As for the soap workers, all ended up working for Yozef’s soap factory at higher pay than before. The senior worker, one of the first to jump to Yozef, was given a share to manage the business, and even then, Yozef’s share of the profits was more than with Penwick.
Cadwulf and Carnigan saw to it that details of the soap maker’s fate widely circulated. The lesson learned by the Abersford soap maker was hard, and the episode became incorporated into descriptions of the strange man who had washed up on a Caedellium beach. A mild-mannered man of average appearance, except for unusual light-bluish-gray eyes. An honest man, generous to workers, teller of jokes—and ruthless if crossed.
Days grew shorter, temperatures lowered, and foliage peaked in a kaleidoscope of color. Yozef stood mesmerized, facing the forested hills north of Abersford. He’d thought New England in the fall was spectacular the one time he’d visited at the right time. But THIS!
The End-of-Harvest Festival fell on a perfect day. Wispy clouds set off a bright midday sun and a blue sky. Only the occasional tinge of coolness in the breeze foretold of the coming winter and shortening days. The two-day event bustled and sprawled across a large field between Abersford and the abbey. All work stopped for those two days, and half of Yozef’s workers had failed to show up for work the day before to prepare for various events and competitions. Now, Yozef stood among the throng attending the opening ceremony speeches, most mercifully short.
He estimated well over a thousand people stood listening, and even more busied themselves elsewhere on the grounds—several times more people than the entire population of Abersford and the abbey. He wondered how many miles away some of them had come from?
With the festival officially open, Yozef dispersed with the others to sample the offerings of the tents and the stands set up across acres in all directions. Much of the festival resembled a rural fair in the United States or a 4H gathering, showing off prize animals, holding competitions for sizes of vegetables and animals, and displaying pumpkin-like gourds, leather, metal, and wood crafts. The festival featured tradesman stands, gambling, foot races, and other activities Yozef never identified.
The sounds of the festival beat on his eardrums: people talking, animals vocalizing, and everywhere music from all quarters and a myriad combination of instruments and voices, individuals and groups, all lively. Yozef wandered among the crowd, stopping at a craft table here, a food judging there, and lingering near music that caught his ear. Some performances seemed planned and others spontaneous, with performers claiming an open space to sing or play. It was Yozef’s first exposure to the full range of Caedellium instruments: drums and stringed instruments of all sizes and sounds, wind and brass horns, and instruments of whose categorization he was uncertain. The bagpipe-like performances he moved past quickly, then stopped in wonderment before what resembled a kazoo quintet. The five small, bulbous instruments were each of slightly different shape, with sounds reminiscent of oboes and flutes.
Yozef turned away from the kazoo performance and spied Cadwulf waving to him through the human stream.
“Yozef, I wondered if I’d find you here somewhere. How are you enjoying all this?”
“Quite an impressive assortment of displays. Is the festival always this large?”
“This is normal. It’s tame right now and best for families. After sundown, it gets rowdier when the women and the children go home, and the men drink more. It used to be worse, but when I was about six years old, Hetman Keelan ordered that no alcohol be served at festivals until sundown. Since then, more people attend and stay longer. At the time it wasn’t the most popular ruling from the hetman, though now most see it worked for the best.”
“Is there any recommended order to what I should try to see?”
“No. I’ll walk with you awhile and answer any questions.”
The two of them started down a row of leather-goods displays, when they became three after finding Filtin Fuller examining a leather vest and haggling with the maker. When Cadwulf called out, Filtin dropped the vest back on the table, said something to the disappointed tradesman, and wove his way to where they waited.
“Where’s the family, Filtin?” asked Cadwulf.
“Nerlin and the children are off looking at coneys, colts, and the food preserve exhibits and contests. I have leave to do anything else and meet back with them in two bells.”
Cadwulf gave Filtin a sardonic grin. “So your wife decides what you can do?”
“My wife is a wise woman. She knows how bored I am with those parts of festivals she finds most interesting, so she doesn’t drag me to them. She also knows I’ll be in a better mood for later when the children get tired.”
“A wise woman indeed,” laughed Yozef. By now, Filtin was close to being an indispensable worker and was also a friend. Besides being Yozef’s chief equipment designer and craftsman, Filtin was a sometimes drinking companion and someone around whom Yozef’s mood always seemed to lift, possibly because Filtin’s bright complexion, short red beard, and round face, when combined with a habitually optimistic disposition, reminded Yozef of a Christmas ornament.
“Filtin, Cadwulf is educating me on Caedellium harvest festivals. How about joining us to add to my enlightenment?”
“Glad to . . . until I’m summoned back by the wife.”
In the next hour, Yozef learned to distinguish the three breeds of milk cows, how to estimate the weight of an ox, how a roasted merkon (mussel-like) tasted (bad), and that the muddleton berry jam prepared by Filtin’s wife was the best in the district (Yozef couldn’t tell the difference, so he lied). Cadwulf seemed to have little interest in the fair itself, but his two compatriots noticed his roving eye whenever they passed young women.
Yozef elbowed Filtin. “I don’t know why Cadwulf even pretends to do anything else besides fishing for girls.”
“Fishing for girls? Hah! I’ll remember that one.” Then, addressing the younger man, he asked, “Any bites today?”
Cadwulf smiled good-naturedly, “A few nibbles. A good fisherman knows how to be patient.”
“What about you, Yozef?” queried Filtin. “You’re of marriageable age, becoming a wealthy man, and person of note in Abersford. Any women catching your eye? Or should I ask if you’ve already been fishing, and there are catches you haven’t told us about?”
The question hovered around Yozef’s consciousness for several steps, then coalesced, and he froze. The other two men continued several steps, oblivious to their diminished number before missing him, then stopped and looked back.