TWENTY-THREE

 

Julia had never seen so many people in one place. Her father had never allowed her to attend a feast so full of people, and family meals were a quiet affair, attended only by her parents, her brothers, and herself. This was Romein's family – just his family, not their bannermen. His brothers and their wives, nieces and nephews, plus his parents. This great hall had no dais, for all the tables were equal...well, perhaps not the ones where the children sat, and there seemed to be a great number of those.

She'd half expected someone to ask her for details about Romein's windmill, for she had been introduced as his assistant in the enterprise, but no one seemed to care. Even Romein's explanations were cut off, still half-formed, as the only thing his relatives wanted to ask about was what life was like at court.

She listened, rapt, as Romein told them the story she had not had the courage to ask for.

He'd spent the last seven years serving Queen Molina at court, as a sort of apprentice to her artificer, Master Zimmerman. Where a normal queen had ladies in waiting, Queen Molina had only female apprentices, which Romein had evidently told his family about in his letters home. That explained why no one questioned her introduction as his assistant – they all thought her one of the Queen's ladies. Julia only wished it were true. To think, she might have been learning how to save Veluwe instead of watching it sink beneath the waters, unable to stop it.

But there were too many people around to allow Romein to monopolise the conversation long. The talk turned to this year's harvest, and how hard the winter might be, whether there would be flooding or snow, and when, and whether the talk of a new crusade would be endorsed by the Pope...her head spun by the time someone showed her to her chamber, where she found her things waiting for her, and she fell into bed, asleep almost before her head hit the pillow.

The next day, she was dragged off to help the other women decorate the house with pine boughs, holly and mistletoe, then to help the children make gifts for everyone for New Year's Day. This mostly involved having her hands sticky with honey, and flour dusting her gown, as the scents of spices and dried fruits made her mouth water.

Luckily, a maid carried away her soiled gowns every night, and returned with them, dry and fresh, several days later, without a word of admonishment. Amma would not be so forgiving, but then there seemed to be so many more people here than she'd ever seen at Veluwe.

At the New Year's Eve feast, a grander affair than any she'd attended yet, Julia was pulled aside by Lady Mona, Romein's mother, the one woman whose name she didn't dare forget.

"We have a tradition here, that I'm sure my son remembers, though he has been away from home for too long. Ever since he was old enough to join the feast, his favourite food has been the oil cakes the cook only makes for the new year. And because they are his favourite, and he was the youngest of all his brothers, the tradition is that he must have the first one, before anyone else."

Julia nodded. Her brothers had spoiled her, too, often bringing her choice morsels from the feasts her father had not allowed her to attend.

"The cook is making them now. I think the best way to remind Romein of this tradition would be if you brought the first dish of cakes out, instead of one of the maids, and set it before him."

As though she were one of the maids? Is that what his family thought of her? Julia wasn't sure what to say. She knew her gowns were not the fashionable silks surely worn at court, but...

"New year is when we unite the old and the new. We celebrate the past, and look to the future. So for past traditions to be carried into the future by one who will be an important part of Romein's future..." Mona smiled. "My son cares a great deal for you. He would not have brought you here if he did not. It is true, then, that you and he have plans for the future together?"

Of course they did. Together, they would make a working windmill and lift the curse of flooding from the lowlands, Veluwe and Gelderland alike. "Yes..."

"Then please, go to the kitchen and bring the platter of cakes that the cook will give you."

Julia tried to catch Romein's eye, but he was too busy talking to one of his brothers to notice. Sighing, she resolved to do as Lady Mona bade her. It was hardly the first time she'd been asked to pretend to be a servant. The whole journey to Veluwe, Thibault had insisted on her being his cupbearer. At least Romein would have the good manners to thank her, instead of spilling ale down her tunic.

Even in a house she did not know well, Julia only had to follow her nose to find the kitchen.

"You are young Romein's lady?"

Julia blinked.

The cook emerged from the shadows, her eyes intent on her. In her hand, she held a spoon so large it could have been used to stir a cauldron...or cudgel someone to death.

Swallowing, Julia said, "Lady Mona said I should come and fetch the oil cakes?"

The cook grinned. "First, you must taste them, and when you are married, you must send your cook to me, so that I can teach her how to make them. Some stuff them with raisins, but mine are always sweeter, for the secret is fresh made apple sauce."

Apple? Julia's mouth watered. It had been too long since she'd tasted one. To think they had enough here to make apple sauce...and use them in cakes...

"Or you could tell me how to make them, and I can write it down, and share that with my cook," Julia said. For there was no guarantee that she would ever marry, or come back...

The cook looked her up and down. "So you are a scholar, too, reading and writing like young Romein? No wonder he has taken such a fancy to you. Trust him to find the only pretty lady scholar in the world."

Julia was saved the need to answer, for the cook disappeared into the smoky darkness then, reappearing a long moment later bearing a bowl of steaming balls that smelled divine. Cinnamon and apple and honey, oh...she nearly cried as she reached for the bowl.

The cook hugged the bowl to her breast. "They are too hot yet, mind. I shall set them on the table to cool a moment. Then you may have one without burning your tongue."

But leaving Julia alone with temptation itself was even worse. The cakes steamed, sending up tendrils of scent that begged her to take just a bite. Eve in Eden could not have resisted. Julia stretched out her hand...

Only to have it smacked away.