The Brat(4)
Author: Lynsay Sands

"Excuse me? Did you say let St. Agnes help?" Emilie asked with a disbelieving smile. She leaned forward to see past Murie to Lauda.

"Aye." Lauda gave an embarrassed laugh. " ‘Tis silly, really –  never mind. Just ignore me."

"Oh, no," Murie said, quickly offering a smile. "You have me curious now. Tell us what you meant."

Lauda shifted with apparent discomfort, then admitted, " ‘Tis just that your concern over choosing a husband made me think of what they say about St. Agnes Eve."

"What do they say about St. Agnes Eve?" Murie asked with interest.

"Well…" Lauda leaned toward her conspiratorially. "According to the old beliefs, if you fast all day, when you go to sleep on St. Agnes Eve, you will dream of the man fated to be your husband." Murie and Emilie just stared at her blankly, and Lauda gave another embarrassed laugh and shrugged. " ‘Tis a silly superstition, I know, and it probably does not work, but would it not be wonderful if it did?" She gave a little sigh. "I am in much the same position as you, Murie. My betrothed was taken by the plague, and Father wishes me to select a husband while we are at court. But…" She peered around the crowded hall. "There are so many, and I hardly know any. I have no idea whom to choose."

" ‘Tis a difficult decision," Murie acknowledged, somewhat surprised to find she had anything in common with this girl who had tormented her throughout her youth.

"Aye, and it affects the whole of our lives," Lauda murmured. She added wryly, "But I suppose I have missed out on allowing St. Agnes to assist me with the matter. I did not remember, and so did not fast."

Murie smiled faintly, thinking with amusement that it would have been nice to at least try. Not that she would have based any decision solely on the result. However,a little help from the saints would always be nice.

"Actually, Lauda," Malculinus suddenly commented from beside his sister. ‘You have not missed out at all. The saying is that if you fast all day or eat something rotten before bed, you will dream of the man you are meant to marry. You could still eat something rotten and test this belief."

"Really?" Lauda peered at him with apparent uncertainty. "Are you sure, Malculinus?"

"I believe he may be right," Emilie spoke up, drawing Murie’s wide eyes. "Now that you remind me, I have heard the saying before, and I do recall some mention of rotten meat."

"Well, there!" Lauda said brightly, flashing a smile at Murie.

"You can still test the theory and see if it is true." Murie bit her lip uncertainly. Fasting all day was one thing, but the idea of eating rotten meat wasn’t very appealing. Unfortunately, it was too late to choose the first option. Wrinkling her nose, she suggested, "Why do you not do it tonight, and if it works, I shall try it tomorrow."

"It only works on St. Agnes Eve," the woman reminded her, shaking her head. "Nay, I fear you would have to do it tonight."

"What of you?" Emilie asked, and when Lauda looked at her in alarm, she reminded her, "You keep saying Murie should, but you have to choose a husband, too."

"Oh, I do not think – " Lauda began quickly, but Malculinus interrupted.

"Of course she will try. Murie and Lauda can do it together." When his sister turned on him sharply, he shrugged and said,

"Well, you do have to choose a husband, and Murie does not wish to try this on her own. Mayhap dreams will supply the answer to your waking mind’s concerns."

Lauda scowled, but then turned back to Murie, who commented, "As lovely as it would be to have some aid from the saints, I am not sure I want to eat rotten meat to – "

"No, of course not," Lauda said. "Forgive me for suggesting it. Your stomach is surely too delicate. I suppose I shall have to test it out on my own."

Murie stiffened at the suggestion that she was somehow weaker. "My stomach is no more delicate than anyone else’s."

"Well, then, perhaps you are afraid," Lauda suggested mildly.

"I am not afraid." Murie scowled.

"Good. Then we shall do it together."

‘You shall both do it!" Malculinus laughed. "How charming. I can hardly wait until morning to hear the results."

"Oh, but – ," Murie began in protest. She hadn’t meant her words to be taken as agreement. She really had no desire to eat something rotten, even if it did mean she would get the answer to whom she should marry.

"Very well," Lauda interrupted, getting to her feet. "I shall go to the king’s cook right now and see what he has for us. He must have some bad meat somewhere. Perhaps he will be kind enough to cook it and to add in some spices and herbs to make it more palatable."

"Nay, Lauda, I – ," Murie began, but the woman was already away. Murie watched her disappear out of the hall and then sank back into her seat with a small sigh.

"Surely you are not going to go through with this?" Emilie said.

"I thought this was a joke. You cannot mean to really do it."

"Nay, of course not," Murie assured her friend. "I will tell Lauda so as soon as she comes back."

"Oh, good." Emilie shook her head. "While I mean no offense to St. Agnes, it does seem a silly superstition –  and eating rotten meat could be dangerous."

Murie nodded and turned her attention back to the food on her trencher, then merely pushed it around with disinterest as she found herself repeatedly glancing toward the doors as she waited for Lauda’s return. And waited. And waited.

The meal was over and everyone was beginning to rise from the tables when the woman finally reappeared. Murie prepared to explain politely but firmly that she’d no intention of participating in the exercise, but Lauda didn’t give her the chance.

"Oh, I am so sorry I took so long. The king’s cook took forever to even trouble himself to talk to me. He then took his time about finding something suitable, and insisted I stand there and wait while he prepared it. But I have it, finally," she added with a small laugh, and held up two bits of meat on a small pewter plate. Murie eyed the bits of meat with distaste and started to shake her head. The moment she did, alarm claimed Lauda’s expression.

"You are not going to refuse after all the time and trouble I took to get this, are you?"

Guilt making her grimace, Murie said, "I am sorry, Lauda, but I never meant – "

"You do not have the courage," Lauda said on a disappointed sigh. "I should have realized. You never did have any backbone. And being famous as a spoiled, wailing brat can’t be for nothing." Murie stood up abruptly, her mouth open to reciprocate, but then she spotted the avid faces of those around her, and she closed it again. She’d tried to stand up for herself on first arriving at court. She’d been a sad, lonely child, newly orphaned and lost, in need of friends and sympathy and affection. Instead, she’d found herself the target of the other girls who’d spotted her pain, seen it as weakness and circled like wolves for the kill. Murie had tried to fight back, but it had left her in constant conflict. One girl would attack her and, whenever she tried to defend herself,the rest would jump in. Six months later, beleaguered and miserable, she’d simply wished she’d died along with her parents. If Emilie had not arrived at court then and befriended her, Murie wasn’t at all sure how things would have ended. Fortunately, Emilie had; had seen what was happening and given her advice. It hadn’t perhaps been the best advice in the world, considering her reputation, but Murie felt sure it had saved her sanity. All she’d had to do was break into noisy sobs, and the girls usually backed off and left her alone, eventually not even bothering to attack her anymore.

An added benefit was that the queen had found her weeping and wailing so tiresome that she’d stopped insisting Murie remain close by, allowing her to slip away on her own and read or practice some of the various hobbies she’d acquired over the years.

The Brat. Murie’s pride wouldn’t stand for the label anymore. She wished to marry and wanted a husband who would respect her. Despite Emilie’s assurances,she knew the label would damage her chances.She wanted it forgotten.

Expression grim, she held out her hand. "Give it to me." Lauda handed over one of the pieces of meat,and Murie immediately popped it into her mouth. She grimaced at the vile taste. One of the herbs or spices the cook had used to hide the rot was bitter and nasty.It was so bad she nearly spat the meat back out, but determination made her chew and swallow. Pausing, she glanced at the other piece and arched an eyebrow. "Well?" Lauda smiled and ate it.

"There we are then," Malculinus said. Lauda’s brother was grinning widely, but then, he wasn’t the one who’d had to eat the horrendous meat. "I can hardly wait until morning to learn what happened. May I say I hope you both have sweet dreams?" Murie made no reply; she simply turned and left the hall.

"Are you all right?" Emilie asked as they made their way toward their rooms. ‘You keep rubbing your stomach. That meat hasn’t made you feel sick, has it?"

"A bit," Murie admitted with a grimace. Emilie shook her head, clearly exasperated. "I do not know why you allowed her to cow you into eating it. You do know this is all nonsense, do you not?"

"Of course," Murie muttered.

"Oh, aye," Emilie continued dryly. "I know you too well, Murie. You are the most superstitious person I know and probably believe you will now dream of the man meant to be your husband. The only reason you hesitated was the unpleasant task of eating the rotten meat."

Murie neither admitted nor denied this claim. She really wasn’t feeling at all well. Her stomach was roiling, and she was actually feeling a bit woozy.

"The meat is not resting happily, is it?" Emilie asked with concern as Murie rubbed her stomach again. "Is it revolting?"

"Aye," Murie admitted, then gave a short laugh as she added,

"in more ways than one. That meat tasted absolutely vile."

"Hmm. I am not at all surprised to hear it." Emilie’s gaze was concerned.

"Here we are," Murie said, gesturing to the door they’d reached.

Emilie glanced at it – the door to her chamber –  frowned and said, "Mayhap I should sit with you for a bit. Just to be sure you are all right."

"Do not be silly," Murie said, touched by her concern. Emilie had always been a good friend. "Nay. Reginald would worry if he returned to your chamber to find you missing. Besides, I shall be fine. I am going to go right to bed . . . hopefully to have sweet dreams. It would be a shame to have eaten that vile meat and not be rewarded for it."

Emilie sighed. "Well, all right, but have Cecily sleep in your room, and tell her to come fetch me if you start feeling any worse," she ordered.

Murie just smiled, refusing to make a promise she didn’t intend to keep. She had no plan to make her maid sleep in her room. To distract her friend from noticing she’d not promised, she asked,

"Are you not going to wish me sweet dreams?"

Emilie chuckled softly and shook her head. "Very well, sweet dreams."

"Thank you," Murie murmured.

Shrugging, Emilie gave her a hug. "I suppose stranger things have happened. Mayhap Malculinus is right and your mind will supply the answer to your heart’s question."

"Aye," Murie said as her friend opened the door "Sleep well, Emilie."

"And you," Lady Emilie answered, slipping inside. Murie grimaced as she turned away and continued up the hall to her own room. It seemed questionable whether she would sleep at all tonight. Her stomach really was not happy to have the rotten meat in it. On the other hand, she was also quite exhausted and even a bit woozy. She didn’t know why that should be; she’d hardly had any of the wine or ale that had poured so freely tonight, but there it was.

"My lady." Her maid, Cecily, smiled widely and popped up from the window ledge where she’d been seated while mending an undertunic. She set the garment aside and hurried forward as Murie closed the door. "Did you have a good evening?"

"Not really," Murie admitted wearily.

"Oh?" Cecily set to work helping her to disrobe. Murie was silent for a moment, then asked, "Cecily, have you ever heard of a superstition connected to St. Agnes Eve?

Something about – "

"Dreaming about the man who will be your husband?" Cecily finished with a nod. "Aye. In fact, my sister once tried it."

"Oh?" Murie said. "What happened?"

"She dreamt of a stranger. Met him a week later, and they were married six months after that," she announced.

"Really?" Murie smiled, hoping that her upset stomach might not be for nothing after all.

"Aye." Finished with the fastenings of the gown, Cecily helped her mistress slip out of it, then helped Murie out of her undertunic as well.

"Have you ever tried it?" Murie asked. She moved to the basin of water on the stand by her bed and dipped in a bit of linen.

"Aye," the girl said slowly.

"And did you dream of a man?"

"Nay. Not that I recall." She smiled wryly and put the gown away. "Though, that was years ago, and I am not yet married. Mayhap I never shall be, so there was no one to dream of."

"Oh, I am sure that is not the case," Murie said quickly. But while Cecily had been a young woman when she’d first come with Murie to court after the death of Murie’s parents, that had been ten years ago. She was growing long in the tooth and very well might never marry. Frowning at the thought, Murie ran the damp cloth over her face and arms, then donned the fresh tunic Cecily held out.

"Will there be anything else, my lady?" Cecily asked as Murie crawled into bed.

"Nay. Thank you, Cecily," she murmured wearily.

"Good night then, my lady. Have sweet dreams." Murie glanced toward the door with a start, but it was already closing behind the woman. "Sweet dreams," she murmured with a little sigh, then turned on her side in the hopes of easing her tummy upset.