Liberty's Heirs

Chapter 18

Out the windows could be seen the last of the fading twilight.  Inside all the men were singing together:

As I was going to Darby, Sir,

All on a market day,

I met the finest Ram, Sir,

That ever was fed on hay.

Daddle-i-day, daddle-i-day,

Fal-de-ral, fal-de-ral, daddle-i-day.

This Ram was fat behind, Sir,

This Ram was fat before,

This Ram was ten yards high, Sir,

Indeed he was no more.

Daddle-i-day, etc.

The Wool upon his back, Sir,

Reached up unto the sky,

The Eagles made their nests there, Sir,

For I heard the young ones cry.

Daddle-i-day, etc.

Blion, having learned the song the previous night by hearing it sung by the raucous crowd, was enjoying himself immensely singing as deeply as he could.  The chamber resonated with the chorus.  It seemed that alcohol made the party more fun than any back home. A song that otherwise would be boring, now was a delight to sing, no one was self-conscious, there were no inhibitions.  One of Blion's arms hung, not comfortably due to the difference in height, over the blacksmith who smelled of sweat and smoke.  His other arm hung over a farmer, as short as himself, who smelled of hay and manure.  The farmer had shoulder-length red hair and a beard so long and thick no one would have noticed a bird nesting in it.  It contrasted with Blion's thin black beard which was really a mustache and a tuft of hair on his chin.

An gaunt older man who had a terribly crooked nose and a back to match approached Blion who had moved on to singing about three drunk hunters with the rest of the men.  He reached over to Blion with skeletal arm and a big smile and pulled him aside.  "I wanted to shake the man's hand who beat the Mayor."  He extended his hand to Blion.

Blion had during the course of the late afternoon become familiar with the ritual and thought very little of it at this point.  "Sure," he said, now barely bothering to reciprocate with a smile of his own.  He extended his hand and the older man shook it vigorously.

"Best of luck to you, kid," he said.  "You're going to need it."

"What does that mean, sir?"  Blion replied.

"Do you really think the Mayor is just going to let you take his money?"  His eyebrows raised high in an almost exaggerated fashion.  "He isn't just rich because he's ex-royalty,"  he chuckled quietly.  "That chess tournament is a source of income for him."

"Well he already gave me the coins. What is he going to do?"

"I have no idea," the old man said shrugging his bony shoulders and turning away.  "But I have a feeling you'll find out before too long."

As the boisterous songs continued in the background, Blion went back to his meal, some kind of meat in a thick sauce.  He thought about the old man's warning looked down at the meat, the animal, and even the part of the animal were unrecognizable.  He felt bad eating it but there were no better options for food and it didn't taste terrible.