M.K. Wilke

The Harpist

 

Shana bent her head down as Lord Kiel walked past to sit on his throne and attend his court. He was known as a vicious man but that didn’t matter to her.  She would be ignored the entire time she played and most likely after.  She had made it known she was not a court peacock to be paraded around for the pleasure of others.  She was a minstrel and a fairly good one at that.  She had done her time in the streets working hard for her measly fare, well until Lord Kiel had come into the market that day to find her.  She hadn’t known back then how her life was going to lead into what it was now.  Funny I could write a song about myself and it would actually sound rather grand. She smiled wickedly at how silly that sounded.

 

But really she had been through so much to get this far. She thought back to how she came here in the first place.

 

Her golden tan skin had been slightly burnt from the sun and she was covered in dirt at the time. Her ragged clothes unwashed for she couldn’t remember how long.  The only baths she got was from the well and troughs that went to the horses.  Most musicians on the corners were sporting the newer instruments but she had no such luck. She neither made enough nor cared enough to get rid of her precious harp.  She had been working at an inn on the edge of the kingdom a few years back, nothing but a lowly maid who had been scolded for shirking her duties. The inn master had hit her and she had run out the back door and never looked back.

 

A few days had gone by and she hadn’t done anything but walk, she didn’t know if she had been going in circles or a straight line. It was the middle of summer and she had been burnt, hungry and tired when she had come stumbling into a town just after supper.  She remembered being awakened by an angry looking middle-aged woman who started to yell at her for falling asleep in her laundry.  She had been young then and had started crying, the stress had all just piled up and she couldn’t stop her shameful tears. 

“Now look what you’ve done to the poor thing. Taren, can’t you see she needs a hand?”  Someone said in the background. 

 

Shana looked over to her left and saw a sweet lady in her mid-forties plain in every way possible but with a huge smile on her face directed her way.  The frail lady bent down and took her hand and pulled her up to her feet.  It was the first act of kindness anyone had done for her ever.  And she was shocked into silence.

 

 “So I am Mary, the butcher’s wife, and who might you be?” The woman asked.

 

 Shana looked around her at the crowd gathering and since no one seemed angrier than the woman, Taren, who had woke her up, she visibly settled down. 

 

“I’m awfully sorry, ma’am, I will gladly clean this mess up. I didn’t mean ta’ I just was tired.”

 

“Na tat tat, it’s fine, girl. I will accept the help and Mary will bring us over some fresh meat and buns for luncheon. We’ll get everythin’ sorted out fer ya after that.” Taren said, then briskly waddled away. 

 

The rest of the crowd seeing that the show was done all started to part ways to do the things they had needed to get done as well.  A few minutes later Taren had come back with two large buckets and a big chunk of crude washing soap.  She had dumped everything into her arms, pointed to around the back of the house then walked away again.

 

Apparently she was a woman of few words.  Shana just shrugged then picked up the buckets and went to the back of the house where the pump was waiting.  She had never been a stranger to hard work so she immediately set to the task at hand.

 

She was only at the beginning of her work when a bird’s song caught her ear.  It was a catchy little tune and she found herself humming along with it as she scrubbed.

 

A lady so fair

with dark golden hair

on fire at touch of first light

every man swooned

at seeing her too

cause oh what a lovely sight

The lady so rich

was quite a witch

acting all lofty and bare

she went to the woods

with all of her goods

and met her worst fate there

 

“We haven’t heard a voice like that in our town ever.”  Mary said, startling her out of her lazy song.

 

“I.. ..uh.. sorry.”  She finished lamely.

 

She had been promoted to singer in the town’s inn from that day on, and she found herself enjoying her gift.  Not wanting it all to end as suddenly as it began. But one day while playing for the night she realized she was never gonna get anywhere.  So she told Mary and her husband the innkeeper that she was going to the capital, Kar.  They had been happy for her and had even given her the precious harp she used, her first instrument.  It was a hand-me-down and not much bigger then a child’s but it had been hers, her first possession other than the clothes on her back.

 

She had played dutifully; teaching herself on those long day-in, day-out walks to the city.  When she had arrived it seemed there was every kind of musician sitting on the streets busking. And when she had tried inns, they all had their own.

 

She had finally come to a small street corner on a street that was practically deserted.  She had looked around to see if there was any sign disallowing a busker then seeing none she sat before anyone could take the spot from her.  She had played for what seemed like hours that day, and for many days after.  Barely making enough for even one meal a day.

 

She had been at that spot almost a year barely making enough to live.  When a very wealthy fat man with trembling hands and nervous eyes had stopped to listen,  he heard Shana playing and his eyes lit up slightly with hope.  For some reason, she had felt the urge to sing with her playing so she did.  The man looked her up and down and that was all he needed, she guessed, for he hustled off happily without even a copper piece left in thanks.

 

A few days later she saw the man again, watching her from afar this time with a thin man who seemed like he would blow away in the breeze.  They watched for hours never leaving, and not paying her a cent.  She decided not to be dissuaded by this rude and odd behavior.  Both men returned a third time, watching again then leaving.  She was confused but grateful for it seemed she had acquired some wealthy watchers.  Maybe they would buy her bread in exchange for a song. Or anything else.

 

She didn’t see the men for a while and thought she had maybe displeased them somehow.  Then a few weeks later a spot opened up closer to the castle of the city and she grabbed it before anyone else.  Never leaving her spot she stayed there to make it known to any greedy person that it was hers.

 

She had been in her new spot for a bit when a whole bunch of fanfare and great commotion started a few blocks away.  She dreamily thought of the most unlikely things it could be. Maybe it was a handsome prince from far away or some sweet lady dripping in jewels. Whatever it was, it was more important than her playing cause everyone around her had started to ignore her.

 

She decided since no one was listening now was the perfect time to have a little fun.  And launched into one of her favorite songs: The Harpist, which she had learned it in the old inn when she was working as the help.  One she had overheard and wasn't even supposed to know.

 

A king wrapped in golden gowns

and displaying all his jewels

walks around all mighty

when really he’s a fool

he goes around

acting all lofty as can be

when really there's a million more

lads just like he

he thinks because he wears a crown

it’s excuse to do as he may

but then he meets a girl

and hears her as she plays

He asks the girl at the end

if to palace she will come

he finds the girl a beauty

and wants only her as one

the girl goes home with him

and in his palace plays

she falls for the foolish man

and all her love she gave

but the man being selfish

grows tired and unamused

replacing her quite quickly

like her love he never knew

and so her heart comes saddened

and she lusts for the obsolete

and so the foolish man

finds the harpist dead at his feet.

 

She had always thought the song an irony for it was played in such a fast happy note that you would think the song was one of fun and play, yet it was a tragedy. Shana figured the minstrel who had wrote it must have been crazy.  She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she didn’t see the shadow that was cast over her, or noticed the entire street had gone silent until a strong firm voice spoke.

 

“Do you always play such songs in a public place?”

 

She looked up at the stranger and when the sun finally stopped glinting off his hair and she could see, her mouth dropped open and she wished she could hide.. anywhere.  Standing in front of her was Lord Kiel.  She gulped down her nervousness and tried to moisten her throat, but all she accomplished was a strangled sound.

 

He looked at her and seemed to make a firm decision.  “You will come with me.” he said, his face in a thoughtful frown.

 

She thought about that memory, she really thought she was gonna be beheaded for singing what she had.  That was a foolish thought, she knew that now, but back then it seemed like the only likely reason someone like him would want someone like her.  She had been cleaned up and put in his bower.  She had first become his minstrel then she was kept there for other reasons.  After a few days in the palace she had learned that the men had been looking for a new concubine for the king.  They were on the way with the king to show him her when he had been asked to be put down to find out what person sang the insulting song of death in front of him.  They had been surprised to find it was her on a different corner.  The time came when he finally wanted her and so she became one of his official concubines. She found after a year of being his favorite that she was starting to love this hardened man, her king. 

 

A man who seemed to keep everyone at a distance. One night long ago she had come to him without being asked.  He could have killed her that night; it was the law, no woman could go to a man lest he call for her.  But her hadn’t sent her to the dungeon or sliced off her head; that night ended up being their tenderest moment.  From that night forward there were no secrets between them, they had somehow become lovers.  To all women in the kingdom’s disappointment, and despite his advisors and everyone else’s displeasure, she had become favored doubly, for he would not take a queen now.  So she acted as she was supposed to, she played the part of court minstrel and the king’s lover.  All while people tried to separate her and her king.  Some had tried some things that had bordered on treason; in the end nothing had worked to keep the king from her or her from him.  And so she sat near the throne during court playing regally on her too small harp, draped in jewels and with the king’s eye and all the court watching her.

 

Shana thought back to that song and how it had changed everything. Looking over at her king, she saw him looking at her smiling; she smiled back and continued playing.  A silly little thought played in the back of her mind.  Maybe that minstrel wasn’t that crazy after all.  There might be something to a good upbeat tragedy that just changes lives.  She thought and had to lower her head lest everyone see her soft laughter.