This particular evening was special. It was the last night of a local harvest festival. There would be plenty of food and drink to go around. The crops had been harvested in the previous week, hunting parties had been sent out to gather meats for the coming winter, and last year’s brew was finally ready to be this year’s drink.
It was also special because an old friend would be there: Garridan. Son of a yeoman, childhood playmate and squire, Garridan is something of a best friend. As kids, we played in the woods and hunted together. We grew up together, until we were twenty.
I had been through many attempted proposals since the time I was nineteen. For my oldest brother, Dugan, his first betrothal at sixteen was his last. Three sons and four daughters later, my parents cared little for my future. I was the eighth child and fourth son. All the inheritance (Nottingham Castle, the land, and wealth) would go from Father – the Baron of Nottingham – to Dugan, the eldest. Howard, the second oldest, would be his steward. Emmett, who would normally be found in the same position as myself, made his own fortune outside of the family.
He was always the smartest and most studious of the family. Our tutor definitely favored Emmett. Mother even began to share similar sentiments. At the ripe age of ten, Emmett had expressed an interest in working at the merchant’s guild. Father thought him to be too young, but the head of the merchant’s guild – and a personal family friend – gladly took Emmett in, for he too had heard of Emmett’s early promise. Having proven his intellect and energy at the guild, Emmett had moved out of our castle. He was supporting himself by the time of his betrothal when he was eighteen, early for a third son who would inherit the name but nothing else. He was about the same age as Howard, who would at least inherit a title and place at Nottingham Castle to work. Emmett had possibly the most stable future out of all my brothers: no one rebelled against merchants and merchants didn’t get called to war by the king. I however, was not graced with such mercy; my future was much less structured in that there was no structure or plan.
I was named “Jal,” not by my parents, but by Dugan. He had overheard the name called to a peasant boy that worked in the stables shoveling horse dung. Dugan thought it sounded ugly and strange, fitting for a mangy stable boy which was even more fitting – in his eyes – for the youngest son without any promise of a future. My parents showed little interest and I would have probably remained nameless for quite some time if not for Dugan.
I was a rebellious child. My parents didn’t show any interest in me so I had much more freedom than the rest. My sisters had to remain womanly and proper to be useful for their own betrothals. Dugan and Howard had their lives planned out. And Emmett had made his own plans.
Without plans or any dictated future, I found pleasure in ending any sort of plans my parents had for me by scaring away any potential bride and in-laws. My parents were under the impression I was just being rebellious and hated stability. They thought I didn’t have plans. They thought wrong. I did have plans; Garridan and I had plans since we saw our first betrothal ceremony. Emmett’s, to be exact, which was when he was eighteen. Mother was overflowing with pride; normally the extra sons were not ready (or close enough to being ready) to leave till their twenty-first birthday. Emmett was not only ready, but had a very stable position in the town’s merchant guild and had amassed an impressive fortune for someone still in his youth. Others were whispering their praises of Emmett’s self-made fortune.
I overheard the baker saying, “T’will be sad to see the young master go, he was always so nice. He knew I didn’t know all the big ‘n fancy words he learned at the guild, but still treated me with dignity. I guess I was too hopeful to think that he wouldn’t leave till his twenty-first.”
“Tis odd that the lad wed so early. Most third-borne sons don’t leave till they have to, when their parents kick them out at their twenty-first birthday,” said a nearby servant.
“But we’ve all known Emmett would go far since his first job at the merchants guild when he was just a boy!” exclaimed the baker with pride.
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What are our plans, Garridan and I? To run away from our parents. When I say our parents, I really mean my parents. You see, his mother died at his birth. His father died in a hunting accident soon after Garridan’s twelfth birthday. Being a yeoman, his father left him a countryside house, land for hunting, and substantial wealth for non-nobility. Not only that, but his father was a dear friend and distant relative of mine (an in-law through Father’s brother’s marriage). He was also a childhood friend of Father’s. For those reasons, Father took Garridan in as if he were the fifth son; fourth really, seeing that he is three months older than me and slightly more liked by the family.
Well, our plan was simple: to escape the castle and my parents to live as friends on Garridan’s humble estate. However, shortly after my twentieth birthday and seventh failed betrothal, I was sent, not an eighth arranged marriage, but a letter informing me that my family’s indulgence and my application into the Newstead Abbey had been accepted. I was expected to arrive within the fortnight. I didn’t have to ask my parents how or why. To them, I had no future or profit, so their souls would make profit of my predicament.
At first, I was angered and quite upset. I only had to wait one more year before I could leave the family without any pretense, in my parents’ eyes. A twenty-one year old was expected to support himself, either in service to his eldest brother or through his own means. I could leave my family behind and – in my parents’ eyes – seek my own future without any plans. This, however, changed everything. All my plans of quietly walking away were ruined. How would I escape the abbey without drawing attention to myself?
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All of this went though my head while I was walking into town with the other brothers. Most were content with their lives. We couldn’t go away during the week, but had enough odd goods to barter with in town by Sunday night. We would bring honey, candles, mead, eggs, and cheese, all made on our abbey grounds. Some of us watched the beehives, others took care of the goats and chickens. Seeing that there weren’t any springs near the abbey, we used the honey from the hives for mead. I don’t quite care for it, the overpowering sweetness jumbled with the bitter alcohol. But, being our only drink, I adapted quick enough to live with it.
My mouth waters at the thought of shortly enjoying local ale and lager brewed in the caves below The Pilgrim. I was also anxious to see Garridan. Because of the harvest, he had been out hunting the past two weekends. I had only spent a few months at Newstead Abbey, and I was already crazed to leave for good.