In the Beginning: Paris.
It was sometime long ago and far away in the center of an area something like medieval France, in a village that I'll call Jouet, meaning child's toy or plaything -- as in Etre le jouet, de la fortune, des vents, "To be the sport of fortune, of every wind" -- and having chiefly the virtue of being so small as to disappear off my maps somewhen after 600 AD.
Paris forked one last load of hay down to the well-used ox placidly munching in the stall below. She brushed one recalcitrant black curl back, to keep it from plastering itself into her eye. Her grimy hand left an unnoticed smudge on her forehead. "Paris! Paris!" her twin's call came dancing ahead of him. "The new priest has arrived! He's got a wagonload of stuff and a daughter about our age, I'd guess, and I promised we'd help unload. You're a good worker, I told him, and there's lots of new stuff to see, I bet. Come on!" Calais had barely stuck his head in the door before he was off again.
Paris sighed and stuck the fork into the hay mound. 'No telling what Calais will take a fancy to,' she thought, 'and the new Vicar won't know what he's like. I've gotta go.' She swung herself over the edge of the loft, hung for an instant, lightly dropped -- and nearly upset the bucket of mash below. "Clumsy!" she muttered to herself. "You'll break more than Calais is likely to take if you aren't careful." She patted the ox's flank with affectionate absentmindedness, and twitched her underskirt tighter into the belt that held it up almost to the level of the over tunic she wore. Then she set off at a steady trot over the field towards the little vicarage, knowing it was futile to waste energy actually trying to catch up with Calais. His slim legs were nearly as long as hers now and in a few more years he was sure to pass her early growth spurt. 'But I can still wrestle him down when I have to,' she mused. 'I just have to catch him and make him promise to behave.' She sighed again and picked up her pace.
When Paris emerged through the border hedge onto the rutted road, she was surprised to see Calais lounging there waiting. He pulled a face. "Aww! I thought you'd been driving today. I didn't know you'd be wearing that!" He gestured to the skirt that was the major difference between the pair's garb. "Can't you lose the skirt? I told the vicar you were strong; he's expecting another boy. Please?"
Paris tilted her head in frustration. "Caly! He's gonna be our vicar. He's gonna know sooner or later that I'm not a boy. This isn't one of your 'necessary' plays. It can't be." She glared at her twin suspiciously. "You aren't already in trouble, are you?"
"Naw! 'Course not!" Calais shook his head vigorously and smiled his sweetest.
"Right!" Paris's voice was low and quietly ominous, not quite oblivious to the absolutely charming picture her brother made. His tunic was clean and his black curls neatly tied at the back of his neck. There was no dirt beneath his fingernails, she noticed. In a resigned tone, "Come on, Caly. You promised. So we are going to work. Skirt or no skirt." Again she hitched the offending garment up, to keep it out of the dirt.
And work they did. But, as other villagers were also there lending this greeting to their new vicar, the small wagonload was easily dispersed. The vicar's daughter, Genelle, was quiet but efficient when it came to setting the small house in order. Apparently she'd been keeping house for her father for some time. 'Just the opposite of us,' Paris though. 'Papa's been dead since the fever went through -- what? Five harvests ago. And you can tell. I took to handling the heavy work and Calais just started going a wee bit wild. You can tell that Genelle has had plenty of practice at housewifery.' She took a pry bar to a small wooden packing box. "What the...?" The tall girl gasped aloud.
Genelle overheard and glanced her way. "Ah! Papa's books! He hasn't many but he treasures them very much. He'll want them in his room."
"Books?" Paris gasped. "Can you read?" She looked down at the dainty girl in awe.
"Some. Papa teaches me. Do... do..." Genelle hesitated a moment, "do you think some of the other kids of this village would like to take lessons, too? Papa used to teach a half dozen of us back in Town. I... I miss having someone to study with when he's busy with his duties."
"Do I think!" Paris exclaimed. "I would very much like to learn. If you don't think he'd mind!"
Part of the duties of the villagers of Jouet was the delivery of the baron's share of marketables to his manor some days away to the east. In trying to make up her father's place on the farm, Paris had taken to trading her affinity with big animals -- gentling and training them -- for assistance from some of the grown men of the village. So it was natural, somehow, when the baron donated an ox to the village for use in transporting his share of the fruit of its labour, that Paris would be amongst those who learned to care for, harness, and drive the beast. One of the older boys, Brillig, tended to vie for this duty. Paris was content simply to do such a good job that she her fair share of opportunity. But the opportunity Paris had found was in more than getting to know ox-husbandry.
At the baron's, she couldn't help but be drawn to the Great Horses he kept both for military duty and for plowing. Given that she preferred to do her driving in her brother's clothes (the easier for dealing with an ox cart stuck in mud, and the like), it should be no surprise to find that the baron's men took her for a boy and let her hang around and watch. Eventually they even trained her in some of the necessary skills that they took for granted. This didn't actually fit her to be one of the baron's guards, but Jouet didn't care if the person who volunteered to guard the village henhouse from a marauding fox could swing a sword or not. And -- with Calais's assistance -- they did manage to trap and dispose of the fox.
And so on.......
In the Beginning: Calais
Born and raised in the nondescript village of Jouet, Calais started to run a bit wild after his father died. Fortunately his twin sister Paris was able to keep him from getting into any real trouble, though he developed something of a reputation for "happening to pick up" anything he found laying around. When Paris started sharing ox-cart duty between Jouet and the Baron's villa, Calais often tagged along, and learned a bit about juggling and other forms of entertainment from the Baron's fool.
As Paris tried to take on the responsibilities of their late father, her duties sometimes required wearing men's clothing, and Calais discovered that people would often mistake her for him. Likewise, his dabbling in entertainment has sometimes had him playing the role of a girl, leading to similar confusion. He has sometimes taken advantage of this to establish alibis when shirking chores or poking around for new things to "pick up".
Though Calais's activities sometimes lead to trouble, he is not one to rush into unknown or dangerous situations, preferring to proceed with stealth and investigation. Paris, in contrast, tends to march right into trouble. Thus, each twin worries about the other: Paris worries that Calais's sneakiness will get him killed, while Calais worries the same about Paris' headstrongness. (Headstrength?) Each can sometimes sense something when the other does get into trouble. Paris actually wades into trouble more often than Calais does (though she of course thinks of it as "doing what obviously needs to be done"), so Calais's concern for her arises fairly often. But she can mostly take care of herself so his concern has only a moderate effect on his reactions. In contrast, Calais's caution means he doesn't usually get in over his head, but when he does Paris can get rather irrational about it.
Paris has a strong sense of duty and fair play, while Calais is more out for himself. Nevertheless, he has a strong personal sense of honor and strives to keep his word, though his customary caution applies to giving it out.
Growing up together, the two developed a knack for reading each other's expressions and small gestures, sort of a private "body language", but only for very basic concepts. After they encountered the whirlwind, they found that they understood each other even better, and could communicate simple sentences.
Physically, the two are of course very similar, sharing black hair, blue eyes, and tanned skin. Calais is short for a boy; Paris tall for a girl. Paris is actually a bit bigger and stronger than Calais, who has only recently started catching up to her teenage growth spurt. The two were 17 when Jouet was razed.
"Prologue" copyright 1999 by D.Woods & S. Knowles. The contents of this site are copyright 2004 Sheryl A. Knowles unless otherwise specified. All rights reserved.