It was a fine late spring evening. We were coming up on my 27th summer, I had my own house, I was a journeyman cooper, and it was time to take a wife. It is with no small amount of pride that I do claim to be the handsomest man in the village. Therefore, it makes sense to me that I should marry the most beautiful woman in the village.

Fiona Rede, daughter of the baker, would clearly be that. At only 15 years of age, she was barely of age, but that also meant that I would be able to enjoy her beauty that much longer. Her youth also meant that I would be able to take her in hand before she developed any strong wills of her own.

All this told me that I should strike a deal with her father now, before any of the other young men made their play.

I expected her father to spend a short time in the evening at the village inn, and it was at that door I stood today. Opening the rough-hewn door, there, as I hoped, Brice Rede was sitting at an ale stained plank table with two of the village hunters, Philip Ruderfurd and Hume Valcar.

I heard a smack on the other side of the room and turned my head. A man with a reddening cheek was starting up from his bench and trying to grab Marion Blexham, the Innkeeper’s wife. There was a sudden roar and a crack as Gilbert, the innkeeper, smacked a huge cudgel on the bar, then pointed it at the man. The man sullenly started to sit down, but Gilbert pointed to the door with the cudgel and, head down, the man stalked past me and out the door.

I stepped up to Rede.

“A moment of your time, sir”.

Rede looked up, clearly surprised to see me, but not in an objectionable way.

“Good evening. Donnan’s son isn’t it?”

“I will not beat around the bush, sir. I am asking for your daughter Fiona’s hand.”

“Oh? My daughter has spoken nowt of this or you.”

“I have not spoken to her, thinking this was something that could be arranged man to man.”

Rede looked around at Ruderfurd and Valcar, laughed and looked back at me.

“My daughter is not a loaf of bread, lad, to be sold quickly. I know Donnan and Cicilia, but I don’t know you.”

I was a perfect choice, so in my mind he would have agreed readily. However, I knew I would need to set out the advantages of such a match.

“Sir, I have my own house and I am properly recognized as a cooper. If needs be, if you give me permission to walk and talk with her, I believe that I could quickly convince your daughter of my suitability.”

Rede looked down at his hands, spread on the table, toughened and strengthened from kneading bread every morning for the last thirty years. After a minute, he looked up at me.

“Lad. I’ll give you permission to walk Fiona to the Standing Stones and back. Then we can talk again.”

What? Normally, if one must court, the first conversations are at the girl’s house, with her mother watching over you. Only later is permission given for walks together. I thought I was pushing it a bit to immediately jump to the walks. But all the way to the Standing Stones? That is supposed to be a three-hour hill walk with three crests to cross just to get to them. I’d never been that far up into the hills myself. That would give me a lot more liberty than I expected.

We were told stories as children that a demon lived in the Stones, but that was a fairy tale I no longer believed.

“The Stones are a three-hour walk. I’m certain we will be in agreement by the time we return.”

Rede looked at Valcar and raised an eyebrow. Valcar’s weathered face gave a fractional nod in return. Rede turned back to me.

“And lad, you will be shadowed. One hand on Fiona while you walk and I will be expressing my condolences to Donnan and Cicilia.”

With that final comment, Rede turned back to Ruderfurd and Valcar to resume some discussion about venison for pies.

Yes, I was irritated. He just dismissed me as if I was not one of the village men. I was an equal and should be treated as such. I straightened and walked out the door. Once married, I would be a full householder. For the moment, I had none to kick but my dog, but that would soon change.

My father came back from the tavern in the early evening and called my mother and me to the table.

“Donnan Cullane’s son Alastair has asked to court you. Although actually he asked for your hand without even the pretence of courting. Do you know him?”

I said “No. He’s the poppinjay that flirts with everyone, right?”

My father laughed. “He’s certainly a poppinjay. I didn’t think you were old enough to pay attention to the flirting, so I haven’t paid attention to what the young folks have been up to.”

My mother said, “Well, apparently it’s time we paid attention. He’s a journeyman cooper. I suppose he would be useful when we need new barrels for flour. What did you say to him?”

“I told him that he could make his case to Fiona, then we would talk.”

I sighed. “I suppose I will need to get used to this sort of thing, I just didn’t expect it to be this soon. I assume Mother will be here to ensure proper behavior.”

My father looked at my mother with a bit of a grin that I found a little unnerving. “Actually, I had a better idea. To ensure that he have sufficient time to plead his case, I told him he could walk you to the Stones and back.”

“What! Six hours of walking up and down hills listening to someone twice my age tell me why I should marry him? Who is going to accompany us?”

“Philip Ruderfurd and your uncle Hume Valcar.”

“Ah.” I had known Mr Ruderfurd and Uncle Valcar and their families my entire life. They were the village’s two hunters and the best protection I could have. And Uncle Valcar was my mother’s brother.

“But why all the way to the Stones? Can’t he make his case on a shorter walk?”

My mother chimed in. “I think your father has a very good idea. Have you ever actually been to the Stones?”

“No. One day, Oswyn and Clarice Malison and I talked about stealing away to actually see them, but there’s never a full day to do it.”

My mother laughed. “All the village knows they are there beyond the third crest, but seldom does anyone tread the path to see them. If you are ever going to tell stories about them to your children, you really should go and see them for yourself. It helps the story telling. And having Hume and Philip Ruderfurd along is as good as you could ask to avoid straying from the path and protection from wandering hands.”

I thought back to stories that my parents told us about the Stones around the fireplace. Other families told stories about stones haunted with the ghosts of Druid sacrifices. My parents’ stories, on the other hand, told about an invisible dance master teaching the stones to do village dances. The stories made us laugh at the thought of 9 foot standing stones trying to curtsy and bow while a woodpecker drummed the beat.

My father spoke up again. “I want you to promise us that you will go all the way to the Stones, even if Alastair refuses. I want you to look hard at them, then come back and tell us your own story about the Stones.”

I didn’t know why this was so important to my parents, but I did trust Mr Ruderfurd and Uncle Hume to watch out for me, so I agreed.

Finally, the agreed day arrived. I took my parent’s advice and wore a dress and cloak suitable for walking the hills. If the wind came up it would get cold, and I wasn’t going to wear Sunday go to church clothes for a 6-hour hill walk.

Alastair, on the other hand, choose his Sunday best rather than be sensible. He looked a bit surprised that I wore practical clothes, but quickly turned his frown to a smile and turned the smile towards my mother. She motioned down the street. Alastair’s smile turned tight-lipped when he saw Uncle Hume waiting for us to set off. I didn’t see Mr Ruderfurd, but I had the impression that we wouldn’t see him unless he wanted us to see him.

We started up the path that led over the crests above the town.

Finally, the agreed day arrived. I put on my best clothes. When I arrived at the Rede house, Fiona surprised me by wearing a worn dress and cloak clearly intended for travel. We were courting. Her father should have ordered her to wear a dress fit for the occasion. He was still not taking me seriously.

Fiona’s mother caught my eye and nodded down the lane. I took a gander that direction. Hume Valcar, the hunter, ugly as sin, but tougher than nails stood 20 yards away and tipped his cap to me. Clearly Fiona’s father was taking serious precautions against any suggestions I might make to Fiona that might lead to a delay in returning home.

Fiona ventured “My father says that you would like to court me.”

“Yes. As the two most attractive people in the village, we should be matched.”

“Oh? You sound like a farmer breeding cattle.”

Evidently she needed to be taught about proper authority. I looked around. Valcar was not in sight, but that didn’t mean anything. He would be out there somewhere, watching.

The path led upward and I began to realize the value of travel clothes for this walk rather than courting clothes. It was not yet the heat of summer, but I was already starting to flush, though the conversation again not going to plan could have been the cause as much as the hill walk.

“I have my own house.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“You won’t find anyone in the village as handsome.”

“Ah, back to looks.”

“What is with you?”

“Alastair, can you read?”

“What? I don’t need to read to be a cooper. Besides, the Bible is all I need to know and the Vicar will tell me what is important.”

“You listen to the Vicar blindly?”

“The village needs a strong leader.”

The conversation continued like this, on and off for hours as we made our way to the Stones. Every so often, I would glance around and might see a glimpse of Valcar pacing us. One time, I thought I also saw another of the village hunters pacing us. Well, I suppose I do have a reputation with the ladies.

I could not, however, get a handle on Fiona. Compliments about her looks just got swatted away. Promises that I could provide firm guidance for her caused her to laugh and question whether I would try to offer guidance in cooking and sewing. She kept sending the conversation on one frustrating diversion then another.

We finally cleared the third crest and saw the meadow with the standing stones a little ways off the path to the left. I was getting increasing tired with both the walk and Fiona. Beauty in form must be matched by beauty in being a wife. I was beginning to believe that Fiona was too hard-hearted to be acceptable. Unless I did something to break her spirit. But that would not happen with Valcar and whoever else was watching us.

We agreed that we should pause for a rest. Fiona insisted that her parents had told her to walk to the Stones, so I reluctantly agreed and sauntered that direction behind her.

9 feet tall and massive, standing upright in a circle at the end of a small meadow, no one knew how long they had stood or how some barbarian tribe had managed to get them up here. Everyone knew they were here, but I don’t know how many of the villagers had actually made the hill walk to see them, or even why they should. The Stones were a relic of centuries gone by. When we were children, it was a place of tales and stories, magic and wonder, but I had grown beyond those fairy tales.

Fiona sat down suddenly so I sat down as well, placed my back against one of the stones and closed my eyes.

“Hello little one.” There was suddenly a sense of presence around the Stones.

I sat down suddenly as the voice sounded in my head. Alastair looked quizzically at me, then looked around, then back at me, and finally sat down with his back against one of the stones and seemed to doze off.

“You’re real.”

“Yes. You can just think what you want to say; you don’t have to speak aloud. I see you are not impressed by the man courting you.”

“No, not at all.”

“You are right to think so. Now watch.”

I could suddenly see colors glowing around me and Alastair. Mine were light greens and yellows with flashes of red. Alastair’s aura was sullen, like a deep bruise. The auras expanded until they touched at which point mine started to dull and become lifeless, bruised itself.

“That’s enough” said the voice.

“Who are you? What are you?” I asked.

“You may call me Anthracyda. I am just a small hillside god or spirit if you prefer.”

“What was that I saw?”

“That was your aura and Alastair’s aura. It is like seeing the colours of your spirit," said the voice.”

“Your parents met me when they decided to handfast. Unlike what you just saw, your parents’ colors matched and complemented each other. Yours and Alastairs do not.”

“My parents met you? Did they know this was going to happen?”

“Yes. I think they assumed I would like to meet their daughter.”

“Are you a demon?”

“No” the voice chuckled. “Although your vicar would probably say differently.”

“Am I going to go to hell for talking to you? Some other girls tell stories.”

“No. And neither are your parents. There is no hell, other than what you make on earth.”

“What happens now?”

“You call your watchers to take you home. You may return, and we can talk whenever you want.”

I looked at Alastair, still sleeping.

“What about him?”

“He will remember your arguments on the way here and be annoyed that he wasted his time. He’ll decide that your village is really too small for someone of his looks and talents. He will want to find a bigger town which will complement (and compliment) his talents and self-importance. Maybe he’ll want to test himself against “better competition”. And maybe he will learn humility. In any case, he won’t stay in your village long.”

“Fiona, I will leave you with this. Measure your self-worth against yourself. Comparing yourself to others has value only if you are trying to learn to better yourself. If, like Alastair, you determine your self-worth by comparing yourself to others, it often leads to cruelty towards those you think lesser and envy towards those you think better.”

The sense of presence was suddenly gone. I looked around, pushed myself up off the grass and raised my arm. Uncle Hume stepped out from behind a tree some thirty yards away and started walking towards me. Mr Ruderfurd also materialized from around some brush a little farther away.

“I think I’d like to go home now. Did you just see or hear anything strange?”

Uncle Hume responded. “I can guess what happened since Alastair looks like a statue. I felt that Anthracyda was here and talking to you. You have just met the god of these hillsides. No matter what the Vicar said, not all spirits of the hills are demons. And, whatever you do, don’t talk about it to anyone other than your parents. Anthracyda somehow gives us some protection against Border Reivers from the North and East, and we do not want the Church up here.”

“My parents knew.”

“Yes.”

“And never told me.”

“You didn’t believe stories about invisible dance masters?”

“Not any more than I believed other parents’ stories about ghosts of Druid sacrifices. How did they know? How do you know about it?” I had heard occasional stories about how adventurous my parents and Uncle Valcar and his wife Lucy had been when they were younger and was beginning to guess.

By this point Mr Ruderfurd had joined us and responded. “You can’t hunt on the hills without coming close to the Stones at one point. Anthracyda chooses who it wants to talk to. Sometimes it decides to talk to a hunter.”

At this point I remembered that Aunt Lucy Valcar was Mr Ruderfurd’s sister.

“What does it talk to hunters about?”

“Weather. If an animal is not cleanly killed and is dying in pain.”

“Huh. So it suggests you put the animal out of agony?”

“Yes.”

With that, Uncle Hume and Mr Ruderfurd turned partway towards town, then fell into step beside me as we started the long walk home. I was going to have a long talk with my parents when we got home.

I jerked awake, remembering a dream about leaving Andras Hill and going to Carlisle where the women were much more beautiful. Certainly Carlisle, more than ten times the size of Andras Hill, would provide me with more opportunities than staying where I was, and I would find a better match.

I noticed that Fiona was up and talking to Valcar and Ruderfurd about heading home. She might be of age, but she was still a child, a petulant one at that, and not worth my attention. Carlisle awaits. I let them start off and gave them five minutes, then started for home myself.

Next - The Vicar’s Tale (June 1642)

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