The Harvest Festival
A story by E. Monks
Browse all of the stories produced at Guardian Summer School here
The sound of lutes and harps soared and mingled over the banqueting hall, adding to the placid mood of King William’s court. It was the beginning of the Harvest Festival, when the last goods of the summer were eaten and the gods celebrated. It was a time when every person – from the King himself to the prisoners languishing in the dungeons – was joyful and content.
In contrast to the court, the Lady Margaret (sole daughter of one of the most powerful magnates in the kingdom) seemed almost mournful. At any other time she was deemed to be the most cheerful maiden for many miles around, but now, at the Festival, she was withdrawn and silent. The reason for this was sat right in front of her.
“Tell me, my lady,” the Duke Humphrey (another powerful magnate) asked around a mouthful of rabbit with the juices running down his bearded, greying chin, unaware of his future bride’s doleful mood, “Are you looking forward to our wedding?”
“I am counting the days in impatience, my lord,” Margaret said the lie dutifully, as her mother had instructed her months ago, “Would you care to dance, good sir?”
Humphrey pulled a face in disgust, his nostrils almost doubling in size.
“Gods no woman! Can’t stand the damned thing!” He told her loudly, “Just give me a mug of mead and some good food and I’ll be content.”
I’m surprised that you can walk without assistance if that’s the case, Margaret pursed her lips to refrain herself from sniping the thought at him. She went to ask another question, but a smooth voice interrupted her.
“If the lady wouldn’t mind, I would be honoured to dance with you.”
Prince Arthur, the heir to the throne, was stood by they’re table, his genial smile a distinct opposite to the blazing brown eyes that were looking at Margaret. Margaret felt her breath catch in her throat and even Duke Humphrey seemed lost for words.
“My lady?” the Prince prompted, this time holding out a hand. Margaret blinked back into reality.
“Th-the honour would be all mine, Your Highness.” She told him haltingly, taking his hand and rising from her seat.
“I highly doubt that my lady,” the Prince winked at her, “Fear not, my lord Humphrey, I will endeavour to bring her back in one piece.” Arthur smiled at the fat duke amiably as his spare hand curved into the small of Margaret’s back and he began to lead her to the dance floor, “I thought you would want to get away from him.” He whispered in explanation.
“You are too kind, Your Highness.” Margaret mumbled, slightly disorientated. Her father had never allowed her to be so close to a member of the royal family before. She felt so plain in her velvet and silk gown, while the Prince was wearing gossamer golden tissue and damask tunic and looked almost like the sun of a god, never mind a king.
“Tis not kindness, my lady, but common sense,” Arthur told her, taking his place behind her, “the Duke Humphrey is best taken in small doses, even when he’s sober.”
“I will keep that in mind for when he and I are wed.” Margaret said. The Prince stiffened momentarily as they turned around together.
“Aye, my father has been speaking of it recently, as Humphrey came to ask for his blessing not long ago,” Arthur sighed, “Then I offer you my sympathies, good lady, and my service should anything happen to you under his care.”
Margaret gasped, turning her head to look at him and finding him already so close – close enough for their noses to bump together.
“Your Highness, I do not think there is any need for that,” She hissed, “N-Not that I am offended at such an offer, b-but surely there is someone more worthy of your service…”
Arthur chuckled, spinning her so she faced him.
“There is no one else I would serve my lady, I have admired you since I first saw you and I would have had you for my own if not for a man who cannot see your worth…or your skill at dancing.” With that, he pressed a kiss to her palm and left her at the edge of the dance floor, unaware to the eyes upon them.
The next morning, a joust was held in the celebration of the god of hunting Ullr. Margaret was sat in the stands with her sister by law Edith, who was now five months with child, and the other nobles.
A loud crash made Margaret shriek in surprise. The knight who had been facing the Earl Richard’s son in the joust was now flat on his back in the dirt.
“Calm yourself Margaret,” Edith chortled, “People will think you’ve never been to a joust before!”
Fortunately, the knight had sat up by this point and was laughing heartily. Margaret relaxed into her seat as the future earl’s next competitor entered the lists, smiling at her companion.
“His Highness the Prince Arthur, entering the lists.”
Many mutters and whispers echoed around the stands as the prince made his way to the royal box. It was unusual for the prince to be interested in competing in the jousts, preferring more learned pastimes such as chess or poetry.
Nevertheless, the prince saluted his parents, the king and queen, before encouraging his horse to stand in front of Margaret.
“My lady,” He began, his eyes and smile soft and almost loving, “Will you do me the honour of granting me your favour?”
Margaret gaped at him momentarily, before a sharp nudge from Edith sent her shooting forward, pulling out her handkerchief from her sleeve and presenting it to him with shaking hands. As he took it, she felt the heat of his skin, and remembered the evening before with such sharp clarity.
“My thanks, good lady.” Arthur smiled again, still so soft, before urging his horse onward to his starting position.
As she sat back down, Margaret could feel many eyes upon her, even the Queen glanced at her speculatively. The king, however, kept his eyes fixed on his sons.
Edith, however, was frowning.
“I would hate to think what the Duke Humphrey would say about that spectacle.” She said, arching an eyebrow at Margaret. The girl in question shrugged.
“At this moment, I could not care less what his lordship thinks.”
Later that day, Margaret was sat in her the visiting chamber of her and her brother’s rooms, composing a letter to their father, when a knock at the door drew her from her thoughts.
“Your Highness!” She gasped, rising to her feet and Arthur stood in doorway, “Why are you here?” She asked, curious.
“I came to return your handkerchief,” the Prince explained, holding up the silk scrap, “And to thank you again.”
“There is no need to thank me, Your Highness.” She told him earnestly, tucking the handkerchief away up her sleeve again. Arthur smiled, but his eyes were burning like they had been last night.
“May I kiss you?” He asked, eyes flitting down to her lips.
“I…” Margaret’s mind stuttered over the request. Surely it would be nice to have some experience outside of Duke Humphrey, “Yes, of course you may.”
The Prince tilted her face upwards and slowly moved forward to press their lips together.
His lips felt chapped compared to her smooth ones. When his tongue slipped out and licked her lips Margaret jumped and pulled away in shock. Arthur raised an eyebrow.
“I apologise, I didn’t know you were this innocent.”
Margaret began to reassure him, but the door slamming against the wall made the words die on her tongue. The Duke Humphrey was there, seething with rage and from the redness of his cheeks he was obviously drunker than any priest in the castle was.
“How dare you!” he roared, marching over to them and grabbing Margaret’s arm, “How dare you make me look a fool!
“Half the court is talking about you and the prince! Calling you lovers and the like! And given how you both stand now I am inclined to agree! If I had known before of your ruination I would not have accepted your father’s offer!”
Here the duke smacked her across the face. Margaret hit the floor with a sharp cry, her jaw and side aching from the impact they each received.
“There is no need to act like that!” the Prince snarled at Humphrey, “The Lady Margaret is one of the purest, loveliest maidens in the kingdoms – I only pity her for being made to marry you!”
“Just because you are used to having the pick of the women of the court doesn’t mean that you can have this one as well!” The Duke roared, brandishing his fist at Arthur, “This one is mine for the plucking! And you’ll remember that, even if I have to make the message sink in!”
He now pulled a dagger from his belt and pointed it at the Prince. Margaret dreaded what he would do with it. She tried to pull herself up from the floor, but the ache in her hip forced her to remain seated.
Fortunately, however, two members the Royal Guard barged through the doorway and tackled Duke Humphrey to the floor, wrestling the dagger out of his hand.
Arthur let of out long breathe, his whole body sagging.
“Take him to the dungeons to await my father’s verdict.” He instructed the guards, “And send for a healer to tend to Lady Margaret’s injuries.”
They both nodded and dragged the duke away, despite his struggling and loud protests.
Arthur automatically went to Margaret’s side, tilting her face again, this time to examine to damage done to her.
“I will be speaking to my father as soon as he is done in council,” He told her gently, pulling her towards him gently, as she was shaking in shock “he will that justice is done. You will not marry that man, my lady, not if I have any say in it.”
“Who shall I marry then?” Margaret asked quietly. Not many men would want a woman who was spurned by a magnate such as Duke Humphrey, or one who apparently had rumours dogging her steps.
“Me.” Arthur decided firmly, “If the gods and your father have any sense of decency, I will marry you.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. Margaret felt her spirits soar with hope, and she smiled broadly, oblivious to the stinging pain it caused.
