Calixia loved to blend herself into the piles of goods bound for the ferry deck. From her hidden perch, she watched the ebb and flow of people, like sailors watch the ebb and flow of the tides.
Wealthy, women dressed in fine linen gowns and over-tunics, embroidered with exotic images of flowers and animals. Their hair held in place by fine mesh nets spun of gold or silver. Circlets with gems holding the netting in place. With their phalanx of women – the ladies in waiting fussing over their mistress’ gown hems and headdress trains. Sweet smell of lavender and rose water engulfed the surrounding air as if making it magic replacement for stone walls cloaked in fine tapestries. Ladies laughing and gossiping without their Lords to quiet them with a glare or a clipped word. Accompanied by flint-eyed guards, wrapped in the crests of their masters. Sun glinting off sword hilts, and helmets – soldiers of the guard hand-picked by stony captains.
Merchants, rotund from their wealth, talking of trade and commerce. Self-importance, arrogance waifed from them, as the smell of their quail and truffles lunches. Merging with the fawning sweat of clerks and assistants, dressed in dreary garb with ink stains on their cuffs. Their hired workmen, in the garb of those who toil, cap in hand, restless muscles beneath long shirts and leggings. Waiting for their orders, as soldiers of the cloth and barrel.
Common folk, in dresses of homespun woolens, bright ribbons on caps of much-washed cotton splashes of colour in the browns and greys. Baskets on hips, full of goods for the Long Market – fresh eggs, muslin-wrapped cheeses and butter unearthed from spring houses and cheeseries, sweetmeats, and loaves of flour brushed bread, redolent with smells of yeast and ovens. Their men, leading sheep, goats, and hauling carts with wooden caged chickens. Children, cleaned up for the moment, hitching rides, or kicking up dust with their wooden clogged feet. Scolding mothers eyeing their flocks with equal vigilance.
Soon the ferry would come to dock, sails down, sailors weary and wary. Beaded and wild, clothes stained with salt and sea-tang. Thirsty for drink and women. Both awaiting in the dark ale houses and brothels leaning together as drunken men do to support each other.
Passengers with bundles and bags of mystery disembark; raven hair women with long plaits down their backs, compact men with blazing blue eyes, knives barely hidden in their waist wraps or in leather holders upon their thighs. Moving away from the Long Market, bound for the town or the roads leading beyond. Countrymen come to the docks looking for work lading the ferry low in the water. Last off the gentry, finery disarrayed by the wind and water motion. Some milk complexions tinged with green; stains soiling expensive dresses and surplices.
Horses and wagons waiting; drivers impatient of the half day wasted. Pages and emissaries for the occasional authority of church or state sent by King or Bishop to check on the locals. Almost blinding, resplendent in shades of purples and reds, a flash of gold and gems from chains hanging about their chests. A look of disgust or misgiving upon their rarified faces.
The reloading of personages, people and goods. Clashes of voices and classes; admixture for a moment in the chaos. As her perch lessened, before shoed away as a beggar or thief, she drifted into the shadows of the merchants’ sheds.
Crossings on such lively days were hours of entertainment for Calaxia. Some day, she would sneak upon the ferry to watch the dock world; the waterscape from the other side of the river. One turning of the tide, she too would go.
(c) Lorraine
A piece of writing in the raw* for mlmm tale weaver: observations.
*writing in the raw is my way of circumventing my thinking about writing, creativity, polish, dazzling (?) finished products. It’s a phrase, a word, an image, a gut-response. Marginal manipulation, click publish with eyes closed. If I stop to think, to re-invent, revise, re-envision, overwhelmedness, anxiety and apprehension over ride my mouse and my mind. It’s a read at your own risk proposition. Expect nothing – maybe find something. Always raw, often crude, and sometimes rude.
June 5, 2017 at 11:49 am
I imagine your Calaxia as a very wary but observant mermaid able to swim and be free with the tides.
(Thanks for your visit to my post on this piece – I’m slowly catching up on my return visits.)
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June 5, 2017 at 10:56 pm
I hadn’t thought of her as a mermaid, but that is a wonderful idea.
I haven’t been diligent in reading your contributions to the various mlmm prompts — see your name pop up consistently.
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June 6, 2017 at 6:40 am
No worries. I’ve been a bit busy and slow for the last couple of months. Have a wonderful summer.
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April 28, 2017 at 9:52 pm
Great observations Lorraine, most interesting though I wonder how the guards might get on these days boarding anything with all that weaponry…
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April 29, 2017 at 2:04 am
Unless they were flying on Air Force One — we have a king, again, don’t you know . . .
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April 29, 2017 at 2:24 am
Oh yes of course, should have known…lol
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April 29, 2017 at 7:05 am
We actually have a whole Royal Family ensconced in the White House Castle.
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April 29, 2017 at 7:07 am
Maybe if you are good and dye your hair orange you’ll receive a royal knighthood
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April 29, 2017 at 7:10 am
Or bad, and dye my hair orange. I think the word good and the current administration are oxymorons — heavy accent on the morons.
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April 29, 2017 at 7:11 am
You do make a very valid point..
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April 29, 2017 at 7:15 am
Validity is in short supply here — do you have any extra bunches to ship over?
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April 29, 2017 at 7:16 am
We have some crazy ones too.
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April 29, 2017 at 7:17 am
It’s truly a world-wide epidemic, then. Thought perhaps like the movie, On the Beach, Austraila had escaped thus far . . .
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April 29, 2017 at 7:33 am
No such luck😧
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April 29, 2017 at 7:18 am
Spell checker misfired — gremlins still abound — Australia.
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April 28, 2017 at 11:21 am
you CAN create whole entire worlds, scenarios, rich, throbbing, vibrant … engaging and dynamic – and you’ve done it here …. you’ve transported me back in time, letting me visit and see, feel the sense of hustle, bustle, the jostling of the down right poor with the affluent and wealthy – you’ve painted a vignette that stands for what it is – in its own right ….. and that, my friend, is something that IS a gift …..
there is so much here, it screams and whispers, market, water, people, land, and so many wonderful bits and images, a rich collage and tapestry ….
too many lines to mention and pull out – but wow, these few here:
Thirsty for drink and women. Both awaiting in the dark ale houses and brothels leaning together as drunken men do to support each other.
absolutely stopped me in my tracks …. so yes, what just came before, and what follows – a slice of time, where I think, in the moment, your heart and spirit wandered, and as I said, this, when you allow it, without prejudice or judgement, is REAL – and honest – so let yourself do it – I think you’ll find more peace if you do ….
((((((((Lorraine)))))))
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April 29, 2017 at 2:15 am
Thanks — it’s from my inner world where stories happen, a description I read in a book of a boat crossing in a different century. I often don’t write to my own prompts, thought I should try.
It’s a world I’ve imagined and reimagined so many times that I can close my eyes and see if like a Breughel painting.
Sometimes these images don’t give me the words to describe them — this time, it did.
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April 29, 2017 at 11:04 am
glad that you were able to put into words …. :)
sometimes, as you’ve said, you can see it, in the mind, as clear as a painting, but the words won’t come …. everyone experiences this …. so, rejoice and enjoy that it did :)
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April 27, 2017 at 3:36 pm
People watching, a wonderful past time.
I love your writing in the raw.
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April 28, 2017 at 4:24 am
Thanks, Wendy.
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