Jared was awake before first light began stealing into the smithy house, where he lay on an oat-stuffed mattress in the family bedplace in the upper level. Maud, his mother, slept behind a curtain and two servants snored below in the smoky darkness.
He’d thought about what Osbert had said and felt resentful that he’d caused him to hope. Perhaps he was right that the shy maiden did hold him in thrall but he’d never allowed himself to dream. Marriages were settled by parents on the basis of family advantage, social standing or the acquiring of property, even at his level. The base villein, a field labourer, was more fortunate. He had only to gain the assent of a disinterested lord of the manor, more concerned with increasing his workforce.
John Frauncey, the haughty bailiff’s clerk who gave himself such airs on account of his learning, would probably rise in the course of time to the position of steward in the manor house. What could he put up against this? His father’s careful husbandry had bequeathed him a fine forge and impressive array of tools and skills – but he would always be a blacksmith, earning his daily bread with the sweat of his brow.
He could now make out the pattern of his bedspread: morning was breaking. Easing himself up he reached up the wall to where his belongings hung from hooks in linen bags. He’d laid out good silver for a new outfit – a doublet in brown and slender green hose under a flaring red jacket; pointed leather shoes and a jaunty felt hat narrowed to a peak over the nose, finished off by a soft leather purse hung from a belt.
‘Is that you, Jared?’ came a voice from the other side of the bay. The growing chorus of roosters, barking dogs and the like made sleep impossible now.
‘Yes, Mother.’
She sat up and drew back the curtain. ‘So you’ll be off into the woods a-bringing in the May.’
‘Aye, I am, Mother.’
‘Just you mind what goes on in there, Jared. A goings-on as will have Father Bertrand a-worrying over souls for a sennight, I shouldn’t wonder.’
‘Yes, Mother.’ As if he was going to miss the fun!
Outside, the village was coming to life.
There was a gathering throng at the well, geese were being noisily driven to the common and from afar came the shrill voice of Margery Blundel berating her meek husband, the miller’s gristman.
And a quick glance heavenward showed that the day promised fair!
‘Good day to you, Nolly!’ Jared called to the tousle-haired young man emerging from the carpenter’s house next to his.
‘And a right merry May morn to you, m’ friend,’ he laughed, finishing fastening his jacket, clearly as new as Jared’s own.
They were soon joined by others heading in the same direction – across the Coventry to Banbury highway to the common, and then to the woods that lay to the north.
‘They’s about, then!’ Nolly chortled.
On the common dozens of girls were kneeling, splashing their faces in the early morning May dew, a sure way to win a beautiful complexion for the whole year. Others were already in the adjacent woods, gathering wild flowers and greenery, their laughter and song lifting hearts now that a hard winter was past.
Wolfscote Forest behind the woods was thick and ancient. Trackways meandered deep inside the lair of outlaws and vagabonds, and within living memory, home to the wolves that gave it the name. Somewhere in its dark heart was a deserted priory that many claimed was haunted by ghosts of the nuns who had been struck down by a deadly plague.
The villagers grazed their pigs and collected firewood in accordance with their ancient rights but none ventured far into the forest – in the cleared areas of the woods was all they needed.
‘Good morn to you, Meggy m’ love!’ Nolly threw at a young girl in a green kirtle, her striking red hair falling around her shoulders. She was plucking bluebells with her sister; they giggled and ran on.
Jared found a particularly fine wood anemone and fastened it to his hat, looking for others to complement it but Nolly had seen something through the trees.
‘Pageant wagon’s here.’
‘Well, let’s be at it, sluggard!’
Age-old traditions had the girls gathering flowers and rushes for weaving crowns while the menfolk sought hawthorn boughs and greenery to load the wagon.
A cow-horn sounded an imperious summons. Folk hurried to the pageant wagon from all parts of the woods, a sizeable ox-drawn conveyance more to be seen as the stage for wandering mystery players but now set with a wooden throne. It was gaily decorated with garlands of flowers, draped with greenery and hawthorn and was attended by the Master of the Procession, as usual the well-respected Old Turvey, a Hurnwych franklin of thirty acres.
‘I’ll thank ’ee to form up, one and all!’
There was a scramble for precedence but the old man was having none of it. Girls first behind the wagon, then at a decent remove the men, to be joined by the approaching cavorting figures of a hobby horse ridden by a youth with an extravagant cap threaded through with May blossoms and attended by two tumblers in green. A shawm and tabor took position in the lead and the procession moved off – bringing in the May!
It was exhilarating and joyful, a release after the bleak winter, and with the slow pace of the oxen Jared joined others in darting out to seize a girl and whirl her around in a frenzied dance.
They crossed the common and entered the village, lined with onlookers, laughing and admiring. Leather mugs of ale were thrust at them and as more joined in the procession the noise grew to an outpouring of merriment.
Jared however began to quail.
There was only one small road through the village and it was going to stop at the house of Beavis – where the May Queen lived. Aldith.
The noise died away as Old Turvey brought the procession to a standstill.
‘Oyez! Oyez! Does the May Queen of Hurnwych Green lie within? Your Grace, know your liege subjects await!’
A vision appeared at the door before Jared. In a long white gown, her dark tresses flowing loose, Aldith glanced demurely about her. Supported by Turvey she mounted her throne to sit in regal majesty, bestowing a bashful wave at the throng, who immediately fell to their knees.
Jareth’s heart was in his mouth. Had she noticed him in his new red jacket?
The jubilant procession moved off, down to the last little hut and back again, this time turning on to the Banbury road and the bridge over the River Dene. On the other side was the manor with its hall and tithe barns to the right and the village green and church to the left.
Already the green was alive with activity, booths for entertainments set out, trestle tables readying for the feasting and a fast gathering crowd eager for the coming festivities. Over at the maypole several figures stood waiting, the notables of the village.
The Queen of May progressed around the green for a full circuit before the admiring crowd, stopping at last at the maypole.
A wistful girl wearing an elaborate circlet of flowers was handed up, the old May Queen who had the honour of crowning the new, before official witnesses.
The lord of the manor was not present; he possessed several other more substantial villages, and this year apparently was not inclined to spend his time in lowly Hurnwych. However, the bailiff and his underlings were there and to his annoyance Jared saw the condescending figure of Frauncey, looking above it all.
Aldith stood and in a quiet but determined voice intoned, ‘This morn it is the month of May. Let all know it by the Maying of Hurnwych, and I proclaim the revels begun!’
With gleeful cries the load of flowers and greenery was plucked from the wagon by the womenfolk to decorate every doorway and entrance and the new May Queen nobly led those chosen to adorn the rood screen of the church away.
‘Hoy, now, and we’re commanded to go a-rollicking,’ Nolly cackled. ‘And by all the saints I’ll not disobey!’
They headed to an ale booth and claimed a tankard each.
‘That John Frauncey!’ Jared glowered. ‘May he choke on his airs this very day, the bastard!’ He drank deeply.
‘Him? All the world knows he’s an arse-licking churl. Pay no mind to the prat,’ Nolly said dismissively, speedily doing justice to the ale.
On the other side there was a burst of delighted laughter. The Jack-in-the-Green had arrived, a figure dressed from head to toe in foliage with a pair of antlers atop, urged on by drum and pipe and a whirl of male dancers with tambourines and tiny bells sewn to their leggings.
‘Let’s go!’ Nolly urged. ‘I’ve a mind to kick up a storm.’
‘Not yet. I want to see the games.’
And wait for Aldith to return. Just how did Osbert figure that he had a chance if he was bold enough?
Nolly left to join the crowd about the increasingly uproarious Jack-in-the-Green.
A dwarf jongleur in gaudy motley appeared from nowhere. Tumbling and leaping around Jared he sang a bawdy song, bringing others to laugh at him.
Jared moved away, his mind on what he’d say if she appeared before him.
Osbert beckoned him from an ale booth. ‘How now, Jared, and here’s one for you, lad.’
He took the tankard but just sipped the drink.
‘You think she’ll hear me?’ he murmured.
‘Young Aldith? You won’t know until you tries. Here, let’s watch the milkmaids dance, always a sight!’
‘Not now. You go, Osbert.’
Putting down his ale Jared looked up to see the May Queen returning, surrounded by dancing maidens.
At the edge of the green she was met by lively acclaim, which she graciously acknowledged, then with her following turned to advance to the maypole – toward him!
He swallowed. This was the moment he knew was now or never – she had but to doff her crown at the base of the maypole and be released to join the revelry. And then would be free to …
Others had noticed her arrive and were gathering to hail their queen but he was determined to be out in front. He advanced, twitching his jacket and rehearsing what he would say, heart bumping. Aldith was laughing with one of her maids of May and happened to turn his way just as he pushed through the throng to the front.
He felt himself blush and all his words fled.
She smiled encouragingly but with all the village looking on Jared remained tongue-tied.
‘Why, Mistress Aldith!’ Frauncey executed a perfect genuflection. ‘May Queen and none of quality to pledge true allegiance? For shame!’
He took her arm, adding silkily, ‘The ox-roast is announced, my dear, and I shall see to it the choice cuts are yours!’
Left standing, Jared felt a wash of humiliation. It was replaced by despair then realisation. Whether it was Frauncey or some other, she was too fine a catch for a mere blacksmith and the sooner he accepted this the sooner he could get on with life.
Suddenly everything went quiet. On the highway from Coventry a tight column of helmeted men-at-arms on horseback was approaching, a great banner aloft. Soon it became clear that this was a progress, a long tail of wagons and grand conveyances, signifying that a noble was on the road.
Nolly came up beside Jared. ‘It’s Baron Everard, I’d swear it!’
The first column drew abreast, the clopping of many hoofs and jingling of harness loud in the stillness. The men were haughty, grim-faced; their steel bright and polished. The brazen colour of tabards and heraldry spoke of a world of nobility and puissance.
Villagers began dropping to one knee, their heads bowed in submission.
Jared did likewise, but dared an upward glance.
Following the men-at-arms a single figure rode a jet-black horse. Baron Everard D’Amory in a magnificent suit of robes in rich shades of purple and scarlet.
The same stern face, hard lines and powerful authority that he’d seen when Perkyn had been spared radiated out with daunting force, a terrifying presence. Close behind him was his lady, her extravagant mantle woven with striking vermilion and blue patterns. She wore an expression of disdain, looking neither to the right nor left and making play with her pomander to ward off village smells.
Then followed a richly dressed young man on horseback. He looked about with an expression of boredom. Was he the baron’s son?
A long line of baggage carts followed and the rear was brought up by another troop of men-at-arms.
The procession came to a stop and Jared heard voices at the head. The bailiff, on his knee, was addressing the baron. As they spoke in the Norman tongue the villagers could not know what passed but with a lordly gesture an attendant threw a spray of coins on to the green and the progress resumed.
Jared followed it with his eyes as it wound past the manor and eventually out of sight.
His gaze flicked up to the castle on the hill.