Morrisdance – Extract
Extract from a YA historical novel in development by Sayan Kent
Set in 1192 during the Third Crusade, Morrisdance follows Ysabel, a privileged Christian teenager whose understanding of the world is challenged by her encounters with people of different faiths and backgrounds.
Blind with rage and confusion, I found my way down to the kitchen. I’d remembered the little fawn who would need some goat’s milk. On my way out to the barn, Miriam saw me. I tried to smile at her. The black cloud hanging over me probably made it look like a scowl. She smiled back at me anyway and, without asking probing questions, accompanied me across the courtyard.
In the barn, we found Lance with a worried look on his face.
‘I’ve been trying to feed him,’ he said, stroking Bramble’s trembling back. The fawn was sleepy. His skinny ribs lifted and fell quickly like tiny bellows. ‘But honestly, I don’t think he’ll live through the night.’
Miriam sat down and gently angled Bramble’s head onto her lap. She was like me. She got it. I’d seen my share of dead animals, including baby ones, and I wasn’t going to let this little one die. My mind raced back to Aunt Hilda and the goat kid at the Convent. I could heal Bramble, I was sure of it, but not with Miriam or Lance present.
‘Let me try,’ Miriam said, taking over the feeding from Lance.
Lance stood up, brushing the straw from his legs.‘I’ll come back and stay with him tonight. He won’t be alone.’
I wished I were alone with him. Being alone with animals was my favoured state. Humans could be such hard work.
I wasn’t in the mood for an evening of social interaction after supper, and made an excuse that I was unwell. Netta accompanied me to my room, and Miriam joined us. What had seemed exciting earlier, offering to host Miriam in my chamber, now seemed restrictive. My mind whirled around the marriage. I felt sick.
Netta brushed my hair as if she had a personal grievance with it and laid out a clean shift for me to wear. I brushed my teeth with a hazel twig and chewed on some fresh mint. We all said our silent prayers, and Miriam and I climbed onto the four-poster bed while Netta settled into her small cot on the floor. One of the good things about Netta was that she fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.
I stared into the darkness above me as my eyes adjusted. I sensed Miriam was doing the same.
‘I hope you enjoyed your day,’ I whispered.
‘I’ve never had an adventure like it,’ she said. I turned my head on my pillow to look at her. Her eyes twinkled in the thin beam of moonlight that crept through the shutters. We both started laughing, trying to be as quiet as possible.
‘You have such freedom here. I’m barely ever out of my father’s sight, or if not him, a relative or close friend.’
‘Only because my father’s been away. Peter and Alys have tried to be strict with me, but I often manage to evade them.’
‘You must be so happy now your father’s returned.’
I hesitated. She caught it.
‘You were sombre over supper.’ She sounded concerned and caring. I wondered if she’d dealt with a similar situation to mine.
‘When will your father arrange a marriage for you, Miriam?’
She exhaled. ‘He’s suggested quite a few boys for me to choose from. He loved my mother, and he wants that joy for me. She died when I was young, and we both still miss her. But I don’t have any feelings for those boys, even though they seem nice. Maybe I’m not supposed to feel anything yet and it will come with time. I don’t know. Some of the girls tell me which one I shouldn’t pick simply because they want him,’ she chuckled, ‘So I don’t. That’s fine with me. I’ve got things to do before I get married.’
‘You get a choice who to marry?’
‘Of course. My father would never force me to marry. By the Law of Moses, a man and woman must enter marriage willingly. But I know he would love to have grandchildren. So, at some point, I will pick someone.’
I leant up on my elbow, confused. ‘What’s Moses got to do with it?’
She laughed and covered her mouth with her hand to be quiet. ‘We’re Jewish, Ysabel.’
It hadn’t occurred to me. How foolish I was. I was glad the darkness hid my embarrassment. Of course, that was why they ate different meals from us. I racked my brains trying to remember what I knew about Jews. It wasn’t much. I knew they were under the protection of the King, and that there had been a terrible massacre in the city of York, two years ago just after my father left for the Holy Land. I wondered if she had lost family there, but didn’t feel able to ask her right now.
I flopped back onto my pillow. ‘My father has arranged for me to marry that disgusting old man, Sir Reginald de Castellet, in two weeks.’
Miriam propped herself up, appalled. ‘Against your will?’
I nodded. ‘I’m hoping he’ll change his mind in the morning.’
She lay down again and rested her hand on my arm, comforting me. ‘I hope so too.’
In that moment, I envied Miriam, her goodness, her lifestyle, her apparent ease with the world.
‘Tell me about the places you’ve been to. The furthest I’ve been from this manor is a few miles, to Coventry.’
‘We live in Oxford, but my father travels all over for his business. Sometimes even abroad. Occasionally, I go with him, but travelling can be dangerous. Some people don’t like us.’
‘Why not?’
‘Why does anybody dislike people who are different from themselves?’
We lay in silence for a few seconds. I thought about that. I preferred animals to people, but I wouldn’t want to hurt anyone. Unless they were called Reginald or happened to be Saracen. The silence continued, and I realised Miriam had fallen asleep. A war was raging within me. Miriam had the kind of relationship with her father that I would never have with mine. Yet, we were so similar. We’d lost our mothers at an early age, we were educated, we wanted more than just marriage, but our lives were so different.
I sat up and stared into the darkness. Bramble. I couldn’t let him die. I listened for the heavy breathing of Netta and Miriam, then felt lightly around for my clothes. I put on my tunic and grabbed a cloak. The wooden door had a creak. But neither of them awoke. I stepped out onto the landing.
Voices and laughter came from my father’s room. I don’t know what he had to laugh about. His only daughter was about to marry a potential murderer. As I passed by, I noticed his door hadn’t caught the latch and was fractionally open. I should have continued, but curiosity is one of my weaknesses. I pushed it open a fraction more to see who was there. There was my father in his bed. He was holding up his wine cup and Jacob was filling it. Their words travelled over to me.
‘You spoil me, Jacob. Gibran, you must taste this bottle. It is fine, excellent fine.’
‘Not for me,’ said Gibran.
‘Come. It is medicinal,’ said Jacob, reaching over.
Medicinal!’ My father said, and they all burst out laughing. ‘Give him the ale. The water will see him into an early grave.’
I was astonished. Here were the Christian, Jew and Muslim sharing drink and conviviality. Three men of different faiths, joking together. My father has just returned from fighting the Saracens in the Holy Land, where my brother was killed. Are these three not going against all we stand for? I couldn’t make it out. I thought these people were at war with each other. Fighting over ancient cities, defending their faith, killing each other, but here they were drinking together. It was confusing. And infuriating.
Gibran put down his cup and reached for a stringed instrument propped up against the wall. My mother’s psaltery. I wanted to shout at him to leave it alone. Not tarnish the few things of hers we have left. But as his fingers stroked the strings, the beautiful song echoed like a lullaby to a lover. I edged the door further open. I needed to see all of him. The pained expression on his face, his eyes closed, lost in the music. The other two were rapt. Tears rolled down Jacob’s cheeks.
The sound flowed through me, lighting up my body, opening my heart. Music had been missing from the house since my mother died, but it was the thing that still connected me to her. She loved to play and sing to me. I’d forgotten until now. Without knowing what I was doing, I pushed the door open a little more. I needed to be enveloped in his sound. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine it was my mother.
The music came to an end, and I opened my eyes. Gibran’s head was bowed. He lifted it and his face was a picture of sorrow. He stood to replace the psaltery, and his eyes immediately settled on me, standing fully in the doorway. I gasped and fell back into the shadows, but it was too late. He put down the instrument, and while Jacob and my father congratulated his artistry, he walked over to the door. My heart thumped so loudly I thought it would wake the house. He was going to expose me. An eavesdropper on their private party. I could throw myself at my father’s mercy. He would punish me. He would never let me out of his sight again. I wouldn’t be able to ride Joan or visit Aunt Hilda. Gibran stopped in the doorway, our eyes met again, and he raised one eyebrow at me. Was that a smile lingering at the corner of his mouth? Then he took hold of the latch of the door and quietly closed it.