An Apple Festival (Grace)

[Richard Cabal]

Richard had donned some colour for this Festival. The harvest had been abundant and so to stop too much fruit from going rotten, there was a festival. For once, he had no sword strapped to his side or even the padding for his mail.

The festival itself was a series of stalls circling a pole with coloured material on it. By the pole a bard was singing on the crate and people danced before him. The whole place smelt of cooking apples and apple cider. It set Richard's mouth to watering and memory bringing back the vision of his ma who had baked good apple pie.

"Well lass, cider and pie before all else. We have some coin." Richard indicated that for once, Grace could lead the way.

[Grace de Beaumont]

Walking beside Richard with her hands tucked behind her back, Grace's eyes were dancing as she took in the gaiety surrounding her. Everything was so pretty! The necessities of keeping a low profile as they traveled meant, for the most part, she and Richard had traveled in the more unsavory parts of towns and villages. Drab brown, stained grey, smoky black were the colours she had become accustomed to.

But this..... the good people of Avalon and those who'd come out from Camelot had done their best, poor though they may have been. There was something so much more natural and quaint about country folk and what they found for entertainment. Honest, that was the word Grace was looking for.

"It's all so lovely," she breathed, resisting the urge to bounce on her heels. Her hair was down, shining in the sun, two springs of lavender tucked behind her ears. She still bore her drab day-clothes, but they were clean and fresh. "Look! There's a puppet show..... and a juggler!" Tin pipes tickled her ears, her head turning in their direction. "There's music over there.... let's find a place to sit closer?"

[Richard Cabal]

Richard touched Grace's shoulder affectionately and was utterly charmed by her excitement. He liked that in people, like he could live through their excitement and have his eyes opened by their wonder.

"Come, my lass." Since she seemed to be expecting his continued guidance, Richard led Grace to some of the stalls. He brought them pie and cider. The pie sat steaming on paper, the paper going damp from the heat and burning his fingers. They found a place on the grass to sit.

"I promised ta tell ye about why I choose to be yer loyal shadow." Richard nibbled on the edge of his pie. It was sweet, the taste strong from being so fresh. "Y'see, I am as ye say, an armsman. My fathers afore me served yet family and I always wanted to continue tha' service. It is who I am, a man-at-arms to your family. I have nothing else. So I follow ye, cus without ye I nae reason to be."

[Grace de Beaumont]

Grace folded herself onto the grass, legs tucked under her skirts, accepting the gift of food and drink from Richard. The cider was both sweet and tangy, fresh as a spring day, but Grace paused to quietly listen to what Richard said. His words affected her profoundly, her throat tightening with emotion.

Gilbert de Beaumont had always drilled into his children that nobility was not just a birthright and a privilege, but also a responsibility. Those in higher positions owed much to their vassals and servants, and in return, they should give much. Had Richard been free to pursue his own life after the massacre at Hwicce, he could have perhaps taken vows under a new master -- but he could have just as easily fallen into tragic circumstances without the protection of a noble family. Life for a freeman in this day and age was not easy.

"I feel that keenly, Richard, I do. I don't know what the future will bring, and I know this statement could seem ludicrous given my current low position in life, but if we are successful, if we can restore my birthright, I will do everything in my power to see you are greatly rewarded with the highest position possible. And I don't care what 'custom' or 'tradition' will say about it."

They didn't speak of it often, the fact that Grace's birth gave her such a higher position over Richard's much humbler origins. The instances when Richard's illiteracy was highlighted -- often when they were in larger towns seeking lodgings -- were awkward enough. But a tiny inkling of an idea formed in Grace's mind, a small way in which she thought she could repay him for his service to her.

Things were getting too serious, so Grace smiled and nibbled a little on her pie. "I don't think I've tasted anything so wonderful since.... well, in a long time."

[Richard Cabal]

Richard made a fist and touched his knuckles to his forehead in silent thanks. She was a good girl and he would do what he could to ensure her birthright was restored. If it meant a promotion, well he should find a heir to ensure the future protection of Grace's family.

"This'll be nicer than anything yet cooks can make," Richard answered proudly and drank some cider. It felt good to be out in the village, the sun up high and the breeze fresh and sweet. Richard tipped his chin up, enjoying the breeze in his hair. A bird wheeled above. Richard frowned at it until he recognized the shape of the tail. A red kite, probably eying a rabbit in the fields.

"Red kite," he pointed at the bird. "When I was young, I liked the idea of training birds to fly for me. Da instead got me a hound and we trained him. The dog died, arrow in the rump. He got in the way o' someone's bow."

[Grace de Beaumont]

A man might have found humour in the story, but Grace was aggrieved. "Oh, the poor little thing! Shot by accident? You must have been devastated after spending your time training it. Did you get another, or did your father let you train a bird after that?" Licking her fingers after a bit of spilled glazed apple, Grace tilted her head.

"I have memories of you from way back, you know, to when I was a little girl and I was allowed by the stables. Wait....!" Grace's eyes grew wide with memory.

Once when she was about seven, she had escaped her nurse and slipped out onto the grounds, and from then on into the woods. The entire place had been called out to search for her, calling her name as they combed the stables, gardens and forest. Grace remembered little of the occasion -- the tale had been told her her countless times over the years at family dinners as a way to poke gentle fun.

But a vague memory survived, a flash of her child-self riding through the forest perched on the shoulder of a lanky young man in workman's clothes. She remembered laughing as he tickled her knees and told her of the elves and pixies peeking at them from behind the trees. Grace stabbed a finger in the air in Richard's direction, accusatory. "It was you, wasn't it! The one who found me when I was little and lost in the woods?"

[Richard Cabal]

"Ye only jus' remembered?" Richard grinned at Grace, his smile all teeth. "If I remember rightly ye wanted ta go into every mushroom ring we passed, all hopeful the seelie would take you. I called ye a changling." Richard had found Grace near a spring that was fed by a far away lake in the mountains. He hadn't had the heart to scold the frightened lass, instead carrying her back to her da. That was the most frightened Richard had seen Lord Gilbert.

"Anyway, I never got another dog, nor did I train a hawk. My training had started, I hadn't the time." Richard took a bigger mouthful of pie as it had cooled enough. His eyes wandered towards the bard and he felt an odd tugging in his gut, he loved bards. He liked to hear their voices as they spun wonderous tales.

"What other memories do you have o' me?"

[Grace de Beaumont]

Though she joined him in his laughter, Grace couldn't help but stare at Richard. It was so rare to see him in this relaxed, easy state. He was ever the watchful guard, eyes scanning the vacinity but today he was actually looking at her rather than any surrounding shadows.

"Other memories, hmm? Mostly had to do with Coenred and Edwin and their training. My brothers used to come inside in the evenings.... dirty, bruised and sore, cursing your name. You were one of their trainers, weren't you? I'd watch occasionally from a window, but Mother didn't think it was lady-like for me to be down by the pens watching sweaty men slamming away at each other with swords." Her mouth crooked in a half-smile. "I used to become quite upset about that, the injustice of it all. Found one of Edwin's little-boy practice swords -- the small wooden ones? -- and attacked several expensive pillows pretending they were enemy soldiers until she took it away. I had to stitch three embroidery samplers, one for each pillow, as punishment."

Grace chewed on her lip in thought. "I remember you won the swordsmen competition two years ago -- Mother put the medal around your neck. You even beat Sir Godwin, Father's top knight. I was allowed to watch that time. But next year, you didn't compete." Grace glanced away. Left unsaid was the fact that between the years, the plague has swept through the shire, killing many including Richard's young wife and family.

She smiled into space. "But mostly, I just remember you being there, always around somewhere, along with the others. A protective ring around us all, between us and the world." Grace frowned; her voice had grown sad and she didn't want to remember old sorrows on such a beautiful day.

[Richard Cabal]

"One o' them, yes. Yer brothers had the makings of fine swordsmen." Richard finished his pie and slumped backwards in the grass. The blades tickled his ears and the sky above was a close blue. Clouds in the distance promised rain.

"You were always a stubborn sort, ye get an idea into yer head and you couldn't be shook. Anyway, it was mere luck that had me beat Sir Goodwin. He had a cold." Richard pillowed his head with his hands, one leg propped up and swinging back and forth idly.

"I also remember watching ye frolicking in those festivals. All eyes an' curious fingers. Ye were a bright wee thing with spirit and joy. Its ok for ye to be the same now."

[Grace de Beaumont]

After brushing crumbs from her clothes, Grace folded her arms over her knees, gazing about at the milling crowds. She smiled vaguely. "Spirit and joy..... yes, I know. Things were so much simpler back then, before...." Glancing down at Richard, Grace shrugged one shoulder. "I know. I'm trying, and it is getting a little better. It doesn't feel so much like betrayal anymore to their memory to laugh but still.... it's hard."

Plucking up a long stem of grass, Grace swished it playfully across Richard's nose. "And it wasn't luck, you silly man. You beat Sir Godwin soundly... I remember. He came off the field limping badly, sporting a bloody nose and a fairly deep cut across his shoulder. Father said later what a shame it wasn't you couldn't be a knight...." Because of your birth. She left that part unsaid.

A bard nearby began a song, a comical story about an old witch and a flock of doves who covered her hut in droppings. The crowd clapped and threw the man coins after the conclusion, and while his performance made her smile, the content and fervor of the crowd reminded her of something.

"Richard," she wondered aloud, keeping her voice low. "Does it not seem that people of this kingdom are a bit.... paranoid about magic? Since we've been here, I've not seen a stitch of a spell or even a doorway charm, yet there's such fear...."

[Richard Cabal]

Richard wrinkled his nose, both because of Grace's words and the long stem of grass she was teasing him with. He was not burdened with any sadness for being unable to rise through the ranks to knighthood. Knighthood sounded burdensome.

"I have not thought of it," he admitted. Since he wasn't a magic user and was determined to achieve things without it, magic was not something he paid attention to. "What fear have ye seen? Perhaps we should turn our ears towards tha' gossip?"

[Grace de Beaumont]

Grace looked down at Richard, then glanced quickly away, embarrassed. If he hadn't noticed anything, then Grace was probably being silly. He was much more observant than she was; he saw dangers where she never had an inkling, and many was the time on the road that his keen sense saved their lives.

"It's nothing," she said quietly, plucking up a few more long grasses. To busy her hands, she started to braid them. "I'm sure I'm just.... jumping at shadows that aren't there."

[Richard Cabal]

Richard frowned over at Grace when she quickly back down. Had she any faith in her abilities?

"Grace, I take no notice of magic. Tis something I can not use and I won't rely on it. If ye've noticed somethin' its best we look into it. Might be important, it might not. Tell me what ye have seen." He lifted his eyebrow with his eyes direct on hers, silently waiting.

[Grace de Beaumont]

Grace dropped her gaze and turned to the side, presenting only her profile. Richard could be damnably like her father when he tried to press her, scowling and trying to use direct eye contact to mentally overpower. That had always worked before but something stubborn in Grace reared up. She was no longer under the careful eye of her family -- she was alone, an orphan and a woman grown. If something odd was going on in Camelot, she would find it by herself. She couldn't count on Richard always being around, so she had to start relying on herself for things, didn't she?

Grace pressed her lips together and said tightly, "I told you, it was nothing. Just another new city with new ways I must become accustomed to. Leave it at that, please, for I've no wish to speak further of it." Quite unknown to Grace, her voice took on a ring of authority, a noble's dismissal of an underling. It was a tone bred in her from years of observing the court and its mechanistions.

[Richard Cabal]

Much like Grace, Richard's lips tightened in annoyance. Cursed woman. The ring of nobility in her voice had him backing down, this was between a lady and her servant. The good servant always backed down.

"As ye wish," he murmured and sat up. The tone in her voice had reminded him of their stations, so he sat tailor style and put his hands on his knees. Now, his eyes scanned the grounds. He took in the villagers, their fingers sticky from crisp apples and sweet cider. Children ran between legs and tumbled under tables. Richard thought he caught two boys, right at the cusp of manhood, sneaking some ale. Now that Grace had mentioned it, Richard did notice the lack of usual cheap charms being sold.

"Is there any place ye wish to go?"