Good King Wenceslaus (Sunrise, 26th) [Open!]- Xmas 1677

[Guest]

Duck Pond

 

A little deeper into St. James' Park was a quiet stretch of water, surrounded by trees with small patches of grass between them. Reeds blew softly in the wind. In spring a great dart of little tadpoles would hide in the muddy low waters,to give rise to great orchestra's of frogs filling the evening air in summer. A great collection of ducks, both local and foreign, had made this their home. There was the occasional visit of wild geese which made it a good haunting place in autumn.

 

This was one of the favourite haunts of the King during his morningwalks, especially since the other courtiers did not seem to frequent it so much as it was a little out of the way and difficult to reach by coach. It was a blissfully quiet place.

 

John watched the sun rise wrapped in a blanket which he was also sitting on. Two large dogs, Irish hounds, lay around him. His arm rested on one of them and she seemed uncomplaining. He was still in his pajamas at the moment, though that meant he was entirely decent, and over them was a thick coat (and over that the blanket and some dogs).

 

A white box sat off to the side. It was St. Stephen’s Day. A day for charity to those of lower rank, traditionally taking the form of time off and a box containing money, food, and gifts for servants and others in employ. John had had an extra, accidentally doing up one for a servant who’d been dismissed. The lid was casually off and John had pilfered the candies out of it. He was only rarely hungry but this morning hunger had gnawed at him. A thumbed through book about St. Wenceslaus lay on the lid.

 

Some geese were sharing in the bounty as well, some of the rolls having been crumpled up and cast out to them. A gaggle of goslings were eating out of his hand, swarming each other, making tiny quacking sounds and huddling against each other and his hand for warmth. John smiled. He quietly whistled Tempus Adest Floridum as the purple haze of dawn began to burn away and tried to make sure each gosling got its fair share.

 

Less quiet were the geese who, flocking around him, made a riot of quacking and shuffling around to get at the crumbs, along with some other birds.

[Hope]

The foreboding darkness was slowly pushed back by shimmering of light breaking from the horizon.

 

Yonder evergreen suddenly erupted a guffaw of twitters, then settled again back into silence, a distant clink clink clink sound grew louder, and there upon the roadway that passed around the evergreen appeared a milkman's cart. The like early riser, tipped his hat to the lord, and then flicked his reins to spur his donkey faster. Bloody cold to be out.

 

What was that dark lump at the back of the wagon? A lump that tumbled away with a can as the driver was distracted, concealing himself in a drift of snow, only to peek out at Maldon once the driver was well passed. A toothy grin then given.

[Guest]

John waved back at the man passing by. He didn’t notice the lump but his dogs did and John’s eyes soon followed them. He began to scratch the heads of one of his dogs. They were a large breed, as large as a small person. He often took them on walks to discourage unsavory sorts, though currently they were curled around him for warmth.

 

But as the lump smiled at him toothily, John raised an eyebrow. But he held up a handful of candied orange peels, dipped in chocolate, beckoning the lump over. They were not only a sweet treat but one that would be out of reach of the average Londoner (though not all that special for a lord).

 

And something that went well with milk, in John’s opinion.

 

John was a bit odd looking at the moment. He was in fine pajamas but over them was a heavy, practical coat and boots and wrapped over that was a blanket. He had a wool cap on, a sleeping cap, but no periwig, so he had no hair. John, who was always pale and a bit weak or sickly looking, seemed especially so in the snow. Instead of rosiness, his cheeks seemed to turned even whiter, to the point of pallor.

 

Aside from the odd head twitch, though, his features were quite ordinary. He was not monstrous, nor even ugly in his appearance.

[Hope]

Despite John's welcoming gesture, the milk thief peered off after the cart, biding out a few moments more till his sense of confidence rose to the required level to allow him to stand.

 

Dusting off snow.

 

It was at this point that our good-deed-doing Earl was able to see the size of his proposed company, fully unfolded it was a man of some five and a half feet, and with a girth that suggested he was fond of breakfast lunch and dinner, and making avail of any snacktimes inbetween. He had dirty dark hair, poorly cropped, and wore clothing of a dingy grey that may at one time have been white. A brightly coloured scarf, the sort which used up the ends of many varied balls of wool, was wound around his neck several times.

 

"Ey up." the figure approached with a greeting of a sort, unperturbed by any oddness that other folk may have noticed, infact the oddness may have recommended John to him more. "Like some milk? Mmm, it's still warm." and he settled himself to the blanked John sat on, exchanging guardianship of the milk can into Johns hands, as he took and begun eating the candied peel.

[Guest]

John watched the man approach, “And who are you?” John asked, amiably. A little stealing here or there was simply something John expected.

 

John accepted the milk with a smile and took a small sip. The control with which John ate might be a bit foreign to the man, considering his size. He handed him back the milk. “Thank you.” He cast out some crumbs to the birds. “What sees you out this morning?” Surely he hadn’t gotten up so early just to steal a can of milk.

[Hope]

"I'm Carl, and who are you?" the chap returned Johns question with a chirpy grin and rubbing of his hands warm.

 

"I'm here for the same reason as you I reckon. Caw, it was cold last night wasn't it?! Wish I had some dogs like that, to keep me warm too. You've the right idea 'avent you," he took the milk can back and held it with his hands, the residual warmth gratefully received.

 

Leaning forwards he looked curiously at the collection that John had laid out, but as John recklessly threw bread to the birds his expression dropped. The geese snapped up the crumbs swiftly, he hadn't a chance. "Hold up! I'll have some of that grub right here. Caw, don't go froing away perfectly good food like that. If it's stale, then you oughta try it dipped in milk. Bloody beautiful, better than freshbaked, almost." he was now eyeing the bag that John's 'crumbs' had appeared from.

[Guest]

“The Lord Maldon.” John replied. He wondered if the man would consider him insane rather than an actual lord.

 

“It was.” John actually did sleep with his dogs about him to keep him warm, though in a fine and warm bed. “You d-d-don’t have a place to… stay then?” John asked. His voice was sympathetic.

 

John smiled at his objections. It wasn’t a bag but a white box with red ribbon, the sort that was given to servants on St. Stephen’s Day. Its lid was to the side and John took out most of the breads and the book. He replaced the lid.

 

John handed the box over, “Happy St. Stephen’s, Master Carl.” There was a pair of sturdy shoes, a warm coat, coal to burn, and various meats and sweets in there. There was also a purse with two hundred and forty pennies, a pound. Everything was only of the quality a servant would expect but solidly made.

[Hope]

It was after all rather insane to sit in ones pajamas in the park in the middle of winter at dawn feeding geese... but Carl was not one to judge. He knew well enough how life made strange turns sometimes. "Well right nice to meet you Lord Maldon." he accepted the title as easily as if John had told him he had jam in his hair.

 

"I'm between manors at the moment." he gave a wry smile, elevating his tale as he assessed John had upped his own.

 

He'd not expected this bounty in a box though. "It's a veritable cornucopia in here." he murmured through a mouthful of bread shifting through the things, and then turning with understanding in his eyes. "You got sacked eh? Bloody nobles, and right on christmas eh? Fair enough you give their gift away, got the look of judas silver eh?" he hefted himself up to his feet. "Want to come meet the others. Just cause you are out on your arse, doesn't mean you Christmas needs be spoiled."

[Guest]

John laughed at the man’s joke. He knew then Carl didn’t believe him. It hardly mattered. He just smiled, not confirming or denying the untrue story. “That sounds lovely, if Fas and Lar c-c-can come.” His dogs, who stood with him. They’d make him feel safe going off with a stranger, even if he wasn’t dressed in the usual finery that would make him a target. John took up his cane as he rose, which had been on the blanket.

 

John kept the blanket wrapped around him arm and picked up the other, brushing off the crunched snow and tossing it over his shoulder. He looked at Carl with a small smile, ready to follow.

[Hope]

Carl gave John a hand getting up, he being used to less than able company (either alcohol of disability, often times a bit of both) which necessitated one chap helping the other.

 

"Lars and Fas, funny names, sounds Dutch." he helped with the shaking out of the blanket, and bent to pick up the gift box, carrying the milk can in the other hand. "One of the guys is a Dutchie, Peter Janszoon, used to be a ship builder."

 

The snow crunched underfoot till they got to the path. The path had been shoveled within the past few days, and while a little slippery still, was easier going. "We sometimes joke that between us all, and the skills we've got, we could raise a fine company. What skills have you got Guv?"

 

He cracked a chat, it was some walk till they would get to where they were going. For now, they headed back down the way the cart had come from, passing not far from the evergreen, and again a guffaw of birds took fright and lifted into the air, squawking and flapping above it.

 

 

OOCL fyi Peter's Story

[Guest]

John smiled at the help, “Thank you.” In such small gestures, and inviting him along for Christmas, the man had won John’s opinion of him.

 

“Fastulus and Larentia.” John elaborated. “They’re Luh-latin. Adoptive p-p-parents of… Romulus and Remus.” John liked to shorten it to Fas and Lar though. They were easier to say and sounded like other Latin words John was quite fond of.

 

“Is the shipbuilding… industry n-n-not doing well?” John asked. He wondered how the man had found himself out of work.

 

“What skills d-d-does every have?” John was interested to hear what skills they did have. If they were skilled, maybe he could help them get work, or find some work for them in his employ. Of course, if they were unskilled, he would still do what he could.

 

As for his own, “I’m a d-d-decent writer,” Actually, John was a published historian but he didn’t like to spread that, “And I’m a g-g-good gardener. G-g-growing plants, building outbuildings or moving earth, muh-managing workers, that… sort of thing. Not m-m-much good with my own hands, though.” John said the last bit sadly.

 

John followed along, chatting amiably enough. He let out a small laugh at the cacophony of birds. There was something pleasant in the operations of nature.

[Hope]

OOC: apologies I missed this last week

IC:

 

And so the scruffy pair walked along.

 

"Ah..." Carl nodded, though he failed to understand the cleverness of the naming, to him it simply sounded high brow. "Wouldn't mind one of their pups if there's a litter." and he, still thinking of how toasty warm a dog could keep him. Ironically, rather alike Romulus and Remus finding comfort froma wolf.

 

"Can't really say, seems like there's lots of building going on. Oh, you mean Peter's job? Ach, well the problem isn't getting work, but getting paid for it. Them House of Lords order more ships built, but they don't free the money to pay for it quick. They owe him six months pay, heh, he's the richest poorman in our group."

 

Carl also looked up at the birds, while there is always faint concern of being shat on, it's hard not to wonder at a murmuration like that. Toes dragged a little, and then it was done, and stride again lengthened.

 

"Well, Shaun, he's bone button turner. Best in london, he recons. Bloody buckles. One of those Dukes of high and mighty started wearing buckles, and then all the rest started copying. The buttonry had to cut back on half their work force."

 

Maldon admitted to having a trade also. "Writer eh? Aw, you aren't the 'Poor Robin' are ye? Lawd, he's so funny, would love to know who he really is. One of the people though, that's a sure bet." containing his chuckle he turned to John and asked, "But gardening is good. When we build our new city, you can be the garden designer. Then on an eve-nin we'll all finish up our dining in our mansions, and go out for a leisurely stroll, sniff at the evening primrose and such. It shall be bloody beautiful."

 

They walked along till they approached a stone bridge amongst low laying shrubbery. "Ah, here we are." and stopping to check either way first, Carl pushed back a branch to the side of the bridge he promptly disappeared down and beyond it.

[Guest]

OOC: You're breakin' my heart!

 

There was indeed a litter, not from Fastulus and Larentia but from his collies. John was giving them away, he’d already given one to Master Cole and would try giving one to Lord Toledo. But he wasn’t sure how well Carl would raise the puppy. Not that he doubted the man’s character, just his income.

 

“They should f-f-form a combination.” John said. “It’d help them… get p-p-paid.” A combination was a political device, used by workers who were being abused in some way. Pay disputes were a common start to one.

 

“And what do you do?” John asked. So there was a trio. John could think of many uses for someone who knew how to work bone, especially if the person knew scrimshaw and detailing. That would be normal on nobles’ buttons.

 

“No, unfortunately. D-d-do you have anything by him?” John was always curious to see what was popular. As much as John enjoyed writing, gardening was by far more profitable. “It sounds beautiful.” John said, though he was thinking more of the gardens. Perhaps he’d have more land in that new city to work with. To someone like John, land was like a canvas. Very expensive, sometimes very profitable, canvas.

 

John paused a moment, trying to peer inside the thick foliage. After a moment he shrugged, his dogs following him in, alert. John peered around with a smile.

[Hope]

"A combination? That might work as well for them as it does for the army?" Carl gave a wry laugh at that. How many army men had gone off to fight for france to make ends meet while they waited for England to pay them their dues*.

 

"Me? So you think I've more feathers in my bonnet than simply being a formidable milkman?" he chuckled at that. "well you are right at that, I was apprentice coffin maker, business was booming, till the fires of 76." fires had burnt down a large portion of the city and put many people out of homes and places of work.**

 

Through a tumble of foliage the Earl moved, his trusty guardians at his side, till just as suddenly as he[d entered the brush he stepped out into the clearing that was under the bridge. A queer little bridge, that existed over a dried out watercourse. There were voices and people, and small fire burning. And as Johns eyes became accustomed to the dim he might notice Carl approaching a group of chaps crouched furthermost under the bridge, where they were a bit more elevated than the rest.

 

"Oy, yer Lordship!" Carl, seeing John was distracted, called him forth, "Come meet the high council!"

 

The group of three fellows looked at the blanket wrapped man, then back to Carl.

 

 

 

* I've not the link anymore, but I read an article about this some years ago.

** I've no link to these threads, but if you did a search you might find those stories in the archives

[Guest]

“The army d-d-doesn’t have one.” John replied. “They’ve had them in the p-p-past though, and it worked.” In fact, the term ‘strike’ came from the fact, as a prelude to the combination taking more drastic action, the soldiers would cease to display their national colors. In other words, they would strike the flag, which in naval parlance meant lower it.

 

“They n-n-need it more if anything. It’d m-m-make sure their widows and wives get their… pay while they’re abroad.” Which was another issue. The King was more comfortable denying a bunch of women and children pay than a bunch of armed soldiers. No doubt morale dropped knowing that, without plunder or going home to take a second job, their families might starve.

 

John’s mind turned on how he might find employment for the men, both in the short and long term. But the tumble took his mind off it for a moment.

 

There was a forth that hadn’t been mentioned and John immediately wondered at who he was. “The Lord Maldon. You m-m-must forgive my appearance.” John said. He smiled and approached the fire. “M-m-might I have your names and what you do then?” Easier just to get them all to say it at once.

 

He wondered if they all thought him mad too.

[Hope]

"It doesn't take much for a mans fortunes to change." Carl agreed.

 

"Some of us go to the Board of Labour." which was a scheme Lord Chichester begun after the fire, a day work scheme nicknamed thus after the planks men sat on while waiting work details. Odd jobs and such, casual labour hire during the week. It was not enough to get a chap out of the gutter, but it had never been meant as a permanent fix.

 

Today was Sunday though, gods day of rest.

 

Under the Bridge

 

"Heh heh heh..." Carl laughed awkwardly as Maldon kept up his act, calling himself a Lord despite all the clues he'd dropped that the nobs were not on this groups favorites list.

 

The eldest of the three 'councillors' looked suspicious, "Who's this, sounds like the filth, you haven't gone brought the law to our secret hideout have you Carl - you fucking idiot."

 

"No no no, he's a good guy, gave me a gift box and everything. I was telling him all about you, and he was right interested, wanted to meet you all."

 

The eldest was not calmed by this news. "Course he was interested, he'd planning on coming back here with more men to send us on our way." The pair were arguing, and at that moment ignoring Maldon entirely.

[Guest]

John had always had trouble resting. Even sleep often did not come to him easily and once his mind began to turn on something it could cling to it fiercely. Especially because he could see how such a thing could be put to all sorts of use.

 

But they would see. Ideas needed fertile soil to grow.

 

But soon he was in a more immediate situation. Hiding his title would have done fairly little in his mind. John had an upper class accent and his clothes were noticeably clean. John didn’t understand the term ‘the filth’. He was a bit shocked at the word ‘fuck’, though. They appeared to be ignoring him and John’s brow knit as they seemed to debate whether he was going to evict them from a bridge.

 

“I’m not.” John objected. “I j-j-just wanted to join you for Christmas.” He was unsure what to say, so he defaulted to what had so often worked with commoners, “Why d-d-don’t you share the box with them?” John said to Carl. There was food and, perhaps more importantly, money. That always seemed to smooth things over and would be a strange thing for a watchman to give.

[Hope]

Carl found himself in a rather uncomfortable position, and spluttered some as he faced the accusations, his face turning a bright red.

 

Fortunately for him Maldon spoke up.

 

"Err.... ah yes, here is the parcel." he thrust it into the eldest ones hands - and turned to give a concerned look to Maldon.

 

A moment was taken as the contents were examined, and three heads huddled to consider all the facts.

 

He was cautious still, but now the eldest of the group (a chap in his mid thirties) turned to address Maldon. "So you are not a a stooge?" he just wanted to hear it from Maldon's own mouth.

 

"Fraid we've no christmas feast here if that's what you are looking for," he gave a quizzical look at Carl, who was not yet off the hook from bring along an unknown. "But this is right nice of you to give Carl here." he continued on speaking, "Alfred Dodds, pleased to meet you. And this here is Peter, and Shaun." he introduced the other two.

 

 

 

 

OOC: if you'd like to do anything with this rag tag group feel free to have a bash, alternatively we've pretty much expired my part of the show and I'd be happy enough to fade out on the little meet and greet for Maldon to get himself home and ready for 9am church! Meanwhile you know where they are to be found, if you come up with any use for them later in the season

[Guest]

“I’m n-n-not. I’ve actually… nuh-never spoken to a London watchman Just c-c-came down from Essex.” That was all true, actually.

 

The group seemed to accept him and he breathed a sigh of relief, “A p-p-pleasure.” John said politely, with a small smile, “And that’s f-f-fine.” The hour was growing a bit late but he did have some use for the people here before he departed.

 

“I’d heard you’re… having some w-w-wage troubles,” John indicated Peter, “Is there suh-someone I c-c-can talk to for the workers? A leader or something of that nature?”

 

As for them generally, “And I know a n-n-noble who likes to give charity to orphans, foundlings, and p-p-poor children on the t-t-twenty eighth.” The Feast of the Innocents, a day for such things, “If you c-c-can get enough together, I think he’ll reward you?” John was querying whether they’d do it.

 

That noble was John, but he was learning that saying that directly was getting him nowhere.

[Hope]

“You can talk to us." Dodd's replied with a wry smile, "we arent like, a collective or some such. We just look out for each other. Here, what have you been telling him Carl."

 

Carl shrugged.

 

Dodds frowned as Maldon explained his thinking then, it was odd afterall. "How many people does he need? Put up a few posters and he'll have half of london there." the look on his face told it all, that Maldon needed to explain why this mysterious noble needed more needy people. It was a fair question from one who is in need, surrounded by need, to be perplexed how anyone could live without seeing need at every corner and turn. These nobles, could not be trusted. "It sounds too good to be true, and you know what they say about that, if if sounds it, then it is it."

[Guest]

John chuckled. He was so used to a world where order was ingrained in every little thing that he forgot the vast mass of Englishmen lived most of their lives without such distinctions.

 

They asked him to speak generally, but it was only Peter who was owed back wages. “If you’re not getting your wages, you can get t-t-together and organize to try and get better treatment…” John said. “It’s happened b-b-before. I was just thinking it m-m-might be a good idea, if no one’s been p-p-paid in half a year.” And there were working homeless.

 

As for the second bit and how it was too good to be true, “He’s exceptionally stupid,” John replied, “Kindhearted but stupid.” John let the point linger.

 

John continued, “He’s f-f-from Essex too. I knew him up there, did it l-l-last year. He spends the d-d-day reading the story of Christmas to them, gives them some gifts, and then… t-t-tries to settle them with a Parish priest for the poor relief.” In other words, to find those without homes and put them in what passed for welfare and orphanages in the seventeenth century.

 

As for how many, John shrugged, "Usually there were somewhere in the high dozens." The mechanisms meant to keep people off the streets worked better in close knit, rural communities, especially relatively wealthy ones.

[Hope]

It was readily apparent that this chap thought himself a fixer, was less apprant if his ideas would actually work. Peter was willing to give him a shot. "Sure." he looked at Maldon, "and er... how much will your cut of the money be?"

 

As for the money for listening to a christmas story, the shine certain wore off hearing that. Still, the drudgery of it did make it seem less like a pipe dream. "He must be mad." Potts nodded, "so what's the address then? We can leave before he hands us over to a Minister." he encouraged the others.

[Guest]

“I d-d-don’t take a cut.” John replied. “Though if everything goes well I’ll p-p-profit too. First, we’d need to get together as many p-p-people as the government owes back wages and convince them to c-c-come together to help each other g-g-get paid.” This was the harder part, at least from John’s perspective. It was the part he could not do.

 

As for more direct charity, John didn’t force them to listen to the story, some just played. But he told it and he always had some listeners… even if a few fell asleep. John smiled and gave his address. “Oh, he d-d-doesn’t force anybody. Not even the children.” He assured them when they spoke of running.

[Hope]

"How will you profit, might I ask?" Peter was puzzled. But to practicalities. "I"m not owed money from the government though, does that make a difference? I'm owed by my boss, and there is about 15 of us waiting on our pays."

 

To the charity though, they wanted to be sure that it was not a trick to get men under the churches 'loving' care "So, when does he give the money out? Before or after the story, and is that before or after the church gets involved?"

[Guest]

“Ah, fifteen’s a b-b-bit small for what I had in mind.” John said. He’d imagined this was another of the great pay disputes that cropped up every few years. The fact it wasn’t the government didn’t matter but it was too small. “How m-m-many people work at your yard?” John asked. He imagined the shipbuilders of London were the largest in England, working with tens of thousands of people. If only fifteen people were short it seemed less like a pay crisis and more like their boss was just refusing to pay them specifically.

 

As for the other thing, “M-m-money as soon as you arrive. You can stay and have a m-m-meal too. The vicar was there f-f-from the start but he didn’t make anyone stay.” John said. Which was true enough. John thought the church was better than the streets, but he also wasn’t the sort to force someone.

[Hope]

"There's about thirty of us." John was correct to deduce this was a private company, he was astute enough to also see that Peter was sorely disappointed at his verdict. "So were are up shit creek still." the youth sighed. "We just keep on going to work, hoping soon the pay will come through. Some of the guys have left, given up. Fat chance they shall ever see the money they are owed. Me, I'm just scraping by. My land lady sold my stuff, but I still owe her more." although plainly enough he was not living at said landlady's any more, it seemed that Peter did intend to make good on his debts one day. He for one was not questioning what do to to get this story telling lord hand outs.

 

And the others were coming around to. "Sure then, you can let him know we'll be there."

[Guest]

“You m-m-might ask the lord.” John suggested. “Obviously he likes being helpful.” Thirty was a small shop indeed. John wondered if they made rowboats or things of that nature. Well, it was needed work. Or maybe small pleasure yachts, which required more skilled craftsmanship than large amounts of labor. Though John couldn’t imagine why Parliament would commission yachts.

 

John nodded, “I’m sure you c-c-can find some amenable urchins for him to help. Make him happy and all that.” And he would help them, if he could. “Now then, I think I’m g-g-going to head to… church.” He imagined the homeless attended church regularly. If nothing else it was a good place for handouts, and they could be warm and indoors for the service. If they could find a church that’d take them.

 

“See you on the t-t-twenty eighth.” John repeated the place, if he hadn’t already said it.

 

OOC: And that’s fin, I think. Thank you for the thread!

[Hope]

"But if he's such a fool as you say, he'll be no help at all. Are you sure you cant help me?" Peter asked, unaware that the Fool and the man before him were one in the same. Come the 28th he'd have quite the surprise.

 

But for now, at least he had the prospect of a bit of charity money on the horison, not that any of these fold wanted to be charity cases. Homeless they might be, petty thieves sometimes, but they still had their pride.

 

"We'll see you there."

 

In a friendly manner they saw John off.

 

~ Fin!