Buzzards, Hawks and Ravens

(Account of Six Friends' Lives in the "Dark" Ages)

by

Ruwen Rouhs

Chapter 14.6

- Clandestine in Trescrossing -

 

- Ascension Day Market -

 

Something knocked on the wall. The strange knock above Francis’ head broke his sleep. He untucked from under the heavy layer of blankets and looked around for the source of the noise. The loose shutter of the small window above his head was moving to and fro in the morning breeze.

It was still dark. On the opposite side of the room, a boy was curled up close to another, partly covered by a blanket, bare ass exposed to the cold morning air. Francis couldn’t recognize who I was; Thimus or Jannes. He turned around to Jeroen, sleeping with his wounded left arm resting on the blanket. Francis thought for a moment then moved closer to his new friend and spooned him. He closed his eyes again, grateful for the events of the day before. Silently he thanked his patron saint, St. Francis, and went back to sleep.

An animated conversation woke Francis out of his dreams. The lively voices came from the main room downstairs. For a moment he wondered if he really had been welcomed by the healers or if the yesterday events had taken place only in his imagination. Soon the pressure of his bladder didn’t leave him a choice about getting up. He rushed downstairs to the outhouse, covered by only his frayed shirt.

“Good morning, rag doll!” Bastian welcomed him. “Francis, we are early risers. The mulled mead is nearly gone, but there is plenty of porridge left! That’s your spoon!” and pointed in Berrit’s direction.

Francis was taken aback. They had reserved a seat at the table for him! Berrit was sitting alone at the table-head. On the left side of the table Thimus had made himself comfortable beside Anzo, on the foot-end Jeroen was sitting beside Bastian and then came Jannes and Ruwen.

“You have the spot beside Berrit; beside the king!” Anzo laughed and Thimus began to chant: “The Beggar-Boy will be King! The Beggar-Boy will be King!”

Francis blushed. “Don’t hurt Francis´ feelings” reprimand Berrit, the youngest member of the group.

“Don’t you know that play Berrit, Duke of Quentisburry? The play about the dim-witted Prince and the bright Beggar-Boy?” Thimus laughed, “In the end the beggar-boy becomes king and the prince has to herd swine.”

“That has to be changed,” Bastian chuckled. “Francis just needs to don noble clothes and everyone will assume he is the prince!”

“Yeah, let’s head for the clothes-maker’s lane; Jeroen needs his own outfit as well. He is still tearing up my clothes when he tries to get into them,” Anzo spoke up, “but one question first, Francis! Why did the waiter at the Three Swans called you a dip?”

Francis blushed and his expression became defensive, “I am not a dip! Neither was my godfather! He was a ballad-singer, and conjurer. He took me in hand when I was ten and taught me his trade, but he vanished on a winter night three years ago. He was never seen again.” With a thick voice he added, “I guess someone killed him. From that day on, I had to make a living on my own!”

Thimus not only had a fast tongue, but also a heart of gold. “Francis, you will fit in perfectly into our company, the Company of Weird Healers! --- And Jeroen needs a companion, because all the rest of us have one!”

“Yeah, we need you; first and foremost, Jeroen. He will stay sad until he gets a companion.” Jannes affirmed, “You will like being with us! Ruwen and Berrit are the healers. Anzo is the alchemist and herbalist. Thimus and I are the apprentices. Bastian is our steward. He manages everything else and Jeroen is his helping hand. Join us Francis. In Trescrossing you can be our guide, and, as a our minstrel, you can herald the miracles done by Ruwen and Berrit!”

*.*.*

 

Francis was the perfect city guide. He knew the town like the holes in his pockets. First though, the company members, which now included Francis, needed a careful cleaning. Francis knew of the right place. Down by the Reuss, in a small public bath, the dirt of their eight young bodies was scraped off by sturdy maidens. They also got a hair-cut in accordance with the latest fashion. Jeroen, who had never shown his private parts in a public bath before, felt uneasy and his cock shriveled. The stoutest of the maidens, who liked to make fun of young lads, pointed at his shriveled cock, “Hey girls, look at this! How small and sweet! But wait, in only two more years there won’t be a maiden who will be able to accommodate this masterpiece!”

Jeroen went deep red. Ruwen tried to distract him, by examining the healing progress of the wound. Of the deep lesion in Jeroen’s left upper arm only a scar was left, looking like a pink heart. Thimus traced the scar with a finger tip and then burst out loud, “Francis, when did you cut this heart into Jeri’s arm? Last night?” When both the Whiteling and Jeroen blushed, Bastian increased the banter, “You are really a fearless boy. Not even one day and you’ve left your mark in Jeri’s heart!”

Francis was proud! Clean cut, smelling sweet, like the water in the bath-tub, and dressed neatly like the town boys of well-to-do parents, he showed his new friends around Trescrossing. First they roamed the quarters close to the Reuss-River. They strolled through the lanes where the guilds of dress-makers, hatters, lace-makers, glovers, shoe makers and cobblers had set up their shops. Then they headed down to the riverbank. There the weavers, dyers and fullers, the barkers and tanners, and the parchment-makers had their workshops. Most of these houses had direct access to the river to get clean water for manufacturing the goods and to feed the sewage into white rush of the Reuss-River. Close by were warehouses for wool and flax, leather and rawhides, dyes and lime and wood ash.

The merchants had settled in the centre, around the church of their patron saint, St. Nicholas. From the church the merchants-row extended downhill to the cathedral of St. Tarcisius, at the town square. Between the merchant quarter and fish-market at the banks of the Aare-River, the bakers, bottlers, butchers, and slaughterers lived and worked in the twisted rows. The wood-workers, carpenters, wainwrights, and black-smiths had their workshops between the two bridges crossing the Aare-River, the Kulm-Bridge and the old Up-River-Bridge. On the other bank of the leisurely flowing stream fertile farmland spread across the plain over to the far away hills in the north.

Starved by the bathing and the leisurely stroll through small rows and alleys, they looked for an inn to have a second meal. The pubs and speakeasies were either still locked, or too rundown. The hungry young men finally went down to the town square to get a solid meal in the Three Swans.

Now, at noon, the square was buzzing with activities. The traveling merchants with woven fabrics and lace, the peddlers with delicate delftware, rugged earthenware and thick-walled ovenware, the cattle and horse traders had moved into town to put up their booths for the Ascension Day market on the day to come. Traveling magicians, illusionists, ropedancers, soothsayers and wandering minstrels pushed their way through the densely packed crowd to set up their pitches in time, and tinkers and scissor grinders arrived as well.

Thimus searched the arriving carts for the Merry Traveling Players, the company of his foster parents. “Over there look! The vividly painted one, the one with the rainbow banner! Over there, that’s gramp’s wagon,” he shouted to the others. Then he took Jannes by the hand, “I have to welcome my granny and my gramps! Anzo, you have to come along too! You promised Granny you would bring me back to them at the fair. Hurry up, hurry up!” and away he went in the wink of an eye, dragging Jannes and Anzo along.

Berrit, Ruwen and Bastian made their way to their wagon in front of their quarters. “It’s high time to prepare our wagon and put up the healers stage! Let’s go and start immediately! You can to help us, Jeroen and Francis, and raise the flag-poles. Tomorrow morning the invalids and the sick will surely arrive before the fair even starts.”

After the two lads had raised the flag-poles, Francis suddenly grew fidgety. He approached Berrit and asked with a low but very determined voice, “Sir, would you excuse us for a little while, me and Jereon? I have to put a very serious question to Jeroen, in the cathedral of St Tarcisius! His answer is of utter importance to my future life!”

Inside the three-aisled church Francis asked Jeroen to go into a small, dimly lit side chapel. Only five small candles faintly illuminated the statue of a monk in drab brown cowl.

“What do you want to ask me in here, Francis? It’s dark and cool. I feel uneasy, you sounded so serious. Let’s return to the sunny square, to the crowd! I’m even a little scared!”

“Please, Jeri, stay! Please!” Francis appealed, and pointing to the statue on the small altar, “Look, my dear Jeri, birds nest on the Saint’s shoulder! They are nestling in his hands, and at his feet too. Do you know who the Saint is? --- He my patron Saint, St. Francis! He loved every creature; he loved men and animals. He preached to the poor and to the birds, preached on street corners and in town squares. Look how he smiles at you, at us both!” Then he took Jeroen’s hand in a very formal way and invited him to kneel down at the steps of the altar.

It was peaceful in the dim chapel. Francis stayed immersed in a prayer for long time, without releasing Jeroen’s hand. Then with a sigh of relief he turned to Jeroen, “Jeroen, I have asked St Francis to tie the knot between you and me! He gave me his blessing! St. Francis is willing to bless our friendship! ---- Now it’s on you! Say YES! Confirm our alliance! Listen to your heart! Say YES, dear Jeroen!”

Jeroen was overwhelmed by these words. He looked at St. Francis for a long time. His eyes began to water, and slowly he turned his head and looked at Francis. Without a word, he rose till his face was level with that of his taller friend. He looked into Francis’ eyes and took him into a tight embrace, which never seemed to end.

The embrace ended only when the church door swung open, a group of noisy children stormed into the cathedral, and the noise from the town square began to resound in the aisles. Jeroen slowly turned loose his friend, caressed Francis´ soft cheeks once more, and breathed to him, “I will ask St. Jeroen to sanctify our friendship and I am sure he will give his blessings too!”

*.*.*

 

Next day was Ascension Day, the beginning of a three day market. It was to open after the High Mass at noon on Thursday and to end with the evening prayer the following Sunday.

Ruwen and Bastian waited eagerly for the fair because it would be the biggest fair they had ever attended. The whole of Wednesday evening Ruwen and Berrit prepared the healers stage with its flagpoles on both sides of the stage, while Anzo visited the frail apothecary at St. Boniface to stock up his supply of fresh and cured herbs, and later bought a big jar of spirits at the town’s druggist. Jeroen and Francis were happy as sparrows taking a sand bath, when Bastian finally got hold of the two. He had a lot of assignments for his helpers. Initially he wanted Francis to stock up their store of foods at the local suppliers, while Jeroen should perform his duty as a stable boy and take the horses for a swim in shallow water of the Aare-river. But they boys refused to do the work separately, to Bastian’s surprise. “Don’t get angry Bastian! Let us carry out these duties together. Please Bastian! Doing the chores together will be much more fun and we will work much faster,” pleaded Francis, while Jeroen added mischievously, grinning, “You told me that you and Ruwen are one! You told me you love nothing better than do all chores together with your friend. Am I not right? It’s now the same with the two of us. From now on Francis and I will always stay together. St. Francis approved our friendship this afternoon in the cathedral.”

When Thimus and Jannes returned from their visit to Thimus’ foster parents, Thimus lagged behind his friend, his eyes red and puffy. His face looked stony. Anzo, knowing his small friend best, took him into a big hug. “What’s wrong, my little brother?” Thimus fought him off and even gave him a hack on the shin! Suddenly tears flooded his eyes, “Granny told me I can’t stay with the Merry Traveling Players anymore! I should stay with you! But I love her so. My Granny, my grams! Then Gramps told me they do not have enough room in the wagon anymore! And then he told me they do not need me as an actor, anymore either! A little girl is now the little prince in the plays!” He started to wail, “I hate her! I hate that girl. I am so unhappy!”

Anzo fondled Thimus´ head; he stroked his hair; he patted his back. However, his little friend cried on and on. Anzo couldn’t help but take him in his arms and rock him like a baby. “You stay with me! Didn’t I tell you at our first meeting, that you are my little brother, the brother I always wanted? I am your big brother now and Berrit is your brother too, and Ruwen and Bastian too. And you have other brothers also, Jannes and Jeroen and Francis! We are a great family! We all love you!”

At the evening table Thimus had recovered slightly from the initial shock of rejection by his foster parents. He still huddled up against Anzo, “Big brother, can I change places with Berrit tonight and sleep with you? I may start crying again and need comfort!”

“Sure, little brother, but only for this night and only if Jannes agrees and doesn’t complain tomorrow because of Berrit’s beard stubble.”

*.*.*

 

On the sunny morning of Ascension Day, Reedy checked his looks in a small mirror he had borrowed from CCdO the evening before. “Marti, Marti, please come over to my room and tell me if my new clothes fit me. This mirror is so small I can only see my face in it!”

“Hi, Jaco! I didn’t know you’re that vain! You look perfect, like out of a storybook! You will rock every girl’s world, watching you riding side by side with the Archbishop to the High Mass in St. Tarciss.” Marti chuckled, “You really look like a prince! In this outfit neither Anzo nor Berrit will recognize the skinny scullion from the Duke Edo’s kitchen!”

At the head of the festive procession passing down from the castle to St. Tarciss, a stout lansquenet in shining armor was waving the Archbishop’s banner. He was followed by four young monks in black habits sprinkling holy water into the crowd to drive off the devil and his evil followers. One of them was Jaco’s teacher, Friar Anselmus. Archbishop Casmir Count d´Ogmont, riding on the big white destrier, towered over the other riders of the procession by a head. He was wearing a gold embroidered wide cape, known as a capa magna, of light-red cloth over his simple black habit, and a mitre. By his side, half a horse-length back, rode Reedy. Jaco was sitting on the flower-embroidered blanket on the back of a fine grey horse. He really looked like a prince, in his light red doublet with silver buttons, the light grey hose and the light blue cloak. His light hair was covered with a red hat. He looked so elegant that he didn’t need a crown to impress the young maidens.

The towns-people had already heard of the Archbishop’s nephew, a boy who had turned up out of nowhere, and guarded by a fierce mercenary. Rumor had it, “This wispy boy looks exactly like St. Sebastian in the Archbishop’s chapel!” Others whispered, “He is not his nephew. He is the reincarnation of his boyhood-friend, the one he bewailed for so long!” Still others said, “It’s the son of the Archbishop’s deceased friend and cousin, Count Tristam d´Ogmont! The lad sure looks like a prince!” No one knew, but all gossiped. But whatever the truth was behind the rumors, the hearts of the girls went out to Reedy. They cheered him and wafted kisses to him. But, he not only had the hearts of the girls, but also the old ladies, who beamed at him and applauded when the procession passed by.

Reedy was not the only one in the procession the maidens stared at. “Is that the fierce mercenary, the guardian of the young prince? Is he the Captain of his Eminency’s new rider company? Captain Marti the Genoas?” they asked, as others admired him openly. “Oh Lord! Is he good looking! Look at his flashing eyes, the fine features of his face, his black hair! He doesn’t look dangerous. He looks like St. George, the dragon slayer!” Many girls blew kisses to Marti and blushed when he waved back. In the following night some even dreamed of sleeping in his arms.

Count Casmir, becoming aware of the unusual attentiveness of the crowd, bowed smilingly down to Jaco, “Reedy, if I were king and you my son, I wouldn’t have any problem installing you as my heir to the throne. Everybody loves you! Look at the girls!” Then the Archbishop steadied his war horse, looked up into the sky “Oh Lord! Do I really deserve a present like this? Do I really deserve Reedy?”

*.*.*

 

Davie and Fatty, no…Davie and Alessandro, because Fatty only called himself by his Christian name now, were among the spectators waiting for the Archbishop’s procession. “I’m bursting with curiosity, Davie! I’ll bet you that CCdO’s little prince is our Jaco! My little toe tells me; it must be Jaco, and the notorious mercenary is our friend Marty. I’ll bet you a piece of gold! ”

“I don’t bet, Alessandro! You know that! My father lost every stake; he even lost me by gambling. Remember?”

“Forget your father. Now you have me and Nuncio Eugenio! Look, look! Here they come! --- It IS Jaco! He looks unbelievably good!”

“Look how CCdO smiles at his little prince! The Archbishop is as proud as if he had fathered our Jaco himself!”

Closer to the cathedral, Thimus and Jannes pressed forward through a group of chatting boys, all students of the Archbishop’s high school. Pete and Pauli were waiting together with their schoolfellows “I’ll bet Reedy is riding behind the Archbishop, with Marty among the other soldiers!” When the parade arrived, Pauli shouted to Pete, “You are wrong Pauli, Reedy and CCdO are riding side by side, like father and son! Holy Spirit! And we are Reedy’s best friends!”

Thimus, overhearing the twins, objected with a strident voice, “No! We are his best friends, Jannes and me! We know …..” Jannes kicked Thimus on the back of his legs and pulled him away.

“Are you stupid, we are not supposed to know Jaco! Remember, we are on secret mission! But that midget is right; they look like the king and his prince!”

*.*.*

 

On a church holiday like Ascension Day, the cathedral was already crowded by the towns-people who had owned pews for generations. Most of market-visitors therefore had to stay outside and listen to the Holy Mass from in front of the high church. After the Te Deum laudamus, the “We praise thee, O God”, the Archbishop Casmir stepped out of the cathedral followed by the provost and by the dean of St. Tarciss, by the Abbot Wynfrith and the all minor members of the cathedral chapter. Standing on a pedestal, Count Casmir d´Ogmont seemed to float above the crowd. While the church bell chimed out, he spread his arms wide and blessed the see, the town, the market and all its visitors.

The greatest honor for every trader displaying his goods on the Ascension Day Market, for the peddlers, sutlers, minstrels, traveling players, jugglers, fortunetellers and last but not least, for the traveling healers, was a visit by the Archbishop after the high mass. As soon as the church-goers had flocked to the market and over-crowded the small lanes between the market stalls and show booths, Reedy plucked CCdO on his cloak, “Please Eminency, let’s hurry! The market has opened. It’s the biggest I ever have seen! Look all the stalls, the booths, the platforms! Look, gay banners are flying everywhere. Look, there are the stages of traveling minstrels and traveling players, and there are the gypsies!”

CCdO looked down at Reedy with amusement, tossed away the boy’s hat and tussled his hair, “Wait a moment my son, you are nervous as a foal on his first day out! We will mix with the crowd later!”

“Will you buy me something? A dagger, please! Peter and Paul told me Spanish cutlers sell daggers of damascened steel.”

CCdO was about to say no. But then he remembered his first visit at St. Michel’s Market in Constant. He had been of Reedy’s age and had beseeched his father for a dagger too. He smiled inwardly. In a low, but stern voice he asked, “This week you failed one of your assignments, Reedy, remember? Do you really think you earned such a precious dagger?”

Reedy brushed the ground with his left foot and blushed, “I know, but I have worked to memorize the poem in bed, time after time. Ask Marti. Now I even know it backwards. Please….” and he hesitated a moment, “Please Daddy, buy me a dagger!”

Now CCdO couldn’t help it anymore. “You are a sly fox, Reedy. I shouldn’t buy you the dagger because of this cajolery, calling me “daddy”! I should send you to the dungeon instead!”

“I didn’t mean to ingratiate you by calling you “daddy”. However, I love you like a dad, I really do!” --- And, blushing, “I don’t like to call you ‘Archbishop’ anymore or even ‘Eminency’. I want to call you …..”

Taken aback and being at a loss for words, CCdO put his arm around Jaco and hugged him in front of all the towns-people. He prevented Reedy from finishing the sentence with “Daddy”, but he knew it and was proud!

*.*.*

 

Meanwhile, Jeroen and Francis had helped Bastian pull out the platform for the healer's stage and then run up the flags, one displaying St. Agathius, the helper against headache and mortal fear, the other St. Margaret, the patron saint of mothers in childbirth.

Ruwen and Berrit, dressed in dark-red coats and high hats brimmed with white ermine fur, folded out the flaps of the door to the healers stage adorned with their paintings the Fourteen Holy Helpers. On the platform a treatment chair with a high backrest and a folding screen were placed beside a desk covered with medical instruments, like knives, drills, retractors, forceps, tongs and clamps. A chest-high narrow work-table to the left was piled high with phials filled with tinted potions, chiseled boxes filled with herbs or minerals in different colors, with mortars and pestles and earthen jars of unmarked content. To the right, on a small stool, incense burned in a thurible. At the back of the stage, the life-sized painting of Mother Mary with the benedictive Baby Jesus looked almost alive in the sun, as rays were shining through a hole in roof of the covered wagon.

“It’s all done,” Berrit announced proudly. “Now the sick and feeble can come!” Addressing Jeroen and Francis, “Now, you boys! Take off this afternoon, while Ruwen and I will treat the poor. Anzo will prepare the medicines and Bastian will keep an eye on everything.”

“Haven’t you forgotten something important, Berrit?” Bastian laughed. “These lads are still growing and need money for food and drink.” He pulled out his purse and gave Jeroen a handful of small coins.

“Don’t be so stingy,” Ruwen laughed. “Big boys need lots of money to enjoy a day like this! Give them enough. I know you’ve got plenty of loose coin. Both need to have fun for a change!”

“Thanks, Bastian, thanks Ruwen,” the friends shouted, and Francis took Jeroen’s arm to drag him through the crowd to the fountain in the center of the town square. “Can you smell it, you starved cormorant? Do you smell the roast ox? Come on, Jeri! I am starved!”

“It’s the scent of pork on a skewer, not of ox! Francis, you don’t have to tear out my arm. I’ll come with you voluntarily! My mouth is watering!”

Close to the fountain, over a hot glowing fire, three skewers were being turned by members of the butcher’s guild. Skewered on the longest spit was the mighty carcass of an ox. The meat was already bronzed and the fat was dripping into the hot embers. “It’s not done, yet! Wait, customers, or do you want raw meat?” one of the assistants announced, to fight off the hungry market visitors.

“Let’s take a piece of the pigling, Francis. It looks juicy, and I like pork. And it’s done! Come on, I am about to die!”

“I prefer roasted baby lamb, Jeri!”

“Please, no, Francis. Not lamb! I like baby lambs. They are so cute! Do you remember their eyes? My favorite lamb had blue eyes like you and its fur was white and soft like your hair. Please let’s stick to pork!”

“Then let’s try pork, my soft-hearted little shepherd!” Francis smiled down at his shorter friend.

Now filled with pork, white bread and light ale, the two began to roam the part of the market where clothiers, dress-makers, hatters, lace-makers, glovers, shoe makers and cobblers displayed their merchandise. Soon bored, they drifted back to the fountain. There the smell of pastries hovered. “Hey Jeroen, have you ever tasted Pokerounce or Blounche escrepes? --- No? You do not even know what it is? You poor peasant boy! My godfather always treated me with delicacies like these! --- Today I have to treat you! Remember that it’s the first day of our…..” Francis hugged Jeroen and breathed into his ear, “…… honeymoon!”

When Francis selected the pastries, Jereon suddenly pulled a wry face, “Bad! I’ve ransacked all my pockets, and that’s the last pence, Francis! Bad! Either we have spent all our coins already or someone picked my pockets.”

“We will not get hungry, Jeri! If we don’t have money, we make some! Remember, I am the nephew of a conjurer and minstrel!” Pointing to the eastern part of the square, “Do you see what I see?” Jereon looked where Francis was pointing! “Look over there, the traveling people! The jesters, jugglers, ropedancers, fire-eaters and circus tents! The jesters and jugglers like to draw the attention of spectators by challenging bystanders. I will challenge the juggler over there to a competition!”

A small, dwarf-sized jester was sitting cross-legged on a big barrel in front of a circus tent. His three-colored doublet had wide sleeves with small bells and his jelly-bag-cap long tails. He was juggling with three balls, a red one, a blue one and a white. By-standers had gathered waiting for the opening of the performance.

Francis went over, bowed deeply, “Hail to you, great juggler,” and quickly snatched the red ball out of the air. “Give it back, you midget!” The dwarf protested and a Herculean guy with a mighty club, his bare body covered by the fuzzy hides of wolves, seized Francis by the collar and shouted, “You filthy worm, turn the ball back to the Great Taillefer, the most famous jester and most renowned juggler in the world!”

Jeroen jumped the guy. “Leave him alone. Let my friend go, you monster!” and began to hammer the breast of the giant. But the massive man shook Jeroen off like he was a leave.

Taillefer, in the meantime, was splitting his sides with laughter. “Two spindly kids, wanting to mix it up with the most famous couple from the Island of the Golden Apples, the Hesperides, the famous Heracles and Taillefer? Choose your punishment: a bath in icy Reuss-River or a game of juggling! Be smart about this, boy; if you loose the juggling competition you’ll have to kiss Heracles’s ass! I have to warn you; he stinks. He only takes a bath once a year!”

The crowd jeered, but Francis expressed his defiance to the jester, “I’ll bet you can’t juggle four balls at a time. If I win, all the money contributed by the audience will be ours and Heracles will have to carry my friend on his shoulders; one time around the square!”

“Make it four balls and two clubs and I’ll kiss your ass, you loud mouth braggart!”

The crowd mafficked! This upcoming competition seemed to trump all expectations. They now expected a complete defeat of the cheeky youngster. No one recognized the former beggar-boy, Francis, in his new outfit. He didn’t wear his torn up, dirty grey coat and his wide-brimmed hat anymore, but a light blue doublet with dark sleeves, which matched the color of his hose. A dark blue cap, concealing his white hair, transformed Francis into a noble lad.

At the beginning of the competition, Jeroen watched with scared eyes, but then he began to cheer his friend, “Francis! Francis! You’ll make it. Beat him. Beat the most famous juggler in the world.” But his cheers of encouragement were drowned by the crowd, chanting, “Taillefer! Taillefer! Great Taillefer!”

*.*.*

 

While Jeroen and Francis departed from the healers wagon to roam the fair and fill their stomachs, Thimus had asked Jannes to come along to visit to the Merry Traveling Players. Pressing through the crowd, Thimus asked, “You have to tell me the truth, Jannes. Do you really think the girl playing the little prince will be as charming as I was? Do you really think she will get as much as applause as I got? I need to know! Let’s visit a performance and check out how the girl is doing.”

Jannes wanted to reassure his friend and at the same time give him a reason to accept the new situation. What was even more important to Jannes was that he wanted Thimus to stay with him and the healers. But how? “I never saw you acting Thimus, I just saw you in costume. You looked great, you looked like a real little prince; the sweetest girl of the world cannot compare to you.”

Then Jannes suddenly knew how he could help his friend. He planted himself in front of Thimus. “Look at me! Try to look into my eyes! Do you have to look up? No. Do you have to look down? No. We are of equal size now! You have grown out of the role of the little prince! I’ll bet, you have even grown out of the attire of the little prince!”

They began rubbing noses, “I forgot about that! Last winter I began to grow and grow and grow! My gramps is right! I am too old to play the little prince on the stage! I want to become an alchemist, herbalist and painter like Anzo!”

Suddenly both were happy. “Let’s rush over to the circus tent! That’s sure to be more fun than the play by the traveling players. Something is happening over there! Do you know why the folks are screaming their heads off?”

They pressed through the crowd to get to the source of the spectacle. There they saw Jeroen. He was whooping, ““Francis, Francis! You are the greatest! The greatest!” They joined in immediately, at first not fully aware of what was going on.

The first effort had no winner. Both Francis and the dwarf managed four balls very easily. Also, the next round, a cascade with four balls and two clubs, came out evenly. Then they competed with six balls. “I’ll beat you! Let’s try the fountain,” the midget challenged Francis. “But before that, I need a drink! I’m as dried out as the Nubian dessert! I need to wet my throat. Heracles! A barrel of wine!” Great Taillefer downed a jug of wine and twitted Francis, who had declined this refreshment. “Cheeky little shit-arse. Afraid to get drunk?

Francis turned his back to the circus artists, walked over to his three friends and all four closed to a circle, hugged and then patted each other on the back. Feeling invigorated, Francis challenged the Great Taillefer. “Let’s change to three balls and three knives! these props, or are you afraid of cutting your fingers, midget! A cascade with six balls is child-splay!”

Great Taillefer´s face went purple. Foaming, he accepted the challenge! His bad luck! He wasn’t familiar with sharp knives as props and after only three throws he missed a knife and it fell to the ground.

“The Great Taillefer lost! He lost to Francis! Hail to Francis! Hail to Great Francis, the greatest juggler of all.” Jeroen, Thimus and Jannes caroled, danced around, and began to collect money from the cheering bystanders. The amazed crowd, and not only his three friends, celebrated the new King of the Jugglers! Heracles and Taillefer had to accept their defeat, which they did, however, with glowering faces and what was even harder, the loss of the collected coins.

*.*.*

 

Archbishop Casmir, in the plain habit of a monk, the provost, and the dean of St. Tarciss, gathered on the steps of the cathedral overlooking the fair. Abbot Wynfrith lurked behind the trio. “Eminency, what a wonderful day. What a perfect day. The Ascension Market makes everyone happy. Look at all your happy subjects; all the happy guests from near and far, the farmers, merchants, peddlers, sutlers, minstrels, traveling players, jugglers and fortunetellers. The day would be perfect, if it weren’t for those healers over there, giving offence to our Holy Church!”

The Archbishop raised his eyebrows, “Who dares to cause offence on such a perfect day; who dares to challenge the Holy Church?”

“Look yonder! Look, Eminency! There, by the banner of Saint Agathius and Saint Margaret; the big crowd! The pagan healers, the Weird Healers Company who caused the stir at Oranna´s Chapel. The healers and the devils brats; the boys people call “God’s Wiz Kids”. People say these spawn of the devil bring the dead back to life!”

His spies had the Archbishop already informed about the events at Oranna’s Chapel, especially about the pagan dances during the Bealltuinn night and the rescue of the little boy. The Archbishop, however, was experienced enough not to try something impossible, like exterminating pagan folklore and punishing simple people. But he also knew the accusation of the Abbot forced him to act. “You are absolutely right, Brother Abbot. I have to avert damage to my flock. I will investigate the case in person. I will a have a close look at the healers, but incognito, only accompanied by the Genoas mercenary. Luckily, I am not wearing an Archbishop’s attire. You stay behind!”

Jaco, waiting for the permission to visit the fair, became alarmed by the allegation of the Abbot, concerning his friends, the healers “Can I come along, Eminency? There will be no better disguise for you, than to take along a boy. Everyone will believe it is a monk showing his nephew the fair!”

The Archbishop, Jaco and Marty had to fight their way through the crowd besieging to the healers wagon. Not only ailing people had gathered in front of the cart, but also curious people hoping to witness a miracle. In between CCdO and Marty, Jaco clasped his left arm to the Archbishop’s waist and his right to Marty’s. Startled by these affectionate clasps, both adults looked down at the boy. CCdO was the first to find his tongue, “Monk, Prince and Knight? I don’t remember a story about that combination. Do you, mercenary?” Marty, blinking also, surprised, “Neither do I, Eminency! Our grams told us kids a lot of stories, but never one like this.” At that, the Archbishop mused, “So there is nothing else to do but to make it up ourselves!”

Anzo, preparing medication in the back of the healers’ stage, was the first one to recognize Marty in the crowd. He started to lift his hand to wave at his friend, when he observed the closeness between Marty, a brightly smiling youngster, and a tall, ascetic monk. His movement froze. He recognized the boy and the Archbishop. Jaco had also recognized Anzo’s move and shouted happily, “Anzo, Anzo! Here we are, Marty and me and -----” CCdO, surprised by this burst of enthusiasm, closed Jaco’s mouth with his right hand, “Remember, I am Father Casmir. Nobody can know that I am the Archbishop!” Then the Archbishop frowned. Confronted with this new situation, he began to study his new friends attentively.

However, before CCdO could ask even a single inquisitive question, a lamenting peasant girl, looking no older than twelve or thirteen, crept onto the stage, where Ruwen and Berrit were treating a potbellied citizen with leeches. The pale girl was carrying a baby in a sling. Drowning out the whining and groaning of the self-pitying blubberbutt, the girl wailed in piercing voice, “My little girl! My sweet Suzy! She’s dying. She is hardly breathing anymore! She doesn’t eat, she doesn’t drink my milk! She is getting weaker and weaker by the hour!”

The crowd suddenly turned dead quiet. Anzo came forward, raising up the desperate girl, “Calm down, my little sister, calm down. Hand me over your baby; give me your little Suzy. The healers will examine her!”

“No! No! They can’t help my little Suzy! Nobody can help her except the Wiz Kids. Only God’s Wiz Kids can perform the miracle and make her live!”

Ruwen and Berrit clad in their bell-shaped coats turned to the desperate girl and the by-standers. Berrit spread out his arms like wings. With a firm voice he addressed everyone. “Only God can perform miracles! We, the healers coming from the south, cannot work wonders, nor can the Druids from the West, nor the Magicians from Persia, or the Shamans and pagan priests from the plains in the East! Only God, the Mighty Lord and his Holy Son can bring people back from the edge of the death!”

Then Ruwen spread his arms like a big eagle. “I have studied the Edda and all the tales and poems of the folk living up in the Cold! These scripts also say that only the Eternal Beings can work miracles. We, however, and the Wiz Kids, perform only the art of healing. We do it in the name of our Creator, of the Holy Trinity, the Father, Son and Holy Spirit! Down on your knees my brothers and sisters! Pray to God that we may find a way to help little Suzy!”

The circle of people around the healer’s wagon went silent as a grave while Ruwen and Berrit began with the examination of the weak baby. The Archbishop was as deeply taken by these words as were the common people. When his tension released, he turned to Jaco and Marty, “Are these healers your friends?” The addressed duo couldn’t help but nod their assent. “Ask the healers to come to my palace for an audience tonight. I have to talk to these wise men!”

*.*.*

 

This all happened while Francis was defeating the Great Taillefer and earning a handful of coins in order to get dessert at the bakers. Happily chatting, the four friends roamed the fair ground without even taking notice of the events taking place at the healers stage at the other end of the fair. Filled to the brim with cakes and sweet pudding, Thimus and Jannes begged off visiting the Merry Strolling Players, while Jeroen dragged his Francis over to the animal market.

“Look, my dear Francis, at how cute little lambs are! When I was a boy I always fell in love with these smooth-coated little rascals. Look Francis, this one has blue eyes like you have!” Soon Jeroen began to pet one little lamb after the other and finally took the smallest into his arms.

“Hey, my little shepherd-boy!” Francis smiled and snatched the lamb from Jeroen’s arm and put it to the ground. “Wouldn’t you like to check out if my hair is as soft as that of a lamb or even softer? Wouldn’t you like to study the color of my eyes a little closer?” Jeroen blushed and then smiled. Francis however, clasped Jeroen around the waist and gave him a peck on the cheek. “My soft-hearted Jeroen, I know a place down where the Reuss-River and Aare-River flow together, a secret small glade with soft grass surrounded by a thicket of willows. Let’s go down there, my love, and rest in the sun and celebrate the first day of our life together.”

*.*.*

AUTHOR NOTE

I would like to express my special thanks to B. for doing an unbelievable great job by correcting all the wrong expressions and the punctuation used by a non native English writer.

Comments, reviews, questions and complaints are welcomed. Please send them to ruwenrouhs@hotmail.de. And I would like to add, thanks for reading.