was dark and the tallest of the company, his bushy brows supporting a ledge of snow. Since our greeting, he seemed inclined to listen to the others more often than speaking himself. Indeed, his gaze oft strayed over the village, as if he sought someone. He was a handsome man, in a rough way, and more than one damsel tried to flirt with him while passing. I silently named him ‘Tall’.
The second was stout, robust apparently in both appetite and manner. He was fair, and his cheeks bloomed with healthy color. His laugh rang loudly and frequently, and he seemed a merry companion. ‘Fat’ would serve as his name.
The third - he who had owned the horse - was quieter and darker, a small, sinewy man who was probably much stronger than he appeared. His eyes were dark and his nose sharp. He seemed to regard all around him with a certain grim pessimism. In keeping with the other names, I called him ‘Dour’.
“Too many have come to see whether the laird can work a miracle,” said Tall, then drank of his ale.
Miracle? My ears pricked, though I said nothing. Talk of miracles oft indicates that I am in the vicinity of a religious relic worthy of my attention. I wondered…but peered into my cup as if disinterested.
“And thus the ale is in short supply,” added Dour. “Rural folk have no ability to plan for such matters.”
“True enough,” concurred Fat. “Were we in London, or even Edinburgh, the alewives would have made triple their normal batches to ensure supply, but not here.”
Dour frowned into his cup. “Though the town prices would have been no lower than the prices here.”
They laughed together at this truth, then acquired another round from the alewife, each paying for their own this time. Again, I was generous, and this time, she spared me a smile. I asked after a stall for the horse and we walked toward the home of the villager most likely to accommodate me.
* * *
In the course of conversation with these rural louts, I learned a considerable amount of useful information.
Item the first: The old laird of Inverfyre had died some five years past and, being without a son, had chosen a comrade of his named Fergus of Balquhidder as the new laird.
Item the second: Approval of Fergus’ leadership had not been universal, and that approval had been eroded by Inverfyre’s failing fortunes after the old laird’s death. Fergus lived lavishly while those beneath his hand suffered poverty.
Item the third: There had been whispers that Fergus’ lairdship was cursed. It had long been held that the Lairds of Inverfyre were divinely favored as custodians for the relic of the Titulus Croce . Fergus had not displayed the relic upon Christmas and Easter, as tradition demanded, thus feeding speculation that he had lost both it and divine favor.
(I shall spare you the tedious and heroic details associated with this custodianship, as they were typical of this ilk of tale. I endeavored to not yawn, knowing full well that this first laird had simply pilfered his prize from some Outremer shrine. Not unlike others engaged in such deeds, he had then embellished his thievery with tales of portentous dreams, divine favor, and miracles that flowed as a result of his own extreme piety.)
Item the fourth: Challenged openly by my newfound comrade ‘Tall’ some weeks ago, Fergus had insisted that he would display the Titulus upon this night - the feast of Paul’s conversion - that the dissenters be converted to the truth, just as Saint Paul himself was said to see the light.
I had inadvertently arrived at the perfect time.
Further, if Evangeline was associated with Fergus and the maintenance of his suzerainty, her motives in stealing the Titulus were very clear.
I sipped of my ale with satisfaction, intrigued that there had only been speculation upon the absence of the relic for the past five years. I knew that the true Titulus had been in my father’s possession for fifteen years.
I stifled a smile at the
The second was stout, robust apparently in both appetite and manner. He was fair, and his cheeks bloomed with healthy color. His laugh rang loudly and frequently, and he seemed a merry companion. ‘Fat’ would serve as his name.
The third - he who had owned the horse - was quieter and darker, a small, sinewy man who was probably much stronger than he appeared. His eyes were dark and his nose sharp. He seemed to regard all around him with a certain grim pessimism. In keeping with the other names, I called him ‘Dour’.
“Too many have come to see whether the laird can work a miracle,” said Tall, then drank of his ale.
Miracle? My ears pricked, though I said nothing. Talk of miracles oft indicates that I am in the vicinity of a religious relic worthy of my attention. I wondered…but peered into my cup as if disinterested.
“And thus the ale is in short supply,” added Dour. “Rural folk have no ability to plan for such matters.”
“True enough,” concurred Fat. “Were we in London, or even Edinburgh, the alewives would have made triple their normal batches to ensure supply, but not here.”
Dour frowned into his cup. “Though the town prices would have been no lower than the prices here.”
They laughed together at this truth, then acquired another round from the alewife, each paying for their own this time. Again, I was generous, and this time, she spared me a smile. I asked after a stall for the horse and we walked toward the home of the villager most likely to accommodate me.
* * *
In the course of conversation with these rural louts, I learned a considerable amount of useful information.
Item the first: The old laird of Inverfyre had died some five years past and, being without a son, had chosen a comrade of his named Fergus of Balquhidder as the new laird.
Item the second: Approval of Fergus’ leadership had not been universal, and that approval had been eroded by Inverfyre’s failing fortunes after the old laird’s death. Fergus lived lavishly while those beneath his hand suffered poverty.
Item the third: There had been whispers that Fergus’ lairdship was cursed. It had long been held that the Lairds of Inverfyre were divinely favored as custodians for the relic of the Titulus Croce . Fergus had not displayed the relic upon Christmas and Easter, as tradition demanded, thus feeding speculation that he had lost both it and divine favor.
(I shall spare you the tedious and heroic details associated with this custodianship, as they were typical of this ilk of tale. I endeavored to not yawn, knowing full well that this first laird had simply pilfered his prize from some Outremer shrine. Not unlike others engaged in such deeds, he had then embellished his thievery with tales of portentous dreams, divine favor, and miracles that flowed as a result of his own extreme piety.)
Item the fourth: Challenged openly by my newfound comrade ‘Tall’ some weeks ago, Fergus had insisted that he would display the Titulus upon this night - the feast of Paul’s conversion - that the dissenters be converted to the truth, just as Saint Paul himself was said to see the light.
I had inadvertently arrived at the perfect time.
Further, if Evangeline was associated with Fergus and the maintenance of his suzerainty, her motives in stealing the Titulus were very clear.
I sipped of my ale with satisfaction, intrigued that there had only been speculation upon the absence of the relic for the past five years. I knew that the true Titulus had been in my father’s possession for fifteen years.
I stifled a smile at the
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