Chapter 2
Twenty years earlier. . .
The log home in the country woods was completely unremarkable except for its size which was quite exceptional for that time and place. Instead of one room, it had several, including a separate kitchen, dining room, and several bedrooms. Indeed, so exceptional was this home that peasants who passed by on the road often whispered to themselves that it was a castle, for they had never seen the real thing. The more enlightened beings living inside had decided that it was definitely no castle but was, without argument, a very large house.
They needed the space. Four couples lived there, under the roof of that much-discussed house. Though they did not know it, they were not left out of the awed conversations that filled the night in more traditional peasant homes. These people were an odd case. Peasants who were not peasants living in a castle that they insisted was not a castle.
These people were Sir William Thatcher, simple thatcher's son tuned winner of the world jousting championship and favorite of Prince Edward, his wife the nobly-born Lady Jocelyn, her maid, Christiana, William's old squires Roland and Wat, the girl blacksmith Kate, faithful wife Penelope, and the writer Geoffrey Chaucer whose Canterbury Tales had brought him fame throughout Europe and, so it seemed, would probably continue to do so long after his time on Earth had been spent. With people like these around, no gossiper could be content with a house alone. And at the moment in time that we begin this story, these remarkable people, with a remarkable record, living in a remarkable home were all staring at what was soon to become the newest star on the rumor mill.
* * *
Wat looked up from the baby in his wife's arms and glared at Chaucer.
he said. Have got to be kidding. You simply cannot believe that someday I will wander about yelling Lancelooooooot! Oh La-ance! Lanceloooooo-
All right, all right. Point taken, Chaucer said, sounding a bit miffed. But I still say that Lancelot is a good knightly name.
Wat answered imperiously, Was never a knight. I was a squire. And I never want to have to imagine one of the old Cooks looking up from hell and saying that I could never lean anything, not even my place in the world. I'm happy with where I am and I'm never having my son putting on armor, beating nobles, or even having a knightly name. He gave a side glance at William. No offense, Will.
None taken, Will said amiably. Even though I will always think you've got a wrong view of the world.
Kate breathed a sigh of relief. She'd decided to let Wat name their son. Mostly in memory of her other husband, Marc. With a brief pang, she wondered if he could see them all here, and, if he could, what he thought.
He'd asked to name their first-born and she had agreed, although she remembered her frustration when no amount of begging would get him to at least hint at the names he had picked out. And then he'd died. Of that awful fever. Before she'd even gotten pregnant. Before one small year had passed.
With a shake of her head, Kate pulled herself back to the present. Marc had valued two things, hope and happiness, above all else. He would want more than anything for her to be happy. Besides, she had Wat now. And their son.
Well, let's start simple, practical Roland offered. How about Matthew, Mark, Luke, or John?
Matthew. Mark Luke. John. Mark, Mark, Mark. Mark. he pursed his lips and stared thoughtfully at the boy in Kate's arms. Her heart skipped a beat. Was their child really going to be named Mark? Could she handle it? Was she ready for that?
Kate, my dear tomgirl?
Can I ask you a favor?
Of course, my lord.
I thought I'd told you that I didn't want you to call me lord.'
Oh, I know. And I don't like calling you lord' but Mother was always a stickler for what's proper-
Oh, bully what's proper. We're partners now. And if it's all the same to you, I think it'd be much more interesting if we were equal.
Kate grinned and moved even closer to him under the covers.
Well, then, MARC. Ask any favor you want, within reason. I'll tell you now that I'm not really interested in jumping off any cliffs.
Marc laughed. Don't worry. I love you too much to ask you to do anything that stupid. I was wondering, actually, if you'd let me name our first born.
Kate considered.
Do you have names picked out?
Well-all right, then. I'll trust your judgment. My husband will name my-our-first child.
Now it was Marc's turn to smile.
A thousand thanks, girl. I've got both a boy's name and a girl's name picked out. I'll be thrilled no matter what the sex, but I kind of hope it's a girl. I've got the best girl name in the world already chosen.
Kate giggled.
I'll try to bring you a girl, then.
They both laughed at the odd statement.And then began to kiss.
No, I don't' think he's a Mark after all. Or a Matthew, Luke, or John. I'll need some other ideas.
Kate jerked backed to the present and shook her head. She couldn't let the whole evening go on like this, always slipping back to Marc. Even though Wat was her second, her experience in conceiving this child, whatever his name turned out to be, had been no less passionate than her first with Marc. She needed to think about here and now.
How about Peter? Christiana suggested. He knew his place in the world even though he questioned it for awhile.
No, he's no Peter.
As much as she hated to admit it, Kate was starting to get impatient. The process was taking so long. Why couldn't Wat just think of something he was happy with, even though he hadn't had one already picked out.
Because, the logical part of her brain said, he's not Marc.
She tapped her left foot against a table leg out of annoyance, mostly directed at herself.
Chaucer suggested brightly. As in Julius Ceaser.
Another noble name, Wat growled. I don't want to hear another noble or knightly name come out of your mouth, Geoff.
Sensing the danger signals, Kate spoke up.
He was just suggesting, Wat. No ones going to chose for you.
I know, I know, I know, he muttered, waving his adorable, lanky arms. I just can't make up my mind, Kate.
Antony, she thought. But she knew better than to suggest it.
Um. . . Andrew!
Good idea, but it doesn't suit him. Wat started to fidget.
Jocelyn cried.
Kate glanced up at her startled. They had forgotten that they were in the room with a noble who was, truth be told, still noble at heart even though she had agreed to marry a then-titleless William and renounced her castle home for this house in the country.
I know it's noble, Wat, but it's common, too. The peasant who was admiring the house the other day, he was named Edward.
No good, Wat said, looking glum.
Chaucer murmured, more or less to himself.
I know! Penelope exclaimed. How about Adam?
No, no, no! He doesn't look like a Matthew, Mark, Luke, John, Adam, or Edward. I need to decide on something. The next name somebody suggests is what he is, no matter what.
Kate pulled herself together. Something told her she was not going to like what was chosen.
My husband will name my-our-first child.
Chaucer looked up gleefully.
Keep yourself calm, Kate. It can't be too awful.
William glanced at Geoff and raised his eyebrows.
Oh, no. What in the world have I done?
Roland studied Wat, a thoughtful expression on face.
Wat asked, sounding desperate.
the three of them said together.
Wat leaned over and studied the baby in her lap. Kate felt like crying, but clenched her teeth and didn't say anything. She'd made a promise to her first husband who, by teaching her the blacksmith trade, had gotten her where she was today. It was meant to be.
You know, Wat said, lighting up. I think he looks a bit like a Lancelot.