Quest of Hope(75)
About the ladies clambered the children. As with the villagers, these came in all sorts, but the children of this class were scrubbed and finely dressed. The girls were dressed as miniature women, complete with shiny accessories and jewels. The younger boys wore tunics to the ankles, more like the women, while the older boys wore them to the knees, where hose followed into leather shoes. Younger or older, the male children’s hair was long, like their fathers, but neat and often capped by plumed hats.
Klothar arrived at the mill pond first and dismounted. Smiling, he stretched in the sun and embraced his courtiers as they arrived. The lord was then escorted to a place at the edge of the grass and from here he raised his arms and graced the awestruck villagers of Weyer with a smile.
The simple folk of that weary hamlet fell to their knees and bowed as the man acknowledged them. “Good people of Weyer!” he roared. “I am Klothar, Lord of Runkel, son of Hugo of Oldenburg, father of Heribert. God has willed our fortunes to be joined with your abbot, Stephen. May God’s blessings be upon us all, this Lammas Day!”
With that, the village folk stood to their feet and cheered. With a brush of his hand and a condescending smile, Lord Klothar then dismissed them to their separate celebration as he turned to his own. A large, high-backed chair was set at the head of a long set of oak plank tables, each covered by colorful cloths and bending with the weight of the feast’s bounty. Lord Klothar welcomed his wife, Mechtilde, to his side and seated her on a wooden chair not unlike his own. She was attractive, especially given her age. The daughter of Rolf, King of Saxony, she had borne her husband a healthy son, Heribert, the future lord of Runkel.
Along the sides of the tables were set benches where the guests of Villmar would be seated. To Klothar’s right, the row began with the papal legate, followed by the abbot, the prior, and a long stream of merchants, lesser lords, and knights. To Klothar’s left sat Hagan, various visiting guests, and finally Bailiff Werner and Woodward Arnold. With the slighted Father Pious scowling in the background, a priest of the abbey offered a blessing and a psalm.
Chefs from Runkel had worked hard to present a fine display, one fitting the guests and the season. They stood to one side as servants gathered in a long column from their cauldrons and pits, portable ovens, and mixing troughs. With great ceremony and the accompanying sounds of lutes and pipes, the parade of servers was quickly ordered toward the cheering entourage with a steaming, sloshing line of pots, trays, kettles, and platters.
Lord Klothar, his family, the abbot, and two or three esteemed lords were presented with their personal trenchers. The rest of the guests would share a platter with two or more of their fellows. Carvers scurried along the tables, deftly slicing slabs of meat and removing bones from juicy roasts. Other servants rushed to fill impatient tankards with wine from the sunny slopes of the empire’s lands near Rome, or with Swabian beer, or local cider. And, while the lords and ladies plunged their fingers, spoons, and daggers into fatty meats and soft stews, their hearts were gladdened by the voices of minstrels, the strings of psalters, and the screeching reeds of Düdelsacks.
Scraps the peasants would have happily sucked or gnawed were tossed indifferently to the many pampered dogs which drooled overstuffed and haughty at their masters’ feet. Heinrich stared from his appointed place and shook his head. Those dogs, he thought, know their place and are fattened for it. He turned to look at the gray horde of dim-eyed peasants gawking at their masters. And we know ours but are the worse for it. He studied the lords, then his fellows. A voice suddenly whispered in his ear and he turned to see Brother Lukas standing behind a nearby tree. Heinrich laughed. “You’ve escaped again!”
Lukas smiled. “Aye, I could not help but come … it is all the talk of the cloister and I’d be in hopes of some food and drink that might be left.”
“Humph, methinks the dogs are eating your share!”
“Ah, the dogs. I forgot about the dogs.” Lukas watched the abbot toss a lunging mastiff a plate of scraps before he surveyed the gaunt faces of the peasants around him. “The lords of war and the lords of the Church; they rule the earth together and hoard its plenty. We have strayed, m’friend.”
There never had been, nor would there ever be again a Lammas feast in Weyer like the one now passed. For Heinrich, it was a remarkable success, and his reputation as a skilled baker had quickly spread across the realm of the abbey and beyond. The man had other reasons for joy as well. His wife, Marta, was again heavy with child and Heinrich beamed with pride as he awaited the happy day.