Thomas the Rhymer

Thomas the Rhymer

A wandering Harper, scorned and poor,

He begged his bread from door to door;

And turned to please a peasant's ear,

The harp a king had loved to hear.

Sir Walter Scott

I may be an old fool, but when I'm hearing weird noises late at night, I've a mind to get a bit jumpy which explains why a pot of scalding tea my good wife was pouring into my cup splashed upon my lap and sent me leaping into the air.

"What the blazes is the matter with ye?" shrieks my wife.

"Aaargh!" screams I, then composing myself, "Me thinks I heered a noise right outside yonder door. Listen."

She perked up her ears, and then pursed her lips into a frightful frown. "Ye old fool! That's nothin but the wind."

"O, will ye listen?" pleads I, smoothing out the pain in me thighs.

When an old woodcutter and his wife live as far out in the boonies as we did, you can get very accustomed to every little noise and when it seems a twig snaps just a bit differently, well, I'm inclined to believe something is amiss.

Me wife strained her ears, listening to the howling wind outside our little shack, and nodded firmly in agreement. "I heered it, someone is out there, sure enough, and upon a night like this! It can only be the dead looking for a grave. Fetch your shovel, husband!"

"Not upon your life!" shouts I.

"If you don't, he'll be banging on the door." By this time, my Meg is wringing her hands, fearfully. "Do as I say, quick!"

"For the love of God!" moans I, grabbing my coat. "Why is it we have to put up with every stinkin fairy, goblin, demon or dead man that happens to pass by this house. You always being so careful not to upset them, weaving charms and what all else, and now me having to dig a grave in the middle of a storm. I tell ye, I've had it up to here with--"

To my horror, a loud knock sounded at the door. Before I could speak me thoughts, I could feel my Meg pulling on my ear.

"Do ye see what you've done by taking so long? I've a mind to beat you silly. Well, there's nothing else to do now but let him in. Go on, ye old fool, let him in."

The knock sounded again and I shook with fright. I never seen a dead man up close, at least not up walking around, and it near froze me blood to have to obey me wife's command. But knowing as well as I did that she'd smack my skull if I didn't move, I put my shaking hand to the latch and slowly pulled open the door.

....A great gust of wind and rain flooded into the room, making it hard for me to see. I thought for a moment that the ghoul had been a dream and I sighed in great relief that no one was there, when out of the blue, a dark hooded figure took a step out of the darkness and right into my doorway! His cloak was long and billowing in the wind and his hood hung so low over his face I could swear there was no face in there at all. But the firelight hit him just right and I could thankfully see he was of humankind and not one of the undead as I had feared.

"God's blessings upon this house!" announces the stranger, lowering his hood. Out spilt a headfull of brown locks witha face so smooth it was pale as bone. Even though he stood at least to my height, and I'm a man tall and stocky, this one was frail and thin, like he'd gone hungry for some time for his long thin fingers were a bit too lean as he tried to straighten out his messy wet hair. I spied his jewelled fingers, then, rubies it looked like, and emeralds with golden bands, very costly stuff. I decided then and there that anyone who travelled this far out of town with all those fancy rings on his fingers had to be some high falootin nobleman clean out of his gourd! It didn't seem now that me and the misses had anything to worry about with a simpleton like this at our doorstep.

It put me at my ease and I now folded my arms, looking annoyed.

He noticed that I'd been staring at his rings and he shouted above the storm, "Do you like them?" He spread out his fingers and waved them in front of my eyes so I could get a better look. "These were all gifts from his majesty and from lords and ladies of the Court. If you let me in for a cup of tea, good people, I could tell you many tales that would delight and amaze you! Tales of love and adventure, of thrilling monsters and glorious---ugh!"

He swayed then, the poor fellow, because all the while he was busy showing us his jewelry, the wind had been blowing so fiercely at his back that a tree limb crashed on his head and knocked him out cold.

He lay flat on the floor between us.

"Do you think he's dead?" I ask my wife, nudging him with my foot.

"No, not likely," was her reply, hands up on her hips. "Well, you'd better shut the door, husband. I'll be getting him to bed. He's got to be one of them crazy sons of Lord Bluthering. Most likely, he got loose and they'll be looking for him tomorrow."

That's true, I didn't think of that. We'd seen quite a few of the lord's sons roaming the moors, and as barmy as they come! Picking wild flowers, chasing butterflies, make believing like they're birds, flapping their arms and squaking. Villagers were spooked by them--there were six brothers and all of them crazy. They'd come up to your door and beg for a bit of bread or a place to lay their heads not knowing that at home they lived in a palace. It was a real shame and the lord was seen rounding up his boys about every week, tears in his eyes from the humiliation of it all. Usually, he gave a reward for those who treated his sons kindly so most folks tried to capture them, sometimes fighting over them to earn their gold pieces. And still others would set up traps to ensnare them.

But luckily enough, me and my Meg would not have to stoop to such trickery since here he was one of them, stretched out before us. I helped Meg to tie his hands and feet and together we dragged him to the far corner of our humble shack near our faithful hog, Joansie, who was sleeping soundly on the dirt floor.

Once we were through, me and my Meg set off to bed like little children awaiting Christmas morning, giggling and rubbing our hands in glee.

The cock crowed in the yard twice before we heard our little guest down below struggling with his ropes and yelling a string of curses. Me and Meg sprung from our beds and climbed down the ladder straight away, in a fright that we may have hurt him somehow and would now be in danger of losing our reward.

"What's the matter with ye?" scolds Meg. "Are ye hurt?"

The lad glares at my Meg and tries to kick her. "Untie me at once, you miserable old goats! How dare you!"

"Hush yourself!"snaps Meg. " We can't set ye free just yet. Your dad wants us to keep you bound until he comes to fetch ye. Now quit your hollering and moving around--ye're scaring our pig!"

"Be damned to your pig!" he shouts to the top of his lungs. Poor Joansie was huddling in the far corner, quivering like somebody just yanked her tail, and here was our uninvited guest, still ranting and raving and carrying on as if he was the prince of Egypt, ordering Meg about and telling me what a low-life country bumpkin I was. He was starting to get my dander up and I was about to pick up something to throw at him, but my Meg beat me to it.

She grabbed a stick and whacked him on his backside. He let out a yelp and a curse and she hit him again.

"Now you shut your mouth till your dad gets here--not another word from ye!"

The boy was silent for a moment, his face turning purple with fury. Then he narrows his eyes and peers up at my Meg. "You keep saying my father is coming to get me. What do you mean by that? Who do you think I am?"

"Why, Lord Bluthering's son. Ye're his son, ain't ye?"

"Of course not!" he shouts at us. "I've never heard of him!"

Meg looks at me and I look at her, crestfallen. We then looked at the lad who I could see now that the sun was pouring into the room that we had done a poor job in tying him up. His left leg was tied to his right foot and his right foot to his left--he was tangled up pretty tight and looked mighty uncomfortable.

"Untie me!" he shouted again, wiggling in his ropes.

By this time, Meg's face was looking sorely downcast for, like me, she was looking forward to that bit of gold we could have had as a reward. I was feeling so forlorn myself, I wanted to give this impostor a good sound kick for raising our hopes and for even knocking on our door in the first place.

I scowled at the lad, scratching my head. "Well, then, who the devil are ye?"

"I, you blithering idiots, am a minstrel from the King's High Court!"

"You don't look like a minstrel to me," snaps my Meg. "Madmen are known to make up stories. I still think ye are the son of Lord Bluthering. Ye just don't know that ye are cause you are a loony!"

The boy grunted and growled at her. "Look, if you don't believe me, then look in my bag. That will end this stupid conversation!"

He pointed over to the door where it must have fallen last night. I scratched my head and frowned, thinking that madmen don't go around carrying their own luggage, and so I sad went over to pick it up, knowing for sure now that he couldn't be one of the crazy sons of Lord Bluthering. The velvet bag was bulky with so much junk that I set it back down again and that's when a flash of golf gleamed from within. I reached in, and out came my hand, holding onto a shiny, gold harp.

Meg's eyes nearly popped out of her head. "Oh my Lord, he's a Harper!" she shrieks, clapping her hands and jumping up and down. "A king's Harper, d'ye hear? In our little shack. O, my this is a lucky day, a lucky day, indeed!"

I could understand her excitement and I, too, began to grin and hook arms with her with the two of us doing a little dance around the room. me and my Meg never had visitors to speak of, and since we ran out of things to talk about over forty years ago, we'd had little else to do all this time but twiddle our thumbs night after night in a awful fit of boredom.