SOMETHING IS AMISS

SOMETHING IS AMISS

I am not tall, friend. I was never tall. I am not much higher than the seat of your Wainscot chair. But, I pray you, do not see me in your mind’s eye as some sort of court dwarf. I am not that. I am just small of stature  for my age of six and ten. I assure you I, Arthur, am what I am.  And what does smallness matter in the scheme of things after all? Especially at this season of the year?  It is Christmastide! In the year of our Lord, 1502. So what if some call me Tom Thumb behind my back in the scullery? Life is a bounty, especially at this most joyous time on the Julian calendar.  Small of size but big of heart, I, Arthur, have much to be grateful for. After all, so many blessings are bestowed on even the smallest of mankind. Who among us can be sad or ungrateful at the yuletide? We who are privileged to live day after day in the court of his majesty King Henry V?!  All praise and glory to our King and protector! The Hundred Years War is now history, and the glorious conquest at Agincourt is behind us all. God save the great king who loves and cares for the needs of all his people, even the smallest ones. After all, you don’t have to be as tall as a man-at-arms to enjoy Yuletide to the fullest. 

If I seem distressed despite all this seasonal bounty, it is just that something seems amiss!  But, what is that small concern when you can let your gaze rest upon the snow falling outside the castle windows. Yes, it is too deep for a person of my stature to dare to walk in. But I can stay within the castle walls and look upon the majesty of the romping deer and the strutting peacocks on the grounds, even if something feels amiss. Just look upon the giant oak and  fir trees bending low to the snowy ground under the weight of all that heaven-sent pure white snow! . And see the flickering Yule candles in their brass sconces on the walls (most of them than taller than me) up and down the courtyard shedding their golden light on the deep white snow. Are the partridges are singing in the pear tree? I would not be surprised.

But something is amiss .Call me the fool but I feel shorter today than I was a day or two ago. I can feel it.  I think it is the jesters. I think it is their trickstering.  They are to blame!

But short, tall, royals or jester tricksters, whoever we are, outside of Christmas everything is a petty matter is it not?   Just behold the holly wreaths and the bouquets of mistletoe swinging from the arches of the Great Hall.  Even they seem full of glad tidings. And breathe in the seasonal perfume of ginger, cinnamon, cloves and nutmeg wafting through the halls. It makes one hungry, giddy and happy to be alive, even if one  (like me) is too small to touch that mistletoe.  And am I getting even smaller? 

 The other maids and servants will surely taunt me and call me Wee Willie, or teeny weeny, if I grow any smaller. But I should not mind one whit   because this is the most magical time of year!  I have watched the preparations throughout the castle lo, these last weeks. I have watched with wonder, even awe. Everything seems to glitter inside these bright walls and out! But is it not sad to think, because of those dastardly jesters, I will soon be no higher than the castle cat?

But, let us think just of the 12 days of Christmas that are upon us. Soon there will be caroling outside and goblets of mulled wine on the board and whole pig on the spit.  There will be a groaning board with pheasant and roasted chestnuts in the fireplace and a blazing plum pudding as tall as a stallion!  I am speaking of the annual  feast for the royal table served to His Majesty’s  family and the many lords and ladies, earls and duchesses and countesses and the like who come from afar  in their beribboned carriages with their own servants. But even down below in the servant’s hall, I, Arthur and the others we will be given our share of the royal Christmas bounty.

But something is amiss. I implore your patience, but I am getting ever so much smaller.  I can see this in the looking glass in milady’s salon where I can sometimes sneak a look.  Who would be so Cruel at Christmas time for such a prank, you ask? It is so much worse now than other times, is it not?

It is the jesters, those pranksters who have put this spell on me.! To make me shrink a little each day of Christmas, I know it. Christmas would be perfect if it weren’t for the jesters.  

This is a rude and cruel prank to play on the yuletide.  Making the smallest servant boy in the castle even smaller!  I know they must have stolen a spell from the majesty’s diviner. He is old  and often leaves his magic cabinets unsecured while he naps. Yes, the jesters stole this spell and they are using it on me. They are having a hearty laugh at me behind my back. Probably no more than a sacrilegious stone’s throw from the crèche!

But, let me not wallow in pity at this blessed time of year, even if I will be too small to sit at the supper table if this spell goes on.  How terrible in this season of love and joy that something is very much amiss.

Ah, I am small but I am no fool.  The cruel joke is on the jokesters. Does the king’s diviner not grant each of us in the service of the royal family a wish at Christmas time?   My wish is to have this purloined spell undone. And I further will ask that the jesters’ wishes be taken away and given to me as reparation.

 Ah, hear the silver bells and cockle shells and the angel wings in the Yuletide air and see the smirking jesters acting the fool. But not for long. My wish is that each day of Christmas the prankster jesters will grow smaller and smaller, until they are each one too tiny to reach the pork roast or the flaming pudding! Too wee to wrap a hand around a mug of Christmas ale!

And what is it that I will hear them say when they are no higher than the King’s spaniel? “  SOMETHING IS NOT RIGHT” !

But, as for me, all s right with the world. I shall say. Oh how I love Christmas!

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