out into the michaelmas fair our friends went.

in these days, when fairs have quite changed their character, we cannot easily form a notion of what they once were. the fair, held in every town four times a year, was a very important matter. there were much fewer shops than now; and not only in the town, but from all the surrounding villages people flocked to the fair, to lay in food and clothes and all sorts of necessaries, enough to last till the next fair-day. they had very little fresh butcher’s meat, and very few vegetables except what they grew themselves; so they ate numbers of things salted which we have fresh. not only salt fish and salt neat, but salt cabbage formed a great part of their diet. the consequence of all this salt food was that they suffered dreadfully from scurvy. but they did not run to the doctor, for except in rare instances there was no doctor to run to! all doctors were clergymen then, and there were very few of them. in the large towns there were apothecaries, or chemists, who often prescribed for people; and there were “wise women” who knew a good deal about herbs, and sometimes gave good medicines, along with a great deal of foolish nonsense in the way of charms and all sorts of silly fancies. at that time, ladies were taught a good deal about medicine, and a benevolent lady was often the doctor for a large neighbourhood. but we are wandering away from the michaelmas fair, and we must come back.

the fair was a very busy scene. in some places it was hard work to get along at all. the booths were set up, not in the streets but in the churchyards, the market place, and on any waste space available. and what with the noise of business, the hum of gossip, the shouts of competing sellers, and the sound of hundreds of clogs on the round paving-stones, it may be readily supposed that quiet was far away.

avice’s first business was to lay in a stock of salt meat and salt fish. very little of either was used fresh, for it was not obtainable: and still less would have been used so far as fish is concerned, had not the law, alike of the church and of the state, compelled it to be eaten throughout lent, and on every friday in the year. little enough fish would anybody have touched then, but for that provision. avice bought half of a salted calf, which cost a shilling; five hundred herrings, at half-a-crown; a bushel of salt, at threepence (which was dear); twenty-five stock-fish, at two shillings; a quarter of a sheep, at fourpence; a quarter of wheat, at six shillings; a quarter of oats, at five shillings; half a quarter of salt cabbage, at five shillings; and five pounds of figs, at three-halfpence a pound. this was her provision for the three months which would elapse before the christmas fair. she then went to the drapery stalls, and laid in two hoods, for herself and bertha, at a shilling each; ten ells of russet, to serve for two gowns, at eighteen-pence the ell; twelve ells of serge, at three-halfpence the ell; two pairs of shoes, at fourpence each. the russet was intended for their best dresses; the serge for common. considering how very little went to make a garment, it seems likely that our ancestors wove their stuff a good deal wider than we do. avice also laid in a few other articles of different kinds: a brass pot, which cost her 2 shillings 2 pence; five pounds of tallow, at three-halfpence a pound, and as many of wax at sixpence; wax was largely used for a variety of objects. her last and costliest purchase she would have been better without. it was a painted and gilded image of saint katherine, and cost fifteen shillings. but avice, though a good woman according to her light, had enjoyed very little light, and did not understand half so well as we do that she might go straight to god through the new and living way opened upon the cross, without the intervention of any mediator except the lord jesus. she thought she must pray through a saint; and she had no idea of praying unless she could see something to pray to. her old image had lost much of its paint, and half an arm, and its nose was hopelessly damaged. therefore, as she must have one, poor avice thought it best to buy a new one, rather than have her old saint tinkered up. alas for the gods or the mediators who require to be tinkered!

by the time that these purchases were made, and the goods brought home, it was not far from the supper hour; and bertha prepared that meal by boiling a dish of salt cabbage from one of the barrels. this, with black bread and ale, made their supper.

the meal was just ready, and avice had put away her carding, having finished that kind of work for the day, when a rap at the door was followed by the lifting of the latch, and the old smith put in his head.

“any room for a man, have ye?”

“plenty for you, uncle dan,” answered avice heartily; and bertha’s eyes lighted up at the sight of her father.

dan came forward and sat down on the stool which bertha set for him.

“has it not been a charming day?” said avice.

“ay, it’s fine weather i’ lincoln,” was dan’s dry answer. “up at smithy, it’s none so bad neither—yet. just a touch of thunder we had this morning,—a bit of a grumble i’ th’ distance like: but i’ve known worser storms a deal. ay, i have so!”

avice quite understood what kind of storm he meant.

“how do you get on without me, father?” asked bertha.

“well, i’ll not say i don’t miss thee, my singing bird; but i’m willing, when it’s for thy good. i’ve got—let me see—two buttons left o’ my blouse, and i think there’s one o’ my flannel shirt, but i’m none so sure. it’s rather troublesome, for sure, when there’s none o’ th’ sleeves; they keep for ever a-slippin’ up man’s arm; but i could put up wi’ that easy if there was nought more. it’s true i don’t want to pull ’em down while even comes.”

“oh, father, let me sew you some on!” cried bertha.

“so thou shall,” said dan. “but i’ve a bit o’ news for thee, lass. susanna’s to be wed.”

“with whom, uncle?”

“michael, cartwright, at corner.”

“is it a good match?”

“he’s got his match, and she’s got hern.”

“they are well matched, then,” said bertha, laughing.

“they’re a pair,” said dan, grimly. “he’s eagre, and she’s mustard; and they’ll none mix ill—but they’ll set folks’ throats a-fire as meddles wi’ ’em.”

eagre is the old english word for vinegar, which is just “wine-eagre.” it means anything sharp and acid.

“is aunt filomena pleased?” asked avice.

“she’s never pleased wi’ nothing,” was the reply of her unfortunate husband. “she give him lots o’ sauce when he first come, and he’s had another spoonful every time since. he gives it her every bit as hot—i will say that for him. his mother went by name o’ old maud touchup, and he doth her no disfavour. she knew how to hit folks—she did. and michael’s a chip o’ th’ old block.”

“a little more cabbage, uncle dan?”

“nay, i thank thee. i must be going home, i reckon. eh, but you’re peaceable here! i reckon man could sleep i’ this house, and not be waked up wi’ jarring and jangling. i tell thee what, avice—when the big folks up to london town runs short o’ money, i wonder they don’t clap a bit of a tax on women’s tongues! it’d bring ’em in a tunful in a week, that would.”

“how would you collect it, uncle dan?”

“nay, there thou floors me. they’d best send down a chap all over steel to th’ smithy, he’d get plucked o’ pieces else. well, god be wi’ thee, avice. god bless thee, bertha, my lass. good-night!”

and uncle dan disappeared into the darkness. there were no street lamps then. every man had to carry his own lantern, unless he chose to run the risk of breaking his neck over the round stones which formed the streets, or the rough ground, interspersed with holes and pits, to be found everywhere else.

they now sat down to work for the rest of the evening, avice on the settle in the corner, bertha on one of the low stools which she brought up to the hearth.

“lack-a-day! what have i forgot!” said avice as bertha drew up her stool and unfolded the apron she was making. “i thought to have asked nora goldhue for a sprig of betony, or else purslane. ’tis o’er late to-night, and verily i am too weary to go forth again.”

“have you bad dreams, aunt?” asked bertha, knowing that a sprig of either of those herbs under the pillow was believed to drive them away.

“ay, child; they have troubled me these four nights past, but last night more especially.”

no wonder, after a supper on franche-mule! but it never occurred to ignorant avice that supper and dreams could have anything to do with one another.

“shall i fetch you a laurel leaf, aunt?” suggested bertha.

“ay, do, child; maybe that shall change the luck. best go ere it rain, too; and that will not be long, for i saw a black snail in the channel as we came in.”

bertha tied on her hood, and ran out to the house of the next-door neighbour, who had a laurel in her garden, to beg a few of its leaves, which were supposed to bring pleasant dreams. having placed these under her aunt’s bolster, she sat down again to her work, and avice resumed her interrupted story.

“it was in july, 1254, when our little lady was but eight months old, that the lady queen set forth to join the lord king in gascony. there were many ships taken up for her voyage, amongst which were the savoy, the falcon, and the baroness, that was my lord of leicester’s ship. in the ship wherein the lady queen sailed, was built a special chamber for her, of polished wood, for the which three hundred planks were sent from the forest to portsmouth. but so short was she of money, that she was compelled to bid the treasurer to send her all the cups and basins which the king had of silver, and all gold in coin or leaf that could be found in the treasuries. moreover, the jews throughout england were distrained for five thousand marks, for the ransom of their bodies, and their wives and little ones, and by sale of their lands and houses. the lady queen took with her divers pieces of english cloth for the lord king, seeing that french cloth is not nigh so good. some things also she commanded for the children, who were to tarry at windsor during her absence. twenty-four silver spoons were made, and fifty wild animals taken for their provision in the park at guildford. robes were served out, furred with hare’s fur, for edmund the king’s son and henry de lacy; four robes for the gentlewomen that had the care of the children; and for richard the chaplain, master simon de wycumb the keeper, and master godwyn the cook: these were of sendal. and there were robes furred with lamb for the king’s wards, and for john the varlet, and julian the rocker, and my mother, and me thine aunt.” (see note 1.)

both to avice and bertha it seemed quite a matter of course that the jews should find the money when the king wanted silk, or the king’s children silver spoons.

“but it seems to me, aunt,” suggested bertha, “that the lady queen must have spent all her money before she started.”

“oh no! the money was for the lord king. in truth, i know not whether she paid for the other things. but i did hear that as soon as the lord king knew she would come, and that she was bringing with her so much money and plate, he began to spend with both hands on his side of the sea. he sent at once for six cloths of gold that the queen and lord edward might offer in the churches of bordeaux when they should arrive there; he commanded to be made ready a fair jewel for saint edward the martyr, and a hundred pounds of jewels for saint edward the king, and divers more for saint thomas of canterbury, all which were offered when he and the queen returned home in december. there came in also, for the king’s coming back, many frails of figs, raisins, dates, cinnamon, saffron, pepper, ginger, and such like; i remember seeing them unpacked in antioch chamber, the little chamber by the garden.”

“and what did it all cost, aunt?”

“i know not, child. maybe he never paid for those. he used to pay for such things as he offered to the holy saints; but for debts to tradesfolk and such, they took their chance. if he had money, he might pay some of them or no, at his pleasure; and if not, then of course they had to wait. very sure am i that many a pound of musk came into the wardrobe more than was paid for. never was such a prince for scents. he loved musk as much as he feared lightning; and there was only one thing in all this world that he feared more, and that was earl simon of leicester.”

“and did the lady queen squander her money as much as the lord king, aunt avice?”

“she was every bit as bad. she always seemed to me as if a piece of her brains had never grown up along with the rest. some folks are like that. in respect of money, she was a very child. she had not a notion how far it would go, and she never would wait to have it before she spent it. she always appeared to think it would come somehow: and so far as she was concerned, it often did. but then she never saw the homeless jews who were sold up to furnish it, nor the ruined tradesmen who had to wait till they could not pay their own way, and were sent to prison for debt. i think she might have been sorry, if she had done. i suppose we should all be sorry, if we knew half the evil we do. well, god pardon her!—she is a holy sister now in the priory at amesbury. and our present queen always pays her bills, i have heard say. long may she live to do it!”

“how old was the little lady when her parents came back?”

“she was just over a year old. i waited on her from the castle of windsor to the palace at westminster, for the lord king desired to behold her at once. and was not he delighted with her! i doubt if any of the royal children were as dear to the hearts of their parents as our little lady.”

“was she pleased to go?”

“pleased!—she gave nobody a bit of rest,” said avice, laughing. “all the journey through she was plucking at my gown, and pointing, first here and then there, with her little cry of ‘who? who?’—for she talked at fifteen months old as much as she ever spoke in this world. and before i could find out what she meant, she was pointing to something else, and ‘who? who?’ came over again.”

“did you know then that she was deaf and dumb?”

“no! nor for months after. truly, all her ways were so bright, and her sense so keen, and her laugh so gladsome, that we never thought of such a thing till she was long past the age when children ought to speak freely. but when at last they began to fear the truth, it was indeed a bitter grief to the royal parents. the lord king offered five cloths of gold at saint edward’s shrine for the children, and specially for our little lady, in hope that the divine mercy might be moved to have pity on her. but it was all in vain.”

avice sighed heavily. and there was no one to say to her, o woman, small is thy faith! was the divine mercy no greater, which called that little child, unspotted by the world, to tread the fair streets of the golden city, than the mercy thou wouldst have had instead of it?

“it was not long after that,” said avice, slowly drawing out the white threads, “that our little lady’s health began to fail. the heats of summer tried her sorely. she drooped like a flower that had no water. instead of playing with the other children, her gleeful laughter ringing through the galleries of the castle, she would come and draw her little velvet stool to my side, and lay her head on my knee as if she were very weary. and when i looked down and smiled on her, instead of smiling back as she was wont, the great, dark wistful eyes used to look up so sadly, as if her soul were looking out of them. oh, it was pitiful to read the dear eyes, when they said, ‘i am suffering: cannot you help me?’ and as time went on, they said it more and more. when the lady queen came to windsor, she was shocked at the sad change in our darling little lady. she called in master thomas, the king’s surgeon, and he advised that our little lady should be removed from windsor to some country place, where the air was good, and where she could play about in the fields. so she was put in charge of emma la despenser, lady de saint john, at her manor of swallowfield, in berkshire. of course i went with her, and her cousin alianora also, who was her favourite playfellow, for it was not thought well she should be entirely with older people, though i cannot say i was sorry to get rid of all those rough boys. the lord king also commanded that a kid should be taken in the forest, as small and fair as might be found, for our little lady to play with: and very fond she was of it. it was a lovely little creature, and grew as tame as possible. ah, they were much alike, those two little things!—both young, soft, lovely—and both dumb! i marvelled sometimes whether they understood each other.”

“and did she not get any better, aunt?”

“yes; for a time she did. the country air and food and quiet did seem to do her good. she was so much better that she came back to windsor for the winter. but it was not thought well by master thomas that she should go to london to be present at the great rejoicings that were made when the lady alianora came from spain—our queen that now is, the holy saints bless her! there were grand doings then, i heard; all london city was curtained in her honour, and processions in every church, and all superbly decorated; and the poor fed in the halls at westminster, as many as could get in; and the lord king presented a silver cross to the abbey, and a golden plate of an ounce weight. oh, it must have been a grand sight!”

“who paid that bill, i wonder?” said bertha, laughing.

“bless thee, child! how do i know? that was the autumn when there was so much ado here at lincoln touching the crucifixion of the blessed hugh, son of beatrice, by the wicked jews; one hundred and more of them were brought to prison, first here, and afterwards at westminster; and when eighteen had been hanged, the rest were graciously allowed to buy their lives for eighteen thousand marks. i daresay some of that went for it—that is, for as much of it as got paid for.”

that sum would now be equal to about two hundred and sixteen thousand pounds. it never came into avice’s head to doubt whether the jews had crucified little hugh. such charges were often enough brought against them—when those who called themselves christians wanted an excuse for stealing the jews’ money and jewels. there has never been a single instance, in this country or any other, in which the charge has been proved true. a further favourite accusation, that the jews used the blood of christian children to make their passover cakes, we know cannot have been true; for the bible tells us that the jews were strictly forbidden to eat blood. but what absurdity might not be expected from people who had no bibles, and of whom not more than one in a thousand could have read it if he had had one? are we half thankful enough for our own privileges?

“well!” continued avice, “after this, the lady alianora came down to windsor with the lady queen, and our little lady and she took to one another wonderfully. and, indeed, it was little wonder, for she was as fair and sweet a damsel as ever tripped over the greensward. our little lady would run to her whenever she sat down in the children’s chamber, and say, ‘up! up!’ and then the lady alianora would smile sweetly, and take her up beside her in the great state chair; and there they sat with their arms round one another, looking like two doves with their heads resting on each other’s necks. and the lady alianora once said to me, stroking our little lady’s hair—‘i hope, avice, thou givest her plenty of love. she can understand that, if she cannot anything else.’ ay, and so she could! she fretted sadly over the lady alianora when she went away from windsor. i think she and the little kid were more than ever together after that. i have found them both asleep in a corner of the chamber, resting on one another.”

“was she fond of pets?”

“she loved her little kid dearly, and she seemed to go to it for comfort. i do not know that she cared much for anything else. the lord king was the one for gathering curious animals of all sorts. he had three leopards in the tower, and a white bear, which was taken out to fish in the thames; the citizens of london paid fourpence a day for the bear’s keep, and had to provide a chain and muzzle for it, and a long cord whereby it was held when it fished in the river. and in the spring, before the coming of the lady alianora, the french king sent to our king a very strange animal, the like of which was never before seen in england. it had scarcely any eyes that man might see, and not much of a tail; but great flapping ears, and a most extraordinary thing that hung down from its face, which was hollow like a pipe, and it could pick things up with it as thou dost with thy fingers. it was a lead-coloured beast, and ate nought but grass and hay and such-like; it would not touch meat nor bones. they called it an oliphant,”—for so in old time people pronounced elephant. “the lord king thought great things of this beast, and had a house built for it, forty feet by twenty, at the tower: it was made very strong, lest the great beast should break forth and slay men. but truly it seemed a peaceable beast enough.

“we dwelt much more quietly at windsor, after the departure of the lady alianora. for she went abroad with the lord edward her husband, and mariot de ferrars, who had been there for some time—she went too; and the king’s son edmund was made king of sicily by the lord pope, and he and the other lads were taken away; our little lady and her cousin alianora de montfort alone were left. the king thought to have made money by edmund his son; he was a fair boy in very truth, and he clad him in sicilian dress, which was graceful and comely, and showed him before the parliament, entreating them to find him money for all these many expenses. but the parliament did not seem disposed to pay for seeing the young lord. and, indeed, i heard master russell say that he thought it strange the lord king should make merchandise of his child’s beauty, as though he were some curious animal to be seen in a show. but bertha, my dear heart! we clean forgot to buy any honey—and only this minute is it come to my mind. tie on thine hood, i pray thee, and run to the druggist for an half-dozen pounds.”

when it is understood that honey held in avice’s cookery and diet the place that sugar does in ours, the necessity of remedying this mistake will be seen. sugar was much too expensive to be used by any but wealthy people.

note 1. the robes provided for agnes and avice are the sole imaginary items in this account. sendal was a very thin silk.