Keturah and Lord Death

“If you please, lord, this is the best parish in Angleland,” I said. “But for small things, who could be richer than we? We all have full bellies, and warm fires to sit by, and Choirmaster’s beautiful music of an evening. We have many old men and women, and our lord judges us fairly …”

“Sit down!” someone called. “Who are you to speak so?” called another. “She has cast fairy dust on young John,” someone else said.

But Lord Temsland seemed pleased by my words. “Let her speak,” he said, and the crowd fell into a sullen silence. “It is the Reeve girl, is it not? Speak.”

“We are a happy people, just as happy as those in Great Town,” I said, trying to sound brave, though my knees shook. “But will the king and the great lords see what we see? We must prepare for the king. We must rid the mill of rats, and build a road, and pave the square—”

“That would cost dear,” Lord Temsland interrupted, with a finality that made me take my seat.

But John took up my argument. “Father, it is a fine idea. For this you should open your coffers.”

“That gold, my son, is to buy you better lands than these that have been my exile,” Lord Temsland said.

A hush fell over the crowd, and John flushed at the words of his father, spoken so publicly.

“You think of your lands as exile, Father. But I was born here. These lands are my home and my inheritance. Let us open the coffers to prepare for the king. We could indeed build a road and pave the square—and improve the church, and repair the cottages! Why should the king’s favorites come to gloat?”

Lord Temsland’s face exuded pride in his son’s words, but he was a stubborn man. “I have a better plan. I will go to the king and make my excuses. I will ask him to delay his visit indefinitely.”

“To ask the king to delay his visit will only assure that he will come,” Lady Temsland said mildly.

“Nevertheless, I go,” said Lord Temsland. He arose and gestured to several of his men. “I will tell him—tell him there is plague or something.”

Lord Temsland roared as he strode out, “Roberts, get the horses ready. Webster, make haste to pack what is necessary for the journey.” Servants ran to help, and the villagers scattered before him. He did not look back or bid his son or wife adieu.

After he left the hall, the villagers began to chatter like field gulls after the harvest. Lady Temsland stood and raised her hand for silence. She said nothing and seemed to be listening, so we all listened as well. At last we heard the horses of Lord Temsland and his men as they sped away to the king’s court.

Lady Temsland now lowered her hand—it trembled a little—and took a ring of keys from her waist. Removing one, she said, “Son, an ancient law tells us that when the lord of the manor is away from his lands, his heir becomes steward of key and coffer. This key, you may find, opens the chests of coin your father has been saving to purchase better lands for you.”

John took the key in his hand and smiled at his mother. “The coin will purchase better lands indeed, Mother,” he said. “Though not perhaps as my father imagined.”

He turned and smiled at me then.

“Sir, we could make this year’s fair the best we have ever had—the best in the kingdom,” I said.

“Cheeky bold, ain’t she?” someone said.

“The young lord don’t seem to mind,” said another. “P’raps she’s tranced him with her stories.”

“It will be a celebration in honor of the king,” John said to those gathered. “He loves fine clothes and a good hunt and delicious food. We will satisfy his every delight.”

The crowd loved their young lord. “Aye, John,” they called. Two or three cheered.

“Where is Choirmaster?” John Temsland asked. “Summon him. The king loves music—we will give him music. It will be godly music, and perhaps God will help us.”

This time more in the crowd cheered. Already servants were running down the hill to the village to get Choirmaster.

Lord Temsland was afraid of no one, but he revered two offices, that of the king and that of the churchman. The manor was bigger than the parish church, but over the years Lord Temsland had lavished his church with a stained-glass window, a bell that rang for Sabbath and for weddings and funerals, and—glory of glories—an organ.

For three years it sat in the church, a symbol of civilization in Tide-by-Rood, polished to a shine, stately and … silent. No one knew how to play it. And then Choirmaster came to our town—a strange thing, for no one came to our town—and brought the organ to life.

Now Lady Temsland, always calm and unruffled, had a slight blush upon her cheek, and said, “Son, we must find some new and wonderful dishes to delight the palate of the king when he comes.”

“Send for Cook!” John cried.

Cook came quickly, as if she had been awaiting his summons.

“Here I am, m’lord,” she said.