Sound of the Fiddle

I walked slowly through the streets of London, clutching a brown leather bag to my chest that was filled with apples and fruits from an orchard outside of the city walls. I tried, vainly, to ignore the stares I received from passing London-folk- they were people I did not know and they did not know me, or they would not gaze so dishearteningly upon me. I combed my black hair behind my ear, pride swelling in my chest as I revealed a gorgeous golden earring I had bought in Egypt, the likes of which I was sure none of the women staring at me had ever seen. I hoped with a smile that they would covet it as I raised my head proudly and allowed my hips to sway to the beat of my heart pounding in my chest.

"Rabhya." A voice said close to my ear and I turned coyly to see a pair of brown eyes meet mine, a pair of dark, caramel lips peck my chin- I laughed, turning fully to give the young man a short embrace.

"How goes you, my little rosebud?" The man asked. He took my hand, kissing it softly, making me blush. "Have you...?"

"Found the orchard you told me about?" I said shortly, grinning as I opened the leather bag still pressed to my chest, revealing the many apples and oranges and nuts bundled safely hidden. "Yes, indeed, Dulal, I have. See here?" I held out an apple in my hand and he took it, biting into it and sighing. The pleased look in his dark eyes told me it was a good piece of fruit. If I was as hungry as he was, anything would have tasted good, so I took the apple from him quickly and took a bite. I, too, sighed in delight. It was delectably sweet and juicy, and its flavor danced down my throat into my empty belly. My eyes traveled around a bit before meeting Dulal's gaze. I saw a woman pass us and turn her chin up. She was not finely dressed, no better garbed than my dear friend and I, but she had an air of self-righteousness about her.

Dulal must have noticed the angry flush that came to my cheeks as my eyes fell to the ground. The hand holding our apple fell to my side and I chewed slower, brushing my hair over my golden earring again. In an instant, my pride was swept from me and my heart sank. "It is difficult, dear Dulal..." I said with a lonely sigh. He nodded.

"Yes, I know." He replied. He took two steps back and held out his arms, a grin developing across his dark face. "But look at me? Do I look any different than ever I have?" I giggled, looking him up and down with a look of high appraisal: He was dressed in a flimsy tunic with holes eaten out of it, a pair of brown breeches that once fit his thin legs, and a red sash tied round his waist. His feet were bare, and his head topped with a matt of thick, knotted black hair, just like mine.

"Unfortunately, no." I said, smiling awkwardly. He laughed and his arms flopped to his side.

"And you are no different than ever you have been." He approached me and placed his hands on my shoulders, looking me up and down quickly- it was his turn to appraise. "Same wild, midnight ringlets, same pretty cheeks, same little brown shoulders that have always held you high. What is it about this city that makes you sink so?"

I shrugged. My eyes fell upon an old man sitting at a doorstep, watching us with a pipe in his mouth. He shook his head and continued to stare at me. I looked back to Dulal and I felt hot tears well in my eyes. "We are too far north... there is no one here that has seen the likes of us, and besides our small band, there is no one like us here. I feel as though I am in prison."

Dulal sighed, shrugging. "It is all we can do to wait until we have preserved the expenses dire for travelling." He smiled crookedly, and I smiled half-heartedly back at him.

On Dulal's back was a fiddle case that he wore on a baldric he had fashioned to carry his well-loved and over used instrument rather than a weapon. "Dear Rabhya," Dulal asked, retrieving the fiddle that he saw I had been eyeing. "Do you wish to play?" I nodded.

My first love was to play the fiddle, for, however heavy my heart was, it lifted my spirits and made me feel as though I were flying. It was said among our small band of traveling folk that I was the only odd ball out of them all who took such pleasure in playing such a strange instrument as the wild fiddle, but that I made it weep and their hearts as well. Dulal handed me the instrument, carefully handing me the bow. My eyes eagerly took in the ragged sight of the ancient instrument, and my heart lightened as I forgot about the harsh gazes of the London folk passing me by. I knew they would think different thoughts as soon as I played-though I did not think they would think better of me. My appearance was ragged; I had little money.

Playing the fiddle was what earned my farthing or frank, and with it I would by bread for my mother and father and a new ribbon of silk to tie in my hair. "I think I know where I wish to play today, Dulal." I said, looking over my shoulder at the great, beautiful building that loomed up behind me. Windows of stained glass gleamed in the sunlight, and the yellow road faded into its great, marble steps. "That building, there? See?" I pointed to the massive sanctuary. "It has many beautiful pictures, and it reminds me of home."

Dulal raised his brow, skeptical. "There, Rabhya?" He asked, clearly skeptical and I immediately regretted my choice. Was I wrong? "That is a church, rosebud. Do you think you will... survive playing your fiddle on those steps?" I looked over my shoulder at the building and my heart fluttered in excitement. I nodded, turning back to the young man watching me cautiously. "Yes." I said, "I think that I can survive one song, at least. How can such a beautiful place be hostile?"

"Beauty is a wonderful mask." Dulal replied lowly, but I only thought I heard him speak and took no mind to his words.

"Do you wish to accompany me, Dulal?" I asked as I stepped backwards toward the church, holding the fiddle under my chin as I drug the bow slowly across the strings. There came a low, whirring sound from the taught strings and I smiled, my heart wanting to explode at the small, insignificant sound. But, to my dismay, Dulal shook his head.

"No." He said, "I think I shall go to market and see what goods have fallen out of place."

"Stealing, Dulal?"

He smiled. "No. I said, 'goods that have fallen out of place.'" His grin was mischievous. "No one wants to eat an apple that has... fallen to the ground perhaps?"

"I have a whole pack of apples and oranges and huts, here, Dulal." I drug the bow across the strings of my fiddle once more; the sound that ensued was higher his time and lighter.

"There is no amusement in eating something someone else has stolen." Dulal snubbed, turning his back on me. "I shall see you this evening." He waved, then said: "If anyone should harass you, plead sanctuary and enter the church. You cannot be harmed there. When you come out again, you will be blessed and those who wish to harm you will have no power... I think that is how 'sanctuary' is granted..." He shrugged. "Don't get into trouble." I smiled, waving my bow in the air after him.

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Carlisle leaned against the inside wall of the garden within his father's courtyard. The sun shone bright and high over head, and he closed his eyes, relishing in the warmth and comfort it provided. he could smell fresh roses blooming upon a bush somewhere within the garden, but in his languid state he would not go and search for them. He enjoyed their beauty, their innocence and goodness-such virtues he enjoyed in life itself, though he found them hard to come by in his years. As the young man sank into an even deeper state of reverence for the early summer, the sound of a door opening and closing made him open his eyes.

Through the small wooden door that led into the garden came a burly man dressed in black, his beard ruffled and his face flushed as if he were in some state of tremendous discomfort. "Bruce...?" Carlisle smiled questioningly as his friend stopped before him, breathing heavily. "What has you so out of breath?"

"There is some commotion at the steps of St. Bartholomew." Bruce wiped his brow with the back of his hand and shrugged. "The people are in a great stir... they say there is a witch summoning devils with her fiddle...?" His eyes were skeptical, nigh amused at Carlisle's raised brow.

"A witch?" Carlisle moved away from the garden wall and headed toward the door into his father's house. "Why are we sought for?" He remembered the previous night and smirked. "She is no vampire."

Bruce was silent for a moment and Carlisle halted for that moment long at the wooden door. "Well, she is a witch, my lord." Bruce shrugged, following after Carlisle as the young man entered the house. "I beseech you, Carlisle, before the people are upseted more than they are already, go and see what they cause such commotion about."

Carlsile sighed heavily, looking out of the window in the hallway they both stood in. From this window, he could see the tower of St. Bartholomew. He could see the warm sunlight and the heat hung in the air pleasantly. If he went to see what was happening, it would surely take only a few moments. He knew a witch when he saw one, and today was a good day. "Very well." He said, tying his doublet closed and straightening the collar of his shirt.

Bruce smiled and patted his young friend on the shoulder. "Do not fear." He said. "I do not think there is any need to tell your father of the supposed little witch." Carlisle saw the look of doubt in Bruce's eyes concerning the legitimacy of the witch and shook his head. "What sort of woman is she, Bruce?" Carlisle asked as he sat upon a chair and tied his boots.

Bruce, however, did not know for sure; he had only been told to swiftly retrieve the witch hunter. Carlisle sighed once more as he stood and fastened a sword onto his belt -more for show today than anything else. "It is such a lovely day today." He said, smiling faintly. "I pray that it does not go to waste."



When Bruce and Carlisle arrived at the steps of St. Barhtolomew, they were stricken to see a roaring throng of people crowded together, throwing objects through the air at some unseen target who was hidden behind a sturdy barrier formed by the backs of four men: two friars, a pastor, and a man who looked out of place among the three others-he had dark hair, dark skin, and his face was bleeding as if he had been struck. When the four people protecting what Carlisle assumed only to be the woman accused of devil summoning saw that he had arrived amid the crowd of accusers, the pastor gave a visual sign of relief.

"Stand down!" Carlisle heard the pastor call to the people, throwing his arms out to his side as one man rushed in upon he and the three other men. "You are at the steps of God's house! Stand down!"

Carlisle pushed his way farther into the crowd of people, shoving them roughly aside as he made his way slowly to the front of the enraged throng of agitated animals. When people noticed who he was, they began to quiet and their cries of outrage were soon replaced with murmurs of anticipation and heckling. "Witch!" Someone shrieked, "Witch! Summoning devils at the steps of the House of God!"

Young Carlisle turned sharply around once he reached the clearing between the wall of protecting men and the waves of angered citizens. "STAND DOWN! ALL OF YOU!" There was a long moment of silence, and his gentle eyes were fierce- icy pools of lightening blue. The severity in his tone quieted the people enough for them to hear him speak. "It is no duty of any of you to judge this woman!" He turned to the friars, the pastor and the dark man. He could not see behind them, so he turned back to his audience (now listening intently like children who had gotten a swatting across their fingers). "It is my duty alone, and my decision will be the will of God." He turned once more to the friars, the pastor and the dark man. "Stand down and let me look upon the accused. And why have there been no soldiers summoned to defend you four from the masses?" The pastor tried to speak, but Carlisle -agitated beyond repair now- held up his hand and bid him to remain silent.

The pastor moved aside, and the friars followed him, but they did not move any closer to the still fuming temper of the people murmuring murderously amongst themselves. The only one who remained to defend the huddled figure of what appeared to be a woman was the dark man, and he crouched on the ground and wrapped his arms around the trembling bundle of ragged cloth, flashing a venomous gaze at Carlisle. Carlisle bent down upon his knees and lowered his voice. "Let me look upon this woman." He said, holding the young man's eyes. The dark lad seemed to be even younger than Carlisle himself... still a youth, perhaps. "She is no witch, I know, or she would have slain me already. Let me look upon this woman and silence the crowd that would kill her."

At these words the young man pulled himself away from the trembling form he had been guarding. Carlsile nodded in thanks and reached out to touch the shaking woman huddled into a ball on the ground. The handsome young hunter smoothed away a mess of black hair and found a shoulder, dark as the other youth. Carlisle pulled the woman to her feet. A pair of frightened, sad eyes stared back at him, wide as buttons, shaded in thick veils of black lashes. They bore straight into his heart and tore it in two. Young Carlisle had to catch his breath.

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I looked out from between the knobby ankles of Dulal as he and three other strangely clad men built a wall from their bodies to protect me. Protect me from what? The people I had hoped would enjoy my music... and who were accusing me of witchcraft. Witchcraft! Tears welled hot in my eyes and burned my already flaming cheeks as they spilled across my face in torrents. I wept and my chest heaved almost painfully as I clutched my beloved fiddle to my breast, hiding it beneath the folds of my frock. What did I do? My head searched for something that I might have done... I could not understand all of the words that were being shouted at me, for my tongue was not fluent in the northern languages, but whatever they were screaming as they tormented me with showers of rotten fruit, vegetables and mud could not be anything I would have soon forgotten. They made obscene faces at me until they were so distorted in their mockery of my playing that I was frightened of their physical appearances more than what they wanted to do to me.

Thanks to my dear Dulal and to the three other men protecting me. Thanks to the warm sunlight that was pouring down upon my back, tanning my already dark skin- although it was bad now, it had been a beautiful day before this. As I swallowed hard and tried to block out the sounds of jeering curses, I closed my eyes and turned my head away from the sight of the crowd of people that clearly wanted to hurt me.

Then, as I lay, the horrible screams and hollers quieted a bit. I had only covered my ears for what seemed like half a moment before the sounds I was trying to block out stopped beating at the insides of my head. There was a low murmuring of voices and one that spoke louder than all the rest. I turned my head back toward the crowd, looking out with one eye open through the crook of my elbow until I saw who it was that was shouting above the others, shouting in a different tone, one like that of a scolding father. It was a man, but I could only see the very back side of him.

The man was tall and straight and finely dressed in leggings and a colorful doublet with a clean, white shirt beneath. He had golden hair like silk and his hands were long and they seemed to have character all of their own as they moved out to his side, he beseeching my judges of their accusations. My heart leapt to my throat in anticipation. I could not understand all that he said and once he looked in my direction, though I do not think that he saw me. A second time he turned toward my protectors and said low words to them and three of them moved away. Only Dulal remained and wrapped his arms around me. In my terror, his embrace felt comforting and I kissed his cheek. "He wants to see you." Dulal whispered to me quickly. He was watching the golden haired man approach, but still I could not see him fully. I do not know if I want him to see me.

But I saw the man crouch down on his knees and whisper to Dulal and Dulal moved away from me. I tucked myself into as tight of a ball as I could go without blocking my vision from where I was looking out under my arm. I saw a pair of gentle blue eyes looking at me, though they did not meet mine just yet. I felt the warm palm of his hand rest upon my shoulder, bidding me to get onto my feet, and at the gentle touch of this man's hand, I obeyed him and he pulled me upright- I kept my eyes lowered until I was fully standing.

I remember that when I saw the face of this man, my breath was taken from me and my heart raced in my chest. He was handsomer than any man I had ever seen and his face bore something about it that was so soft and so kind that my heart melted and I wanted to weep as his gaze met mine and I kept it upon me. He did not look away. He did not shake his head and say things about me under his breath. He looked long upon me and made my palms sweat, my hot skin burn with the agonizing wait of what he was going to do.

He was fair, golden haired, soft. My body rested as it stood before him, though my mind was elsewhere, taking in the beauty of his stature- the perfection of him.

"What is your name?" Was all that he said the first time he spoke to me, and I replied: "Rabhya."