Chapter 10
Jessimond ignored Marcus when he caught up to her. She’d done her best to explain how she came to have such unusual skills for a servant, much less a woman. Either he would believe her or not. She didn’t want to waste any more time trying to convince him.
As they arrived at the booths, she asked, “Do you still have coin?”
“What do you require?”
“A cup of strong wine to bathe Hamlyn’s wound.”
“Wait here.”
Marcus ventured to a nearby stall and soon returned with a cup he’d promised to bring back. They continued on their way until they reached the stage. Several mummers either stood or knelt in a circle. Hamlyn lay in the center of them, a large gash across his forehead. Blood streamed down his face and covered the front of his tunic.
Jessimond sat next to him, opening her case. “I heard you took a nasty fall.”
“Bloody knee gave out on me,” the mummer complained. “Made me stumble. Fell head first into the corner of the stage.”
“Jopp said you were a little confused.”
“Nay. Not anymore, Jess,” Hamlyn assured her. “You’re Jess. I’m Hamlyn.” He pointed to and named several of the mummers hovering nearby. “We’re at Lord Guy’s estate. ’Tis a Tuesday. Truly, I’m right in the head. Saw a few stars when it first happened but I’ve been awake the entire time. Hurting,” he added, looking as if he wanted her sympathy.
“Well, I’m here to fix you up,” she promised.
Jessimond had been around others who’d suffered head injuries, a few who remained confused for several days. Hamlyn had his wits about him, which was very good news.
“First, I’m going to cleanse your wound,” she explained. “I’ll sew it up after that and you already know I’m an excellent seamstress. It will only take a few stitches to close.”
She opened her case and took out a bit of ginger. “Chew on this.”
Hamlyn eyed it with suspicion. “What for?”
“’Tis ginger. In case your head is aching or you feel a bit of nausea, it will help calm your stomach.”
He thought it over a moment and then slipped it between his lips. “That’s strong,” he declared.
When he didn’t spit it out, she thought that was a good sign. Jessimond took small bits of linen from her case and motioned for Marcus to hand her the cup of wine. She dipped a square into the liquid and smoothed it over the gash, repeating the action several times until the area was free of blood. She would use water to wash his face once she got him back to the camp.
“I’m going to sew the slice together now. It will sting some,” she warned.
Hamlyn eyed the cup on the ground. “Are you through with the wine? I could drink what’s left to help with the pain,” he offered.
“An excellent idea,” she said, handing him the cup.
He drained it quickly and set it aside.
“Lie still.” Jessimond thought a moment. “In fact, it would be good for someone to hold your head.”
“I will,” Marcus volunteered.
He sank to his knees and placed Hamlyn’s head between them, then gripped the mummer’s head with both hands. Jessimond knew Hamlyn wouldn’t be going anywhere.
Quickly, she threaded a needle from her case and pinched the skin together. Using a combination of a fell and running stitch, she mended the skin in a few minutes and then coated the wound with honey to promote healing. Winding a long strip of linen around Hamlyn’s head in order to keep dirt from the wound, she secured the end.
“You’ll be good as new but will probably have a small scar as a reminder of your misadventure,” she told him. “What you need to do now is rest.”
“But we have a play to perform in just a few minutes,” Hamlyn complained.
“Not today,” Jessimond declared. “You need to sleep. I’ll even watch you to see that no fever develops.”
“You’re treating me as a child, Jess. And who will take my place? Next to Ralph, I have the most lines,” he lamented.
Jessimond knew that was the true reason he wanted to remain. These mummers fought for time in the spotlight. She believed Hamlyn would go out, bloody tunic and all, merely for the chance to perform and receive adoration from the audience.
“I can,” Gylbart quickly volunteered. “I’ve always thought the role better suited to me than you.”
“You’re the narrator this time, Gylbart,” Elias interjected. “You can’t narrate and act at the same time. ’Twould confuse the crowd.”
Marcus rose to his feet. “I’ll step in,” he offered. “I’ve done that before.”
“True,” Elias agreed, “but only for a small role. Both Hamlyn and Gylbart have many lines in this play.”
“I can do it,” Marcus assured the troupe’s owner. He turned to Gylbart. “Which part would you rather take on?”
“Definitely Hamlyn’s,” Gylbart said, his eyes glowing in satisfaction.
“Then it’s settled.” Marcus looked down at Hamlyn. “Let me help you back to the tents.”
“I can do that,” Jessimond said. “I’d like to give Hamlyn some chamomile boiled in water. It will help soothe any headache that occurs and possibly prevent fever.”
“We’ll do it together,” Marcus insisted.
He helped Hamlyn to his feet and they got on either side of the mummer. Jess retrieved the wine cup to return to the merchant and told Jopp to close up her case. The boy handed it to Marcus to carry and they set off.
“Are you sure you have time to do this?” she asked.
“Aye,” Marcus said. “Bartholomew will play several songs before the play begins.”
“Do you really know all the lines?”
“Most of them,” he revealed. “If ’twere Hamlyn’s part I took, I do know all of them. I’d need to in order to give Ralph the right cues so he could deliver his next line. But the narrator? That’s different. I know most of what Gylbart says. As long as I set each scene up properly, the crowd won’t know if I’ve tweaked a line or two.”
They gave the merchant his wine cup back and then took Hamlyn to the tent he shared with several mummers. Placing him on the pallet, Jessimond had Marcus remove Hamlyn’s blood-soaked tunic. She would try to get the stains out later. Quickly, she bathed his neck and face with water and he lay back, looking exhausted. He thanked them and promptly fell asleep, his snores filling the tent within seconds.
“I was going to boil the water and chamomile for him but I hate to wake him to drink it. Sleep restores good health. I suppose he can sip it later.”
Jessimond started to kneel next to Hamlyn and then found herself rising. Marcus had her elbow and tugged her to her feet.
“What are you doing? I need to stay with Hamlyn.”
“Look at him. He’ll sleep for several hours. Come back and watch me in the play. You can check on Hamlyn after it finishes. I’m sure you’ll find him snoring the day away when you return.”
His hand still held her elbow, causing a wild flutter inside her. She swallowed, unsure whether to stay or go, but she definitely wanted to see Marcus as a mummer. That won out.
“All right,” she agreed.
“We’ll have to hurry,” he said. “Come on.”
Marcus’ fingers slid down her arm and caught her hand. He took off in long strides. Jessimond had to trot to keep up with him. The entire time, she was aware of her hand enfolded in his.
It seemed as if it were made to belong exactly where it rested.
They pushed their way through the crowds as Bartholomew sang a stirring ballad. Marcus pulled her to the very front and moved her between two men. One gave him a challenging look. Marcus glared and the man’s eyes dropped to the ground.
“I will see you later,” he told her. “Enjoy the play.”
The audience applauded at the end of Bartholomew’s song. The troubadour caught her eye and motioned to her. Jessimond shook her head violently, knowing what he had in mind.
He ignored her protests and said, “My singing companion has just arrived. I know she would love for us to share a song with you. Jess? Come up.”
Reluctantly, she stepped forward. Bartholomew grasped her wrist and pulled her onto the platform next to him.
“We’ll do one from the other night. Just follow my lead,” he whispered.
“I might die before a note comes out of my mouth,” Jessimond said, frightened to her core by the large crowd gathered in front of them.
“Then close your eyes. Let the music lead you,” Bartholomew advised.
The troubadour began strumming his lute. Immediately, she recognized the song they would sing but she couldn’t recall any of the words. Panic squeezed her chest, making it hard to breathe. Then Jessimond did as Bartholomew recommended and shut her eyes. She listened to the music and then Bartholomew’s mellow voice. The crowd receded from her mind, replaced by the song.
When the chorus began, Jessimond joined in, harmonizing as they had around the campfire the other night. Even she could hear how well their voices blended together and she started to relax. The second verse began and the words came to her. She sang them and the chorus again. As it ended, Bartholomew nudged her. Jessimond opened her eyes.
“We’ll do the final verse together,” he said.
She nodded and decided to bravely leave her eyes open as she continued singing. Her gaze never fell upon one person. It simply skimmed over the crowd. All she saw was a blur of faces in the sea in front of them.
Then the song ended. The audience roared their approval, clapping and stomping. Jessimond knew her face flamed as Bartholomew took her hand and had them bow, acknowledging the applause.
“You were wonderful,” he said, his admiration obvious. “We should do a few songs together each performance.”
“I’m no troubadour, Bartholomew. I’m a seamstress and healer.”
He gave her a knowing look. “We’ll see about that.”
Jessimond hopped down from the stage and returned to her spot in the front row. This time, the angry man made ample room for her, complimenting her on what a sweet voice she possessed. She nodded her thanks and focused on the stage, knowing Marcus would appear soon.
He came out and the crowd’s noise began to die. Marcus caught her eye and winked at her, causing a blush to spill across her cheeks. He had changed from his tunic and pants into one of the Greek togas and a pair of sandals and looked divine. His olive skin contrasted sharply with the snowy white toga. Jessimond became fascinated with his muscular calves and thighs, longing to allow her hand to follow their curves. His bare arms appeared massive, as if he could lift felled logs with no effort. Again, she wished to run her fingers up and down them. He wore some type of crown, composed of gold-looking leaves, though his hair looked as wild and untamed as usual.
In a word, he was perfection.
Never had Jessimond been so physically attracted to a man. This knight looked like a god from old, stepped down from Mount Olympus. She wondered again about his odd story of bearing allegiance to a liege lord and yet here he was, a part of a mummer’s troupe. Despite that, she’d found him to be intelligent and caring toward the others in the company, always willing to lend a hand and often taking a leadership role. She wished to unravel the mystery that was Marcus de Harte.
He began to speak, scanning the crowd, his voice carrying in rich tones across the area. His voice was like his tongue, smooth and commanding. Soon, the audience was spellbound.
And so was she.
As Marcus spoke, Jessimond realized that somewhere along the way, this knight had captured her heart. Now, it was up to her. Would she retrieve it from him and hide it away—or allow him to keep it? She feared if she stashed it deep within her that she would be making the gravest mistake of her life. If she let him possess it, though, she was afraid, in the end, all that would remain of it might be shattered pieces.
His gaze met hers and he spoke to her. Only her. The ocean of people receded. Only the two of them existed. He wove a tapestry of color around her as he told her of the fight she would behold, one between Virtue and Vice. Who would be the victor?
With a sweep of his hand, the curtain suddenly rose and Marcus faded into the background. The spell had been broken between them.
Or had it just begun?
Jessimond slipped from her place and circled around until she could reach behind the stage. Agatha handed a mace to Otto and nudged him toward the stage. He stepped onto it and she breathed a sigh of relief.
“Worried about Otto?” Jessimond asked.
The young woman nodded. “He knows his lines until the play begins and then he always seems to forget them. Sometimes, I whisper to him a word or two to get him back on track. He does better with a prop in his hand. Otto grips it tightly and it seems to reassure him.” She paused. “How is Hamlyn?”
“Sleeping. I left him snoring.”
“Good. We were all worried when he fell and began speaking gibberish but he seemed to have recovered his senses by the time you arrived. You did an excellent job stitching his injury. I doubt he’ll have much of a scar. I knew you were an excellent seamstress but I did not know you also were a healer until Moss mentioned it and sent Jopp for you.”
“I know a little about both.”
“Did you learn about these things at Kinwick?”
“Aye,” Jessimond said, and decided to press Agatha some about her past. “Has Hamlyn ever mentioned his family? I heard he goes north each winter.”
Agatha nodded. “He rarely speaks of them. I first learned of his wife and children when I overheard him talking about them to my father years ago.”
“Your father was a member of the Vawdrys’ troupe?”
The young woman beamed with pride. “Father was their lead actor. He possessed more talent in his thumb than King Ralph does in his entire body. I watched every performance he gave.”
“You sound very proud of him.”
“I am. He was not only a fine actor, but a good father and man. A loyal friend.” Her eyes filled with tears. “We lost him when I was nine. Mother and I remained with the mummers. It was the only life we’d known. Then she passed away, too.”
“What about your sister, Reba?” Jessimond asked. “I heard she cooked for the company until she left last year.”
Agatha’s nose wrinkled. “Reba was not truly my sister. She was Father’s daughter with his first wife. He married Mother soon after his wife passed and then they had me. Reba was jealous because Father loved Mother and me so much. He tried to explain to her that he had enough love in his heart for all of us but Reba didn’t want to hear that. She never forgave him for dying and never accepted Mother or me as her family.”
Jessimond asked, “Did you go to live with Reba after the troupe disbanded last year? I know she wed.”
“I would never stay with her,” Agatha said vehemently and then laughed harshly. “Not that she would have had me. The fellow she married had a roving eye. Nay, Reba would not have wished for me to be a part of their merry little household.”
“Where did you go, Agatha?”
She crossed her arms protectively in front of her. “I stayed in London. I worked.”
Jessimond placed her hand on her shoulder. “What happened, Agatha?”
The girl bit her lip. “It was terrible, Jess. I hated it. I barely survived. I didn’t realize how cruel people could be. I left several jobs because men . . . well, they were disrespectful, that’s all I’ll say.” Agatha sniffed. “When it came time for the troupe to gather in early spring, I was more than ready to return to my family.”
“Would you like to go to Kinwick with Peter and me once we complete our tour this autumn?”
Hope sprang to Agatha’s eyes. “Do you think I could? ’Tis a lovely spot of England. One of my favorite places to visit each year.”
“It is, indeed.”
“Will you really be able to go back, Jess?”
“Aye. The countess assured me that Peter and I will have a place there come winter. He’ll return to the smithy’s shop and I will be back inside the keep.” Jessimond simply omitted the fact that she would return as a daughter of the house. She would save that information for a later time.
“It is a grand castle.”
“The estate is large and has many workers. If you’ve a mind to work hard and be happy, the earl and countess would be glad to have you at Kinwick.” Jessimond paused. “I think Peter would also be most pleased if you came.”
Agatha blushed furiously. “You think so?”
Jessimond was happy her suspicions were true and that Agatha had feelings for Peter. “I do. He is a wonderful man. Who knows? You may find a place to work and a place with Peter.”
“Oh, Jess! We would be true family then. We’d be sisters-in-law.” Agatha smiled through her tears.
Suddenly, a dozen mummers descended upon them.
“The scene is done,” Agatha said, wiping her eyes with her sleeves. “Help me, Jess.”
Agatha began grabbing various props. Jessimond took and distributed the items to whatever actor reached for them. The chaos calmed as the actors resumed their places. She could hear Marcus transitioning the crowd with his words and then the mummers once more took to the stage.
Agatha came to her and hugged her tightly. “You don’t know what this means to me. Thank you, Jess, for inviting me to accompany you and Peter to Kinwick.”
“You’re going back to Kinwick? With Agatha?”
Jessimond glanced up and saw Marcus standing beside them.