with tired old folk.”

  Lareeta shook her head, uncertain how to respond.

  “Well Lyrelie and I have decided you need to have some sport. We have taken it upon ourselves to increase your mirth at least ten times.”

  So began Lareeta’s introduction to the lighter side of life. Most days, after work, she would walk home with Freya and dine either with her parents or at Senna’s house. Both fathers could always be called upon to tease and jest at the slightest thing, no matter how silly. She could not help but envy her new friends their jolly lives.

  Each time she walked down the street – which wasn’t often because the only thing in that direction was the massive henge – she peered into Sawyer’s back garden. Her heart raced at the slim chance she might get a glimpse of a certain male figure.

  Dagda did not share the details of her private life, but Freya had a keen ear, and a gift for being in the right place at the right time. Her eyes sparkled as she passed on her discovery that Taron now lived with his cousin, making him a neighbour.

  Once, Lareeta spotted him walking into the main village from the tiny window in her chamber. She watched, admiring his easy walking style but, as he drew level with the house, he glanced up at her window. Jumping back, she banged her leg on the corner of the table, sending the ewer clattering in its basin. Mortified by the thought he might have seen her, she kept her head low. A moment later, a loud rap at the door had her leaping up, banging her head on the rafter. Rubbing the sore spot, she ran down the stairs, opening the door to find nobody there.

  Peering both ways, she saw no sign of him but, as she turned in disappointment, she spotted a small bunch of meadow flowers tied with a red ribbon on the doorstep. Smiling, she picked them and sniffed the fresh, delicate scents. “Thank you.”

  Feeling a little foolish at calling out to nothing but the wind, she withdrew into the house, filling a vase and arranging them on the table as Cedany appeared, eager to share a pie she’d been given on her Tuesday visit.

  That Sunday, Lareeta attended the tiny chapel in the village, disappointed to find only a few stone benches occupied by rather unfriendly looking families who looked down their noses at her. She joined the folk standing in the centre; and when it came to kneeling on the stone floor, she resolved to bring a cushion next time.

  The familiar routine of scriptures, homily, and prayers, gave little comfort. The sung responses – usually her favourite part – brought no feeling of joy with a few reedy voices ruining the rhythm and several growlers murdering the melody.

  She saw no point in stopping afterward to meet her fellow parishioners as they remained kneeling for private prayers. Had anyone stopped her, she had the perfect excuse as she’d been invited for lunch with Dagda and Sawyer. This time, the only other diners were Cedany, her young man, Baxter, and Taron.

  Sawyer made the formal introductions and Lareeta’s hand tingled as Taron bowed over it quite formally, his eyes barely suppressing their humour. He made no mention of their previous meeting, so she followed suit.

  She found it a lot easier with fewer people; however, her sheltered upbringing meant she had little to offer in most conversations, particularly about the old religion. Although several of Rielle’s girls in Marlborough had spoken of Sabbats and especially Esbats, she had no idea what went on. It was the same when it came to the local area and the characters in the village. She was glad when her friend raised a topic she recognised.

  “Will you be going to the Cloth Feyre next Friday?” Cedany helped herself to a hunk of mouth-watering bread, spreading it with creamy butter.

  “Is it the end of the moon already?” Lareeta frowned. “We normally worked till noon and had the afternoon to explore the stalls.”

  “Yes, but it’s a long day with all the travelling, so Rielle gives us the whole day.” Cedany winked. “She knows we will gain inspiration and good ideas.”

  Lareeta gulped. “It’s a three-hour walk there and back.”

  “You must come with us; it will be much more pleasant.” She glanced at Baxter, her eyes shining, and he nodded.

  “Between the four of us, we could hire a cart.”

  11 – Enterprising Adventure

  Lareeta felt extremely daring, sitting in the back of a cart, sharing a blanket with Cedany opposite two youths she barely knew. Suppressing her feelings of excitement, she concentrated on the discussion of the up-and-coming celebration for the Sabbat known as Ostara. It seemed to have a lot in common with the Christian Eastertide.

  As the others regaled her with exciting and unusual tales of the season, she found herself comparing the two lads. Although only a year or so older, Baxter seemed much more serious about everything, describing the special breads his family would bake for the festival in the enormous oven which dominated the bake house.

  Taron had obviously heard it before as he interjected smart quips which she could tell were aimed at her in an attempt to make her smile. Poor Cedany seemed torn between outrage on behalf of her boyfriend, and the much stronger urge to smile. The latter normally won, but Lareeta noticed the other lad took it all in his stride, laughing along with good humour.

  Eventually, Cedany steered the conversation to more general topics, talking about which of the many attractions they would visit at the feyre. “I have heard rumour of a visit from Xalvadar today.”

  “The Persian merchant?” Lareeta smiled, thinking of the voluble man. “He did not grace us with his presence last year at all. I heard of a great sickness which struck down weavers and silk workers all over the Eastern empires.”

  “You seem well informed.” Baxter’s solemn statement was interrupted by Cedany’s click of the tongue.

  “I told you that Lareeta hails from Marlborough.”

  He patted her arm. “Of course you did, my sweetest. But you know how poor my memory is. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

  Taron flashed a look which suggested biliousness at such a saccharine display, but he rearranged his features as Baxter earnestly enquired whether Lareeta had ever witnessed the infamous Shrove Tuesday football games.

  He seemed disappointed that her father would never allow her anywhere near the field where the challenge between St Peters and St Mary’s parishes normally met.

  “I did, however, witness a melee between the apprentices on the common ground at last year’s Michaelmas Feyre.”

  “Really?” Baxter leaned forward. “How did you like it?”

  Lareeta wrinkled her nose. “Much too noisy and violent for me. The clothier guilds played against all the others.”

  “That doesn’t seem fair. The masons, smiths and all the food trades would far out
number a few tanners, weavers and woolmen. And all the broderers and lacemakers are women.”

  “You forget, Marlborough is the largest centre of clothiers outside of the big cities. And the chandlers sided with them to make it even.”

  “I would still expect the other team to win – those guilds will have all the strong, powerful men who wield hammers and saws instead of needles and ribbons.” Taron seemed equally fascinated by this uncouth game.

  She fervently wished she’d never admitted to the knowledge as she relived memories of the crush of bodies churning the grass to mud on that chilly, late-September day. Suppressing a shudder, she hoped to satisfy their curiosity with the briefest of details. “The lawless clash favoured those who could run faster – the larger bodies fell much more heavily in the mud.”

  It didn’t work as they plied her with a thirst for detail of this extraordinary game which caused as much consternation among the clergy and councillors as it did favour with the town’s youths.

  Finally, Cedany spoke sternly to Lareeta’s interrogators. “Will you leave the poor girl alone? It is obvious to anyone with a mite of sense that she did not enjoy the experience. Yet you force her to dig up unwanted memories to satisfy your unending curiosity. Please let her rest.”

  In revenge, Cedany bombarded Taron with questions about his work as a blacksmith, barely letting him answer before asking the next one. As the carter slowed to join the line of wagons waiting to enter the busy town, she turned the topic onto his current endeavours in his uncle’s workroom.

  The difference in his attitude to the two professions shone out. Lareeta could tell the heat, noise and challenge of hammering metal into submission did not sit well with him. When he spoke of connecting with the spirit of the wood, and slowly discovering the beauty and harmony of the object it became, she found herself moved to tears.

  He glanced away, as though embarrassed by the show of emotion revealing the deepest workings of his mind.

  Lareeta gave thanks as everyone’s attention diverted to the group of entertainers passing by on their way to the town centre. Cedany exclaimed over the skill of two youths as they tumbled, cartwheeled and leapt in and around the vehicles. A young woman balanced upside down on her hands atop a tiny pony bedecked in bright ribbons. The youth leading the pony sported a tight-fitting tunic and hose made from gaily coloured stripes of different colours. Lareeta marvelled at the freedom of movement afforded by the girl’s costume, an exact match of her partner’s. Although she could not suppress a shudder at the thought of her father’s reaction to it.

  As they drew level with the cart in front, the boy stopped the animal, then the girl summersaulted off the horse’s back to land in his arms. They performed several more tricks around the pony, who tolerated it with patience. At the end, their places were reversed as the girl took the reins, leading the creature forward with her partner balanced upside down on one hand.

  Cedany clapped her hands, saying they must find them later and reward them. This set Baxter off on a long lecture about the danger of cut-purses and the precautions she should take when moving around the market.

  “I always have three purses about my body and am careful never to reveal their whereabouts in public; I always carry one in my hand.”

  “But what if you don’t have enough coin for what you want to buy?”

  He sniffed. “If the merchant will not be beaten down on the price, I walk away in search of a better bargain. If I see nothing, I may return, having found somewhere quiet to replenish my hand purse. I can usually barter them down a few pence with that device.”

  The carter turned around to address them. “I can continue into town if you are of a mind, but it will cost more because of the gate toll. From here to the centre is only the walk of a few minutes for youngsters like yourselves.”

  “Excellent idea. Can we reserve your services for the journey home?”

  “Aye, it’s possible. I’ve a hankering to buy a trinket for my wife, and stock up at the vintners and chandlers. I’ll be back at the inn until the Nonce bell rings. If you don’t reach me by a quarter after then, I’ll be taking back anyone who will pay.” He drove the cart into the brightly decorated building, and fetched the step, helping the girls alight.

  “We’ll be back for sure. You are a good driver.” Baxter counted out the coins, adding a generous tip.

  Before they moved on, Taron gave him half the sum, stopping Lareeta from reaching into her purse. “Do not worry, this is my treat.”

  They joined the throng of people walking alongside the vehicles, whose progress was slowed by the sergeants at the gate taking the various tolls.

  Lareeta knew a short-cut – it was, after all, her home-town – leading them down a barely visible alleyway which avoided the crowds. It brought them out a quarter of the way into the main street, bypassing the numerous food stalls who reasoned that many people would be ready for something to eat after walking from surrounding villages.

  The first stall they came to was a haberdashers, where Baxter insisted on buying a woollen muff for Cedany. He deemed it no longer cold enough for the fur-lined ones which were more than twice the price, and instructed her to hide her purse inside so it could not be stolen from her.

  Taron winked at Lareeta. “Would you like one?”

  “Thank you, but I have a perfectly serviceable pair of fur-lined mittens, and I was brought up here, so I’m fully able to hang onto my purse.” She kept her voice low in order not to offend Cedany, but her boyfriend’s pompous manner had become so much more than intolerable.

  Taron pulled her over to a display of unusual carved buttons, taking the opportunity to whisper in her ear. “Would it trouble you greatly if we spent some time apart from your friend? I find myself unable to tolerate excessive doses of Baxter’s company. He’s a steadfast fellow, but a little too serious for my taste.”

  She smiled. “Thank goodness. I did not want to offend …”

  “Excellent.” He picked up a particularly striking design. “Do you see this? I believe I could produce buttons of this quality from offcuts. I shall buy some to see what Sawyer thinks.” The reason for the abrupt change of topic became obvious as Baxter reached between them, scooping a handful.

  “You wish to buy buttons? Will we see you in the sewing room, next?” He laughed at his own joke as he dropped them, spoiling the neat display.

  The stall-owner, a grizzled old widow screeched her displeasure. “Be off with you. Tangling up my wares.”

  Cedany blushed red and pulled him away. With a shrug, Taron followed them as the woman grumbled on.

  “You youngsters are all the same. No respect for the hours it takes to get my stall looking neat.”

  Lareeta apologised, helping the woman to arrange them back into matching sets. “I’m so sorry for the inconvenience. Baxter is not normally so disrespectful. In fact; quite the opposite.”

  By the time she’d helped the woman straighten out the display, Taron returned, apologising again and charming her with his compliments about her wares. He asked where she bought the buttons, excited to discover there were few local suppliers, but the demand had risen greatly as more and more people discovered the advantages.

  “With all the new designs coming out of the courts, nobody wants to be sewn into their sleeves anymore.”

  He bought several samples from her most popular designs, promising to let her know if Sawyer agreed to make them. As he took Lareeta’s arm to leave, the woman called them back.

  “I wasn’t sure as I could trust you or not. But you’re one of Rielle’s girl’s ain’t you?”

  Lareeta nodded.

  “I thought so. That woman has been one of my best customers for many a wheel. Wait here.” With a furtive glance, she rummaged underneath the stall, bringing out a small purse. Shaking out the contents, she pounced on a light disc before it dropped to the floor. She held it up and they saw it had two holes in the centre. “The trouble with most buttons with a ring on the back is they are
no good for delicate materials.”

  She held up her sleeve and they saw how the main disc flopped about and the threads holding it in place were loosening. “It’s too easy for them to fall off and people don’t notice.” Then she showed how the one on the other sleeve lay neatly against its buttonhole, the stitching tight.

  Lareeta swept a practised eye over the workmanship, and the woman unfastened it so she could examine the back of the cloth. “This is revolutionary. Where did you get it?”

  “I made them myself. My husband, God rest him, was a carpenter. He chopped these from a branch too small to be of use elsewhere.” She explained how he’d shown her how to use his tools to drill the holes and smooth the wood.

  Taron examined the button, complimenting her skills. “These would be a lot quicker and easier to make, with no need for carving.”

  “Aye. And it would save me so much. The merchants know about the shortage and charge high prices, to account for the pannage toll because they come from over the sea.”

  He offered it to her, but she closed his fingers over it. “Take it as an example. If this Sawyer agrees, maybe you could try different sizes.”

  As they discussed the best types of wood, Lareeta searched the nearby stalls, looking for their friends, but could not spot them anywhere.

  Taron came away, his eyes shining. “I have you to thank for this exciting opportunity. You bring good fortune.”

  “I’m pleased for you. But I’m even more pleased to see no sign of Baxter.”

  “I told them to continue on without us and we would catch him up. Cedany looked a little concerned, mentioning the crowds, so I said if we couldn’t find them in the crush, we would meet them at the inn at the Nones bell.”

  “Excellent.” She mimicked his earlier sentiment. “I shall enjoy it more if we don’t have to endure his pontification on everything under the sun.”