Chapter 2: Kennedy's Renaissance

Kennedy tried to contain her excitement, but when you are eight, nearly nine, excitement is huge and the container is small.

Mr. Glastonbury was wearing a friar's robe, something that had raised a few eyebrows when they stopped for gas. Kennedy had thought about getting out of the car herself and seeing what people thought of her Robin Hood costume, but decided that there was too much chance that they would laugh.

Now, though, they were in the mountains and it was a nice day; the air was filled with the scent of warm pines and other exotic smells that she was hard put to recognize. There was a pretty lake not far away... it was, in short, a gorgeous day.

And here at their destination had she been in jeans and a t-shirt, she'd have been more conspicuous than in her Robin Hood outfit, which consisted of a dark green leotard and a brown tunic that pulled over her head and came down to her knees. There was a nice wide belt, with pretty little brass decorative devices, and a cocked hat with a turkey feather in it.

She beamed at Mr. Glastonbury. This was so much cooler than any day, ever, at school!

Renaissance Faire!

She drank in everything, the sights, the sounds, and the smells. Oh, it was so good! And she was still in the parking lot!

"Come along, Miss Kennedy," Mr. Glastonbury told her. He had pulled a long fabric case, nearly as tall as he was, out of the trunk of his car. The top was decorated with colored tassels, most of them golden.

She obediently fell in beside him as he headed for the gate. Then they were inside, and the exoticness of the day struck home more than ever when Kennedy saw a girl her own age, wearing the most elaborate dress she'd ever seen in her life.

"That must weigh a ton," she said, pointing out the girl to Mr. Glastonbury. She saw the displeasure on his face and she smiled politely. "Sir."

It was kind of an ongoing battle. She wasn't sure why he insisted on everything having a tag of respect added to it; it wasn't as if she didn't respect him. She surely did!

"Miss Kennedy, sometimes to wear spectacular clothes, you have to suffer a little. I have reason to believe she is quite content."

It was clear to Kennedy, too. The girl smiled at Kennedy and Kennedy smiled back, feeling a little frumpy in her rather plain Robin Hood outfit. Then she giggled when she remembered how much she hated dresses. That one had to be a terror, with the skirts dragging the ground!

The girl must spend her time away from the Faire getting the gown cleaned. True, the girl would practically have to stand on her head for anyone to see beneath the skirt, and there weren't likely to be many errant breezes blowing on places Kennedy would just as not have breezes blowing on...

Kennedy decided she'd stick with Robin Hood, thank you very much! How did the girl go pee, by the way? Nope, give her practicality, any day!

Mr. Glastonbury was patiently waiting for her. Kennedy gave the other girl one last smile, and got one in return. She followed the older man then, as he made his way through the crowds, intent on some destination.

Kennedy mentally ticked him off her list of people who could be fun here. This was supposed to be educational! How was it going to be either fun or educational, if they were rushing from here to there?

"Mr. Glastonbury, where are we going?"

"Oh, a friend of mine hosts the morning archery tournament. I come occasionally and win some of his money. It's a great deal of fun, Miss Kennedy. When we get there, I'd like you to watch what I do."

Actually shooting a bow and arrow? Kennedy perked up. That would be fun!

Except of course, for the fact that there were times when Mr. Glastonbury could make the coolest, most exciting thing in the world deadly dull and boring.

He lined up with a rank of ten other people, two of them women. They fired six arrows at targets seventy paces away. Mr. Glastonbury did the best of the ten people who shot when he did, and the rest of the top three were given white ribbons to wear on their arms.

It took more than an hour to go through the entire group of people who were in the contest, giving them each a chance to shoot their six arrows. Kennedy was getting pretty bored with it, because a lot of the people couldn't shoot arrows any better than Mr. Sullivan knew his multiplication tables.

Mr. Glastonbury had been standing by her side the whole time, intently studying the archers. Finally he turned to her. "Miss Kennedy, by my watch it took eighty-one minutes for one hundred and six people to shoot in twelve groups. The number of contestants has now been reduced by seventy percent. How long do you think it will take for the next round of the competition?"

Well, Kennedy thought, a quick and dirty approximation said a tenth of eighty-one was eight and a tenth. Thus three tenths would be less than twenty-five minutes. But Mr. Glastonbury was tricky, so she smiled at him. "Sir, how many will be shooting in each round?"

"Five or six, Miss Kennedy, five being the preferred number."

So, each group took eight minutes, the second time through there would thirty-six contestants, so call it six groups of five and one of six. "Around fifty minutes, sir."

He smiled at her. "So, there's time to go pee, if you're going to need it, eh? Or perhaps you'd like to get something to drink, Miss Kennedy?"

It wasn't exactly totally gross what happened to what you ate or drank, but it was certainly a nuisance. She'd long since learned to control intake versus output, particularly when the next bathroom might be some time away.

"I'm fine, sir. Maybe after the next round."

It wasn't the nicest system in the world. Mr. Glastonbury didn't even tell her she was right. You could tell you were right, though, because if she'd been wrong, he would have told her that -- and then would have made her do it over. She never knew if she was fast or slow solving the problems, although if she was too slow, she heard about that as well.

"Who do you think will win, Miss Kennedy?"

"I don't know. There were three people in the first group who got all their arrows in the gold ring and you were one of them. It seemed to me that your arrows were closer together. But you could make a mistake, sir."

"Indeed I could, Miss Kennedy! That's why it's a competition! I could be having a bad day! The wind could gust just after I shoot! There are a million factors that go into winning and they all have to go in your favor."

A few minutes later he shot for the second time. It was not lost on Kennedy that Mr. Glastonbury was having a good day. This time, though, only the top two in each group went on to the next round.

That would put fourteen people into the third round, Kennedy figured. Except, they fooled her. In the group of six, they picked three people to go on, so there was fifteen total.

"Five groups of three, Mr. Glastonbury?" she asked when they announced the next break.

"Yes, Miss Kennedy. However, this next time, only one person from each group advances, then the last five shoot together. Up until now, I've concentrated on getting the arrows into the center, now, however, tightness of the grouping will be important. In case of a tie, the archer with the smallest group, closest to the center, wins."

An hour later, it was over and Mr. Glastonbury received a modest trophy and a silvered arrow with a golden tassel attached to it.

Kennedy looked from the trophy arrow to the bow case Mr. Glastonbury had with him. She nodded in understanding. The golden tassels were tournaments won; evidently he won a lot of tournaments!

It was fun, Kennedy thought, to stand next to the winner of the tournament! And after the crowd started to break up, Kennedy turned to her teacher. "Mr. Glastonbury, could I try it? Shoot an arrow?"

He looked at her gravely, and then reached into one of the quivers that were near the firing positions and pulled out an arrow and handed it to Kennedy. "This is a practice arrow, Miss Kennedy. It isn't weighted, it doesn't have barbs. How far do the arrows penetrate into the hay bales, Miss Kennedy, at seventy paces?"

"Half way, sir." She hefted the arrow. Going in sixteen to eighteen inches... That was all the way through someone... unless they were fat like Mr. Sullivan.

He saw her expression. "People use archery as a form of recreation, Miss Kennedy, but in fact, like firearms, bows are weapons of war, designed to kill people." He held out his hand for the arrow and she gave it back to him.

Then he handed her the bow he'd been carrying. "Miss Kennedy, stand a little ways away, and try to draw the bow. Don't let the string snap."

She pulled tentatively and found that it was easy to move the string... for about a half-inch. After that, it got harder and harder. She relaxed her hand, got a better grip on the string and tried again. This time she got it quite far back, but she was having a lot of trouble holding it.

"You should let go now, Miss Kennedy," he said in his bland, teacher's voice.

The instant she relaxed her fingers she realized it was a trick. The bowstring snapped and the pain in her left arm was excruciating. She thought she was bleeding terribly, but, instead, there was a thin red line where the string had hit her arm.

"Well, Miss Kennedy, at least you didn't drop the bow," Mr. Glastonbury told her.

"No, sir. Can I learn to shoot a bow?"

"I'd say based on the evidence, Miss Kennedy, you can. Whether or not you may will be up to your father."

She nodded; that was fair enough -- and besides, her stepfather pretty much indulged her whims.

"Later, this afternoon," Mr. Glastonbury went on, "there will be a crossbow demonstration. You may, if you wish, shoot one of those today, Miss Kennedy."

That brightened her whole day!

They went to eat lunch in a mock tavern where everyone sat crushed together at trestle tables. And, almost at once, Kennedy realized it wasn't a mock tavern, because they served beer and wine.

Partway through the meal the cute girl her own age came in with two adults, a man and a woman. After a few seconds Kennedy flushed with embarrassment. She'd been wondering who they were in relation to the girl: Duh! Her parents!

Mr. Glastonbury touched her shoulder lightly. "Miss Kennedy, are you okay?"

"I am, sir, a victim of my heritage. I saw someone my age come in accompanied by a man and a woman. For a few seconds, I was wondering who they were."

How could she explain that she almost never saw her parents together? Both of them lived their own lives and did their own things. Only rarely did those things include Kennedy.

She happened to look up and saw that the girl was looking right at her. For a second Kennedy considered walking over and punching the girl in the nose. Common sense suggested she take her time making a decision like that. And the power of observation resulted in Kennedy reaching the conclusion that the expression on the other girl's face was concern, not contempt for a crybaby.

Kennedy wiggled a bit, settling herself firmly, seeking to control her emotions.

"Miss Kennedy," Mr. Glastonbury was speaking barely above a whisper, "you are a very special young woman. You haven't begun to scratch the surface of those things you can do, in either sense. What you can do today and what you will be able to do in the future."

"If I'm so special, why am I sitting here with you, instead of like that girl, sitting with her parents?"

"That's because, Miss Kennedy, even though you don't always accord me the respect I've earned, I am different from your parents, or that girl's. They would try to protect you if harm came your way, whereas I will protect you. There is an old saying that if you give a starving man a fish today, he'll starve tomorrow. Teach the starving man to fish and he'll never starve. One thing you will learn as my pupil, Miss Kennedy, is how to protect yourself and others.

"There may be more noble professions, but I really don't care about them. I believe that protecting my students is why I exist." He smiled pleasantly, but it still sent shivers down Kennedy's spine. "I intend, Miss Kennedy, for you to learn your lessons very well. Very well indeed."

He was silent for a moment, and then nodded in the direction of the girl. "I know the young lady's mother, Miss Kennedy. The man with them isn't her father, just a friend of her mother."

They finished their meal and Mr. Glastonbury told her that he wanted to return to his car and put up the bow. Slightly bored, she followed him to the car. She'd not bothered to look inside the trunk before. Now she blinked in surprise.

The bow was the least interesting, most prosaic weapon in Mr. Glastonbury's inventory of weapons. There were swords, knives, maces, and a bunch of spiky things that Kennedy didn't know what they were. He took what looked like a miniature bow on a wooden stock out and handed it to her. "Carry that at your side, always pointed at the ground. The only time you will lift it is when I ask you to give it back. Do you understand, Miss Kennedy?"

"Mr. Glastonbury, I understand!"

He then took one of the longer swords and wrapped it around his waist. Then he took a slightly shorter sword out. It might have been shorter but even at a glance Kennedy could see it was heavier and thicker than the one around his waist. That sword he settled on his back so it stuck up over his left shoulder.

He laughed, suddenly. "I almost forgot!" He leaned inside the trunk and took out a small soft fabric bag, kind of like a purse. "Please put this over your shoulder, Miss Kennedy."

She did, and for the first time she wished she could see herself in a mirror. It was like Mr. Glastonbury could read her mind. He produced a small camera and took some pictures, then showed Kennedy how to use it, and she took some of him, and then the camera went into the fabric bag over Kennedy's shoulder.

He grinned at her after that. "Well, shall we go see what's afoot, Miss Kennedy? I suspect we could find a sword demonstration here."

"I'd like that, sir!"

He led her through the crowd. It was odd; before when he was walking carrying the bow, he'd been jostled and bumped and so had Kennedy. Walking with two huge swords, it was like he was a spaceship with defensive screens up: he walked in a bubble of isolation, with only Kennedy to keep him company.

They entered a large open field, similar to the one that the archery had been in during the morning. He spoke to a young man who was wearing chain mail at a gate, and she and Mr. Glastonbury were allowed to pass. One of the men saw him and hurried over. He too was in chain mail.

"Friar Geoffrey!" the man exclaimed, offering his hand to Mr. Glastonbury. "If I'd have known you were coming, I'd have laid on something special!"

"I was thinking that it would be a good day to get out of the house," Mr. Glastonbury told the other. "So here I am. Lady Kennedy, this is Duke Roger of Scranton, a Pennsylvania duchy. Duke Roger, my squire for today, Lady Kennedy."

The other smiled politely at Kennedy, and then moved off to talk with some of the others running the area.

Two pairs of men had been hammering at each other with swords. Both men had tall shields and mostly the swords landed on the shields; only now and then did the blades actually meet.

The duke fellow was back. "Friar Geoffrey, Sir Roger of Meade says he'd spar with you, if you like. Long swords, not the heavier sword."

"Thank you, your grace!" Mr. Glastonbury replied. "I'm obliged. I'm in your debt as always!"

It had seemed to Kennedy when she'd heard them announce the names of the last five of the archery contestants that there were a lot of "Sir This" and "Baron That" around, plus the language was rather flowery. To find it here, between individuals the way Mr. Glastonbury talked to her threw her conversations with him into sharp perspective.

Mr. Glastonbury turned to Kennedy. "Miss Kennedy, if you would, please put the quarrel bag on the ground and the crossbow atop that, then I'd be obliged if you held my other sword."