Brewer's Tale, The (80 page)

Pulling me towards him, towards the weeping, stiff paleness that filled my vision, he began to pray.

‘Pater noster qui es in caelis sanctificetur nomen tuum …'

The door at the top of the steps burst open. Roland dropped his cassock and turned around, rearranging himself.

Thanks be to sweet Mother Mary, the crones, Ninkasi and all the female saints that they answered my prayers. Harry, Betje, Alyson and Master atte Place came tumbling into the cellar, the other two monks in their wake.

I hauled myself up by the table, hoping no-one had seen my humiliation.

‘Anna!' said Alyson, beaming with such ferocity she was fit to burst. ‘Your grace,' she gave Roland a small nod. ‘We were worried. You were down here quite some time and we couldn't risk the mash becoming spoiled or the grains burning. Appears we were just in time.' She fixed Roland with a look.

The grain! I'd quite forgotten. Master atte Place pulled the smoking tray of dark brown husks from the kiln. It hissed as it touched the cooler, damp wood. The barley was ruined.

Rushing to their posts, Betje, Harry and the other servants who'd waited timidly at the top of the stairs, curtseyed and bowed to Roland who stood, indifferent to their presence. I knew we'd pay for this interruption, for the manner in which everyone made it clear their loyalties were with me.

Bishop Roland made as dignified an exit as possible, waving the monks at the top of the stairs out of the brewery.

No-one heard his last words as he brushed past me, as our bodies connected. ‘
Everyone
you love,' he murmured.

I didn't know I was holding my breath until the sound of hooves in the courtyard released me.

THE SWANNE

Late February to late March

The year of Our Lord 1408 in the ninth year of the reign of Henry IV

T
hough Roland le Bold threatened to destroy me if I made mention of our shared history and the recipes he stole, and I didn't doubt he meant every word, I knew I had to divulge, at least in part, what had passed between us. Alyson was no fool and Adam knew the sins this man carried; it would be an insult to pretend nothing had occurred, especially after we had spent so much time alone. Nonetheless, I didn't concede everything. The shame I felt at what he wanted me do, at what had almost happened, was too much.

Ensuring the brewery was back to normal and Betje remained to supervise, I followed Alyson upstairs to where Adam, greatly agitated, waited. Asking for ale and wine to be brought to the solar, I shared the bulk of what happened: that he was indeed Westel Calkin — a false name created solely for the purposes of inveigling himself in our midst — that he had survived the fire, and had gone on to use my mother's recipes to make St Jude's prosper. So much so, he'd been rewarded with an elevation in rank and the promise of more seniority to come; brewing became the means of his rise within the church. I explained that if I mentioned anything of this to the authorities, he would simply invoke a higher one.

‘God?' spat Alyson.

‘In some measure. He would use the church against us and God knows,' I gave an apologetic smile for my poor pun, ‘as His voice on earth, that's powerful enough.'

‘A voice that speaks in whispers with a forked tongue.' Alyson came to my side and wrapped her arms around me, holding me close and stroking my hair. ‘Ah, my chick. This visitation from the past will sorely test you. For that I'm sorry.' We stood like that for some time, the snow striking the mullioned glass, the wind whistling under the door and between the cracks, causing candles to flutter and the fire in the hearth to dim before roaring to life again. ‘What do you wish to do, Anna?' she asked finally. ‘Ignore, obey or defy him?'

I held Alyson close, grateful for her warmth, her affection. Resting my cheek on her shoulder, I glanced over at Adam, who had not taken his eyes from me.

‘Above all, I want to defy the bastard. Even ignoring his threats would make me feel slightly better. But …'

‘But?' Extracting me from her arms, Alyson regarded me gently.

‘For the time being, I will obey him.'

Alyson made a noise of disgust.

‘You have to understand, it's not only me Roland will hurt. I have to think of Betje, the twins,' I twisted towards Adam. ‘And others as well.'

‘I do understand and I think you be wise. Only, I hope you're not including me in that list of yours,' said Alyson, letting me go and sitting down. ‘I'm perfectly capable of handling one cocky monk, Bishop of Winchester or not.'

I couldn't help smiling. So did Adam. ‘I will handle him my way — by pretending I never discovered Westel survived, that the Bishop of Winchester is just that, the lord of our manor, and no-one who would concern me, unless it's to make ale for him.'

‘Well, he's made sure you'll be doing that. Wants no less than ten hogshead of ale.'

‘I wonder why? The bishops have a brewery and he admitted he has my mother's recipes. He could make it himself.'

‘Not in those quantities he couldn't. I suspect he wants to do business with the Crown's brewer. Mark my words, that's what he's about. He wants to be able to boast that the king's brewer supplies him as well. He also wants an excuse to keep an eye on you — both of 'em. This is all about him, Anna, not you, never you fear.'

Easy to say, much more difficult to do. For all that I made bold statements of denial, I would never know peace again. Westel-Roland would leap into my mind when the cock crowed the dawn and when the sun sank beyond the horizon in the evening. He would arise as soon as my thoughts stilled and sleep tried to claim me.

I would obey Roland and I would be filled with despair at the price my obedience would exact: fear had come home to roost, not just in The Swanne, but in my very soul.

At the end of the week, notice was given that the Bishop of Winchester intended to raise the rents. As of Hocktide, they would be more than double. The reason given was the pestilence and loss of income from empty houses and businesses.

I knew the real reason. We all did.

Upon receiving the news, Alyson slumped heavily in her chair in the solar, trying to accommodate how she would manage the new charges, especially since business in the bathhouse had not yet recovered.

‘Simple,' said Adam after listening to her curse the bishop, God and everyone else besides. Alyson and I turned towards him. Trying to speak, everyword was an effort. ‘C… charge more for beer.'

‘What?' said Alyson.

‘I can't, Adam.' I pulled the blanket over his knees and tucked it down the side of the chair. ‘You know that. There are laws against such practices. The ale-conners, or worse, Master Fynk, would charge me. The tax is fixed.'

Adam gave a peculiar grimace that was meant to be a smile. ‘In L… L… London, aye. In S… S… South… South… S… Here. Nay.'

‘He's right, you know.' Alyson sat back and rubbed her chin. ‘Adam,' she pointed at him, ‘no doubting you're a smart one, aren't you.' She clambered to her feet and slapped Adam's shoulder on her way to the window. ‘The ale we can't touch but the beer, well, that's already sold cheaper, I don't think anyone would notice if we raised the price a little. Such a pity more don't drink it. If only those bloody Londoners would develop a taste for it … we'd be making more than we could spend, double rents or not. The only one who buys any sufficient quantities to make it worthwhile raising the bloody price is —' She lifted glittering eyes to mine.

‘The king.' I finished.

‘All we need do is raise the price of the king's order and it will help cover the extra costs the bishop is charging.' Alyson rubbed her hands together in glee. ‘In fact, it won't be us the bishop's robbing blind, it will be his Grace. Seems fitting that, don't you think?'

My brows drew together. I didn't like the idea of cheating the king, especially after what I'd been granted in his name, and said so.

‘Cheating? Why, his liege hasn't seen fit to pay us for the first few lots he's received, so I would hardly worry about cheating his Grace.'

‘What if we chase the treasury for payment?'

‘We'll do that and all as well. We may even charge our new prices for the last order when we send the bill.' Alyson shrugged at the shocked expression on my face. ‘Why not? We've got nothing to lose.'

Oh, Alyson, you're wrong, I thought. We've everything to lose, which is exactly what Roland intends.

Winter gradually released its stranglehold on the land, surrendering most ungraciously to spring. The snows melted, the river, with a great groan and a crack that sounded as if the devil himself had opened a doorway to hell, started to flow once more. Busy in the brewery, we worked before dawn until well after night fell, mashing, singing the wort to life, adding hops, but also honey, wormwood and a wonderful herb called eyebright, which I put in for both flavour and as a panacea to reduce the chills and coughs that beset so many in the house over winter.

During this time, and much to my consolation, a letter arrived from Captain Stoyan. From the beautiful handwriting, it was evident he'd hired a scribe to do what he could not. Paying the courier, I told him to go to the kitchen while I went to my bedroom to read the contents in private and form a response. The rebellion had been averted and the king was riding to Yorkshire via Nottingham with the intention of serving justice upon those involved in the plans to dethrone him. Captain Stoyan, understanding that Sir Leander was with the king, was riding north.

All being well, he predicted he would be back in Southwark by the beginning of April. He prayed that the river had seen fit to cast aside her wintry mantle so he might return to his preferred state, upon the water instead of horseback. Guilt lanced me as I thought of the hardship the captain was enduring on my behalf. He finished by asking that God and the Holy Trinity keep me and guide me, and had signed the letter himself.

Offering a swift prayer to the captain and thanks for such loyalty and thoughtfulness, I remained in my bedroom longer than intended, lost in thought. Knowing where I might find Leander, or at least his destination, did I dare write to him about Roland and confess what I'd promised I would not? I would not risk such a rash move — for the same reasons Leander had maintained silence while the rebels plotted, I would as well.

The bells for none disturbed me and, with a rush of remorse at the time I'd wasted, I tucked the letter under my pillow. I paid the courier and raced back to the brewery.