by Jacky Gray
“So many times you would think I might have learnt it by heart.” She winked at Lareeta. “But if you and Taron are reluctant to accompany your sweethearts on a pious pilgrimage, we shall have to find ourselves an escort willing to do so.”
Lareeta joined in the tease, her face expressionless. “I’m sure there would be several takers. I know several youths who would do anything to gain a smile from you.”
As Baxter’s rage increased another couple of notches, Taron nudged his arm, his tone playful. “I never took you for a dullard. You are, I’m afraid, the subject of a tormenting tease. Your lovely lady is attempting to impress upon you how little she enjoys your – ah – overprotective nature.”
“And your custom of repeating yourself.” Lareeta added.
“Frequently.” Taron winked. “Of course, she loves you far too much to point out these character defects in plain words for fear of upsetting you.”
Baxter’s brows furrowed as he glared at Cedany. “Is this true?”
“Which part?”
“Any of it.”
She diverted her gaze to the floor, compressing her lips.
“Your reaction is evidence enough. I am perhaps a little overcautious in regard to your safety …”
“A little?” Taron raised an eyebrow, but his utterance went unnoticed.
“… but believe me it is founded in reason. Two of my cousins were attacked on that very road on their way back from market by a band of drunken villeins. They were lucky to escape unharmed, but one of them still has bad dreams and she is too afraid to go far from the house.”
“Oh, Baxter. That is awful. I had no idea. I’m sorry for the tease.”
He smiled and, with a quick glance to make sure no one else overlooked them, pressed her hand. “Your apology, although unwarranted, is accepted.”
And so it was the following Sunday the four of them set out again to Marlborough, with Baxter in control of his father’s pony and trap. Instead of the litany of rules and regulations he would normally have given, he merely cautioned them to keep their arms inside the cart, away from the huge, steel-rimmed wagon wheels.
The girls fussed over the beautiful chestnut horse, Whick, who snuffled their hands in search of food. The boys helped them to climb into the tiny carriage which required them to sit close, without the respectable distance between them.
Lareeta hugged herself mentally as Baxter clicked his tongue to signal the horse to start walking along the stone avenue, following the road up the long, slow hill to the sanctuary. Having crested the hill, Whick picked up speed and they fairly flew along the old roman road. They made good progress until the road passed close to the river, which had overflowed after several days of heavy rain, leaving the road muddy and rutted.
Baxter’s skill was pushed to the limit, and Taron leapt out to reduce the load and help push the cart when one of the wheels stuck in a deep rut. He walked alongside the cart, steering the best path to avoid a repetition.
The road into town had recently been repaired, a task habitually left until after the risk of frost reduced, and they made up the time they’d lost, arriving with a quarter-hour to spare.
Lareeta’s stomach churned as she realised the possibility of bumping into her parents, but the parish was so large, two masses were said, at Terce and noon. The earlier one tended to fill with young families and, no matter how the parents tried to hush them, the young children seemed to go hand-in-hand with noise. For as long as she could remember, her parents attended the noon mass, preferring the company of the older, more dignified congregation.
As the Terce bell rang, they joined the mass of people entering the church. Lareeta searched the first few rows looking for familiar heads among the elaborate headdresses of the gentility, artisans and rich merchants, breathing a sigh of relief when she didn’t spot them. From about a third, all the way to the back, the seats filled with the cheaper, undyed materials of the clothes worn by yeomen, journeymen and rich farmers, ending with the villeins on the last couple of rows. Most of the serfs stood at the back.
Lareeta slipped into a pew somewhere in the middle and knelt down to pray. The others followed her actions and, after the previous week’s experience, she knew she would need to let them know when to stand, sit and kneel. At the tinkle of the bell, the congregation stood, and the room filled with the voices of the choir as they gave beauty and harmony to the day’s psalm.
The expressions of her three friends told her they were every bit as moved as she by the heavenly sound, and she was thrilled as they joined in with a few of the oft-repeated phrases, particularly in the Kyrie and Agnus Dei.
Halfway through the mass, she became aware of someone staring at her on the other side of the church, one row behind. She tried to turn discretely a couple of times, but never manged to get a clear view of the woman. Even Taron noticed, whispering a question as the priest prepared the altar for the Eucharist.
With a brief head-shake, she pressed a finger to her lips to indicate that talking during a mass was frowned upon as disrespectful. She had warned all three about this, and he nodded his understanding.
The woman’s gaze was so intense it fair burnt Lareeta’s ear, and she decided the woman was deliberately hiding. Knowing the order of mass well, she rose ahead of the crowd for the preface to the Eucharistic prayer. Her strategy worked and she recognised one of her mother’s servants; a sour-faced woman who rarely had a good word to say about anyone. Without a break in the smooth movement of her head, she continued to raise her gaze toward the rafters. The sun had risen enough to shine through the window, giving dust motes the energy and inspiration to dance and glitter in a truly magical display.
She could barely focus for the rest of the mass as her mind imagined all manner of desperate consequences from the woman rushing home to tell her mother who she’d seen at mass. If she’d interpreted his frequent glances correctly, Taron had sensed something amiss.
After hearing her father’s harsh words last week, she knew he had not changed, and he would be incensed to hear his daughter had attended church with a young man. Not that she cared a jot what her father thought, but she had no desire to do anything to hurt her mother.
As the priest began his concluding rite, she sent up a prayer that, if the woman had recognised her, she would not say anything harmful to her mother. At the end of the mass, Lareeta glanced back to find an empty space where the woman had sat. Not a good omen.
They had originally planned to find a tavern and have some lunch, but Lareeta begged their indulgence in returning home, saying they would make it back before noon. Baxter didn’t seem best pleased, saying Whick had not had sufficient time to rest and recharge, but Taron suggested he would be all right if they took it easy. When this caused a frown, he offered to walk for most of the way to give the horse a rest.
“In that case, I’ll walk, too.” She smiled at Baxter. “Which means you and Cedany can stay a while and eat if that’s your preference.”
“No. We should definitely stay together. Apart from the safety aspects, it means we are acting as each other’s chaperones to satisfy propriety.”
“That is true. I do not want people gossiping about Lareeta. Or Cedany. If it is that important, we can go now.” Taron addressed her directly. “Although I must admit to being very curious as to why? And a tad perplexed why you would not wish to visit your parents.”
Lareeta hesitated, unwilling to voice her reasons to her sweetheart, let alone the others, no matter how close they were. She paused, aware that she had never thought of him in that way before, and certainly nothing like a formal declaration had ever been broached between them. And yet, he was the sweetest man she knew, and he definitely owned her heart.
A look passed between them as though he could see her innermost thoughts.
“Never mind. I can see your reluctance to share such personal details and I apologise for asking. We should move to lessen the risk of encountering them, for the sun is approaching the zenith and, fro
m what you’ve told me, they sound like people who would arrive to mass in a good hour.”
His comment caused a momentary panic – her father not only insisted on being early, he took it as a personal affront if he were not there before any of the other gentry. More often than not, he won the intense battle for the end seat on the front pew; the “closest seat to God,” in his eyes. Apart from the priest himself.
A hurried scan revealed no sight of them, and she gave thanks Baxter had left the pony at a stabling post in the opposite direction from the one her parents would approach. If her friends thought her behaviour a little odd, they made no mention of it, and they matched her haste to make their exit from her hometown. At the stable post, Baxter reluctantly agreed to allow Taron to take the reins, on condition he drove sensibly.
Taron skilfully got ahead of the steady queue of vehicles making the return journey. Thankfully, the outgoing road was sufficiently wide he could drive around the carts and carriages whose occupants seemed in a mood to enjoy a leisurely drive back in the glorious sunshine. She winced as one of the carters shouted abuse at him when the road narrowed and they came perilously close.
Baxter could stand it no more. “Taron. That’s enough. You will be getting me a bad name. Hand over the reins, please.”
With a muttered apology, he sat and Baxter gentled Whick into a slower trot, matching the speed of the vehicle in front. When the road widened again, Taron urged him to pass it.
“No, Taron. We have no need for speed. I understand your haste to get us away from Marlborough, but any threat is now long gone, so we can give poor Whick a rest for a while.”
“I’m not thinking of speed, merely convenience. Up ahead is the place where the Kennet flooded, and the carriage in front is heavily laden. It is bound to sink in so deeply it will take a while to dig out.”
Baxter snorted. “You make a convincing case, but …”
“You should listen to him, my darling.” Cedany’s calm assertion was unexpected. “The driver seems barely able to control it, and the wheels are so thin. Father often complains about people loading such vehicles with barrels of ale or too many flagons of wine.”
His expression wavered, so Lareeta added her support. “If you are to attempt the manoeuvre, you should do it now before the road softens.”
That made him change his mind, although it was obvious he did not have Taron’s fearless courage, nor experience. The little trap wobbled perilously close to the edge of the track in his desire to give the carriage a wide berth. Thankfully, the carriage driver had turned at Taron’s warning, and directed the horse to the other side so they passed by safely.
Baxter was whooping in excitement until Taron’s hand on his arm drew his attention to Cedany’s pale face. He instantly slowed, and Taron clapped him on the back. “I’ll catch you up – remember to stay on the right side as far as you can.” He leapt out and ran toward the carriage behind, leaping up beside the driver to deliver his message.
Taron then ran a little way ahead, testing the ground, returning with a gloomy face. “I think the only way to be sure is for us both to walk alongside and let the girls drive it. That way, if it starts to stick, we can push it through.”
“Good plan. Which of you would like the reins?”
Cedany did not hesitate. “I’ll do it. Father used to let me drive when I was younger.”
Lareeta watched her friend with some envy as she crooned and encouraged the huge horse, keeping him moving through the soft ground as though she’d been doing it her entire life. The boys were full of compliments but, as they prepared to remount, the driver from the following carriage hailed them.
Taron sprinted across to where the passengers from the carriage argued with the driver, but Baxter returned to his normal cautious self. he instructed Cedany to “Drive like you are being chased by the hounds of hell,” if he shouted a warning, or if she became suspicious. Then, he advised Lareeta to keep a keen watch on the woods behind the river and shout if she spotted anything.
In the event, the ambush did not come from the usual sources.
~*~
As Taron reached the carriage, he heard an angry voice admonishing someone he could only imagine to be a small child.
The door opened and an imposing gentleman holding a fierce-looking dagger raged. “I believe you are the brigands who have convinced my driver we shall fall into a hole if we continue on.” His gaze dismissed Taron as Baxter arrived, his height suggesting more of a threat.
Ignoring the glare, Baxter chose his most pompous tone. “Not at all. We were merely attempting to advise of a potential problem and do not appreciate your implication. We bid you good day and wish you well in your endeavour to cross this treacherous patch.”
As he turned to leave, a female voice from inside the carriage shouted, “Wait.”
Taron exchanged a curious glance with his friend.
“Hush, now.” The man half-turned, keeping the dagger pointed outward.
“Oh, Papa. If they had any intention to rob us, that silly knife would not deter them. Let me speak to them.”
With a disgusted huff, the man dismounted, his stance suggesting he could, in fact, handle himself well if challenged.
One of the most beautiful women Taron had ever seen appeared in the doorway, adopting a haughty tone although she could have been no more than two years older than they.
“Are you here to do us harm?” Unlike her father, she addressed Taron directly.
He suppressed the instinctive reaction to bow and scrape, but knew if he had worn a cap, he would have been doffing it. “No ma’am. We are presently returning from mass. Having been caught in this patch of mud on the way here, we merely wanted to ensure your carriage, with its thin wheels, would not suffer the same fate.”
Her gaze did not waver. “I thought as much. No brigand would inconvenience himself to deliver such a warning. I will apologise on my father’s behalf. He is not himself due to recent … circumstances.”
“Eanje. Do not let these … villeins know our business.”
“Father! Please do not insult these fine youths because of your ignorance. It is obvious they are artisans from the cut of their cloth and their impeccable manners.”
Taron could not resist his natural instinct to charm. “You have an expert eye, milady. Taron the carpenter at your service. And this fine man is Baxter.”
“A baker! How fortuitous. When I reach Avebury I have no doubt I will be in need of your services. If only you knew a seamstress, my happiness would be complete. I suspect nothing in my chests will be suitable for this intemperate climate.”
“And yet milady travels with an excess of such baggage, weighing down this carriage.”
“Sire, more carts approach, we need to make haste.” The driver pointed in the distance.
“Very well. I would have you two tradesmen carry my daughter across this patch so she does not need to dirty her silk slippers.”
“Sire, with the greatest respect, our strength would be better spent in carrying across the heaviest chest, and the carriage will be much lighter if milady takes the place of the driver as my sweetest did in our vehicle.”
“Excellent idea, Baxter. You are truly a man of great intellect.” Eanje instructed the driver to unload the two heaviest trunks, assuring her father that he and the driver could manage the smaller of the two between them.
It was not before time. As they reached the other side, the next cart turned up. The driver pulled up, hailing them.
Baxter dashed across to pass on the warning as Taron helped the driver load the trunks on the rack.
Then he heard Eanje calling him to help her down from the driver’s seat. With a quick glance at where the girls waited, he reached up to take her gloved hand, supporting as she sought the foothold. He could not have said whether she accidentally slipped or deliberately threw herself, but he had no choice about his reaction as he caught her in his arms.
As soon as her feet reached the ground, he rele
ased her, but she clung onto him. He tried to force her to stand unaided, but she pretended to swoon, only recovering when her father growled a question about the hold-up.
“Sorry, Papa. I became dizzy and fell. If this young man … Oh. I don’t even know your name.”
“Taron.”
“Well thank you, Taron, but we must be on our way.” Eanje’s father sounded grim as he took the girl’s arm and bundled her into the carriage.
Baxter’s patience had reached its limit and, as Taron leapt onto the trap, he clicked his tongue and twitched the reins to get Whick plodding on. “What an unpleasant man.”
Cedany frowned. “Why?”
As Baxter detailed the parts of the conversation they’d been too far away to hear, Taron caught Lareeta peeking at him when she thought he wasn’t looking. She seemed very subdued for the remainder of the journey, lost in thoughts she seemed unwilling to share. When Cedany remarked on her silence, she demurred, pleading a touch of sun.
Taron replayed the scene with Eanje, wondering how it appeared from where the girls sat. He realised he would need to explain to Lareeta that the girl had behaved strangely, but did not want to do it in front of the other two. The atmosphere in the trap worsened and he could not wait to get home.
~*~
Lareeta wanted nothing more than to leap down and run back to the safety of her room without having to face the sympathetic looks from her friends after her sweetheart-in-all-but-name had held another girl in his arms. And not any girl. Angie – or whatever her name was – had to be the most beautiful girl Lareeta had ever met. And a gentlewoman, if her clothes and baggage were to be believed. The mere fact she travelled in a carriage worthy of nobility told its tale, and the moment she opened her mouth, the breeding became obvious.
When they first caught a glimpse of her, she and Cedany had thought her much older. Despite not hearing her words, the way she commanded the situation suggested she was the man’s wife, not his daughter. They had not taken much notice after their initial fear at the dagger the man brandished.
