Keturah and Lord Death (5 page)

The duke surveyed the feast before him, then smiled as one would who was served mudcakes by a little child. He concentrated on his food, chewing thoroughly, as if the meat were tough. Young John Temsland picked at his meat and ate nothing. Lady Temsland, too, ate lightly. Only Lord Temsland seemed to enjoy his food, licking his fingers and sopping up the sauce with Cook’s good bread, as if he were alone in the room, relaxed and unconcerned.

Lady Temsland and the duke exchanged pleasantries. As I served, I tried to attend more to the needs of John. I had not forgotten my gratitude that he had found me at the wood’s edge and carried me home, nor that he had promised me an interview.

“Keturah,” he said, smiling, when he saw that it was I who served him at table. “Are you well?”

“Well enough, sir,” I said, and returned his smile.

The messenger noted John’s kind words to me, a peasant, and frowned in obvious disapproval. John flushed at this and then said, with seeming care that Duke Morland hear him, “You are far too lovely to serve, Keturah Reeve, and too recently recovered from your adventure. Please, take off your apron and sit at table with us.”

“Oh no, sir, I...”

“It is my express desire,” he said, and I knew by his tone that I would anger him if I did not obey.

Numbly, I sat down at the table, but I did not remove my apron with its precious charm. Many villagers had gathered in the corners and shadows of the common room to see a messenger of the king. I could feel their eyes full upon me now, though I stared at the table and would not look up. Of all the eyes, it was those of the messenger’s, full of disdain, that I felt most.

Lord Temsland also seemed somewhat surprised, but he said nothing. The gracious Lady Temsland behaved as if everything was as it should be.

Gretta served me once, saying “Ma’am” with a little smile.

I stole glances at John. He had always been mischievous, but brave of heart. Though he was bucked off several times as a lad, he’d never learned to fear a horse and had become a masterful rider. Once he’d climbed a great tree and couldn’t get down. He had to be rescued by Cass

Porter, and his father made him chop Cass’s wood for a month as punishment. John had done it in good humor, and had even chopped the wood another fortnight—as his own apology, he had said.

I confess that I ate little, instead holding the eye while I looked at the men in the crowd. Soon, though, I could not bear its quivering, and I took my hand away.

It was not until the pastries were all passed that Duke Morland stated the king’s business.

“The fame of your land reaches the king,” the man said in a voice loud enough to be heard throughout the hall.

The room fell silent. Tide-by-Rood, famous?

“I am honored, sir,” Lord Temsland answered in his deep, gruff voice. John, his mouth half-full of food, glanced uncomfortably at his mother.

The duke dabbed at his mouth, laid his napkin down primly, and leaned toward Lord Temsland. His voice was haughty. “The king has heard of the, ahem, great things you have supposedly done with this corner of the kingdom which he so generously gave you. He has heard”—here the messenger cast a dubious eye around the room—”that you have the best corner of all.”

Lord Temsland smiled broadly, stretched back in his chair, and put his arm on the back of his son’s chair. “Indeed I do,” he said. “The king was generous. There is no hunting anywhere as fine as in my forest lands.”

Everyone in the village knew how Lord Temsland had come to be lord of these lands. Many years before, the king had invited him to a hunt in the royal woodlands. The king did well that day, felling a six-point buck. All praised him until Lord Temsland, returning last, was discovered to have landed an even bigger buck. Soon thereafter some lords who were jealous of Lord Temsland used the moment of the king’s displeasure to persuade him that Lord Temsland should be humbled. His great lands near the court were taken away, and he was given a tiny manor in the southwest corner of the kingdom with only two villages, Tide-by-Rood and Marshall. “I have thought that with a good lord to oversee these lands, much could be done with them,” the king told him. “But at least it is rich in forest lands and teeming with game. With your hunting abilities, you’ll surely be happy there.”

Indeed, once he got over his resentment at being virtually banished from the court and from titled society, Lord Temsland was happy enough here, and his wife and son loved their lands and people. But it was well known that Lord Temsland was the poorest of the lords, and whenever he went to court, many mocked him for his misfortune. Since neither the king nor the lords ever ventured this far, Lord Temsland had taken to making up stories about his lands—how the villagers were as fair and good as the people of Great Town.

“In particular, the king has heard that you have a fine fair each year,” the messenger said.

“That, sir, is true,” John Temsland said. John seemed glad that something the duke had said was true.

“I am sent to announce that the king will come to Tide-by-Rood at fair time,” the duke said, “with an entourage of his greatest lords. He wishes to see your lands and your village and witness for himself how ..
.fine
they are.” He cleared his throat. “Since he comes at fair time, I am instructed to say that His Majesty offers a prize—his shoe full of gold and a wish granted—to the one who most delights him at the fair.”

The entire hall rang with silence for a moment. Lord Temsland flushed and ran a hand over his whiskers. At last Lady Temsland said in her soft, gentle voice, “Please tell the king we are deeply honored, and we look forward to his visit.”

Duke Morland nodded once, and stood. “Now, if you will grant me leave.” He did not wait for permission. His eye took in the shabby manor, the shoddily dressed servants, and he positively smirked as he strode out.

There was a hush among the noble family and the servants alike. All at once everyone began to speak: “The king is coming to Tide-by Rood! The king is coming to our fair!” But I heard Lady Temsland say to her husband, “You have been boasting, my dear.”

John Temsland beside me said, “We are doomed.”

V

Showing how I lost my fear of nearly everything;
what passes in the woods between me and a mysterious
poacher, which chapter must be hidden from
the eyes of blushing young maidens.

“Sir,” I said quietly, my voice completely lost in the hubbub.

“John,” said John glumly to the table.

“John, sir, forgive me if I remind you that you were so gracious as to grant me an interview.”

“Of course,” he said distractedly. “I have not forgotten. I will send Henry for you. Soon.”

“It is of the greatest importance. It has to do with the safety of the village.”

“That sounds very important indeed,” he said. But I could plainly see that he felt that nothing could be as important as what the messenger had just announced.

“Why shouldn’t I boast?” Lord Temsland said loudly to his wife and the audience. “Is this not the best parish in the king’s dominion?”

We glanced furtively at one another’s unmended clothes, and at our shoes and stockings, stained and muddied by our untended pathways. We cast our minds with shame upon our unpainted doors and shutters that hung crookedly, and upon the refuse piles in our yards that had been allowed to grow too large. Even the manor walls wanted chinking. The straw on the manor floor was clean—Lady Temsland saw to that—but somewhere the roof leaked and dripped into our silence. Just then a cow that had escaped an unrepaired corral shoved her head into the doorway and lowed.

Gradually everyone’s excitement died away. I felt sad for them, and for me. There had been so much life in everyone’s enthusiasm for the king’s visit. People were still gathering into the hall, but as they came, their smiles faded to see the somber faces of their fellows.

Suddenly I had an idea—one that could well humble Death’s proud look and accomplish my desire. The king’s visit was surely willed of God, I thought, and I gathered the courage to express my idea.

“If you please, lord, this
is
the best parish in Angleland,” I said. “But for small things, who could be richer than we? We all have full bellies, and warm fires to sit by, and Choirmaster’s beautiful music of an evening. We have many old men and women, and our lord judges us fairly...”

“Sit down!” someone called. “Who are you to speak so?” called another. “She has cast fairy dust on young John,” someone else said.

But Lord Temsland seemed pleased by my words. “Let her speak,” he said, and the crowd fell into a sullen silence. “It is the Reeve girl, is it not? Speak.”

“We are a happy people, just as happy as those in Great Town,” I said, trying to sound brave, though my knees shook. “But will the king and the great lords see what we see? We must prepare for the king. We must rid the mill of rats, and build a road, and pave the square—”

“That would cost dear,
^”
Lord Temsland interrupted, with a finality that made me take my seat.

But John took up my argument. “Father, it is a fine idea. For this you should open your coffers.”

“That gold, my son, is to buy you better lands than these that have been my exile,” Lord Temsland said.

A hush fell over the crowd, and John flushed at the words of his father, spoken so publicly.

“You think of your lands as exile, Father. But I was born here. These lands are my home and my inheritance. Let us open the coffers to prepare for the king. We could indeed build a road and pave the square—and improve the church, and repair the cottages! Why should the king’s favorites come to gloat?”

Lord Temsland’s face exuded pride in his son’s words, but he was a stubborn man. “I have a better plan. I will go to the king and make my excuses. I will ask him to delay his visit indefinitely.”

“To ask the king to delay his visit will only assure that he will come,” Lady Temsland said mildly.

“Nevertheless, I go,” said Lord Temsland. He arose and gestured to several of his men. “I will tell him—tell him there is plague or something.”

Lord Temsland roared as he strode out, “Roberts, get the horses ready. Webster, make haste to pack what is necessary for the journey.” Servants ran to help, and the villagers scattered before him. He did not look back or bid his son or wife adieu.

After he left the hall, the villagers began to chatter like field gulls after the harvest. Lady Temsland stood and raised her hand for silence. She said nothing and seemed to be listening, so we all listened as well. At last we heard the horses of Lord Temsland and his men as they sped away to the king’s court.

Lady Temsland now lowered her hand—it trembled a little—and took a ring of keys from her waist. Removing one, she said, “Son, an ancient law tells us that when the lord of the manor is away from his lands, his heir becomes steward of key and coffer. This key, you may find, opens the chests of coin your father has been saving to purchase better lands for you.”

John took the key in his hand and smiled at his mother. “The coin will purchase better lands indeed, Mother,” he said. “Though not perhaps as my father imagined.”

He turned and smiled at me then.

“Sir, we could make this year’s fair the best we have ever had—the best in the kingdom,” I said.

“Cheeky bold, ain’t she?” someone said.

“The young lord don’t seem to mind,” said another. “P’raps she’s tranced him with her stories.”

“It will be a celebration in honor of the king,” John said to those gathered. “He loves fine clothes and a good hunt and delicious food. We will satisfy his every delight.”

The crowd loved their young lord. “Aye, John,” they called. Two or three cheered.

“Where is Choirmaster?” John Temsland asked. “Summon him. The king loves music—we will give him music. It will be godly music, and perhaps God will help us.

This time more in the crowd cheered. Already servants were running down the hill to the village to get Choirmaster.

Lord Temsland was afraid of no one, but he revered two offices, that of the king and that of the churchman. The manor was bigger than the parish church, but over the years Lord Temsland had lavished his church with a stained-glass window, a bell that rang for Sabbath and for weddings and funerals, and—glory of glories—an organ.

For three years it sat in the church, a symbol of civilization in Tide-by-Rood, polished to a shine, stately and ... silent. No one knew how to play it. And then Choirmaster came to our town—a strange thing, for no one came to our town—and brought the organ to life.

Now Lady Temsland, always calm and unruffled, had a slight blush upon her cheek, and said, “Son, we must find some new and wonderful dishes to delight the palate of the king when he comes.”

“Send for Cook!” John cried.

Cook came quickly, as if she had been awaiting his summons.

“Here I am, m’ lord,” she said.

“Undoubtedly you have heard,” John said respectfully, for he loved the old woman. When he was an infant, she had nursed him. After he was weaned, she took a place as pie mistress of the kitchen and often made him cinnamon sticks from leftover crust. “The king is coming to our fair,” said John. “Be prepared to serve all of your best meats and breads and pies. Perhaps you might also concoct a new dish, Cook, something the king has never had before.”

Cook rubbed her soft whiskers. “And what would that be, Johnny?” she asked.

“I don’t know. You are the cook.”

“Don’t forget, young sire, we’re just a poor village in the farthest corner of Angleland. Do you think I have anything here to interest a king?”

“You will try, Cook,” John commanded, though he was unused to asserting his authority.

“Can’t do it,” she said bluntly.

I saw Beatrice gasp and Gretta’s eyes open wide.

John reddened. Everyone in the room looked from him to Cook and back again. Cook stood her ground.

“You will do as I say,” John said firmly.

“Can’t, Johnny,” she said.

He sputtered, “Cook, you mustn’t call me...”

“I changed your nappies, sire,” she said.

“By the...!”

Lady Temsland leaned over and laid a soft hand on her son’s. “Perhaps, Cook, you will call him Johnny only when he comes to the kitchen to steal cookies,” she said with a small smile. “Dear Cook, I am sure you can come up with something wonderful.”

“I am old, lady,” Cook said, more humbly.

“Your sons, though?”

“They have learned to cook by rote, lady. Not one has the gift. They are all three hopeless knaves, taking after their father, who thankfully died years ago.”

Lady Temsland nodded understandingly, though she could not entirely quit the smile from her face. “Well then, we shall have to depend upon God for help.”

I spoke up. “If I may, lady.”

Even Lady Temsland, who was always composed, seemed surprised that I would speak up again. Beatrice blushed for shame in my behalf.

“This Keturah Reeve,” Cook said, her whiskers bristling, “she cannot cook.”

“Padmoh will help—she won Best Cook. And I can help. We can all help.”

Every eye was upon me, but it was John Temsland’s eyes that I felt. “And what can you do?” he asked me.

“I can do tricky things with eggs and herbs and cheeses.”

“Peasant food,” he said, sighing.

“But delicious,” I said.

Everyone was shocked that I had contradicted the young lord. My boldness came, perhaps, from remembering that one whom even the young lord must obey wanted to marry me.

“Sir, it is said the queen has a lemon drink every year at Christmas,” I said. “Lemon is a precious fruit, but if your lordship could lay hands upon two or three, I could make a dish with them that the queen would love.” And one, I thought, that would win me Best Cook at the fair and Ben Marshall for a husband and perhaps even a shoe full of gold.

“Tobias!” John called.

“Sire,” said the boy, stepping forward.

“Tobias, might I count on you to search out lemons for Keturah to make a dish for the queen?”

“Yes, m’lord, for her and for you—and the queen, of course.”

“Very well. Here—this should be enough.” John took a purse of coins from his own vest. “Take a horse. Any one that you choose. And hurry back—we’ll need every man’s help.”

“Yes, m’lord!” Tobias flashed me a smile before he ran toward the stable. In the moment that I watched him go, John Temsland and his mother turned to enter their private apartments, and I had lost my chance for an interview with John.

Still, there were plans in place to clean up the village, and the day was not over.

The villagers began to scatter, planning how they also might win a shoe full of gold and a wish granted. Some returned to their cottages to cook and sew and clean. Tobias hitched up one of the lord’s horses. Some of the men were already pacing out the town square to cobble it.

Come, Lord Death, I thought grimly. You shall not have Tide-by-Rood, or me, after all.

My two friends and I linked arms as we walked together from the square. Beatrice spoke eagerly about the upcoming visit of the king, wondering what he looked like and if he had small or large feet, until Gretta hushed her.

“Forgive us our gaiety, Keturah,” Gretta said. “We have not forgotten your bargain. In fact, I have devised a plan so you can marry the least imperfect man in the village. I will sew a lady’s gown for the queen and say you did it, and it will be so beautiful that you will win the king’s shoe, and you will use it for a dowry to wed Tailor.”

I smiled gratefully and said firmly. “Thank you, Gretta. But he is for you.”

“Nonsense. How can I possibly marry a man whose favorite color is orange?”

“Well, if not he, then Choirmaster,” said Beatrice. “But I don’t know how to win his heart for you.”

As if by saying his name she had conjured him, Choirmaster appeared before us. He had a bag dangling from a stick that he carried over his shoulder, and he was walking toward the forest.

“Choirmaster!” Beatrice called.

He stopped but did not turn around. Then he continued to walk.

“Choirmaster!” she cried, louder this time, and ran with all speed to him. Gretta and I followed more slowly.

Finally he turned about and nodded his head gravely. “Well met, Beatrice,” he said. He nodded to Gretta and me.