Page 29 of The Forgotten
Maude clearly didn’t agree but said no more about it. There were those who lit bonfires and prayed to the goddess Brigid to purify and bless the land before planting in celebration of Imbolc, but wearing a bear mask was hardly the same thing. Petra knew that what her mother was really worried about was Edwin drawing attention to himself in any way. She feared for him and wished to keep him by her side where she could look after him.
“Let him go,” Petra insisted, earning a look of gratitude from Edwin.
“I’ll stay out of harm’s way, Grandmother,” Edwin promised as he set aside the mask. “We’ll only wear the masks for a short time anyway. Alfric and I wish to see the contests and watch the mummers. I hope they have the same mummers as last year,” Edwin said as she pulled on his breeches. “I nearly split my sides laughing.”
“Me too,” Elia put in as she finally consented to rise. “And there was that old man with the dog who did tricks. Remember?”
“The dog danced while he played his lute,” Ora chimed in. “I felt sorry for it.”
“Why, you silly goose? The dog got his reward in the end,” Elia said, always eager to annoy her sister.
“Yes, I suppose he did, but it looked so skinny and sad,” Ora replied.
“Much like its master,” Edwin said. “It can’t be an easy life, always traveling from place to place and living off people’s charity. Imagine never having a place to lay your head or anyone waiting for you at the end of the day.”
Petra smiled at Edwin as she spooned porridge into the bowls. Of the three children, he was the most sensitive to people’s suffering and felt a kinship with anyone who was different. Neither Ora nor Elia would give much thought to the old man who’d likely been on the road for years, depending on his aging dog for his bread.
“Come have your breakfast, then see to your chores. Ora, collect the candles to take to church for the blessing. And Elia, help your grandmother mix the batter for the pancakes once you’re finished. Edwin, bring more wood for the fire and fetch some water.”
“Yes, Mother,” the children answered in unison.
Petra climbed back up to the loft and applied herself to braiding her hair and pinning it up beneath her headpiece. She had two spare veils which she would lend to the girls for the day since it was customary to wear white on Candlemas. They didn’t have white gowns, but white linen veils would do. They could wear them for the procession.
Petra sat down on the bed and folded her hands in her lap. The friars usually joined the townspeople for the celebration after conducting their own Mass at the priory. Petra couldn’t helpwondering if she would see Avery this day. He used to love feast days when he was a boy, always opting for the mummers and minstrels instead of contests of strength. He loved the music and plays, especially if they were bawdy in nature. Would he be there today to enjoy the performances or would he avoid the revelry as most of the friars did since it was unseemly for a priest to indulge in such entertainments?
Petra sprang to her feet when she heard church bells. It was almost time to go. Mass would begin shortly. She grabbed the veils for the girls and climbed down, her mouth watering as the aroma of sizzling dough enveloped her. Petra accepted a warm, golden pancake from Elia and inhaled the heavenly smell. The pancake was lightly spread with butter, and it melted on the tongue as Petra took her first bite. The children had already had theirs and were looking at her with envy, but the pancake wasn’t enough to share four ways, so they would just have to wait to have the rest later.
Maude had removed the shutters, and Petra gazed at the brilliant blue square of sky visible through the unglazed window. Winter wasn’t ready to release its grasp on this part of the world, but this didn’t upset Petra. She had a whole day to enjoy herself, her family was thriving, and the sun shone brightly, lifting her spirits. She would put both Avery and Lord Thomas from her thoughts and make the most of this gift. Tomorrow and its worries would come soon enough.
TWENTY-NINE
Petra stood at the edge of the crowd, content to trade a better view of the play for a bit of space. She had no wish to be jostled by overexcited onlookers who’d been at the ale and were growing rowdier by the minute. The mild winter sunshine felt warm on her shoulders, and she could hear seagulls screeching in the distance even over the din of the audience. She would have preferred to take a walk but needed to keep an eye on the girls, who were at the front with their two friends, enjoying the performance.
Petra could hardly see what the mummers were up to, but the bursts of laughter were a testament to their skill. They’d done a somber play about the presentation of Jesus at the Temple forty days after his birth to mark the occasion and then moved on to what they did best, which was bawdy comedy. The subject matter wasn’t appropriate for Ora and Elia, but Petra couldn’t deny them this rare entertainment. She suspected that the lewd meaning, which infused nearly every line of dialogue, went over their heads, innocent as they were. Instead, they focused on the physical comedy, laughing joyously as the cuckolded husband spied on his errant wife and wound up stepping on a hoe, which promptly hit him in the face, giving the wife’s ardent lover time to escape.
Petra gave up on the play and looked around, hoping to spot Edwin. He’d gone off with Alfric right after Mass, leaving Petra and the girls to participate in the candlelight procession. Maude had decided to return home. She claimed it was to bring back the blessed candles, but Petra suspected that she was just too tired to spend hours on her feet as they made their way from one entertainment to another. Petra watched Maude hobble away, herfeet raw with chilblains and her lower back aching from the cold and damp that seemed to seep through the walls of the house and be an ever-present reminder of their reduced circumstances.
Petra finally spotted Edwin by the wrestling ring that had been erected on the green. He stood off to the side with three other boys, all of whom were Alfric’s friends. Several men had already tried their luck, and several more were awaiting their turn as two brawny lads went at each other at the center of the makeshift ring. There was much booing and hissing when the crowd favorite went down, but he managed to spring back to his feet and get his opponent into a headlock, effectively ending the match. A roar of approval went up from his supporters, likely members of his guild, and the judge pronounced the match over.
The next pair of contestants were already entering the ring. Their friends clapped them on the back and offered words of advice, but neither was listening. They were fixated on each other, teeth bared and fists curled as they prepared for the fight ahead. Edwin was mesmerized. He’d pushed up his bear mask onto his head and was watching the match, Alfric at his side. If Petra knew Alfric, he’d try to enter the contest, despite his age, but unless he could find an opponent close to his own height and weight, he would be denied a chance to fight. Alfric bent down and said something to Edwin, who shook his head, his eyes never leaving the two men in the ring. They were evenly matched, and their supporters were split down the middle, yelling insults and jeering every time one of them lost his footing and seemed about to lose.
Petra looked away. Seeing the two men going at each other, their faces feral and their eyes narrowed as they searched for any hint of their opponent’s weakness, reminded her too much of Cyril. He never missed an opportunity to enter the ring, winning nine out of ten times and strutting around afterward as if he’d done something miraculous. He usually hurt his opponent more than wasnecessary and basked in the cheering of the crowd after the win, preening like a jackanapes. Cyril always rode her extra hard on a feast day, needing to get his aggression out before going to sleep. Sated at last, he would leave Petra crying into her pillow as her tender parts throbbed with unbearable pain.
Petra was just about to check on the girls when she saw Edwin shift from his spot. The two men in the ring were finished. They were donning their jerkins and joking with their friends, the loser not sore at all about being defeated. He clapped the winner on the shoulder and they shook hands, all animosity forgotten as the organizer called for the next set of volunteers.
“Edwin, no!” Petra cried, but it was too late. Edwin was already in the ring, his bear mask tossed to the side as he faced Alfric. It wasn’t a fair match-up since Alfric was a head taller and at least a stone heavier, but the men were hungry for entertainment, and the disparity in the boys’ size didn’t seem to bother anyone. Edwin had removed his jerkin and was wearing just his shirt, which was the only one he had. Maude would be furious if he tore it, but Petra couldn’t be bothered about the shirt. She was too worried about Edwin getting hurt.
Alfric was smiling and jeering as he danced around the ring, taunting Edwin in a friendly manner. Alfric would never hurt Edwin, but Petra couldn’t bear to see her boy engage in physical combat, not even with a friend. He had that look on his face, the kind he had whenever the subject of his future came up. He felt defiant, scared, and outraged by the unfairness of his lot. This was his chance to prove something, to show the world that he was a man, and not some invalid who couldn’t be trusted with sharp tools or other men’s welfare.
Edwin let out a roar and charged Alfric, nearly knocking him off his feet. Alfric laughed and righted himself, grabbingEdwin and pinning his arms to the side as he brought his foot behind Edwin’s ankles. Edwin’s legs went out from under him when Alfric moved his foot, and Edwin went down hard, Alfric on top of him. The crowd cheered, and Alfric gave his fans a winsome smile as he held Edwin down on the grass. Edwin struggled like a landed fish, but Alfric was too heavy and had the advantage of position. Alfric finally released Edwin and helped him to his feet, inviting him to have another go. Edwin had no chance, but he wouldn’t slink away in shame. He resumed his defiant stance and glared at Alfric, now genuinely angry. This was no longer a game to him, but a fight to the death.
Edwin began to circle Alfric, who was still enjoying the approval of the spectators. Edwin charged again, this time knocking Alfric off his feet and jumping on top. Alfric wrapped his arms around Edwin and flipped him onto his back, straddling him and holding him prone. It took him mere moments to reverse their positions, and the crowd booed Edwin, calling him a milksop and a weakling. Edwin’s face was puce with rage, and his mouth opened as he was about to say something. Petra stifled a scream of panic when she saw Edwin’s eyes roll into the back of his head and his body begin to jerk. If Alfric didn’t release him, Edwin could choke on his tongue. Petra tried to push her way through the crowd, but the men closed ranks, watching with interest as Edwin’s teeth began to chatter and foam appeared at the side of him mouth.
Petra was wailing with fear and helplessness. There was no way she could get to Edwin, and even if she could, what could she do? Everyone was watching, craning their necks to get a better look at the boy who was having a fit right in front of them. Alfric was still sitting on Edwin’s chest, his mouth open in shock. Petra cried out for someone to help Edwin, but no one moved, not even the organizer, who just stood off to the side, watching the show. Someone pushed through the crowd from the other end, shovingmen aside as if they were nothing more than stubborn sheep. Someone yelled out an insult to the newcomer but was instantly shushed by his friends. This man wasn’t one of them, he was someone who commanded respect and awe. His fine dress proclaimed his status, but he would have been known to the men even if he wore a leather jerkin and breeches.
Lord Devon entered the ring and physically lifted Alfric off the ground, tossing him aside like a sack of wool. He covered Edwin with his own body and held him until the fit passed, leaving Edwin shaking and sputtering, his eyes wild with incomprehension as he finally came to. The men were muttering among themselves, trying to understand what they’d just witnessed.
“He’s possessed,” someone cried, and the rest of the men surged forward, driven by ignorance and fear. “The Devil must be driven out before it comes for the rest of us.”
