The Brat(21)
Author: Lynsay Sands

Decision made, she settled back in her chair and considered the faces around her. These were the servants loyal to her husband, those who had remained behind while others left in search of greener pastures. Or more money, as the case may be. They deserved to be aware of what was going on.

"Aye, someone tried to kill my husband twice between court and Castle Reynard," she announced, then waited for the sudden murmuring of those around her to quiet. "Someone put a thistle on his horse’s back, under his saddle, so that when he mounted and put weight on it the stallion reared and ran off with him. Fortunately, Lord Reynard gave chase and managed to catch up to the panicked animal, and my husband was able to leap from his mount to Reynard’s."

"Oh, my lady, his lordship could have been killed!" Thibault said with distress.

"I do believe that was the whole point," Clement pointed out.

"And the second time was by poisoning?" Gatty asked.

"Aye." Murie grimaced. "I chose to make my husband’s sup when we camped the second night. I skinned and dressed one of the rabbits the men brought back and roasted it over the fire."

"How did someone poison it if you are the one who prepared it?" Clement asked with arched eyebrows.

Murie glanced at him sharply, her eyes narrow. "I left it briefly while Reynard took Emilie and myself down to the river to clean up. When I returned, it was nearly finished, and it smelled so good I began to pick at the meat. We both fell ill not long after eating."

"Did no one see the culprit near the meat while you were gone?" one of the remaining soldiers asked.

"Emilie – Lady Reynard," she explained for those who did not know her friend, "told me that her husband did ask that night, but no one seemed to see anything."

The man nodded thoughtfully and asked, "And no one saw anyone near Lord Gaynor’s horse on the morning it bolted?"

"Nay," Murie said; but she wondered if Balan had thought to ask. She hadn’t thought of it herself until the soldier mentioned it just now, and she didn’t recall her husband speaking to anyone. They had returned to camp, he’d tied his stallion to the back of the wagon and then mounted her mare and they had left. Of course, that did not mean that he hadn’t asked later, but she did wonder if – in his rush to get them to Reynard – he’d not overlooked the necessary inquisition.

"You do not look sure," the man-at-arms pointed out. Murie shrugged and said apologetically, "I never thought to ask my husband. And I am not sure that he thought to ask around."

"He would have asked," the soldier assured her. "If he has not said anything, or confronted anyone, then no one was seen." Murie nodded and glanced around at the people surrounding her. "Obviously, we must keep an eye out for him." Everyone nodded.

"I was thinking about how to keep him safe on the ride from Reynard," she confessed. "And I do have some ideas."

"We will help," Gatty said solemnly. The others nodded.

"What ideas did you have?" Thibault asked eagerly. "Is there anything we can do tonight?"

"Naught but keep an eye on him," Murie said with a sigh, her gaze moving toward the keep doors. It had been late in the day when they arrived, the sun finally setting. It had still been light out as they rode up, but the gray light of coming dusk. Though, she acknowledged that could last a long time at this time of year, when the days were still longer than the nights. "But I shall need to find some things on the morrow and may need direction as to where to find them."

"Certainly, anything you need," Thibault said. Murie nodded. "We shall discuss it in the morn. In the meantime, it has been a long journey, and I daresay my husband and Osgoode would enjoy a meal of some sort when they return from speaking to … Anselm, was it?"

"Aye," Gatty said.

"A meal is it?" Clement muttered bitterly. He nodded.

"Certainly. I can make fish stew, fishcakes, or fish roasted over the fire."

Murie bit her lip at this news. "I gather there is little but fish available?"

"There is nothing but fish available," Clement announced.

"Nothing?" Murie said with dismay.

"Nothing," the cook repeated. "It is fish to break our fast, at the nooning and at sup."

She shook her head with disbelief. "There must be something else, surely? A chicken that lays eggs? A bit of beef? Pork, even?"

"Nothing," he repeated.

"But… I mean I knew that Gaynor was short on people to bring in the harvest and so the ground went fallow, but surely the plague did not strike the animals as well?"

"Saying the fields went fallow suggests that the harvest was plowed under and left to fertilize them," Clement pointed out shortly. "With so few of us here, we could not even manage that. The crops have been left to rot where they grow."

"My lady," Gatty said quietly, casting a sharp gaze at the cook.

"Allow me to explain."

Murie nodded, and Gatty continued: "Half our people were taken by the plague. A good portion of the remaining half fled for fear of contagion. This left very few to try to keep body and soul together. With no one to watch over them, many of the animals wandered off or simply died of starvation. And then we began to hear tales of lords willing to pay large sums of money or rewards such as fine cottages and extra food for workers to tend their fields. Most of those remaining promptly picked up and left.

"Unfortunately, many of those also chose to take what livestock was left behind … in lieu of payment, they claimed," she added bitterly. "Those of us standing before you now are all who stayed behind and remained loyal to our lord, and we were left with little more than what we could harvest from the fields or the orchard … and the new large pond. Fish."

Murie sank back against her seat, her eyes slipping over the people around her. They all wore rough woolen clothes made from a cheap brown fabric. Each had a hollow look about the eyes – including the roundish Thibault – that suggested they had lost weight of late. And they had the slump-shouldered bearing of the defeated. Their morale was obviously low; but then, Murie supposed, if all they’d had to eat for the last year was fish –  morning, noon and night – she could not blame them.

Truly, while Murie had known things went badly at Gaynor, it was heartbreaking to realize just how bad. But then, it had been bad everywhere. The plague had struck London violently, taking almost half of the population. Everywhere had been chaos. Many of the nobility had fled to the country, hoping to find safety there, but the majority of Londoners had not had the option. A good number had become nothing better than animals and, seeming to think it was the end of days, they had consumed all the drink and food they could, moving from empty dwelling to empty dwelling, whether homes of the already deceased or of owners who’d fled to the country. They’d taken what they wanted with no one to stop them. Meanwhile, others had simply shut themselves in their homes and tried to avoid and ignore anything that went on outdoors in an effort to stay safe. The terror had been so bad that brother abandoned brother, son abandoned parent, and even mothers abandoned their children at the first sign of a cough or a redness, all for fear it was the plague.

Of course, Murie had only heard of this secondhand. She, like everyone else connected to the king, had been locked up in Windsor Castle where the revelry was nonstop and seemed almost manic. One would almost have thought that no one at court had any idea of what was going on outside … if it were not for the fact that it was on everyone’s lips. And the king’s favorite daughter, Joan, had been taken by the plague. She’d died in Bayonne at the age of fourteen. She’d been on her way to marry Peter I of Castile.

"Very well," Murie said finally. "Fish roasted over the fire sounds delightful, and I thank you for troubling to make it. I shall speak to my husband about purchasing some livestock when he returns from getting his accounts from Anselm."

Nodding stiffly, Clement turned and made his way to a door that she presumed led to the kitchens.

They were all silent, and then Gatty stepped forward, her shoulders squared. "Well, his lordship said I should give you a tour. Where would you like to start, my lady?"

Murie waved a hand vaguely. "Wherever you deem it best to start, Gatty. You know this castle better than I." Nodding, the servant turned and gestured the others out of the way. As they moved to the sides, she announced, "The great hall."

Murie stood, smiling faintly, and moved toward the small grouping of chairs around the fire across the room. The chairs were well-made, no doubt having been commissioned during better times. A chessboard populated with finely carved game pieces was obviously also from earlier days. Murie took it all in, then turned to survey the rest of the hall. It was large, with tapestries hanging from the walls. From a distance they appeared dull and colorless, but on approaching them, Murie saw that this wasn’t the case at all; they were simply coated with dust and soot. Obviously, with so few people left to manage the castle, a chore such as beating and cleaning the tapestries would go long neglected.

"We have done the best that we cou – " Gatty began with a hint of defensiveness, but Murie cut her off.

"It shall be beautiful again once we have the manpower necessary to set things to rights," she said quietly. Gatty peered at her for a moment and then allowed her shoulders to relax. "Would you care to see the kitchens?" Murie nodded and followed.

The kitchens were large, made to feed hundreds, as one would expect in a castle this size, but only a small corner showed any recent use. Murie supposed it didn’t take much room to make fish stew for so few people, and it appeared Clement was the only person generally here of late. However, she had no trouble imagining it as the hot, bustling beehive of activity it must once have been. She was determined to see it returned to that state.

"My daughters often help Clement in the kitchen as well as with serving the food," Gatty announced quietly. "However, before the plague they were housemaids."

"And they shall be again," Murie assured her. She turned to leave the kitchens.

"Did you not wish to see the pantry?" Gatty asked, following her.

"There is time enough for that tomorrow," Murie said, not wishing to see the empty shelves. She was depressed enough by all these people had endured, and simply wished to get the tour over and done.

They moved above stairs, and Murie was silent as Gatty showed her room after room. Juliana’s bedchamber was small and mean, with little in the way of comfort. There was a bed, a chest and filthy rushes on the floor. There was not a single tapestry covering the windows to help keep the breeze from creeping through the rickety shutters. Murie could only imagine how cold that must be in the winter.

"How … Why?" Murie asked, turning to Gatty. The woman’s mouth tightened, but this was the only sign of her anger. She said, "Lady Gaynor died giving birth to Juliana. Lord Gaynor had loved his wife dearly and blamed the child for her death. He never forgave her. He brought Juliana to me moments after her mother died, handed her into my care and – as far as I can tell – never gave her another thought. I did the best I could, but with her father treating her so coldly and uncaring of her comfort or happiness …" She shrugged wearily.

"And what of Balan?" Murie asked.

Gatty’s expression softened. "He loves the child dearly, but he has been away battling for most of her life. He tried to reason with his father when she was first born, but there was no arguing with the old man’s grief. His lordship has tried to make things better since his return, but Juliana has been so long without – "

"She no longer thinks she deserves it and cannot accept it," Murie finished on a sigh. It seemed she had more than a newly orphaned child to deal with. In truth, Juliana had been orphaned at birth, losing both parents with her mother’s death. Unfortunately, her father had stayed around to torment her with his lack of love.

"Aye." Gatty hesitated and then said, "I hope you will not be too hard on the child for what she did to you in the bailey. She is  – "

‘You need not fear," Murie interrupted. "I was orphaned at ten and raised at court. It is not the best place for a child to feel loved and nurtured. I think Juliana and I have a lot in common." Gatty relaxed and even smiled faintly. "Thank you."

"There is no need to thank me," Murie assured her, hesitated and then announced, "I would appreciate it if you would disregard whatever gossip you have heard about me, whether from Lord and Lady Aldous or elsewhere, and judge me on my own merit."

"I never judge on gossip, my lady. Besides," she added with a grin, "we had all already decided you could not be the brat you are reputed to be, else his lordship would never have married you."

Murie raised her eyebrows slightly. "Not even to save you from the winter ahead?"

"Not even then," Gatty assured her. "He would have continued to hunt game and done what he had to, to keep us all alive, and waited until he found someone he felt he could deal well with. Balan is smart enough to know that a lord’s marriage affects the castle and its inhabitants as much as the couple themselves. A battling couple can bring about divisions in the people beneath them as each takes sides."

Murie’s was taken aback by this bit of wisdom, but she asked,

"Then there is sometimes food other than fish?"

"Aye, but not often. There’s too much to do around here to take the time for hunting more than once every couple of weeks. And there hasn’t been anything but fish since his lordship and his cousin left for court. That left us with even fewer men to work, and no one could take the time to hunt."

"I see." Murie glanced around Juliana’s room one more time, then headed for the door. She would begin to make this room more hospitable first thing on the morrow, right after she tended the great hall.

"The master’s bedchamber is the only room left above stairs," Gatty commented as she pulled the door closed behind them. Nodding, Murie followed along the hall to the last room and managed not to gasp in horror when the woman pushed the door open for her to enter.