"High-ho-ho, the life I lead is one of pain, aaaaand of wooooe!!!" Wat and Roland howled at the top of their lungs. Chaucer couldn't be kept quiet, and he too soon joined in the drinking song. None of them had actually been drinking, but they often sang on their long journeys as they traveled from one tournament to the next. They sang to keep themselves busy, and it helped keep their spirits high. It was on a sunny, clear afternoon that the small band found themselves wandering out of Paris and through the countryside on their way to the next city. It seemed they never got a chance to rest; if they weren't on the road, they were wrapped up in the work each preformed at the competitions.
"Oh, come off it, already!" Will called out good-naturedly. He twisted in his saddle to look back at the trio. "If I have to hear another of your tuneless songs, I'll go mad!"
"But, Will," Wat looked up at him, "singin' makes the traveling go faster. Get's our mind off things."
"Not for the rest of us," he nodded to Kate. "For us the trip's that much longer. And it usually ends with a fierce headache."
"Bah!" Wat spat out. "You're just jealous you haven't got a set of lungs like mine!"
Kate silently followed along, leading the horse pulling the cart. She smiled to herself and listened to Wat and Will's banter.
"Isn't your time up, anyway?" Wat skillfully changed the subject. "I think it's my turn on the horse. My feet are aching something terrible."
"You've got to be kidding me! We've only just left Paris; I've still got another few hours at least."
"And anyway," interrupted Chaucer, "I'm after Will."
"No you're not!" fought Wat. "You had it nearly the whole ride to Paris. And I've got the blisters to prove it."
"Oh, poor little Wat," Chaucer teased. "Maybe we should just leave you behind if you can't handle a little walking."
Wat's face screwed up in anger and he lunged at the writer, but Roland stepped between the two.
"If you're in that much pain, Wat, then go hop up on that bloody wagon, and shut your trap," said Roland.
"Me? Shut my trap?" Wat stared with his mouth hanging open. "I'm not the one who started this. Blame him," he pointed up at Will. "He's the one who won't let me sing. What else am I supposed to do?"
Chaucer thought for a moment, and then chuckled. "That's right, there are only three things that big mouth of yours is good for: complaining, eating and singing terribly."
Wat once again lunged at Chaucer, but was interrupted by Will muttering aloud, "You know, I'd almost prefer the singing to this."
"What'd you say there, Will?" asked Wat, looking to pick another fight.
"I said I would gladly surrender my horse if it will quiet you."
"You're in luck," Wat cheered up. "It will."
"Good, then take it." And with that Will was off the horse and walking ahead of the group. Wat swung into the saddle.
"You know, I've just thought of something that will make the time pass." Will turned around and walked backwards, facing his friends. "How's about Kate sings us a little tune? She actually has talent," Will told them with a wink to her.
Immediately everyone's head turned to face Kate.
"I didn't know you could sing," Roland told her.
Her face deepened into an intense pink. How had Will heard her sing? She had never sung in front of anyone, not even her late husband. The thought of someone listening to her, especially Will, made her very uncomfortable.
"I don't sing in front of people," she told her friends firmly. "Sorry. I just don't."
"Oh, come on," Wat told her, "You've got to be loads better than us. Anyone would be."
"It doesn't matter," she said with a slight smile. "I just don't like to do it."
"But think of the alternative," Will pointed out, looking at the others.
"Will's right, you know," Chaucer put in. "If you don't sing, then we'll have to sing for ourselves. And we know you don't want that."
Kate's lips remained defiantly closed, so the trio struck up again, this time much worse.
"OHHHH!!! High-ho-ho, the life I lead…" This time they sung twice as loud, and purposely very out of tune. Will cast a pleading look to Kate till she couldn't take it anymore.
"Alright, alright!" she threw up her hands in frustration. "One song, if it'll quiet you." The group cheered, then quieted down to listen. She cleared her throat, and began.
None of them, save Will, had expected what followed to come out of Kate's mouth. The soft Scottish hymn, sung in her native tongue, fell about them until they lost track of everything else and focused solely on her voice. It was velvet soft; one of the most beautiful things they had ever heard.
With the last dying note, the men simply gawked at her, their eyes wide with surprise. To think she had had this talent that no one had known about, and had hidden it for so long.
"My God, Kate," Chaucer finally spoke. "That was wonderful. Wish I'd known you could sing like that. I've written some songs, and I'd love to see what you could do with them."
"Thanks, Geoff, but that's really the only song I know," she claimed modestly. "I'm afraid I mightn't sound so well singing anything else." Somehow, none of the men were able to believe that.
Will turned back around and continued walking forward, a smile upon his lips. He had always known there was a secret side to Kate, and he was thoroughly enjoying discovering it. The group continued walking on in complete silence. No one wanted to disturb the sound of Kate's voice so freshly placed in each of their memories.