The Fuller's Apprentice (The Chronicles of Tevenar Book 1) (27 page)

Once settled, they all gathered outside Jarah’s house for the customary impromptu feast. Bachiolami was too small to have a Mother’s Hall, but the weather was fair, the cool of evening welcome after the hot summer day. Tables, chairs, stools, and benches were brought out to accommodate the celebration.

Josiah was used to the young people of the village mobbing him, excited by the presence of a traveler near their own age, eager to hear his story, the bolder ones hoping he might allow them to pet Tobi. He enjoyed the attention, and he’d polished his tale over many tellings. He especially liked to relate his first encounter with Tobi. The girls always gasped in horror and admiration when he told how he’d thrown himself between the mountain cat and the watchers’ arrows. He couldn’t help but exaggerate his own heroism a little bit. Maybe he hadn’t really been in danger of bleeding to death, but they were still suitably impressed when he pushed up his sleeve to show off the faint white line where the arrow had hit him. He almost wished Elkan had left more of a scar.

Tonight, though, none of the apprentices or older children gave him more than a quick greeting. They clustered around Master Norlan, hanging on his every word, clamoring for their favorite song or story every time he paused to eat a few mouthfuls. The adults, too, though more discreet, were clearly torn between their duty to make Elkan and Meira welcome and their desire to give their attention to the master waulker.

Curious, Josiah drifted over. He understood the attraction as soon as Master Norlan finished eating and gave in to the requests for a song. A hush fell as his soft, unaccompanied voice wove a haunting tune, the lyrics a tragic tale of love and loss. Josiah strained to hear every word. When the song was over, there was a long silence before the listeners broke into applause and murmurs of appreciation. Master Norlan accepted their accolades calmly. He launched into a much livelier, slightly bawdy song that soon had everyone singing along on the chorus.

Between songs, Master Norlan told several long, convoluted stories. Whether accounts of his adventures on the road or tales of days long past, they were just as captivating as his music. Eventually, though far sooner than his listeners would have liked, he led them all in a final rousing chorus and, pleading age and weariness, retired for the night.

Jarah announced that the waulking was set for Restday eve, three days hence. That would give the weavers time to finish the cloth on their looms and prepare it. In the meantime, Elkan would be available to take care of people’s needs.

Josiah eagerly looked forward to the waulking. When Master Norlan had invited him, he hadn’t been sure he wanted to participate, but now that he’d had a taste of the waulker’s gifts, he couldn’t wait. It would be a welcome change of pace after three days of hard work.

* * *

At Master Norlan’s direction, Josiah and a handful of villagers lifted yards of heavy wet cloth from a wooden tub. A surge of homesickness hit him at the familiar sensation of soggy fabric in his arms. He struggled with the unexpected emotion as he worked with the others to squeeze out the excess soapy water. He seldom thought about his year at the fulling mill. But now the soft rough wetness on his skin, the squishy slap as they dropped the cloth on the waiting table, the musky animal smell of wet wool mixed with the clean tang of soap, brought it all back. He could almost believe he was back under Master Sef’s tutelage, eager to finish the week’s work, looking forward to spending Restday at home with his family. He swallowed and shook his head, forcing his attention back to the present. He was many miles and months away from his family now, and it would do no good to let wistful memory distract him from the experience of the moment.

Lengths of cloth from several weaver’s looms were sewn together to form a long strip, then joined into a loop. They laid it on a row of tables set up end-to-end in the clear area between the houses. At Norlan’s direction, they arranged the long, narrow oval so it traveled down one side of the tables and back up the other.

Eager villagers grabbed spots on the chairs and benches. Jarah gestured for Elkan, as their guest, to take one of the coveted spots next to Norlan at the table’s head. Josiah squeezed in next to him. He grinned at Meira across the table.

Sar wandered up and poked his nose over Elkan’s shoulder, snorted at the proceedings, and drifted off again to graze by the shore of the lake. Josiah glanced over at Tobi, fast asleep in her favorite spot along the lakeshore. The sheep and goats that usually wandered among the houses were all clustered far away from her, around the curve of the lake.

Norlan cleared his throat. Immediately everyone around the table grew quiet, turning expectant faces to the waulker. After a dramatic pause, he began a rhythmic chant.

Lift the cloth and cast it down,

To your neighbor pass it round.

He matched actions to words, lifting the bunched fabric in front of him and throwing it down on the table, shifting it a bit to his left. Everyone followed his lead. Josiah watched carefully to make sure he did it right, but it was simple enough. The wool smacked into the table with a spray of droplets. Over and over, in rhythm with Master Norlan’s chant, they lifted and passed the cloth. His song kept them in time with each other, but soon the percussive slap of the cloth drove the pace of the song.

Many strands in one yarn bind,

Close around the spindle wind.

Lift the cloth and cast it down,

To your neighbor pass it round.

Lift, slap. Lift, slap. Alone the task would have swiftly become monotonous, but the company of fellow workers and the accompaniment of the song transformed it into a kind of dance or game. Josiah joined in singing the repeated chorus.

Many yarns in one cloth find,

Warp and weft lay intertwined.

Lift the cloth and cast it down,

To your neighbor pass it round.

The endless loop circled the table, passing from hand to hand, down one side of the table to Jarah at the foot, doubling back and traveling all the way up the other side, until Norlan turned it back. Round and round it went, carried along by the music.

Many threads one cloth become,

Waulking makes the many one.

Lift the cloth and cast it down,

To your neighbor pass it round.

It was the same principle as the fulling mill, Josiah knew. Hands and table took the place of stocks. In both cases, beating the cloth locked the individual fibers together, until a smooth, unified fabric remained.

Master Norlan brought the first song to a close, but the regular beat of the cloth went on. He launched into another tune, this one slightly faster. Josiah and the others quickened their pace. Verse by verse a tragic love story played out. Interspersed between the verses was a chorus of nonsense syllables, quick and easy to learn, giving everyone a chance to join in the singing, and lengthening the song to give the cloth plenty of time to full under their hands.

By the time the second song finished, Josiah was tiring. His arms felt heavy, he was thirsty, and the constant pounding in his ears was getting annoying. He tried to examine the cloth as it passed through his hands, but he couldn’t tell how far the fulling had progressed.

Master Norlan looked around the table and smiled to himself. He began a new song, at yet a quicker tempo, bouncy and lively. Josiah groaned inwardly as he obediently quickened his pace, but soon was caught up in the cheerful tune.

Oh, I will wed no other

But my own love, my true love.

And we’ll both stand up together

On a sunny, sunny morning in the spring.

Master Norlan’s eyes twinkled with mischief. He raised his voice so all along the table would be sure to hear.

Oh, would you wed a weaver

On a sunny Restday morning?

Oh, would you wed a weaver

On a morning in the spring?

No, I would not wed a weaver,

Lest one day I wake to find

She’d unraveled all my clothing

For yarn to warp her loom

And left me cold and naked

On a sunny, sunny morning in the spring.

The weavers around the table exclaimed in mock horror, while the rest laughed heartily. Josiah grinned, forgetting for the moment his tiredness. No one let the rhythm of the waulking falter; the steady beat of the cloth continued uninterrupted through the merriment.

For I will wed no other

But my own love, my true love.

And we’ll both stand up together

On a sunny, sunny morning in the spring.

Norlan let a few beats go by, as everyone wondered which guild would take the brunt of his wit next.

Oh, would you wed a spinner

On a sunny Restday morning?

Oh, would you wed a spinner

On a morning in the spring?

No, I would not wed a spinner,

Lest one day I wake to find

She’d cut off my hair and whiskers

And spun it on her spindle

And left me bald and beardless

On a sunny, sunny morning in the spring.

Titters swept around the table. Norlan spun verse after verse, enumerating the reasons farmers, brewers, herders, smiths, basketweavers, and every other craft represented around the table would make most unsuitable spouses.

Josiah didn’t understand why so many glances of curious anticipation were being aimed at the head of the table, until Norlan began the next verse, and he realized it was the guests’ turn to be skewered in song.

Oh, would you wed a fuller

On a sunny Restday morning?

Oh, would you wed a fuller

On a morning in the spring?

No, I would not wed a fuller,

Lest one day I wake to find

She’d mistook me for a bolt of cloth

And thrown me in the mill

And left the stocks to beat me

On a sunny, sunny morning in the spring.

Josiah ducked his head, blushing, but he couldn’t help laughing also, as the chorus swept all up in song. Glad his turn was over, he waited to see who would be next.

Oh, would you wed a miner

On a sunny Restday morning?

Oh, would you wed a miner

On a morning in the spring?

No, I would not wed a miner,

Lest one day I wake to find

She’d run out of oats for porridge

And cooked up ore instead

And left me to break my teeth on rocks

On a sunny, sunny morning in the spring.

It was Meira’s turn to blush and shake her head. Josiah burst into laughter. He’d often eaten Meira’s cooking on the road, and while not rocks, it was only competent, not nearly as tasty as what Elkan or even Josiah himself could produce. He wondered if Norlan had found out about her reputation for poor cooking, or if he’d just gotten lucky in his choice of joke. He turned to Elkan to share his amusement. But Elkan wasn’t laughing. He wore a strange, wry smile and looked off into the distance, careful not to meet Meira’s eyes.

Again Norlan let a few beats pass after the chorus was complete. Josiah looked at him expectantly. There was only one guild represented at the table that hadn’t yet featured in a verse. Elkan shrugged, and grinned, and looked down at the cloth in front of him, feigning serious concentration on his work.

Oh, would you wed a wizard

On a sunny Restday morning?

Oh, would you wed a wizard

On a morning in the spring?

No, I would not wed a wizard,

Lest one day I wake to find

Her familiar had gotten lonely

And come to seek her side

And left me in bed with a donkey

On a sunny, sunny morning in the spring.

The table exploded in merriment. Josiah laughed so hard he could barely see for the tears that came to his eyes. Elkan ruefully shook his head, shoulders heaving until he surrendered to helpless chuckles. Across the table, Meira was breathless, her face flushed. She looked past Elkan to where Sar grazed by the lake shore, oblivious, and dissolved in laughter again.

Norlan led them all in the chorus. Josiah thought the song would be over, but as Master Norlan continued to sing, he realized there was one more craft to be mentioned, after all.

Oh, would you wed a waulker

On a sunny Restday morning?

Oh, would you wed a waulker

On a morning in the spring?

Yes, I would wed a waulker,

And each night she’d tell me stories

And each day fill with song

And leave me content and happy

On a sunny, sunny morning in the spring.

For I will wed no other

But my own love, my true love.

And we’ll both stand up together

On a sunny, sunny morning in the spring.

On the last syllable, Master Norlan slammed the cloth to the table and stopped. Around the table everyone followed suit, settling into stillness. Only an occasional lingering chuckle broke the quiet. Josiah stretched his arms and shook them out. He was tired, but happy and full of energy.

Norlan shook out the cloth, spreading it to its full width. He examined the surface and walked his fist, thumb and little finger spread wide, from one selvage to the other to measure its width. Josiah caught his breath as the gesture reminded him forcibly of Master Sef, who always used just the same motion of his hand across the cloth.