Prologue – Of A Peddler and Pauloup
Where a little river meets the Alps lies the little town of Pauloup. It began as a small, strategic Roman fort that was abandoned at the fall of the empire. Its walls had begun to crumble when a group of Gallic Celts began to live there, cultivating it into a farming village. When Christianity found its way into the little nooks and crannies of Europe, a church was added and many switched from their pagan roots to the new faith, but still held dear the rituals of their ancestors. It was a harmonious balance of faiths that continued, uninterrupted, into the sixteenth century.
It's a secluded little town, visited by a peddler only twice per year – once at Easter, and once at the Harvest Festival – and by the king's men once each year, in November, to collect taxes. The peddler was a charming man, who carried wares and wonders of the world beyond the crumbling fort walls in his magnificent wagon which was drawn by a very large horse.
One year, during the Easter celebrations, a woman came to the town with him. She was his wife, named Mary, and she was a beautiful woman with pure white skin and hair as black as a raven's beak. Her hands were not calloused or worn like most of the women in the village's, and she wore colourful gowns that seemed out of place amongst the simple browns and greys of the townspeople. There were rumours that circled around the village that she had been a nobleman's daughter who ran away with the peddler after they fell in love. She glowed with innocent happiness and smiled at everyone.
When they returned six months later, Mary had lost some of that innocence, and seemed a bit more weathered and world-weary. Her gowns had faded, but she never stopped smiling, and rightly so, for she was pregnant. In fact, she gave birth at the end of the Harvest Festival, delaying the peddler's journey. He didn't seem to mind much, however, when he saw his newborn daughter for the first time. They named her Mary.
With much pressure from the midwife, and many other women in town, it was decided that the two Marys should be kept in Pauloup for the winter to ensure both of their health and safety. The peddler continued on his journey of selling wares, and would return to his family when he returned at Easter.
The little baby Mary charmed everyone who saw her. She always smiled and rarely fussed, and her big blue eyes made everyone coo over her, which would only make her gurgle with laughter even more. When they departed with the peddler after the Easter festivities, the townspeople were disheartened to see her go. So popular was little Mary, that four other girls who were born that year in Pauloup were also named Mary.
The town of Pauloup watched as little Mary grew up, seeing her only twice each year, and they adored her. This was fantastic for the peddler, of course, because it meant more business for him. Mary came to look forward to visiting the small, obscure town too, loving the attention received, and the friendships she had made. Two weeks out of the entire year, she was surrounded by laughter and enjoyment. The other weeks, she was just the peddler's daughter, dressed in rags and pitied by most of the world, and scorned by the rest.
When she was ten, her mother decided that little Mary should have some education, and sold some of her jewellery for an apartment in Paris and a governess. That was a sad Easter for the town of Pauloup, and indeed the peddler too. He no longer had a family to travel with him. The road was lonely and business dragged. There was less frivolity in the Easter celebrations. The children did not dance as joyously around the Maypole.
Little Mary stayed in Paris until she was sixteen. Four days after her sixteenth birthday, her mother died from some horrible disease. Both she and her father were grief-stricken and, deciding that his daughter deserved to be the happiest girl in France, he moved her to Pauloup to live at the inn until he found a husband for her.
The day that their little princess returned to the town was one of great celebration...