Tucksford, The Laxton Arms, May 27th — We had no need to cast lots yester-eve to choose who should entertain after supper tonight. Almost as soon as the Cook had finished his tale of the Devil and the Lady, the widow Dame Elizabeth called out above the hubbub and general hilarity.
"Dear friends," she said, "for that is what I must perforce call you now, there being none of my family left alive. The cook has regaled us with a merry tale this e'en, which was as hot a fare as man might wish for to send him happy to his bed. It is my contention that I might enjoy your approbation with a tale of my own. One about another lady, lately of my acquaintance, not as grand as the virtuous Lady of his tale, but a lady nonetheless, as I can attest."
In truth it must be said that all were much amazed. The dame had barely said a word in our company, preferring to remain aloof, and we had assumed that her haughty mien showed that she thought herself of a higher station than such humble folk as the rest. Indeed I had pondered how she could ever be persuaded if the lot fell to her one evening, expecting her to demur.
So it was decided and as we travelled the twenty miles along the high road from Bawtry, apart from the general banter, for we were becoming quite a jolly party, there had been much questioning of one another how such a respectable dame could come up with a saucy tale for our pleasure. None expected anything more than women's gossip, for what could she know other than commonplace things.
Our party has grown in number this morning. As we were about to set out, three men approached and asked if they might join us. One I recognised as the minstrel who had sung for his supper the night before. He had a pretty voice and everyone had been happy to drop a few coins in his hat. His companion was a pale faced youth with long hair, which was lank and matted and in need of a good wash. He told us that he was a scholar who had fled the pestilence from his university in Paris, only to find his whole family dead on his return to his father's house. From his mien and the long scar from brow to chin that disfigured his otherwise handsome features, the third was obviously a man of arms. I had hardly noticed him the night before, for he had been sitting in the shadows with his cloak hiding most of his face, and had spoken only a few words to the serving wench.
We arrived in Tucksford on a fine summers evening, such a change from the rain and gloom of the past weeks. The tree tops were all aglow in the light of the setting sun, and the dust of the road stirred up by our passing danced in the air like flecks of gold. It seemed that God in his infinite mercy had turned from his wrath, and had once more turned his beneficent gaze on mankind. After judgement those who are saved will feast on the heavenly banquet, the priests assured us, and who can say they are wrong.
The miller grew very excited when he spied the sails of the old mill on the edge of the town still turning lazily in the balmy air. He was all for rushing over to see if there was one of his craft still alive, and we had to dissuade him of such an unwise course of action. He then became very sentimental as he regaled anyone who would listen, with a discourse on the beauty of a mill's machinery. I suppose I feel the same way about wood.
We were treated to a fine supper of cold mutton and bread. The tapster had a particularly fine ale, golden brown in colour, and I'm afraid I succumbed and had a second and then a third tankard. So when the time came for the widow to tell her tale I was already feeling more contented than I could remember for many a long month, sitting with a fourth foaming tankard in my hand, and sweet Alice by my side.
ooOoo
The Widow's Story
Though you may find it hard to believe now, I was once a pretty girl when the bloom of youth still gilded my cheeks. I used to receive many admiring glances and love notes from the young bucks of the town when I was sitting in church on a Sunday, especially if they thought my father wasn't looking. Now I am as you see me, with white hair and wrinkled skin, although my teeth have survived the ravages of time, thank God or good fortune. And my waistline betrays my fondness for too many honey and almond pastries, although there was a time when a man could girdle my waist with his two hands, O so long ago it seems now, but inside that young woman is still there.
I was born in the great port of Kings-town, banks of the River Hull where it runs into the great estuary of the Humber a days sail from the sea. My father was a merchant with a fleet of three fine cogs, and a great warehouse on the waterfront. His trade was mainly in cloth, and he was well thought of by the monks of the Abbey at Meaux, for offering them a good price for export of their wool. In those days there was a great demand for rich silks by the great nobles, and he would send a ship to Italy once in a while. Sadly that has all ended with the Great Pestilence, and many in Kings-town now live in penury, those that were spared that is. Besides there are too few sailors to man all the great vessels of the town, and they now sit idle and rotting along the banks of the river.
My father's success meant that we became very wealthy, and could afford to eat meat every day of the week, except Friday of course. My mother was taken in childbirth not long after my eighteenth birthday, and my father decided to go to Genoa for a year to establish a presence in that fine city, in order to increase the volume of his business there, being as it was considerably more lucrative than the trade in woollen cloth. Rather than leave me at home in the care of my elderly aunts, probably because he didn't trust the young men of the town — I guess he had been aware of their approaches in church, when they thought he was lost in prayer.
Anyway, he decided to take me with him, with one of his widowed sisters to act as my chaperone. So on a fine spring day we set sail down the River Hull and out into the Humber. I had been taken on the ships many times in my childhood, though never beyond the place where we dropped the pilot, where we would disembark and take a lift with a carrier back to Kings-town. So I had long since lost my fear of the water, and I had never suffered from the sickness brought in by the movement of the ship upon the waves, unlike my mother who would go green as soon as she set foot on the deck.
It was wonderful to stand on the forecastle and watch the billowing canvas white against the blue of the sky, serenaded it seemed by the calls of the busy sailors trimming the sails to take best advantage of the wind, and the piercing cries of the gulls. My poor aunt suffered the same as my mother and rapidly disappeared below decks to the safety of her berth. I was so excited at this great adventure, free from the cloying familiarity of my home town.
It took the whole of the day to reach the sea, and rather than set out on those treacherous waters at night, we anchored in the lea of the spit of land that juts out over three miles from the land, and which makes the safe haven for ships when the autumn storms blow from the north — no sensible man will venture out in winter.
The voyage took two months, and we rarely ventured far from sight of land. But at last we anchored in the straights outside Genoa, waiting for a berth to become free in the harbour. The sight of the city even from the sea was wondrous fair, so different from our home port. The buildings seemed to go in for miles, and in the rays of the evening sun they would glow with a rainbow of colours from pale green to flaming red.
My father has sent an agent ahead of us many months before to find us a suitable house in a fashionable quarter of the city — in business, he said, appearances are so important. When I first saw the house I had to clap my hands with joy. This was the first stone built house that I had ever seen, not at all like the timber and brick houses of England. Above the main entrance there was a balcony with a carved balustrade, and there were statues of Greek heroes either side of the main door, which was approached by a grand staircase. Inside the rooms were cool, at the end of the wide passageway doors opened onto an enclosed courtyard with a raised pool in the centre with a tinkling fountain. Up to that point I had thought that our house in Kings-town was grand, but it was no better than a hovel compared to the splendour of the palace — which is how I thought of it — that was to be my home for the next year.
The next few weeks passed uneventfully. My father was away most of the day meeting with other merchants and agents from far away in the east. At night we would dine off silver in the great dining room, and my father would often ask me to be hostess when he entertained influential men of the city and beyond. During the day my aunt and I would venture out into the city to see the sights, either in the cool of the morning, or more often late afternoon. The heat of the noonday was such that few ventured out of doors, and we followed their example, preferring to spend the hottest hours in the cool of our rooms, with their thick stone walls, or sitting by the fountain in the courtyard.
My story really begins, however, in early September, when my aunt fell ill and took to her bed. I was under instructions not to venture out alone, but I was a headstrong girl, and I reckoned that taking one of the servants with me was not strictly breaking the rules. So it was that one glorious Tuesday morning I found myself sitting on the low wall surrounding an ornamental fountain in one of the city's many squares, with my servant at a respectable distance — he was of a lower class after all. I was doing nothing in particular, just enjoying the feeling of freedom, and possibly enjoying it all the more because it was slightly naughty.
I was sitting idly running my fingers across the surface of the water and daydreaming when I heard a strange man's voice, apparently addressing me. "And what, pray, is an beautiful young lady doing here all on her own? Do you not know that is is not entirely safe for someone as fresh and lovely to go around unattended."
I turned to see from whence the voice came, and gasped, putting my hand up to my mouth in my confusion. There just an arms length way stood the most beautiful creature I had ever seen, so beautiful he could not be human. He was obviously a prince, dressed as he was in a gown of finest silk shot through with threads of silver and gold. His striped stockings of white and red — hose is too crude a word — fitted his shapely legs so perfectly that you could see every detail of his muscles, and on his feet were shoes so dainty they were more like ladies slippers. But best of all was his hat, set lightly on his dark curls and surmounted by a long feather at a jaunty angle.
Once I had gathered my wits, I answered him in the firmest tone I could manage, "But I am not alone kind sir, see there is my servant over there," and I gestured across the square to where a group of youths were playing dice, my servant among them.
