The conference Tree, it was a large Horse Chestnut, believed to be the largest in the county. In high summer, its leaves afforded shade and was employed as the focal point for the every year fayre. This day, the last day of the fayre was to be one of excitement. Today, the Queen, the beautiful Glenora, officially widowed but a twelvemonth, was to cast off her widow's weeds and begin her search for a consort.
Her husband, Prince Robert Raith, from the Northland, had been a worthy consort to her, but he had reportedly been slain by the sword of a Saracen, in the Holy Land. Yes, today would be one of high excitement, for not only was Glenora going to be presiding at the last day of the fayre, she would be remaining for a week, in the town, of Eith, a guest of her cousin, the Duke of Eith, and the Duchess at Mallay Castle.
Country Dining Tables
This, the last day of July was gloriously warm. Clear blue skies, a gentle, tempering zephyr and entertainment provided by birds, singing their joyful songs and caring not for peer or peasant.
Away from the conference tree, the policy had been set up for the jousting tourney, attracting many a knight and squire and for the past week they had been at 'battle' to decree the best pair who would meet to claim the Queen's Riband, this day.
All talk was about the young Sir Alfred from Ireland who had defeated all takers in tourneys throughout the Kingdom, and across the sea in France. His opponent was to be Sir Gyles, a man of some thirty years, a champion of champions. Fifteen years of combat and jousting had taken their toll and Sir Gyles was starting to feel it. His armour had lost most of its sheen and his movements were slower; yet he took on and beat all his contenders.
Sir Alfred, as rich as Croesus, could afford the best of armour, horses and lances and his manner was as brash and arrogant as his nineteen years of life allowed. He turned on the charm and chivalry to all ladies, and indeed, was a fair catch for the beauteous unmarried women of the land.
A huge makeshift kitchen had been erected and from it, the aroma of baking bread and roasting meat; many a fowl, a large pig, a fat sheep and an ox. Covering the kitchen, a table was filled with all manner of good things to eat, summer fruits, pies and tarts and for an transfer of a copper coin or two, these delicacies could be purchased. Blind eyes were favorably turned as small boys made off with an apple or two.
Yes, today was the last day of the fayre. This, the day of days, to be graced by the lovely Queen Glenora.
Nearby, a beggar stood, his face hidden by a ragged cowl. His dress was brown, dirty and ragged. Once it had been the cast off vestment of a monk and now gave the beggar some modesty and warmth for the winter. As he wandered among the crowd holding out a bowl and request in the name of "Our Lady" for alms in the form of some coin of the realm, or food.
He was ignored by most, kicked, pushed and abused by the others. Ladies hid their faces and gentlemen put kerchiefs or nosegays to their faces to ward of the smell.
He approached a priest and two monks sitting under a smaller tree enjoying a capon and some cooling ale.
"Father, brothers, in thy charity, please share a light meal of food. I have not eaten for many a day, and fain would faint from hunger. A crust of bread possibly or maybe a halfpenny to purchase a cake."
"Get thee gone, thou rascal, " said the fatter of the two monks. "I know of thee and thy kind, travelling from fair to fair, doing no work and seeking alms from honest men who earn every penny by the sweat of their brow. Hast thou no shame?"
The beggar turned to the priest. "Father, I have not eaten crumb, flesh, fish or fowl for this past week, water I have drunk from the streams. I petition thee humbly, in the name of Saint Alexis of Rome, himself a beggar for seventeen years, for a light meal of food, or a coin."
"What knowest thou of the saints, varlet." The priest stared up sat the beggar with disdain. "It may say in the Lord's Prayer to 'give us this day our daily bread', but the good Lord meant us to earn it. Now be gone, get about thy business and find an honest day's labour." He dismissed the beggar with a wave of his hand.
"Here beggar! Yelled the thinner of the two monks, "Eat, suck the marrow from this bone." With that he threw the remains of a capon's leg into a colse to puddle. "See, knave, it is even washed for thee. Sup well." The beggar knelt down and retrieved the leg which had a small bite of meat left on it.
"Bless thee, friar, be assured thou wilt receive thy reward for this charitable deed."
"Begone," yelled the priest.
"Bless you, father, and brothers." The beggar bowed to the clerics and walked away.
He walked to the conference Tree, oblivious to the citizen who moved away from him. Of people, there were few as they had gone to the jousting area to admire the combatants and their fantastic animals.
The beggar leaned against the tree, standing next to a minstrel who had been wandering colse to the fayre ground, singing songs; he was now resting and tuning his lute.
"Good morrow, minstrel, I see thou art in fine voice today, fain I would have a coin, even a groat, I'd have you sing to lift my spirits." "Good morrow to you too, beggar. I see thou art not having much success in thy trade this day. I would sing a merrier note, but I have caught a chill and my nose is stuffed - a pity, because this day I miss the perfume of the ladies and the aroma of yon cooking fire. Too much of the open life this spring and summer, is too much."
"Aye, minstrel, the charity hereabouts is as cold as the onset of winter; even the charity of the Church is less. I have been sent packing by a priest and two friars. Ah! Such fate. They open their hands and money falls into them like rain. I, receive naught but a kick."
"Beggar, by your speech and language, I feel thou art an educated man, and dare I say, possibly highborn. That is no business of mine I gain also that thou couldst read and write and could mayhap be employed as a scribe or to teach the offspring of the nobility."
" 'Twas ill fortune that has made me what I am today, minstrel. Yes, thou art correct, I am learnéd and I have travelled. I once enjoyed the favours of a beautiful lady and I lacked for nothing. But Dame Fortune chose not to stay with me, and thus, thou doth see the effect of her abandonment."
"Beggar, I live a free life. Once I was, like you, well-favoured, I was sent to Venice to supplementary my learning. I have dined with the high churchmen and talked of art with the Holy Father. I gave my heart to a lovely Venetian noblewoman, who taught me the art of music and song. Illness took her from me, so I chose to roam the lands and to sing. I bring to the citizen songs of love, of joy, of sadness. I am here today, to sing before Queen Glenora, who today comes out of mourning for her consort, the Prince Robert."
"I hear she will take no other man for her consort even thou she no longer mourns."
"Right thou art, beggar, she is devoted to Her Prince and vows never to wed and love any man until she is with her favorite at the Lord Of Heaven's throne. I have sung for the Prince when he was a soldier. Prince or pauper, it matters not. Like now! Beggar, I feel a song. Here, let me give thee the first rendition."
The fairest of ladies will ride here today
The fayrest of all at the fayre.
To join with her subjects, those great and small
To enjoy the sweet summer air.
Knights, ladies and nobles wilt all bend their knee
Beggars wilt fall to the ground
To our sweet Queen Glenora, love will abound
And to remain evermore."
"Thou singest well, minstrel, even though a chill in the head doth ail thee. The Queen wilt heap praises on thee."
"Make way! Make way! The Queen and her retinue approaches." The strident voice of the horseman thundering across the ground interrupted all that was going on.
Men, women, children and animals scattered as more horsemen thundered in.
"Make way! Make way!"
A path was soon cleared. A body of foot soldiers ran onto the ground and lined up close to the seating which had been arranged for the Queen.
"Bow thy head and bend thy knee, the Queen draws nigh. Prostrate thyselves for Her Most Royal Highness." The stentorian voice belonged to a well-built liveried lackey, carrying a staff; the lackey was followed by a body of pages and ladies-in-waiting who busy the seating and remained standing.
Two horsemen appeared next, blowing on horns.
"Make way and make obeisance to her Royal Highness," roared the lackey.
A cheer went up as another body of horsemen surrounding a small coach approached. Every person either bowed or curtsied and kept their head lowered as the coach pulled up at the Royal Enclosure. The beggar did not bow.
The Queen alighted from the coach and accompanied by the Duke and Duchess of Eith, mounted the steps to take her place on a throne made especially for her for the day. All the watchers colse to made their obeisance. The lackey looked colse to and spied the beggar.
"You! Foul fiend, prostrate thyself," he yelled.
The minstrel nudged the beggar. "Bow, fool, or your life is forfeit."
The beggar remained standing. A soldier, who was the captain of the guard signalled to two men who joined the lackey and approached the beggar.
The lackey nodded to one of the soldiers who butted the beggar with his spear haft. The beggar sank to his knees.
"Prostrate thyself, thou base stinking pollution. How dare thou deign to stare at thy Queen."
The beggar remained kneeling. "I bow to nobody."
By now the crowd was buzzing and the privileged guests were standing and straining to see what was happening.
"Something is astir," said the Queen to one of her companions.
"Aye Highness, it appears as if a beggar has fallen foul of Squire Thomas, your acting chamberlain, Squire Thomas and two of your guards are dealing with him."
One of the young pages ran up to the royal enclosure and bowed to the Queen. "Highness, Milady," he blurted out. "Yonder stands a base beggar who did not pay thee the indispensable homage."
"Indeed? specialist James, I seek not grovelling homage from my citizen - just love and respect. Have the beggar brought to me, instantly."
"Aye, Your Highness." The young page, his face flushed with delight from the Queen's recognition, doubled away to the lackey and the soldiers.
Sir Alfred, his sword drawn marched to the lowest of the Queen's enclosure and stood at the ready as the beggar was brought forward.
"Well, beggar," roared the lackey, "speak up. Why didst thou not show respect for thy queen?"
The beggar still hidden in his cowl appeared to look up at the Queen.
"I do not bow to any, save they be my equals."
"And who are thy equals, fellow, base beggars such as you?"
"Sir, if verily that be your title, Good Queen Glenora and Prince Robert made manifest that they sought no grovelling before them."
The queen stood. "Master Chamberlain, this beggar speaks in a manner not like his kind."
" 'Tis true, Highness, I have not all the time been a beggar. I too, was at your coronation when you and Prince Robert vowed to serve your country and people. That day I pledged my sword and my heart."
"I know your voice, fellow," said Sir Alfred. " Speak and recognize thyself, or my sword, also pledged to my Queen, shall speak for me."
"Calm thyself, Sir Alfred. Thou art still prattling on with the rashness of youth. Were I armed, within three strokes, thy sword would be on the ground and mine at thy throat."
The Queen smiled. "Be advised, Sir Alfred, thou wilt have the opportunity to prove thyself at the tourney, mayhap be my champion if thou can best Sir Gyles."
"I can and shall, milady. There is only one man in the kingdom who can best any knight and that is thy late consort, Prince Robert. Gone from you these last eight years and reported dead a twelvemonth. I was but a boy when Prince Robert left to crusade. He left with praise for my swordsmanship, even then." He smiled. "Perhaps, milady, this base fool thinks he is Prince Robert, or his ghost."
"Silence, Sir Alfred. Pray do not speak such of my dear dead husband. I was a maid of seventeen years when we wed, no man has substituted him, nor will. Beggar! In the name of my favorite husband, remove thy cowl."
The beggar dropped his cowl to his shoulders, revealing a mane of dirty hair and an unkempt long beard. A fading long scar creased his forehead.
The captain of the guard paled. "Highness, I fain would speak with thee. I think I know..."
The beggar turned to the guardsman"... Do not keep whatever guessing Captain de Courcey - yes, I know thee well, brave fellow. It was your sword that saved me from a Mohammedan's scimitar at Jerusalem, then I was sorely wounded and saw no more of my valiant soldiers."
Captain de Courcey dropped to his knee and bowed his head. "My Prince, by Our Lady, thou hast been saved." Emotion overtook the brave soldier and he burst into tears.
Queen Glenora clutched her chest, her sapphire eyes brimming with tears.
"My consort, my love, you live?'
"Aye, milady love. I was captured by the Saracens and treated well, but I escaped and travelled, by foot across desert, mountains and sea.
Fain, I would hie to Mallay Castle, where mayhap, our goodly cousin would oblige me with bath, barber and raiment, so I am no longer foul of visage, or odorous. Then I will return and join in the festivities with our people."
He turned to the Duke and tonight we will feast and I wilt show thee how to disarm a man when thou art weaponless, a trick I learned from the citizen of Cathay. Sir Alfred be prepared. Minstrel, with the blessing of the Duke of Eith, thou wilt regale us with song and laughter, and be gift at our table tonight. " He lifted his hand in salute.
"God save our sovereign lady. Queen Glenora."
The Beggar Would Not Bow