A Lady Under Siege(61)
Meal times were extremely regular. Breakfast at seven, dinner—the main meal of the day—at eleven, and supper at four o’clock. Mabel could feel herself grow impatient as those times approached, and any delay in the arrival of her guard was agony to her. Today the guard had been at least half an hour late, and she had felt herself on the verge of leaping from a window. Even Lady Sylvanne, so typically bound up in her own thoughts, noticed Mabel’s agitation, and remarked, “Am I really such painful company as all that? I’ve taken your advice, and tried to be more likable to our captor. Please don’t expect a similar performance here in private. Here I am myself, and I am sorry if you suffer for it.”
“No, no, Ma’am,” Mabel protested. “I wish only for my Mistress to be herself. To be at peace. To be contented.”
“Really? I’ve only asked one thing of you, and you’ve failed me thus far,” Sylvanne said sharply. “I don’t ask for peace and contentment. I ask for a knife. Bring me a knife. No more excuses, Mabel. I want it today. Do you hear me?”
Mabel nodded. Before she could speak they heard the long delayed knock upon the door. It swung open, and a handsome lad, so young as to be unable to grow a beard, beckoned her to follow him.
“You’re a new one—what happened to the other, the one who usually accompanies me?” Mabel asked him as they descended toward the out-of-doors.
“I just follow my orders, m’Lady.”
“Oh, I’m not a Lady, I’m a servant, just as you are. You can treat me as you would an auntie. A boy so young and fair as you, I feel as if you should call me auntie.”
“I’m neither boy, nor servant; I’m a squire, a knight in training,” the young man said huffily.
“Well pardon my ignorance,” Mabel said teasingly. “Perhaps I should call you Your Majesty.”
The boy said nothing further, and soon enough they neared the kitchen. Just outside the open double door Mabel was surprised to spot Gwynn, pulling a chicken from a wicker basket for the cook’s inspection. There were nine birds squeezed in there, and he sought the fattest, but they were so jumbled up together—tumbling, pecking at each other, and squawking indignantly at their loss of freedom—that he mistakenly grabbed hold of one of his skinniest birds, a sorry specimen that had lost the feathers on its chest to an unknown ailment.
“They’re not nearly so plump as last week’s,” scoffed the cook, a brawny old crone by the name of Hellen.
“Plumper, ma’am, plumper,” Gwynn proclaimed. “Now that I’m home from my military adventures, I’ve got ’em back on a proper diet. Feel that thigh there, lots and lots of fat and tender meat.”
The cook examined the bird’s naked belly. “What, have you been plucking her while she’s still alive?” she demanded.
“No, no, it’s common in that breed,” he lied. “They moult at this time. I’m telling you, this bird, nicely basted, would suit the table of the Lord himself.”
“Don’t tell me my business,” she barked at him. “I must have meat, so I’ll accept your poultry, however piss-poor. Boiled, it’ll serve to fill the bellies of the men at arms, they’re not particular.”
“Let me show you a more typical foul, this one,” he exclaimed, retrieving another squawking, thrashing bird from the basket. “Aha! Now here’s a real beauty!”
Just then the young soldier interrupted to announce, “I’ve brought the Lady’s servant for to take her dinner.”
Gwynn looked round excitedly. “Why Mabel,” he crowed. “Here we be talking of tender meat, and speak of the devil, here you be! I’ve been wondering about you, and how I was to catch a moment for a chat. Are they treating you well?” He looked her over thoroughly from head to toe, without shame. “You look plumper too—it suits you, truly it does.”
“Sir, you make me blush,” replied Mabel.
Gwynn called into the kitchen to the girls and women working there. “Ladies, come out, come out for a moment, I wish you to make the acquaintance of my new wife.” He called toward the nearby ale house, where a handful of vagrants and drunkards could as usual be seen loitering in a strip of shade down its side wall. “Come one, come all, I’ve an announcement to make! Here’s my future bride—feast your eyes upon my prize! I’d marry her today if I could and be a widower no more. This one is robust and cheerful, all I look for in a spousal companion.”