The road into York was dusty and well traveled. We walked slowly, enjoying the fresh morning air and the song of birds. Our troupe delighted in the joy of a day free from our tents, stages, and instruments. The past week was long and we were weary from the persistent needs of our audiences.
This Sabbath day gave us time to pause and reflect on the needs of our souls. And so, being good Christians all, we walked to the Cathedral for Mass.
The sky spoke of rain. It was preoccupied with the subject based on its temperament over the previous days. Our stories and song were interrupted incessantly by thunder’s booming. On several occasions startled horses broke free of their moorings. I was nearly trampled myself had it not been the watchful eye and a forceful push from a visiting blacksmith to whom I offered free admittance to an afternoon performance.
The farmers are pleased with the rain and their crops grow true. Because of the forecast of a good Fall harvest the people are generous with their gold and silver. This generosity fills our tents. Full tents means food on our table and clothes on our back. So we, by reason of necessity, join the farmers and show gratitude for the rain.
The younger in our troupe fell behind as we continued down the road to York. They seemed more interested in whimsy than matters spiritual. I saw several in Farmer Lloyd’s field. I beckoned them forward with haste. The Cathedral’s bells were calling all to Mass. We were joined on the highway by many others. They rushed to our side and occupied our time with praise. This gratitude was well received by our assembly and we, in return, thanked them for attending.
The city’s walls rose before us. We gather at the gate and waited for the last of our troupe to arrive.
“Remember who you are and act accordingly,” I reminded my fellows before we entered the city. I positioned our older Troubadours so the younger were well supervised.
“We are missing two,” Lorraine said while doing a second count. “ It is young Zach and young Merryweather.
“They returned to camp,” Megan reported. “Young Zach once again forgot his belt, even after your admonishment. Young Merryweather accompanied him. I believe neither have an interest in the Bishop’s words today.”
“They will attend presently,” Metta said while looking down the highway. “There, you see them in the distance.” Off in the distance two boys approached. One with fair hair and one with dark.
I sent the troupe forward into the Cathedral and waited at the gate. Both boys were quiet as they passed.
“Zach?” I questioned.
“Sorry. It won’t happen again,” he replied to my unstated question.
“Then all is well. Make haste. The service is about to begin.”
We walked with reverence passed the large, ornately carved oak doors and into the Cathedral to find our fellows. After Mass a fine meal waited and then a day of rest. Tomorrow we take to the stage and it begins anew.