The Penwyth Curse (Medieval Song 6)

There’s a maid he’s got to wed,

Then he’ll haul her off to bed.

All the while he’ll pray

That the curse won’t strike him dead.

All hail Bishop the 5th—husband.”

Merryn looked up at Philippa. “That rhymed, Philippa—at least some of it did—but it wasn’t true what he said. What is wrong with him? Bishop didn’t come to Penwyth to marry me. He came just to remove the Penwyth curse.”

Dienwald roared, leapt over to the trestle table and cuffed the fool so hard he flew off into the rushes and rolled and rolled until he lay on his back and grinned up at his master.

“Master, heed me, I will do better. Until the evening arrives on night feet, I will practice until I can find rhymes that will rhyme even with themselves, mayhap even a few choice words to rhyme with ‘husband.’ Another line? Aye, I’ll even add another line. What think you, noble master?”

“Enough, you brainless sot,” Dienwald said. “Bishop isn’t to wed her.”

“But he is, I heard all of you—” Crooky’s eyes rolled back in his head and he clasped his own hands around his throat and started squeezing. “Oh, dear, oh, begorra, and oh, my mother too, I will be smote down because my brain has grown warts and died.”

“Aye, it has,” Dienwald said. “Keep your mouth shut.” He looked over at Bishop, who hadn’t moved an inch. He still held the goblet of fine St. Erth ale in his hand. He was staring at Merryn. He was wondering if Crooky the Fool had just signed his death warrant.

Merryn cleared her throat. “Why, Fool, do you call him Bishop the 5th? Why do you think he came to Penwyth to marry me? Tell me.”

“No,” Bishop yelled at the top of his lungs. “I would cut off my toes before I would marry you. The fool here mistakes his bishops. Bishops litter the land. It is another one of them he cackles about, not me.”

“Aye, thass true enough, mistress,” Crooky said and stopped strangling himself, then rolled in a ball until he came to a stop at Merryn’s feet. He came gracefully upright, which was only to Merryn’s shoulder. He fingered the sleeve of her lovely pale-green gown. “I remember when the beautiful princess Kassia, so dainty and gracious she is, brought this gown. The mistress here gnashed and ground her teeth and yelled that she’d throw it to the wolfhounds, ah, but she didn’t, she—”

Dienwald came toward Crooky and the fool quickly rolled beneath one of the trestle tables.

“He’s a fool,” Dienwald said. “Actually, since he’s my fool, he’s all right. Come, Merryn, and have some of the wench’s delicious bread and ale. Aye, the gown, given to her by the beautiful little Kassi

a, so incredibly soft and gentle, looks much better on you than it did on my wench here. I say, wench, did you ever wear this lovely gown? Or was it too small for your bountiful charms?”

Philippa cuffed her husband’s shoulder. He laughed and laughed, then threw back his head and shouted, “Where are my babes?”

Margot came scurrying forward. She had a little boy under each arm, and a little girl was plastered to her gown, her fingers in her mouth.

Dienwald looked sideways at Merryn and said, “Come look at my babes, Bishop. They have grown in these few days since you last saw them. Is that not true?”

“They will be giants, Dienwald,” Bishop said.

“Aye, and if ever you wed”—Dienwald shot a look at Merryn—“which I know will not happen for many years yet, particularly since you are not here to wed Merryn of Penwyth—why, then, these are the babes you will want to have. Toss me Edward, Margot.”

And Margot, not strong enough, thankfully, to throw the little boy to his father, instead handed him over, cooing over him even as Dienwald brought him close.

“Aye, look at Edward, Bishop. You too, Merryn. Look at this perfect babe who looks just like his brother, Nicholas. Ah, wench, is this Edward I’m holding?”

“Aye, my lord, that is Edward.”

Nicholas began yelling. Eleanor took her fingers out of her mouth and began yelling in harmony.

“When you have children, Merryn de Gay, which won’t be for many years yet—you have to wed, and that won’t happen until many more suns have sunk low in the sky, and it doesn’t involve Bishop—you will wish to have babes like my little ones here. My precious Eleanor is the loudest, isn’t she? Just like her mother.”

Dienwald now held all three of his babes.

Philippa was laughing so hard she was holding her sides. She was also looking out of the corner of her eye at Merryn, wondering if she was thinking about Crooky’s ill-chosen words.

She wasn’t. She was looking about the great hall, taking in all the talking, laughing people—scores of people—most of them young with few wrinkles to share amongst them. And the children, so many of them, crawling or walking or skipping. It was amazing. She’d never seen such a thing in her life. And Philippa’s three babes. They were still in their father’s arms, laughing, yelling, bouncing up and down.