Brewer's Tale, The (63 page)

The Lady Fortune was with me. The brewery was deserted. Lighting only one torch and throwing some kindling into the kiln and ensuring it took, I bent over the troughs and, gently parting the foam that had built up overnight, lowered my arm and sang the ale to life. After all the rushing I'd done, peace descended. Here, before the trough, alone with the brew I'd created, I was able to pause, to enjoy the solitariness of the experience, the coolness of the liquid, the way it clung to my arm, like a lover … a smile tugged my mouth.
Aye, like a lover
.

Feelings ascended from that secret part of me, the place I'd refused to seek, and filled me with such ecstasy, I was tingling from my head to the soles of my feet, as if I were a fuse about to erupt into a dancing flame. The song deepened, strengthened, each word carrying with it the love I bore for the man lying in my bed.

All this was imparted into the ale and, I swear upon the sacred soul of the Blessed Mother Mary, the brew began to glow.

Withdrawing my arm, I continued to sing, lost in the haunting, joyous melody. Dipping a beaker into the gleaming liquid, I held it aloft before honouring the corner crones. Singing to the wise old women of ale, I knew as they lapped my offering, they also imbibed memories of the evening before and my intense pleasure. That was how Emma and Constance, my children tucked against their sides, found me. Their mouths dropped open, not in wonder, but discomfort. This was an unholy celebration of the kind the church preached against. I saw it in their eyes, their cautious smiles. I didn't care.

A gross error of judgement on my part — but I was not to know that until much later.

Both babes broke into wide smiles as I walked towards them, my arms outstretched, the ale-song only drawing to a close as I took Isabella from Emma and spun her in my arms, kissing her soundly, stroking her face and tickling, before returning her, taking Karel from Constance in her stead. This time, as I embraced my child, I started singing a well-known ditty:

‘
Ale makes many a man to stick upon a briar,

Ale makes many a man to slumber by the fire,

Ale makes many a man to wallow in the mire.

So doll, doll, doll thy ale, doll, doll, doll —
'

Each time I sang ‘doll' I bounced Karel in the air and he giggled; Isabelle, seeing her twin so happy, responded with her own. The wet nurses relaxed —who can remain wary around a laughing babe, let alone two? Soon the women joined my song, as did Harry and Adam when they entered. Adam moved in circles around me, lighting the remaining torches and flinging open the window, dodging the mash tuns, table and barrels, while Harry clapped a rhythm before taking Isabelle from Emma in order to caper across the floor. The babes were chuckling, their eyes sparkling. The fire began to crackle and the smell of malted barley and wort filled the cellar.

‘
Ale makes many a man to stumble on a stone,

Ale makes many a man to stagger drunken home —
'

I froze. Standing on the steps was Leander. Dressed in his surcoat and breeches, his boots shone and the creamy fabric of his shirt rested against the golden skin of his neck. His cape was draped over the arm that held his cane. Beside him was Betje, her hand tucked firmly in his. She was sucking the ends of her plait, a grin on her face.

Panting, I stopped singing but the others continued, their dance only slowing when they realised I'd ceased. Slowly, the song died too, though Harry didn't want to stop.

‘Look who's here, Anna,' said Betje, tugging at Leander's hand so he might move down the stairs. Juliana must have helped her dress. She wore a brown tunic over a green kirtle, a matching cap on her head. I was nonplussed, as she did nothing to try and hide her face or arm, but Leander did not seem repulsed. I could hear my heart beating in my ears.

‘Sir Leander couldn't find you,' she said. ‘But I knew where you'd be. She's always here,' she confided in Leander, who nodded solemnly.

‘Thank you, sweetling,' I smiled at Betje who, understanding Sir Leander wasn't going to move, shrugged but remained by his side, her wise eyes fixed upon mine, waiting.

‘My lord,' I began, tucking an objecting Karel under one arm and pushing my hair off my face with another. ‘You're awake.'

‘So I am. At least, I think so.'

Pretending to be interested in the brewery, he began a slow perusal of it from where he stood on the steps, but the tension in his body shouted it wasn't my brewing that preoccupied him, but the child on my hip and the other in Harry's arms.

Not for the first time, I wish I'd spoken of the babes last night. Whereas discussing what had happened to Betje and Karel and the others had occupied a great deal of time, the opportunity to tell him about the twins never arose … Oh, craven that I was, I never created it and now I was to pay the price. Dread filled my soul. There was no help for it, I approached the stairs, whipping Karel's bonnet from his head so Leander night see his fine head of flaxen hair, the clarity of his green eyes and know him for what he was — mine.

Drawing closer, Leander stroked Betje's hand with his thumb in a gesture of affection, but sadness emanated from him. My stomach flipped — was it for Betje or someone or something else?

‘This is my son, Karel,' I said softly and, with a forced smile, raised him so Sir Leander might see him better.

Sir Leander nodded. ‘And who is this?' He jerked his head towards Isabelle.

‘That's my niece,' said Betje. ‘Her name is Isabelle. She's not burned.'

‘Indeed she's not. And she possesses a beautiful name,' said Sir Leander. ‘Almost as lovely as Betje.'

Betje's shoulders lifted as she smiled and then studied her boots.

Though I could have kissed him, I frowned. ‘It's Betty, my lord.'

‘It's not.'

I leaned forward so my words might be for his ears alone. Karel wriggled forcing me to transfer him to my other hip.

‘Aye, Leander, it is. Please, these are the names we go by now. They,' my eyes darted to Harry and the wet nurses, ‘don't know who we are.'

Lifting his eyes from Karel, he regarded me strangely.

Releasing Betje's hand, Leander brought his lips close to my ear. ‘I knew you were no maiden, my love, but a mother?' He leaned back so he could look into my eyes. ‘I don't know who you are either,' he said with more force.

Before I could respond, he gave Betje a small bow and, without another word, took the stairs two at a time and disappeared.

Once his steps retreated, the steady drip of a pipe, the whinny of a horse and the snap of wood was all that could be heard.

‘For certes, mistress, that's a fine looking gentleman. Who was he?' said Constance, taking Isabelle from Harry and straightening her little bonnet.

‘Our brother's master,' said Betje, looking towards Adam for confirmation, but he was too busy staring at me. ‘He's our friend.'

‘Well, well, well, aren't you the lucky one,' laughed Emma and fetched Karel from my inert arms. ‘That's a mighty fancy friend.' She shook her head in disbelief. ‘Come on then, back to the nursery for you two. Time for your mother to return to work.'

I remained where I was as the twins were taken upstairs.

Chatter carried from the kitchen as Emma and Constance regaled the servants with descriptions of the handsome tall gent with the cane. The one clearly smitten with our Anna.

If my heart had not been so leaden, I might have smiled. ‘Our Anna.' Instead, I retraced Leander's rapid exit, recalling the way his surcoat flapped, how his cane struck the steps and the echoing click of his boots. For someone who last night had been reluctant to leave, this morning he couldn't depart quickly enough. My happiness fled after him, my earlier exuberance replaced by hollowness and dismay.

Oh, why hadn't I told him about the children?

Because, if truth be told, I feared exactly what had just happened.

Not only had Sir Leander vanished from The Swanne, it was more than evident he'd forsaken me, a lecherous, untrustworthy whore, as well. Once again, he was gone from my life.

I sank onto the steps and, aware of Betje and Harry, tried not to cry.

THE SWANNE

St John at Port Latin Day

The year of Our Lord 1407 in the eighth year of the reign of Henry IV

C
an you blame me that I doubted Sir Leander? Yet four days later, before the bells for tierce had even sounded, he was squatting in the courtyard, not caring that the edges of his embroidered surcoat skimmed the dust, talking to my sister as if nothing was amiss and he hadn't torn my heart from my body and trampled it in the very dirt upon which he knelt. I watched him from the shadows of the mews, holding the sack of hops an Easterling courier had just brought me against my chest.

Seeing him with Betje, listening earnestly to the answer she gave him to his question about the doll she was holding, I was like a wilting flower given moisture. Thirsting for what only he could provide, I unfurled and in doing so, discovered another aspect to him.

Unlike others who encountered Betje and turned away, he was able to see beyond the terrible scars to the person behind them. Taking Tansy when she offered the doll up for closer scrutiny, he smoothed the woollen hair and stroked the wooden face before returning the toy. Betje tucked the doll under one arm, and smiled at Sir Leander, her puckered little mouth curving in a bow. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but when Betje pointed towards the door leading the brewery, my heart dislodged.

Taking his hand, Betje began to steer him across the courtyard, her limp a minor variation of Sir Leander's own. Seeing them together, so relaxed and natural, quite undid me. I waited till they'd passed then stepped from my hiding place.

‘God give you good day, my lord.'

Spinning around slowly, Sir Leander waited for me to reach his side.

Betje was not so reticent. She crossed the distance and took my free hand, leading me forwards as fast as she was able.

‘Anna,' she said eagerly, ‘you have a visitor.' Did I? Or was there another reason he was at The Swanne?

For all I tried to pretend to Betje that Sir Leander's sudden departure hadn't affected me badly, I'd failed. My little sister knew; so did Adam, Juliana, Harry, Yolande, in fact everyone at The Swanne. Alyson had made that clear to me.

My plans to remain indifferent came swiftly undone once I saw those eyes. It was as if he plucked my laces and divested me of my garments right there in the courtyard so bold was his gaze, so full of longing. I stumbled and would have fallen except he released Betje and grabbed my arm, keeping me upright.

His fingers were like a brand upon my flesh.

‘You must be more careful, mistress,' he said softly. Somehow, he knew what caused my clumsiness. I blushed.

‘Aye, I should.' Shaking his hand off, I transferred the hops to my other hip. ‘I cannot tarry. If you wish to see me, you'll have to follow. I must add this to my wort.' I kept walking and, to my surprise, unease and no small degree of pleasure, Sir Leander fell in step beside me. Before I could quiz him further, there was a jangle of harness and a welcome shout behind. Adam and Harry rode Shelby through the gates, the cart stacked with barrels of water filled from beyond the millpond. A wave of relief washed over me. We had quality water for our ale. They waved a greeting.

Betje tugged my tunic.

‘Off you go then.' She'd been loitering in the courtyard waiting for Harry's return. ‘But make sure you're both in the brewery by the time the bells sound,' I called. She lifted her hand to show she'd heard.

‘God's truth, my lord,' I said as soon as Betje was out of earshot. ‘I didn't expect to see you here again.'

‘And why is that?'

His genuine question took me by surprise. ‘Not after what you said to me.'

Stopping in his tracks, he grabbed my arm, forcing me to halt as well. ‘I'm afraid my memory isn't serving at present. You'll have to remind me. What ill-mannered words are being attributed to me now?'

‘You really don't remember?'

The early sun was in my eyes. It was one of those mornings that promised a warm day to come; the type of day for lovers to linger in shady groves or loll in long grass and share secrets of the heart. It was a good day to barrel beer and start a fresh brew of ale as well. I'd no time for this. With a sigh, I sheltered my face with a hand so I didn't squint.

‘I find it hard to believe you can't recall what you said, so clear was your intention.' He raised his brows. ‘You said you didn't know me any more.' I glanced around to make sure no-one could hear, then leaned towards him, lowering my voice. ‘That while you knew I was no maiden, a mother was beyond your ken.'

‘I said that?'

I extracted my arm from his grip and gave him a level, serious look. ‘In not so many words.'