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Authors: Jill Barnett
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Midsummer's Fair.
Chapter Eight
Noddington was a busy little town of stone, brick, and timber, with shops and inns that lined the small cobbled streets. Houses cuddled in close lanes with jutting roofs and bayed windows. Because of the fair the town was teeming. And Linnet could hardly take it all in.
They crossed the stone bridge to a meadow where the winding river was fringed with trees and where the fair was bustling.
Each booth, decorated gaily with batting of bright colors, sold something new and different—lengths of raye, a fabric that fairly took on the sheen of the stars, an odd- looking mechanical clock that wouldn't freeze in winter like the water clocks did, and powerful crossbows, weapons of such deadly accuracy that they had been forbidden by Rome until recently.
There was hot spiced wine, fresh bread, and meat pies. Country vegetables and sweet Eastern dates. And William bought her one of everything scrumptious. There were lively dancers and minstrels who sang songs of the magic of midsummer's eve. Puppeteers and actors became fairies and sprites, forest animals that took on human form, all to celebrate this special time of year—a time when flowers bloomed and hearts were light.
Linnet and William watched the acrobats tumble and trained dogs frolic. There was even a huge gray and wrinkled elephant that roared like a trumpet and spit water high in the air.
William bought her lengths of fine cloth, two of the raye, and a silver comb, to keep the sunset in her hair, he had told her. He filled her with comfits and sweetmeats until she thought she might burst. He showed her every sight and every new thing with patience and laughter and care. Many was the time she caught him watching her closely, as if her happiness were the most important thing to him. But it was his smile and laughter that were the true gifts of the day.
'Twas one of the best times of her life , and she knew she would never think of midsummer's eve without remembering William. As she strolled through the fair, she wished, somehow, to repay him. She knew his pride would accept nothing from her, nothing valuable. She had been trying to find a gift for him when she spied a man with pilgrim badges sewn to his hat and coat. He was hawking pardons from Rome which he carried in a sack on his bent back.
"William?" She tugged on his shirtsleeve.
"Aye?"
"I think we should buy some pardons."
He frowned.
She pointed toward the pilgrim and he laughed and handed her a handful of silver coins. She shook her head. "This purchase is mine," she told him. She bought William a pardon for every curse he had spoken this past week, and a few extra for the future. She ran back and tucked them in his arms.
He looked at them. "God's teeth! What the devil are these for?"
She gave him a wry look. "I doubt there are enough pardons in the world, William, to assuage your blasphemous tongue."
"Christ in heav en . . ." he swore with a grin. "That might just bloody damn well be."
She shook her head and followed him until he stopped to eye a collection of mail in a booth set up by the local armorer. She watched him barter and banter and bluster, and she jabbed him with her elbow when he tried to trade her cats for a mailed tunic. Finally he asked her to choose the mail and she picked one in less time than it took to blink.
"That was simple," he said, surprised. "Why that one?"
"Because it shines the most," she replied, thinking secretly that he was a knight who should have shining armor.
He bought the mail she had chosen, saying he thought he'd need it if he were challenged again.
And he was.
They had left the fair hours later, filled with drink and fresh food and fun. They were riding back to the inn to fetch her pets when the yellow knight appeared near a bend in the river. The knight never had a chance.
William took one look at him, roared an ungodly string of curses that used seven more pardons and attacked. His mail shone in the bright sunlight and his
Chapter Eight
Noddington was a busy little town of stone, brick, and timber, with shops and inns that lined the small cobbled streets. Houses cuddled in close lanes with jutting roofs and bayed windows. Because of the fair the town was teeming. And Linnet could hardly take it all in.
They crossed the stone bridge to a meadow where the winding river was fringed with trees and where the fair was bustling.
Each booth, decorated gaily with batting of bright colors, sold something new and different—lengths of raye, a fabric that fairly took on the sheen of the stars, an odd- looking mechanical clock that wouldn't freeze in winter like the water clocks did, and powerful crossbows, weapons of such deadly accuracy that they had been forbidden by Rome until recently.
There was hot spiced wine, fresh bread, and meat pies. Country vegetables and sweet Eastern dates. And William bought her one of everything scrumptious. There were lively dancers and minstrels who sang songs of the magic of midsummer's eve. Puppeteers and actors became fairies and sprites, forest animals that took on human form, all to celebrate this special time of year—a time when flowers bloomed and hearts were light.
Linnet and William watched the acrobats tumble and trained dogs frolic. There was even a huge gray and wrinkled elephant that roared like a trumpet and spit water high in the air.
William bought her lengths of fine cloth, two of the raye, and a silver comb, to keep the sunset in her hair, he had told her. He filled her with comfits and sweetmeats until she thought she might burst. He showed her every sight and every new thing with patience and laughter and care. Many was the time she caught him watching her closely, as if her happiness were the most important thing to him. But it was his smile and laughter that were the true gifts of the day.
'Twas one of the best times of her life , and she knew she would never think of midsummer's eve without remembering William. As she strolled through the fair, she wished, somehow, to repay him. She knew his pride would accept nothing from her, nothing valuable. She had been trying to find a gift for him when she spied a man with pilgrim badges sewn to his hat and coat. He was hawking pardons from Rome which he carried in a sack on his bent back.
"William?" She tugged on his shirtsleeve.
"Aye?"
"I think we should buy some pardons."
He frowned.
She pointed toward the pilgrim and he laughed and handed her a handful of silver coins. She shook her head. "This purchase is mine," she told him. She bought William a pardon for every curse he had spoken this past week, and a few extra for the future. She ran back and tucked them in his arms.
He looked at them. "God's teeth! What the devil are these for?"
She gave him a wry look. "I doubt there are enough pardons in the world, William, to assuage your blasphemous tongue."
"Christ in heav en . . ." he swore with a grin. "That might just bloody damn well be."
She shook her head and followed him until he stopped to eye a collection of mail in a booth set up by the local armorer. She watched him barter and banter and bluster, and she jabbed him with her elbow when he tried to trade her cats for a mailed tunic. Finally he asked her to choose the mail and she picked one in less time than it took to blink.
"That was simple," he said, surprised. "Why that one?"
"Because it shines the most," she replied, thinking secretly that he was a knight who should have shining armor.
He bought the mail she had chosen, saying he thought he'd need it if he were challenged again.
And he was.
They had left the fair hours later, filled with drink and fresh food and fun. They were riding back to the inn to fetch her pets when the yellow knight appeared near a bend in the river. The knight never had a chance.
William took one look at him, roared an ungodly string of curses that used seven more pardons and attacked. His mail shone in the bright sunlight and his
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