by Jon McDonald
They started back towards the entrance to the house. As they passed the already set table Bryce sadly noticed the lack of roses.
“Hey guys,” Margot called out to the boys as she appeared at the top of the steps, all flounces, lace, and a tie died shawl, her arms filled with bunches of flowers and a grocery flat laden with an assortment of luscious looking fruits.
“Margot!” Delgado shouted out as he came forward taking the flat of fruit and giving her a big kiss on the cheek. “Look at you, all dressed up in your Easter drag.” Delgado turned to Bryce. “Here are the flowers for your table after all.”
“Great.”
Margot was an aerobics instructor at a very exclusive health spa in Topanga Canyon. She was trim and saucy in a very California blonde kind of way.
“Man, these look fantastic,” Bryce commented, poking at the fruit in the flat. “Are these from Gypsy Boots?” - A natural grocery known for its superior fruits and vegetables.
“Oh yeah. And if you like, I’ll put together a fruit salad. Not very Moroccan I guess, but hey fruit is universal no?” Margot spotted Sandra and rushed over to give her a big hug. “Don’t you look fantastic,” Margot commented to Sandra.
“You like my new hat?”
Margot belted out a laugh. “You are too funny.”
Sandra was a little hurt. “Don’t you like it?”
“Oh I love it. Love you. Just glad to see you.”
“Glass of wine?” Delgado offered.
“Natch.” Margot took the offering and laughed again.
Sandra pulled at Bryce’s sleeve. “The eggs….”
“Oh yeah.”
Just then Samantha appeared, tagine in hand, followed by George, lagging behind as he ascended the last of the steps. He was not in the best of shape.
“George was hopeless at anything Moroccan so I put together this nice little vegetarian tagine for the dinner,” Samantha offered.
“Splendid.” Delgado accepted the tagine. “Does it need to be heated?”
“That would be great. Then I have to sprinkle these on top,” she added, shaking the packet of toasted sesame seeds.
George came forward with a couple of bottles of wine. “Hi all, Sandra, Margot.” He nodded.
Bryce whispered to Delgado. “I’ve got to make the yogurt sauce. I think you can put the lamb on now if you like.” Delgado nodded and took the lamb out of the refrigerator.
“Bryce, the eggs,” Sandra tried reaching Bryce with her urgency.
“Be right there. Just need to make this first,” He called back. He was concocting a sauce to serve with the lamb. It consisted of Greek yogurt, minced garlic, shredded cucumber, freshly chopped mint from the garden and lemon juice. Delgado, having put the lamb on the grill, was passing out more glasses of wine. Samantha had gone up to Sandra and was commenting on her new hat. Sandra momentarily forgot about the eggs.
Butch and Eva poked their way into the kitchen bearing the baklava.
“Here take a whiff of this?” Butch offered Bryce as he was grating a cucumber.
“Wow! Do we need to heat that up later?”
“No, it’s better at room temp.”
Eva was chatting with Margot and George.
Dan and Virginia, and Robert and Alain all arrived at the same time. Delgado’s lamb on the grill sent clouds of smoke from the olive oil and lamb juices wafting towards the crowd. Delgado raced over to turn the lamb and damped down the flames with a spray bottle of water.
“Do you have a serving platter I can use?” Dan asked Bryce, as he was finishing up the sauce.
“Ah yeah, right up there.” Bryce pointed to the top of a kitchen cabinet.
“Hi sexy.” Alain leaned in and gave Bryce a kiss.
“Hey guy, you made it. Great. Robert here?”
“Of course. He’s setting out the appetizers. Brought some wine as well,” Alain added.
“Great. There’s some more over there. Help yourselves.”
Bryce was frantically trying to make some table decorations with the flowers that Margot and Virginia had brought when Sandra came over.
“The eggs,” Sandra commanded.
Bryce looked up. “Could you find someone else to help, my dear? I’m just swamped here.”
Margot leaned in. “Do you have a paring knife for the fruit?”
“In that drawer,” he indicated.
Dan was plating piles of rice next to Bryce at the counter. Samantha was placing the tagine into the oven on the other side. Margot was slicing fruit. Delgado suddenly appeared behind Bryce and put his arms around his waist and laid his head against Bryce’s shoulder.
“Hey Honey, would you like a glass of wine?”
“I’d love one,” he sighed.
◘ ◘ ◘
Sandra had finally found a willing soul to help her hide the eggs. Robert had gladly obliged. Actually Robert did most of the hiding with Sandra pointing to exactly where she wanted each treasure hidden.
The lamb was perfectly pink. The green bean casserole was lavishly praised, although somewhat passed over. The crispy Persian rice was a delight. The delicate vegetarian tagine was succulent. And the honeyed baklava was the perfect ending to the meal, accompanied by mounds of fruit salad.
Sandra orchestrated the Easter egg hunt and awarded the prizes to the lucky finders of the gold and silver eggs. The wine was liberally consumed. And after several rounds of Pictionary; several hands of bridge for the card players in the group; and lengthy spirited conversations leaning on the deck railings watching the sun sink behind Catalina, the guests finally gathered their platters, bowls and tagine and disappeared into the rosy dusk after a most successful and appreciated feast.
Dan, Virginia and Margot had lingered behind to help with clearing the table and the washing up. Margot left directly after, as she had a long drive back to the spa.
Bryce brought out the cognac and a few candles and the four of them that were left settled into deck chairs to watch the stars come out and the new crescent moon dip gently into the ocean.
“Dan?” Virginia nudged him and nodded her head. He looked at her not understanding. “The box,” she added.
“Oh yeah, totally forgot.” He fished in his jacket and pulled out the little present for the boys. “Here, we found this treasured family heirloom that we thought was totally you guys.”
Bryce accepted the gift - very obviously a ring box. “Oh wow. Really?” He handed the box to Delgado and let him unwrap it. He tore off the paper and seeing that it was a ring box looked at Bryce with some hesitation. Was this going to be some horribly expensive gift that they just could not accept?
“Go ahead. Open it,” Dan prompted.
Delgado handed it back to Bryce who snapped open the lid. They both stared in mute bewilderment at Drippy, having no idea whatsoever what it was.
Bryce sequenced up his face and looked at Dan. “Not quite sure what this is exactly. But I like the little floral arrangement on the top. Care to enlighten us as to what this might be?”
Both Dan and Virginia rolled about with laughter.
Finally Dan replied, “Ah, the mysteries of the Universe. You have been presented with the immutable Drippy. One of the great secrets of all time and space. It is now in your possession and it will be up to the two of you to decipher what can be revealed only by the study and practice of the uses and abuses of the revered Drippy.”
Both Dan and Virginia lapsed back into a fit of laughing. Bryce and Delgado more closely examined the gift but could not fathom the mystery so set it aside for the moment.
They continued to chat softly in the light of the few candles for a while, and then finally Dan and Margot excused themselves and departed, leaving Bryce and Delgado, exhausted, content, and already halfway dreaming.
The leftovers were neatly wrapped and stored. The bare table on the deck was waiting to be dismantled in the morning and stored until the next great tribal event. The ring box with Drippy silently released its mysterious vibrations in
to the bedroom from its perch on the boys’ dresser. And Bryce and Delgado were snuggled up together with the cat fast asleep in the bed between them, while the deer gently nibbled on the baby beets in the newly sprouting vegetable garden behind the house.
History
Cry of the Wolf
Note: I discovered this manuscript during my genealogical research at the Institute Historique Strasbourg in 2003. In the ensuing years I have worked diligently to carefully translate this manuscript into English. It has been my aim to capture the natural feel of the original manuscript without updating it or making it sound too contemporary. I will leave the final judgment of that to the reader. However, I feel that this document provides a rare glimpse into a life in the fourteenth century, and an examination of a subject little understood or referenced at that time.
Henry Traubb, Chicago, 2010
Nineteenth of March in the Year of Our Lord 1347
I am Warin, son of Ranulf and Alma of the House of Thann by the town of Arzviller, a day’s cart ride from Strasbourg on Rhine. I am writing this because I know not what else to do. The sadness in my heart must find some form of expression and I may not speak of my story with anyone. I write this for myself alone and pray that it will never be read by another living soul.
It is late at night. I do not have left but a short candle by which to write. It is quiet in the great house and I can hear only my own breathing, the wind whispering down the chimney, and the cry of the wolf in the far field; or perhaps in the nearby Cham Woods. I hear his cry almost every night at this time. He is a lone wolf; his pack long wiped out or moved on. He cries often - hunted, unloved, separated, and no doubt always hungry. He does not seem to wake the neighbors or my family. I alone hear his pain.
I am of two and twenty years. My father is the principal landowner in this county. His serfs raise sheep for wool, and then we weave it in our warehouse and trade it in Strasbourg, shipping it down the river to even greater trade centers.
Our family name is much revered and feared locally. The great Emperor Charlemagne bestowed on our family the crest of Lion Rampant Reguardant above a quadrant shield with two crowns and two fields of stars. My father is very proud of this great honor and finds every occasion to display it prominently.
My mother and my sisters, Nesta and Linota, are modest by comparison to my brash father. They are adept in the womanly arts, and peacefully pursue their quiet lives hidden away from the toils of either village or city life.
My father has engaged me to Celestria of Alcuin, but we have yet to marry at the time this narrative begins. She is dark of hair and pleasing of appearance, and their land adjoins ours and will enlarge our domain greatly. That is very pleasing to my father, who dreams of our lands reaching all the way from the far reaches of Lagarde to the edge of Arzviller. I have met her but twice, and she speaks well, and is adapt at tapestry, I understand. If my report of her seems less than enthusiastic it is because of what has transpired in my life this past year and is, indeed, the subject of this writing.
To begin, let me reflect upon my character and temperament – if one may be objective about such an examination. I have been told I am comely. I am dark of hair and have eyes of blue, a rarity in this region. I ride well, and have learned all the skills necessary to engage in commerce, at my father’s insistence. I already manage the warehouse where the wool is prepared and woven into a rough cloth, much desired for its warmth in the mountain regions to the south. I have a slight build and have never excelled at the martial arts, to my father’s great disappointment. And though it is a passion with my father, I find the hunting of any animal or bird abhorrent. But it is something I must do, as I am a now a grown man, and am expected to contribute game to the family table.
I have a burning passion for books, though they are very rare and difficult to obtain. Our library is scant, but I have been blessed with the opportunity to borrow volumes from the Fathers at the Monastery in Ascenseur. They are very kind and attentive to me, and gladly lend me books for as long as I need them. I sometimes wonder at their kindnesses to me, though. They are so pleased when I visit, and seem greatly reluctant to let me part. I am as yet unschooled in many of the ways of the world, but I believe I can detect longing and sadness in their eyes when I finally leave with my saddlebags tightly packed; with the anticipation of many hours of reading pleasure ahead of me.
I have few friends. I was schooled at home. We live far enough from the village so that I grew up with few boys of my age, or of my class, available for friendship. Those that are on our estate are of serf families and are not considered suitable companions for one of my station. My sisters, while friendly, live in a different world altogether, and our paths rarely cross. Nor do we have enough in common on which to base a friendship. And, I am afraid to say, they are rather dull, being interested only in assembling their trousseaus and obtaining a prestigious marriage.
This is how I see myself - neither a hero, nor a villain. My life is regular, for who I am - and untouched by either great joy or great pain. That is until a year ago, February.
And here I am in the depth of night about to finally commit my story to writing, a lasting history that will forever seal my fate.
I work regularly now, as I have stated, in my family’s wool warehouse. It assists my father, and he is pleased with what I have accomplished there, thus far. Besides the keeping of the accounts, I supervise the workers - carding, spinning and weaving the wool that comes from our lands. I then accompany the carts to Strasbourg and oversee the loading of the merchandise onto the barges headed to southern ports, where it is eventually sold.
Not long after I began working at the warehouse, I found myself in need of an assistant. Most of our workers are dull and listless, needing constant prodding and oversight, and I despaired of finding a suitable candidate from among our most uninspiring dullards. However, one lad caught my eye. His name is Sevaric, and about the same age as I. He is the son of one of our serfs; a good industrious family, and well respected by my father.
Sevaric works with the raw wool and applies himself with dedication and principle. He is fair of hair - his family being from the north. He is well formed and strong - much stronger than I. I have seen him often staring at me with a longing that I knew signaled a desire for more accomplishment than his restricted life has offered him thus far. He has a sparkle in his eye that shows intelligence and a drive to excel.
On morning I stood watching him, unseen, as he manipulated the sacks of raw wool, preparing them for carding. He easily hoisted the sacks onto his strong shoulders and moved them adroitly into the next room. Upon his return he spotted me and stopped, looking at me with his sharp hazel eyes. He smiled at me, and then moved on to the next sack to be moved.
I called out to him, “Sevaric.”
“Sir?” He stopped with a load on his shoulders.
“Come to the counting chamber when you have disposed of that,” I commanded, with perhaps too strong a demand.
“Sir,” he answered briskly, and disappeared into the carding room.
I returned to my chamber and awaited his appearance. Duly he arrived and entered, holding his grubby hat in his hands, wringing it with some anxiety. He stood quietly in front of me waiting for me to speak first, unsure as to the nature of my summons.
“You may sit if you like,” I stated, indicating a chair across from my writing table.
He smiled with some relief and pulled up the chair so he was close by me. I could smell the strong odor of raw wool and sweat emanating from his course shirt. He looked at me with great focus and intensity. I studied him for a moment. I felt very strongly that I had been correct in my assessment of his abilities.
“Sevaric, I have been watching your work here and have been very pleased with what I have seen.”
He regarded me with a slight smile and a nod and waited, not responding otherwise.
“Let me ask you a question. Have you had any schooling?”
“Yes, sir. My mo
ther is from a good family up north and she has had a fair amount of learning, and taught me both reading and writing. Also some music.”
‘Music?”
“I can read music, and I can play the cittern.”
I nodded, wondering why I had not noticed this man before now. “I am impressed. Then why are you working here in this laborious position?”
“Sir, it is what my family does. Where else could I go? I am not a gentleman like yourself.”
“Can you copy this out for me?” I handed him a page of accounts.
He studied it a moment and answered. “Sir, this is mostly numbers. Are you sure this is what you want me to copy? I can read and copy full pages of text as well.”
“Yes, for now, just do that for me.”
He proceeded to copy the page, seated at the edge of my table across from me; handing it to me, completed in a fine hand, when he was finished.
“Now, read this.” I handed him, this time, a book on loan from the Fathers.
He took it and read flawlessly. He looked up at me when he had finished the first page. “More?” he asked.
“Not necessary.” He handed the book back to me. “Now, a question for you.” I hesitated a moment, enjoying creating a little suspense for Sevaric as he waited for my proposal. “I am very impressed with your accomplishments. And you seem to be a very engaging and bright young man. I very much need some assistance with my work both in this counting room and on the floor, and I would like you to assist me.”
Sevaric smiled but did not give into any overt emotion. “Will there be a pay increase?” he finally asked.
I held my official face, but a slight twinkle in my eyes gave me away. “Yes, that is very likely.”
“And, Sir, do you think it possible I might be able to borrow some books from you on occasion? I very much hunger to read more, but books are generally not available to me.”
This was a moment of great happiness for me. I had found not only a capable assistant, but I believed I had found a new friend as well.
Twentieth of March 1347