The Sorrow Stone by J A McLachlan

Author:J A McLachlan [McLachlan, J A]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780993630682
Published: 2017-09-30T23:00:00+00:00

***

Jean awoke to see a dull, overcast sky through the windows. He had slept deeply, as he sometimes did after coming to a decision, and had no time to eat more than a few quick spoonsful of the porridge set out for him. He had traded for his keep and it bothered him to waste what he had paid for. He should not have counted out his money that way last night. He had made his decision and he was content with it, but he should not have made it here. A trader needed to think like a trader. He needed to keep his wits, not his family, about him on the road. The broken rule was a bad omen.

The market was bustling with shoppers when Jean arrived. He found a space near the end of a row of farm carts and unloaded his donkey quickly, keenly aware of the sound of buying and selling all around him, and the clink of coins passing into other men’s hands.

He glanced up at the sky. Heavy, dark clouds had rolled in on a stiff wind. He did not dare open the lid of the barrel with the last of his spices to let their aromas entice customers over, in case the clouds burst before he could get it shut again. Still, he took his weigh scales from the pannier and set them on top with an open pot of salt which could be covered quickly and a small selection of the less expensive herbs. He placed the linen handkerchiefs and some ribbons on top of the empty barrel, where they could be admired, and draped two pair of hose over the sides.

He sold the last of his salt to an innkeeper, save the bit he kept for himself on his journey home, an extravagance he felt he had earned; but he did not sell any of his remaining spices. A few people stopped to admire the ribbons and handkerchiefs. He had nearly a dozen people around him at one point, listening eagerly as he explained how the linen handkerchiefs had been carried on pilgrimage by a holy priest and blessed on the tomb of the Apostle James at Santiago. He told how such blessings had brought miracles to those who owned them, and held the group spellbound with stories of lost things found and fortunes won and sudden, wondrous cures. He told it well, as he always did, dispelling the overcast gloom with his compelling rhetoric and extravagant gestures.

On a sunny day he would have sold every handkerchief on display, but not one was bought this morning, though people had gazed at and touched them longingly. There was no one with any money here today. People with money had sent their servants to buy what the household needed—they themselves could wait for a pleasanter day to browse and socialize at the market.

Tomorrow he would do better, if it did not rain. Already, his trip had been profitable. Simon’s surprise and delight would warm them all better than new clothes would.

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