BLUEMANTLE by Karen Langston (if you give a mouse a cookie read aloud TXT) 📕

that had led to their arrival. To the wonder of the strangers, as much as to the townsfolk who had gathered to hear them speak, their stories were identical.

The Travelling Minstrels, as they henceforth became known, had traversed the four corners of the world, playing music to anyone who would listen. They each described a quest of sorts, forever moving on in search of an audience with whom they could connect. When pressed on what this meant, the strangers each appeared coy, reluctant to elaborate. Whatever it was, the desire to connect was sufficient to drive them to journey for years on end, often through harsh terrain and with little in the way of adequate food and shelter. When they appeared before the citizens of Wydeye, the strangers were weak and weary, yet wholly committed to their quest.

Headman Glade IV, a lover of stories, was delighted by what she heard. To her mind, the bizarre coincidences of both the shared quest and the simultaneous arrival of the strangers, added a certain magic. She declared the Minstrels guests of Wydeye and announced that there would be a feast in their honour, to which the whole town was invited. In return for the generous hospitality, Bend Sinister, Pale Dexter, Saltire and Chief each offered to perform their music during the feast.

The citizens of Wydeye were a trusting community, raised in the belief, held by many generations before them, that the watchful eye of Wydeye Deep would provide for and protect them. Some of the more superstitious among them believed that the arrival of the Travelling Minstrels was a gift from the Deep, to lift their spirits following the hardship of a long, sweltering summer, during which their crops had failed. All welcomed news of the feast, hoping for a day of celebration in which they could forget their struggles and regale their foreign visitors.

Preparations were carried out by all with joy and eager anticipation. Although food was scarce, resourcefulness was second nature. The townsfolk added crushed spices to their flat bread dough; foraged for mushrooms and garlic in Wickerwild forest; picked sorrel, burdock and clover, to add flavour to their simple stock; set traps for rabbits and stoats in the pastures beyond the Deep. A few of the more successful farmers donated a cow or a pig for slaughter. The majority, who had no food to spare, donated their time. They stitched and draped flags from their lowly limestone dwellings; mixed pigments into lime wash and painted the buildings around the town square; picked meadow flowers and hung them from every archway, porch and pillar. At one end of the square, a platform was erected. It was from there that the Travelling Minstrels would perform following the sharing of food.

The day of the feast was, indeed, a day of celebration. A cool breeze tempered the scorching sun. The air above the trestle tables in the centre of the square was filled with laughter as the food was passed around. Every man, woman and child ate their fill, yet there was still plenty to spare. As dusk fell, the Troubadours each took to the stage in turn and performed their unique music. Headman Glade IV and her people listened in wonder. Whether it was their full stomachs, or the effect of the nettle wine, they found themselves lulled into a blissful stupor, breathing in the music along with the cooling night air.

In the days and weeks that followed, the four groups of strangers played their music in the sparse taverns across the town. The townsfolk felt a compelling desire to see and hear the Minstrels play. The music did, indeed, lift their spirits. Morale blossomed, as did a keenness of faith in their own resilience. The recent hardships were soon forgotten.

Meanwhile, the players themselves relished the reaction of their hosts, sensing a connection had, at long last, been made. With each performance, their audiences grew. The players soon recovered in strength and health. The four Troubadours began to believe, after untold years of searching, that their quest was finally over.

The Travelling Minstrels had arrived at exactly the same time. They had all faced the same arduous journey, motivated by a common need. There was no claim to be territorial, which they fairly acknowledged. Instead, Bend Sinister, Pale Dexter, Saltire and Chief recognised their remarkable good fortune, settling into a harmonious arrangement sustained by mutual respect. They each enjoyed sufficient support to survive. It did not occur to them to seek more than their fair share.

The relationship was symbiotic. When the Minstrels performed, their audience experienced pure joy, a euphoria that lifted their spirits for days. This enabled them to better cope with the hardships of labour and the perennial struggle to survive. At the same time, the players fed off this euphoria, empowering them through the exchange, providing the sustenance on which they thrived.

Players and townsfolk alike continued in this way for many decades. During this period, prosperity graced the town. Again, the more superstitious among them attributed the time of plenty to the presence of the Minstrels, timely manna from the grace of Wydeye Deep.

As the decades passed, no one seemed to notice that the players showed no signs of ageing. While the elderly citizens retold the Tale of the Travelling Minstrels to their children, then their children’s children, the players retained the full glow and vigour of youth. Or, at least, if anyone did notice, no one dared give voice to their observation for fear some spell would be broken and the prosperity would end.

Over time, the townsfolk formed an allegiance to either Bend Sinister, Pale Dexter, Saltire or Chief – a fealty they paraded with pride. An emblem was designed for each Troubadour, which was woven into badges and sewn on tunics and cloth caps. The emblems were incorporated into colourful banners, used to herald a forthcoming show. Pennants bearing the insignia adorned the taverns in which the players performed.

When Headman Glade IV passed away and was replaced by her