The Baker's Boy (64 page)

"How is it
you know so much?"

"I listen and
learn. People don't pay much attention to a young boy in a room; they talk as
if I'm not there." The boy suddenly looked a little offended. "You
don't think I'm a spy, do you?"

"It crossed
my mind." Tawl turned and looked west to hide a smile.

"If you think
I'm a spy then I'm heading straight back to Rorn." Nabber brought his pony
to a less than graceful stop and said indignantly, "After all I did for
you, saving your life and providing coinage, and you have the nerve to say I'm
a spy."

"I never said
you were one, I said the thought had crossed my mind. I would have been lying
if I had said otherwise. Now you can either return to Rorrn or follow me. I
have no time for argument." Tawl urged his horse forward, leaving Nabber
behind him. After a few moments he heard Nabber's voice shouting out:

"Very well,
I'll follow you." Then a moment later, "Wait for me."

They traveled a
distance further, and then about midday they came across a fair-sized village.
The place looked pleasant and well kept, so Tawl decided they would break the
monotony of sea biscuits and drymeat by taking a meal at the inn.

The tavern was a small
but clean place, with fresh rushes on the floor. A few local men stood in a
group and one man sat alone at a table. A young girl was about to make her way
to greet them when an older man stopped her. The girl went back into the
kitchen and the man came to serve them instead.

"What can I
be getting for you two?" The man's tone was not unpleasant, merely wary;
strangers were notorious for bringing trouble.

"I will take
a jug of ale and two helpings of whatever food you have to offer."

"I have roast
leg of goat and goat's cheese." The man seemed to dare Tawl to object to
the offered fare, and was surprised when he said:

"They both
sound good, bring plenty."

As they waited for
the food and ale to be brought, the man who was sitting alone began to hum a
tune. He looked toward them, his bleary eyes taking time to focus. As the
innkeeper brought the ale, the man burst into song. His voice was loud but the
men standing in the group did not turn to look. Tawl murmured to Nabber to
ignore the man, who was obviously drunk. Unfortunately the man had other plans;
he stood up and stumbled toward their table.

He came and leaned
against the table as he sang his song. The innkeeper hurried over with the food
and asked in hushed tones if the man was disturbing them. Tawl shook his head.
He wanted no trouble.

The drunk finished
his song and then rested his eyes upon the jug of ale. "How about a drink
for another song?" His words were slurred.

"I will give
you a drink if you promise not to sing again." Tawl shot a warning glance
at Nabber, who was sniggering.

"Friend, you
have a deal." The man sat down uninvited. He took the proffered cup and
seemed to go into a drunken daze, staring at the ale. Tawl and Nabber ignored
him and ate their food.

The roast goat was
stringy and a little tough but the cheese was delicious, soft and pungent. They
spread it onto warm bread and sprinkled freshly cut chives on top. They were
happily eating when the drunk appeared to rouse himself. He put his hand out
and went to grab the remainder of the roast goat. Tawl's arm shot out to
prevent the man from taking the meat. He grabbed the man's wrist, not ungently.
The drunk raised his eyes to Tawl's. He slowly focused and then looked deeply
into Tawl's eyes. He seemed to recognize something he saw there.

He broke away from
the hold and stood up, murmuring words that Tawl could not make out. The man
tried to get away as fast as he could, but his drunken body could not properly
form the moves. Tawl went after him and the man cried out wildly. "Leave
me alone, you devil." The men standing in a group, obviously used to the
man's drunken ravings, took no notice.

Tawl grabbed the
man's arm. "Why do you run from me?" he demanded. The man struggled
in vain.

"Let me
go." Spittle foamed at the corners of his mouth. "I want to be gone
from you," he said wildly, trying to free himself.

"Why?"

"Larn! You
have the mark of Larn in your eyes. "

Tawl let the drunk
go and the man lurched uneasily away.

As Melli walked
she felt the familiar soreness of breast and belly that marked the onset of her
menses. She felt strangely pleased at this reminder of her womanhood; it
brought a breath of normality and continuity into a life that was lacking in
both. The menses seemed to be a symbol of hope and renewal for the future.
Their predictable cycle was a comfort.

It was more than
that. It reminded Melli that she was a woman, no longer a child, in charge of
her own destiny. Now she was away from the castle she had the freedom to make
her own choices, choose her own path, and set her own pace. Melli turned and
walked back toward the farm, drawing the blanket close around her. She would go
as far as Annis with Jack and no further. Her destiny was her own. She knew
that Jack had his own destiny and she was aware that his had a strong pull, and
if she were not careful, she would lose her own and become part of his.

The sky was low
and oppressive, bearing but not relinquishing rain. She could never go back to
her old life in the castle. The past weeks had changed her in many ways. She
was not the same girl as the one who used to sit and braid her hair, worrying
over which ribbon would become her the most. She had endured much and survived.
No, not merely survived, she thought, thrived and grown strong.

She lifted the
rusty latch and let herself into the farmhouse. The old woman, whose name was
neither asked for nor offered, was tending to Jack's wounds. He was naked from
the waist up and the firelight shone upon his flesh. He looked strong and
handsome. He, too, had changed, she thought. He was no longer the awkward boy
who came to her aid by the roadside many weeks ago.

Melli suddenly
shuddered despite the warmth of the kitchen; her skin became cold and the hair
on her arms prickled. She saw with great clarity that Jack had an unsettling
future ahead. She saw a temple and a city and a man with golden hair. Images
crowded about her like beggars at a market. There was blood, war, death and
birth. For an instant she even saw herself in the snarl. She forced herself
back to the present, drunk with the heady wine of fate, yet scared by its
aftertaste. To cover up her confusion she went over to Jack and took the
blanket from her shoulders. "Here," she murmured, placing the blanket
in his arms, "keep yourself warm." He noticed her troubled expression
and caught hold of her hand.

"What is it
Melli? What are you afraid of?"

"Better to
ask who I am afraid for." She turned quickly, not wanting to look into his
hazel eyes.

She joined the old
woman by the fire and tried to warm her chilled body. The woman gave her a
canny look. "Time for a drink of herb tea, my dear. It will warm and
refresh you."

"I have no
love of herbed tea."

"You have
need, girl." The woman's voice was pitched low. "You are in your
menses; it will take the cramp from your belly."

"Very
well." Melli found herself feeling weak; she needed to sit down.

"Get yourself
a seat, girl." The woman then turned to Jack. "Time you got a little
fresh air, lad. Stay close to the farm." Jack put his tunic on and left
the kitchen. The woman busied herself making the tea.

Melli lost count
of the varieties of herbs that were put into the gauze. Some of the herbs she
could not even name. With deft hands the old woman chopped or scored or
deleafed the herbs. Satisfied that she had the right selection, she gathered
the gauze by its corners and tied it with a length of twine, forming a pouch.
She then popped the pouch into the pot of boiling water. She let the water boil
for a minute and then set the pot away from the heat. "It must be left to
stand for a few minutes to ensure the greatest benefit." The woman then
came and sat by Melli.

"My mother
always said the best time for a tale is while the tea's brewin'." She
fixed her light blue eyes firmly upon Melli's.

"I have no
tale to tell." Melli looked down at the table. The woman appeared to have
expected this reply.

"Then I shall
tell you one," she said simply. "I had a sister once. Oh, she was
nothing like me. She was beautiful and good-natured. Her laughter was the most
heart-warming sound you could imagine."

"She came to
her menses late, later than any other girl in the village. Once the cycle was
upon her she changed. She became a different person. She was troubled and
listless; she withdrew from us, even me, her own sister who loved her dearly.
She began to have visions, terrible nightmares; she woke up screaming night
after night, ranting about doom and destruction. She would fall into trances
during the daytime. One minute she would be normal, the next she would be in a
daze. When she awoke she would tell of what events would happen in the town.
Things such as which girl would bear a child, whose sows would take the fever,
when the rains were likely to fall. She even predicted our mother's death. The
poor girl was in torment."

"We tried to
keep her problems hidden from the people in town, but word soon got out. At
first people begged her to make predictions for them, even offered her money
though she never took it. It didn't take long for folks to turn nastythere is
always more bad news in the future than good-and the people blamed her for it.
They began to hound her, saying she was a witch."

"Then one day
as she walked home, a group of men from town jumped on her and beat her close
to death." The old woman rubbed tears from her eyes. "Her beautiful
face was battered and bruised, both her arms were broken and her ribs were
crushed. Somehow she managed to make it back to my father's farm; how she did
it I will never know. As soon as we saw her, I was sent to bring the
wisewoman."

"By the time
I arrived back with the wisewoman she was dead." The old. woman took a
deep breath and paused for a minute, looking carefully at Melli. "I
suppose you are wondering what this tale has to do with you?"

"I didn't realize
it had anything to do with me." Melli felt her voice sounded a little
cold.

"Once the
wisewoman saw there was nothing she could do to help my sister she came and
comforted me. She told me never to think badly of my sister, despite what other
people said. She said that all women when they come to their menses have a
little foretelling in their blood, some more than others. My sister was an
extreme example, but most women have experiences with it at some time or other.
To some it comes as intuition, others it comes as a hunch or feeling of
foreboding. Its potency is strongest when a woman is losing her blood. It is a
natural part of being a woman; there is no need to be afraid of it."

Melli was saved
from replying when the old woman stood up and began to pour the tea. She
returned with a brew that was surprisingly fragrant. "Here," she
said, handing a cup of the steaming liquid to Melli, "this will make you
feel better." Melli took a sip; it tasted nothing like she expected.
"Good, eh," prompted the woman.

"Very good.
It is not at all like-" Melli was about to say "the tea they brew in
the castle," but stopped herself. The old woman covered up the awkward
silence.

"Girl, you
should not worry if from time to time you have feelings of premonition."
Melli was about to protest, but the woman waved her arms. "No, girl, don't
deny it. I saw it on your face when you walked in. You saw something in the
boy. Don't worry, I will not ask what."

They finished
their tea in silence. Melli began to feel a little better; the cramps had gone
and the strength returned to her legs. The old woman smiled, seeing that she
had drunk the whole cup. "Come, girl," she said, "we have sewing
and baking to do if you are to leave by the morrow."

Maybor was feeling
very pleased with himself. He had just secured the position of lady's maid to
Lady Belynda for the lovely Lilly. Of course the old crow Lady Belynda had
given him a hard time, claiming she was most satisfied with the lady's maid she
already had. Maybor had not been fooled; it had merely been a ploy on the old
hag's part to squeeze him further. He had ended up settling a handsome pension
upon the aristocratic but impoverished lady.

He hoped the
tempting minx appreciated what he had done for her-it had cost him more to reel
her in than his two former wives combined. She'd better be worth it! She was a
charmer, just the sort he liked-a saucy vixen.

He could not
prevent a smile from stealing across his face. Old Lady Belynda would be no
indulgent mistress. The old crow would give the girl hell. There would be no
parades around the garden in her best ribbons for Lilly. With Lady Belynda as
her mistress, the girl would be much more likely to spend her entire day cooped
up in the ladies' hall doing embroidery. And that, thought Maybor, suited him
very well indeed.

He was no fool. He
knew why the girl wanted to be a lady's maid. She wanted to show herself off in
her finery until she attracted the eye of a minor nobleman. A nobleman who was
either so stupid or so in love as to forgo his prestige by marrying a common
servant. Maybor knew there were men who married for love or infatuation. He
considered them to be unadulterated idiots-a man should only marry for social
gain or land. A lord who married a commoner was beneath Maybor's contempt. Anyway,
he thought, the avaricious little Lilly would find her plans sadly curtailed by
her aged mistress.

Still, Lilly
tempted him like no other woman had done in a long time. He always valued
highest the objects for which he paid the most. He quickened his step. It was
already dark and he was late, she would be waiting for him. He rubbed his hands
together in expectation of her gratefulness. He opened the door of his chamber
and walked through the bedroom. The girl was there, waiting. She was actually
in his bed, tucked beneath the covers for warmth, with only her head showing.