Keturah and Lord Death

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.