Chapter 5
A Fortunate Feud
On a green hilltop, two children, a boy and a girl, could be seen racing down together. The boy had the most captivating blue eyes and dark black hair, which folded over his tiny head like bark over a tree. He was tall and slim for his seven years, with a smile that could brighten even the darkest night, and there was something about his face that said Adventure.
The girl, on the other hand, was rather more gentle and petite, with wonderful strands of golden blond hair hanging from the top of her tiny head, and beautiful, sparkling hazel eyes. Her body was only six, but her beauty spoke of the ages. She could have been an angel.
They laughed gleefully as they ran over the vast green terrain, leaving trees waving to them in the distance. It was a perfect day to be young: the sky was blue, the sun was shining, and even the birds seemed to be singing them a farewell tune. Not a cloud was in sight.
Quickly they ran, with the boy in the lead by just a step or two. The finish line was a large oak tree off and away, with arms that seemed to spread open to them as they got closer and closer yet. Soon the laughter stopped and the race intensified. Both were flying at full speed, with the boy managing to stay just a couple steps ahead. Closer now, he got. Closer. Just a few more paces and he would have it!
Almost…
Aaaalllllmoooost…
Just a little bit more…
Just a liiiittlllle biiiit…
Smack! He felt a hand knock him from behind as he tumbled suddenly into a ditch. The girl crossed the finish line, then sprung up in a display of triumph.
“I win! I win!” she yelled, her hands raised in the air.
The boy, meanwhile, simply laid there for a moment, his eyes closed shut. He brought his hand to his head and gave it a rub, then gradually lifted his eyelids to meet the glaring sun. He could just make out the sound of Rosemarie cheering. But then another voice he heard.
“And who are you?” the voice demanded.
Taylor lifted his head. There in front of him was a small boy, about his own age, with messy brown hair and brown eyes. The boy was standing with his hands to his hips, glaring at Taylor with such arrogance, such cockiness that he couldn’t help but take offense to it.
“Who am I?” Taylor said. “Who are you?”
There was silence for a moment as Rosemarie stopped cheering and began to take notice of the two.
“Hmf! How ’bout that!” cried the brown haired boy, haughtily. “You’re on my land and you demand to know who I am!”
“Your land?” said Taylor. “What makes this your land?”
“The fact that I own it.”
“Oh, do you?” Taylor retorted. “And who says?”
“You stupid fool!” the boy said. “What do you think that castle over there is for?” He pointed out over the hill and into the distance. Taylor could just make out a small castle with two towers adjoining it, none of which he had ever seen before. “I live there with my father,” the boy explained, “the Duke of Roth.” He turned his chin upward and threw his hand out toward the sky.
“So?” Taylor said.
“So I never gave you permission to be on this land,” the boy returned, pointing his finger in the opposite direction of the castle. “So get off it!”
Taylor stood up and brushed himself off. “I can go wherever I please,” he said.
“Is that so?” said the boy.
“It is!” said Taylor.
Suddenly, the boy lunged forward and pushed Taylor hard on the chest, thrusting him again into the ditch. The boy pointed and laughed, but quickly he would regret it; for Taylor jolted right back up and jumped on the boy. The two tumbled to the ground in a storm of blows, rolling down the hill.
“Taylor!” Rosemarie yelled, “Tay-lor! Don’t hurt’m, you bad boy! You better not, or else I’ll-”
“My God!” went a voice.
Rosemarie turned to see a stout woman with her hair in a bun running up from beneath the hill. With haste remarkable for her large size, she lifted her dress and scurried over to the feuding boys, grabbing the brown haired boy up with one tremendous arm and lifting him high into the air. He was bleeding from his mouth and nose.
“Robert!” the woman said. “What’s the matter with you!”
Taylor stood and wiped his bloody mouth.
“He started it!” the boy yelled.
“Liar!” shouted Rosemarie from atop the hill.
The woman remained stern. “I want to know what happened here, right now!”
The boy flashed Taylor a look of contempt.
“He invaded our land!”
“We were just playing!” Taylor cried.
“Yeah!” Rosemarie shouted.
The woman folded her arms and stood silent for a moment.
“What is your name?” she asked.
“Taylor.”
“Taylor what?”
“Taylor James Cooper.”
She looked him over, slowly nodding her head.
“And you?” she said, turning to Rosemarie.
“Rosemarie Stockwell,” the girl replied proudly.
“Well, Miss Rosemarie Stockwell,” the woman said, “do you mind telling me where you both come from?”
“We live past those trees,” Taylor answered, pointing outward. “We found this trail that led over here.”
The woman thought for a moment. She shook her head. Finally she said, “All right, then. All of you…come on back to the castle. First we’ll fix you up. Then we’ll wait for Master Robert’s father to come home. He’ll straighten this out.”
Taylor and Rosemarie looked at each other hesitantly.
“Come on now,” said the woman, motioning with her hand. “Let’s go…”
Slowly, though grumpily, the three began to follow, with Taylor and Rosemarie on one side of the large woman and Robert on the other. It was a good walk to the castle, and each boy made certain to pass the other a dirty look whenever he could manage to do so without being seen. Occasionally one would hold out a fist as the other stuck out his tongue, but these gestures quickly disappeared when the woman turned her head.
Rosemarie, meanwhile, kept herself occupied with the sight of the castle up ahead. Never in her young years had she seen anything quite like it. As they approached, it seemed to get bigger and bigger, till finally they stood before a large gate with a bridge out in front crossing a small moat. It was the most magnificent thing she had ever seen.
“Come on,” the woman said, tugging at Rosemarie’s sleeve. “No gawking, now…let’s go.”
She brought them through the iron gate and into a large, open foyer. Paintings of very important-looking people lined the way, as did statues of knights in armor. The structure was built mostly from stone, and yet it seemed warm and comforting, with red drapery and long gold and red carpets.
The woman led them through a couple of finely furnished rooms and into the kitchen. There she soaped and washed both the boys from a basin and fed them each a bowl of soup. When they had finished, she sent them all into the dining room and sat them down at a long wooden table with large, intimidating chairs.
“You will wait here until Sir Roth arrives,” she told them.
And wait they did. They sat there (hostilely, I assure you) for over an hour, tapping their fingers, shaking their heads – the two boys continually making faces at each other, until finally they heard the voice of the large woman whispering to somebody outside the room. The man said nothing in reply, but grunted and asked that the woman go on. From his voice Taylor could tell that he was stern and serious, accustomed to having others heed to his words.
Finally, with slow, yet voluminous steps, the man entered the dining room. Since Taylor and Rosemarie were sitting with their backs toward the entrance, they had to spin round in their chairs in order to see him. Rosemarie, for one, was scared. She quickly turned back and looked straight ahead.
He was a tall man, with a dark brown beard an
d brown eyes. His poise was muscular and astute, his manner calm, yet foreboding. He looked his son right in the eye; in response the boy let his eyes drop to the table.
“What happened?” said Sir Roth, pulling off his gloves.
Robert started to talk, but his father simply threw up his hand.
“Miss Porter,” he instructed the large woman, who stood in waiting behind him, “tell me as you saw it.”
The children sat silently as Miss Porter explained.
“I went to fetch Robert for lunch,” she said, “and I found him rolling around on the ground with this boy here, fighting.”
The Duke of Roth slowly nodded his head.
“He started it!” young Robert yelled. “He was on our land!”
“We were just playing,” Rosemarie piped. “We didn’t know it was your land.”
The duke put up his hand again and all fell silent.
“Robert,” he said, “I’m disappointed in you. Why fight when you can make friends instead?” – the boy grunted – “Now,” continued Sir Roth, “you will make up for your inhospitable behavior by inviting these two children here to come with us to the festival tomorrow.”
The boy’s eyes bugged-out, his face turned to fire.
“But Father!…”
“Do as I say!”
Robert drooped down in his chair. His eyes rolled and he looked out toward the window.
“Would you like to come with us to the festival tomorrow?” he murmured.
Taylor and Rosemarie glanced at each other as Sir Roth folded his arms over his chest, waiting for an answer. The two of them shrugged.
“All right,” Taylor said, “we’ll go.”
“Good then,” said Sir Roth. “Be here tomorrow at 10 AM and we’ll leave together.” He addressed the woman: “Miss Porter…please escort these children back to their houses. Be sure to tell their parents about the festival.”
Then he turned and walked out of the room.
…………………………………………..
The next day, Taylor and Rosemarie were retrieved by Miss Porter as planned. When they arrived at the castle, young Robert was standing outside to greet them.
“Hello,” he said, glancing back at his father. “It’s very nice to see you.”
Taylor and Rosemarie couldn’t help but wonder if this was the very same boy.
“Hello,” they said back.
A servant in blue accompanied the Duke of Roth, who was dressed in fine red satin, the finest that Taylor and Rosemarie had ever seen.
“Come on, now,” Sir Roth said, “into the carriage.”
A bejeweled carriage pulled up behind them, and, for a moment, Taylor and Rosemarie were awe-struck. The carriage was white with fine patches of blue velvet, with each patch surrounded by a lining of gold and silver. Two drivers sat up front, tugging at six stallions – much finer horses than either Taylor or Rosemarie had ever seen.
The servant opened the door for them.
“Come, children…” Sir Roth told them. “Go on in.”
Taylor and Rosemarie followed Robert’s lead into the carriage and sat themselves down, marveling at the various jewels as they entered. Sir Roth and the servant followed directly behind; Sir Roth sitting himself next to his son, while the servant climbed in next to Taylor.
“To the festival!” Sir Roth called. And they were off.
…………………………………………..
The Festival of Godes celebrated a battle hero of Monastero whose exploits may in fact have saved the kingdom. It was truly something to marvel at: there were puppet shows and games and food! – oh, the food! Vendors selling pickles and muffins and arugula salads (these were big favorites back then); artists drawing pictures right there in the street; jesters and performers of all sorts running around, juggling and eating swords and setting things on fire. People were laughing, singing, shouting, as animals from the marketplace mixed themselves amongst them. It was more excitement than Taylor or Rosemarie had ever thought possible; the noise could be heard for miles.
As soon as the carriage came to a stop, Taylor jumped out and began to hop up and down. He was anxious to look around, but his parents had instructed him to be polite, and he knew that running ahead would be rude.
“Let’s see the puppet show,” Robert said, hopping out with Rosemarie following behind. “Can we go, Father?”
Sir Roth was just exiting the carriage. He brushed himself off and straightened out his attire.
“You can go,” he said. “Just behave yourselves.”
All three ran off without another word. There was a puppet show just beginning, and somehow they manage to squeeze their way up to the front to sit on the ground with the other children. A man in a funny hat stood out in front of the booth shouting, “Come see Benevely the Benevolent defeat the evil Dark Duke! Free show, now! Free show! Come all, come any!” He waited as a few more children and some adults sat themselves down, then clapped his hands together and ran to the back of the booth. A moment later the curtain drew back and a red-eyed puppet with an evil scowl appeared. Next to it was a puppet of a withered old woman, a peasant, very soft and fragile-looking.
“Please King,” she begged. “Please help us! We’re starving. We have no money, nothing to eat – we are starving. Please, King Harris!”
“No!” cried the Dark Duke’s puppet. “I plan on helping only one person…and that’s meeee!”
“But we’re starving!” pleaded the woman. “Can’t you help us? We’ll die.”
“Well, that’s too bad,” said the Dark Duke. “Deal with it. Dying’s a part’a life.”
The old woman heaved and began to cry into her hands hysterically. Until, that is, a horn sounded, and out popped Benevely the Benevolent to the loud approval of the crowd.
“My lady,” he said, “please, I beg of you, tell me what ails thee…”
“Why Benevely,” the woman exclaimed, “it is so good to see you! You must save us from the Dark Duke. We are starving and yet he does nothing but push us for more taxes and beat us when we don’t pay.”
The Benevely puppet seemed to glare at that of the Dark Duke.
“How dare you, sir! You have disgraced your country and your people and it is up to me to defend their honor.” He jumped across the stage and onto the Dark Duke. The two puppets fought violently, with the woman puppet screaming at the top of her little lungs while the crowd cheered Benevely. As for Taylor, he didn’t much understand any of it, and in fact thought it was rather stupid. Fortunately, he quickly found something else that attracted his attention.
Off beyond the puppet booth, there stood a tremendously tall tree, with huge octopus-like arms – ideal for climbing. Without thinking, he jumped up and was about to make for it, when he felt Robert grab him.
“Where are you going?”
“To climb that tree,” Taylor said.
“You can’t do that!”
“Why not?” Taylor said.
“Because we’re not allowed.”
“So?”
This answer struck Robert as so odd, that he was forced to stop and think about it for a moment, gradually letting his hand fall from Taylor’s arm. Not wasting any time, Taylor made off for the tree, leaving Robert to sit and wonder. He turned to Rosemarie, who seemed to be transfixed by the performance, then turned back to see Taylor rushing up to the tree. He tried to watch the show again, but for some reason his eyes couldn’t help but wander back toward Taylor, who was now gleefully climbing the forbidden wooden monster.
He ran off.
“Last one to the top is a rotten egg,” Taylor cried, as he saw Robert beginning to climb.
Quickly, Robert raced up, climbing with such vigor and determination that one would have thought he was chasing some vast fortune that rested at the top. Taylor, noticing him gaining, pulled himself up ever faster. By the end, the two boys were within a few feet of each other, and had it not been for Taylor’s head-star
t, it most certainly would have been a draw. Both boys were out of breath when they met at the top.
“You win,” Robert conceded.
“It was no fair,” Taylor said. “I had a head-start.”
“No excuse,” persisted Robert. “I should have gone faster.”
They took a moment to breathe and look out at the festival.
“Think we’ll be in trouble?” Taylor asked.
“Most definitely,” Robert said, smiling.
The two of them laughed. For a while they just sat there, watching the events below. Then Taylor challenged Robert to a race to the bottom; an invitation he gladly accepted. The two made their way down the tree just as they had made their way up it, except this time it was Robert who was the victor. But when he reached the bottom, he had not even a second to celebrate. For there, standing with his arms folded across his chest, was Sir Roth.
“Father!” Robert said, as Taylor jumped down behind him. “I was just looking for you.”
Sir Roth rubbed his chin in disbelief. He motioned for his son to come closer, to which order the boy cautiously complied.
“Robert,” he said, “what have I told you about climbing trees?”
Robert held his head down and put his hands over his face. He began to sob wildly and uncontrollably. So much so that Taylor truly felt bad for him.
“I’m sorry, Father!” he cried. “I’ll never do it again! Never! Pleeeease, forgive me!”
Sir Roth’s eyes changed from angry to compassionate. He was a strict man, but a kind one, and could not stand to see his son cry.
“All right,” he said, “I forgive you, my son. I forgive you!”
“No!” Robert shouted. “Don’t forgive me! Punish me! I deserve it! I truly do, Father! I truly do!”
“I don’t think that that’s quite necessary,” Sir Roth said. “You obviously realize your own guilt and I believe that that is quite enough.” He gave a momentary pause, then said, “Now, let us go. It is time for us to eat.” He turned and motioned to his servant, then started back toward the festival.
Taylor, who had been rather perplexed by Robert’s sudden change of behavior, was even more thrown off when the boy quit his sobbing and, turning, flashed him a devious smile. The smile that Taylor flashed him back would prove to be the seal of their friendship.
Together they hastened after Robert’s father; for it was time for the main event: the joust.
King Peter of Monastero, a mild-mannered man in his fifties, with long gray strands of hair and a dark gray beard, stood on a platform for all to see. He himself would host this event, just as he did every year. People had come from miles and miles around just to get a glimpse of their revered monarch and his jousters. Now was the moment that they had all been waiting for.
Sir Roth, revered and admired by all as well, was allowed to sit up on the dais with the king and the other nobles. Although his dukedom was the smallest in Monastero, he was generally the most-liked duke amongst the commoners; for he always treated them with respect and dignity, and always listened when they spoke.
The children, however, had to sit on the floor with everybody else. Taylor sat next to a woman with about three teeth, who did nothing but clap, whistle and wave the whole time, especially when the champion, Sir Collin, was announced. He was tall and lean, with a dark black horse and fine shiny armor – even finer than that which Taylor had seen at Sir Roth’s castle. Taylor gazed at him in awe, and at that very moment Taylor knew that he’d like nothing more than to grow up to be a knight.