Three summers later
‘How’s this? My mistress wife set fair to turn many a coin more than her goodman?’ Jared planted a wet kiss on Aldith’s forehead as she worked at the mash tun, bringing on yet another fine ale of the kind that was attracting customers even from the next village.
‘Should I return then to my spinning, Husband?’ she said archly, wiping her forehead, but there was laughter in her eyes.
She had become an alewife to help with the household upkeep, as was the custom, but had found a gift for the craft. Some said it was the fennel she added, others the quality of the malt or the purity of the river water in Hurnwych, but whatever the reason, on the strength of it they had been able to open a small tavern at the opposite end of the house adjacent to the smithy.
The green bushel over the doorway was sign that a fresh brewing was on offer. There were already thirsty customers in the tavern, and when he returned he was met by a chorus of orders that had the tap-boy scurrying.
Jared nodded to one of their regular patrons. ‘And tell me, William, has your black sow brought you increase, yet?’
‘By St Frideswilde, she’s taking her time,’ grumbled the old man tetchily, but brightened at the arrival of his ale.
Nothing could touch Jared’s contentment, his happiness at what God had gifted him. Aldith’s father had been stubborn but her threat to go to a nunnery and cheat him of grandsons had tipped the balance and they had wedded immediately. The forge was making money and there was every reason to take on a journeyman blacksmith, such was the load of work at hand. As well there was—
‘Isn’t that your bantling and all?’ a customer chuckled, pointing.
Young David toddled in uncertainly, looking to find his father.
‘Daw, m’ little lambkin, what are you about, lad?’
He bent to pick up his son and his face creased into a cherubic smile.
In the house it wasn’t hard to discover what had happened. David’s grandmother had nodded off next to the fire as the child played, forgetting that the little fellow could walk now.
Kissing his child he plumped him down into Maud’s lap to wake her and wagged his finger in admonishment before returning to the tavern.
A scraggy villein was waiting for him. ‘Master says, can you come, it’s a pressing matter.’
‘Who’s this, then?’
‘Hugh Comber, and he’s at a stand, plough’s broke and the horses idle. Just a bit of work on the trace ring and he’ll be much beholden.’
A straightforward job, and for a well-to-do freeman with land to the south of the manor, who’d no doubt be generous if he was prompt.
Taking affectionate leave of his wife, Jared left with the villein.
The tavern fell to a contented hum, its customers delaying their return to work while a passing shower played out.
Not long after there was the sound of horses, several of them. Travellers?
Footsteps, then a handsome man in rich garb and sword stood scowling in the doorway. Apparently the tavern passed muster for he signalled to others behind and stalked in.
‘Get out!’ he ordered the bewildered drinkers.
Some showed signs of reluctance. Enraged he knocked the nearest from his stool. ‘When Sir Gervaise D’Amory commands it, you’ll obey or I’ll see you kicking at the end of a rope!’
The baron’s son! The little room cleared quickly.
‘An ale, My Lord?’ one of his followers ventured after they’d discarded their wet cloaks.
They were all of an age, riding companions sprawling about indolently. Rakish and with a wicked curl to their mouths the young knights were spoiling for trouble.
‘Ale!’ D’Amory roared impatiently.
The potboy had fled with the rest but the noise brought both Aldith and Maud, who pulled back in dismay at the sight.
‘Sir Gervaise D’Amory and I’ll have a flagon of your best brew, and if it isn’t fit for a gentleman I swear you’ll rue it!’
The women hurriedly left.
With a nervous potboy in her wake, Maud shortly returned with a foaming tankard, which she carefully placed on the table in front of him.
D’Amory looked up sharply. ‘Where’s the maid? I’m not to be served by an ill-faced old hag!’
Tight-faced, Maud left and returned with more ale, protectively in front of Aldith.
‘That’s better!’ he said with a lewd grin, eyeing the young woman as she set down the ale.
When she made to leave he called loudly, ‘And what’s your name, maid?’
‘Aldith, wife of Jared,’ she said quietly, stepping back.
‘Is there anything else, My Lord?’ Maud asked, taking her place.
‘Nothing you can serve me with, old woman,’ D’Amory said lazily, his eyes still on Aldith. ‘You can leave. Off you go, then.’
Seeing Aldith about to depart as well he rapped, ‘Stay! I bid you stay, woman.’
White-faced, she stood against the wall.
Slowly, D’Amory took a pull at his ale. ‘God’s teeth, and this is good,’ he said in pleased surprise. ‘Your brewing, maid?’
‘Sir, I’m no maid but well married to my husband. And I own the ale is mine, My Lord.’
One of the knights leant forward. ‘A pretty enough cuntkin, sire,’ he whispered with a cynical sneer.
‘As is wasted on these clay-brained villeins,’ D’Amory acknowledged.
Aldith bit her lip. ‘Is that all, My Lord?’
‘No, it is not.’
He leant forward to the others with a wolfish grin. ‘I’ve a mind to have a piece o’ the culver myself,’ he hissed.
‘What, here, My Lord?’
‘No, you fool, the place stinks of the farmyard. I’ve another notion.’
‘Sire?’
D’Amory ignored him, finished his ale and planked the tankard down with finality.
Loudly he declared, ‘I rather fancy this ale’s better than the swill they make in Ravenstock.’
‘It is, My Lord,’ they all agreed quickly.
‘What say I remedy the situation?’
They hastily murmured encouragement.
‘Mistress Aldith, my friends do all agree,’ he said innocently, ‘that you should come with me to the castle to tell the brewer his business. You shall be well rewarded, of course.’
Maud suddenly appeared at the door. ‘No!’ she cried. ‘She’s a house and husband to keep and—’
‘Get that hag out of here,’ D’Amory snapped.
Two knights roughly ejected her.
‘Now, fairest flower mine, we leave for the castle.’
He took Aldith’s arm and forced her to the door. Outside sullen-faced villagers watched silently as they emerged.
‘My lord, and that there’s Jared’s wife,’ begged Osbert, drawn by the noise from the forge and still in his leather apron.
‘It is, and she’s to perform a service for me.’ The knights tittered at the sally.
His palfrey was brought up, a showy black and richly appointed with accoutrements.
‘Sire, he needs her—’
A gloved fist caught Osbert squarely, knocking him down. ‘And now I do.’
D’Amory twisted round and glared. ‘Well …?’
Hastily one of the knights made a stirrup cup with his hands and D’Amory swung into the saddle.
‘Send the maid up.’
‘Sire, I beg you, no!’ Aldith pleaded. It brought restless murmurs, which were quickly countered with the drawing of swords.
‘Make haste, you oaf!’ D’Amory threw down to the knight making a back for Aldith to mount the horse. Two others hoisted her up.
‘Ride on, then!’ he snarled.
The horses clattered off, Aldith looking back piteously, the villagers standing speechless.