Gloucester
Date: 1357
Electra and Emily found Drusilla, one of the previous evening’s serving girls, churning butter behind the kitchen. “Drusilla, do you know where Richard is?” Electra asked.
The young woman looked up from her work. “The courtyard, milady. He’s conducting business with the alewife,” she said, wiping her face with her apron. “Is there something you needed? Can help you?”
Drusilla was one of the kitchen staff who hadn’t seemed resentful of the sisters cooking dinner meals. Electra admired how hard she worked. She had to start early to finish producing sufficient butter for the household, and then work through the night’s meal, which meant long, long hours.
“Thank you. Please call me Electra and my sister is just Emily. In our homeland, we don’t possess the social station worthy of the title milady.”
Drusilla smiled, a shrewd tilt to her grin. “I wondered about that, seeing as how you’re a cook and your sister a helper. Emily and Electra it is then.”
“Much more fitting,” Electra said. “We’re off to stroll the grounds,” she added, and they headed for the courtyard.
“Did you see how calloused poor Drusilla’s palms are?” Emily asked when they were out of earshot.
“I did. I can’t imagine how painful the blisters must’ve been when she first began the churning detail. At least with calluses, there’s no pain anymore.”
They rounded the corner of the keep and saw Richard speaking with an attractive brunette who looked to be in her mid-thirties. She stood by a horse-drawn cart with thick-slatted sides. White, salty sweat colored the dark draft’s neck and flanks, but he looked well fed and his hooves trimmed and shod.
Richard said something that made the alewife laugh and she laid her hand on his arm, where it lingered for several heartbeats. If there wasn’t more to their relationship than brewer and steward, she suspected the lady would like there to be.
A small boy about eight used both hands to carry a bucket of water to the cart’s horse. Richard ruffled his straw-colored hair as the boy passed.
The sisters stayed back not wanting to interrupt a private discussion. “I wonder if she’s married. Do you see a ring?” Emily asked. “I peg him for about forty and she’s about the right age to hookup with him.”
“I learned in a class on culinary terminology that alewife referred to the profession and not an indicator of marital status. I don’t see a ring. We’ll ask Drusilla. Not that it’s our business but he’s been nice to us. I’d like to think he’s that way with others,” Electra said.
Richard waved over a group of men lingering nearby and they began unloading barrels from the woman’s cart. At the same time, he noticed the sisters and waved them over as well.
When they joined the couple, Richard introduced them. The alewife was named Julia and she wore no wedding ring. According to Richard, she was the best brewer of ale and beer in the shire. Her goods were in great demand. With so few professions available to medieval women, Electra thought it interesting brewing was acceptable.
“Electra and Emily are from Greenland,” Richard added. “They are our guests temporarily. Electra it turns out is a talented cook. She prepared a delicious dinner last night and the night before.”
“How nice. Although I’m surprised Beulah’s amenable to the help,” Julia said.
Richard huffed and added, “She wasn’t happy, but she recognizes it’s undesirable to refuse my wishes.”
Julia eyed them from head to toe as Richard talked. Electra knew that look. She was sizing up her possible competition. Electra would’ve loved to put her mind at ease, but who knew exactly Richard’s intent or lack of intent thereof? If he asked, Electra would say Julia was hot for him. Then again, just because the brewer wore no ring, it didn’t mean she wasn’t married. For all Electra knew, maybe a ring or jewelry of any kind presented a safety issue. Maybe the woman had a husband built like a brick privy who’d come after Richard with fists like hams. Best not to stir the pot and let the Richard take care of his personal business on his own.
“How can I help you ladies?” Richard asked.
“We wanted to know if you’d like us to prepare the evening meal tonight?”
“I would. I think everyone in the hall would. However, speaking of Beulah, try to make peace with her. She’s been Queen of the Kitchen for a longtime. This is a big adjustment for her.”
Peace with Beulah? Sure. Maybe she could flap her arms and fly back to the twentieth century while she was at it. She’d talk to the woman in front of the other staff, so there’d be witnesses. “I’ll give it my best effort.”
As they walked back, they passed Simon coming from the barracks, heading toward the lists. Every day he put the knights through their exercises.
“Good morning, Emily...Electra.” He’d stopped walking.
“Morning to you too.” Emily went over to him and Electra followed.
“What’s on tap for the men today?” Emily asked.
“Pardon? What is the meaning of on tap?”
“Just an expression. What will you have the men practice today? I see they don’t have their mounts with them.”
“No. They won’t need to be on horseback until this afternoon. This morning it will be sword practice and hand-to-hand fighting.”
Emily reached over and squeezed his right bicep. “Your sword arm?”
He nodded. The ghost of a smile played at the corners of his mouth. He glanced at Electra and it disappeared.
Electra reached over and squeezed his left bicep. “What strong arms you have,” she said, mustering as close to a Red Riding Hood voice as she could.
A brow quirked up. “You’re toying with me.”
“Yep.”
“Don’t mind her,” Emily told him. “Did you enjoy dinner last night?”
“Of course he did. He had three pasties,” Electra jumped in before he could answer.
“It was acceptable fare. I ate three, yes...” his gaze flicked over to Emily. “...but then, I’m a man of strong appetites.”
The heat in his eyes looking at her sister brought heat to Electra’s cheeks. “We are still talking about food, aren’t we?” she asked.
Emily ignored Electra. “We’re cooking again tonight.”
“I look forward to dinner then. I must go now.” Simon turned and hobbled off at a pretty good clip for a man with a crutch.
“You can be such an ass,” Emily said, taking off ahead of Electra.
“I pride myself on it.”
Drusilla hadn’t moved from her churn. Emily stopped next to her and asked, “Is the alewife married?”
Electra waited by the kitchen door to hear the answer.
Drusilla continued to work the butter and said, “No.”
“Widowed?”
“No. The boy who watered the horse is her son. He was born on the wrong side of the blanket. Her father knew no man would marry her with a bastard son in tow. He taught her brewing so she’d make a living.”
It explained why no one in the bailey offered her a greeting. Electra wondered if Richard shared their prejudice. He acted friendly toward Julia, hopefully his attitude was genuine. Electra wanted to think so.
“Thank you,” Emily said.
Inside the kitchen, Beulah toiled over a large kettle that smelled like fish stew. The always enticing scent of baking bread filled the rest of the room. If pressed, Electra doubted a more inviting smell existed.
“May I?” Electra asked and grabbed a spoon.
Beulah straightened. “If it pleases you.”
Electra wiped the spoon with a clean linen towel that was folded on the counter and then dipped into the stew. The stew was the blandest she ever tasted.
“Beulah, can we talk?” she asked, putting the spoon down, which Emily picked up and dipped into the kettle too.
“If you wish,” Beulah said. Her bored tone said, I’m humoring you because I was ordered to.
“Why don’t you use all the spices you have in the cupboard? You have a marvelous selection.” Electra meant it. She never expected a medieval kitchen to be so well supplied. She’d pulled each tin container down the first night and tasted what was in them and then labeled the outside. The kitchen servants didn’t read and asked what it was she wrote.
Beulah didn’t answer.
“I’ve tasted all the spices in your store. There’s an impressive selection. You’ve got cinnamon, cloves, mace, pepper, salt, and saffron to name but a few. Why aren’t you using them?”
“The men don’t care for a mash-up of flavors.”
Electra took another spoonful of the stew, making sure she got a chunk of fish with it. She tasted the sample but couldn’t identify the fish. “What kind of fish is this?”
“Haddock,” Beulah said and took a spoonful to taste. “I find nothing objectionable in the stew.”
Electra couldn’t tell if she was a lousy cook or just plain lazy or both. “Is there enough haddock for the evening meal?” She had a plan in mind.
“Yes.”
“Good. Put it aside for me. You serve your stew for the midday meal as planned. I will serve my fish dish this evening. Let’s see which the men like better.”
Beulah stuck her pointed chin out. “Good. Let us see who bests the other.”
“I look forward to it.”
Behind Beulah the staff huddled together, whispering. She waved her hand to break up the cluster and ordered them back to work. She kept her back to Electra and went back to her chores.
Electra pulled Emily outside but away from where Drusilla continued churning. “Go ask your boyfriend, Simon, if he has a squire or other lad to spare. Tell him about the challenge and that I need someone to keep watch on the kitchen staff so there’s no tampering.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Just go.”
Electra maintained an eye on the kitchen while she waited. Emily returned a few minutes later with a squire who didn’t look at all happy to have been taken from more manly duties. Electra explained what she wanted him to do. She asked if he had someone to relieve him for a time every hour or so and he said yes. She still planned to check on him herself.
“Let me inventory the spice cupboard one more time,” she told Emily. One by one, Electra first sniffed, then wet the pad of her little finger, dabbed it into the powders and tasted each. Beulah and her allies had all night and early this morning to fiddle with the spice boxes.
“What are you going to make?”
“I know a whitefish recipe that’s cooked in a broth with red wine, cloves, pepper, and at the end a blend of currants and saffron. For a side, I’m making leeks simmered in white wine, oil, and salt. I’ll add something green as well.”
“You’re bound to win,” Emily said and helped put the spices in alphabetical order. “I didn’t taste the stew, but it smells like bland fish. It’ll definitely need something to punch up the flavor.”
Finished, Electra emphasized how important it was for the squire to not get distracted and keep a close eye on the activity. He said he understood and wouldn’t leave until his replacement arrived.
“Thank you. Let’s see what’s available in the garden,” she said to Emily and headed that way. Before they reached the gate, Richard called out and they waited for him.
“I heard of your challenge,” he said, joining them.
“How did you hear already?” As soon as the words were out, she knew. “Simon told you.”
“As steward, it is my job to know everything of interest and everything not so interesting that goes on in the castle. I don’t know how much you know about castle life, but allow me to forewarn you, in case you’re here longer than planned. There are no secrets in castles. No matter how discreet a person is, whatever they’re doing or thinking of doing, will be found out. In this castle, it eventually circles back to me.” He smiled, a cat-burping-feathers smile.
“We’ll take your advice to heart. Is there anything else?”
“Yes, returning to my original reason for stopping you. We have a very special guest tonight, nearly as important as the king.”
Electra mentally ran through the list of possibilities. It could be the queen. King Edward had quite a few children. She had no idea who were the big cheeses among his advisors.
“Who’s coming?” she asked.
“Edward of Woodstock.”
The Black Prince. She waffled between being thrilled to meet such a famous historical figure and nervousness she’d disappoint him with her meal. She did a rapid inventory in her head of other dishes to prepare instead of the haddock, not sure it was good enough. Every chef she knew drank. It was because of moments like this when a celebrity chef was visiting or a Michelin judge was coming, or in this case, a prince of the realm. She’d love to suck down a goblet or two or three.
“Thank you for telling me. I’m gobsmacked. I can only hope he is pleased with my presentation.”
“I should warn you. The king’s physicians have the prince on the plainest of diets. They insist he eat the most boring meals.” Richard looked around to make certain no one was near. “It is whispered he has a delicate stomach.”
“I was planning to make a nice haddock dish. Should I put off the challenge until after he’s gone?”
“That’s what I wish to tell you. The prince is desperate for tasty food. The nature doesn’t matter. Prepare a dish of equal flavor to those of the last couple nights. He’s not overly fond of sweets. Don’t worry about the wine for the head table. He’ll bring a fine Bordeaux from his land in France.”
“Is he as handsome as they say?” Emily asked.
Richard shrugged. “I don’t consider him from that point of view. The ladies here seem to think so.”
“If you have no other questions, I’ll leave you to it.”
“I bet he is handsome,” Emily said after Richard left.
“I wouldn’t put much stock in the tales of how handsome he was,” Electra told Emily. “That’s all based on statements from friends and associates who knew him. If he looked like the dog’s breakfast, I doubt any of them would be so candid as to say that aloud. He’s the heir to the throne, I certainly wouldn’t blab something nasty about his looks. Lots of space in the Tower dungeon.”
“It’ll be interesting to see him in person. I can’t help being curious. I wonder if we’ll sit at the head table or get the boot to make room for his party.”
“I’d just as soon get the boot. I’d rather share a seat at a table with everyday folk and not be asked any questions about our background. All we’d need is for Richard or Simon to say we’re from Greenland and I can already hear the questions coming rapid fire.”
Emily, the more confident of them said, “No worries. I’m sure whatever is asked, it’s a question we’ve dealt with before.”
****
Richard had sent up the seamstress with an order for them to dress pretty—as if he needed to tell them that. What woman doesn’t want to look pretty for a prince? None Electra could think of. She imagined even Prince Vlad (the Impaler) probably had women dressing pretty for him.
She chose a scarlet silk gown with long sleeves with cuffs crusted in small seed pearls. A wide band similar to a Japanese kimono’s Obi embroidered in white and gold silk wrapped around her midsection. The seamstress brought an assistant who quickly let the dress out under the arms and bodice so it fit her chest. All her life she read fashion designers who said redheads shouldn’t wear red. She thought that hogwash. She loved the color.
Emily chose a sapphire silk gown with insets in iridescent blue-green silk brocade and long sleeves that buttoned from the wrist to mid-forearm. The seamstress shortened the hem while Emily stood on a chair wearing it.
“Does my hair look all right?” Electra asked. She’d made it into a braid tied with a bright red ribbon. She did her best to see as she worked but the mirrors were practically useless.
“You look great.” Emily found a gold net snood that caught the light when she moved her head. The seamstress helped her make a bun and secure the snood with tiny, flower-shaped clips. “What about me?”
“Gorgeous. The color of the dress makes your eyes an incredible shade of blue.”
“Ready?”
Emily nodded and they left for the kitchen.
****
Simon sat on a stool, hands behind his head, back propped against the frame of the kitchen door leading to the garden. He stood as soon as Electra and Emily entered. His eyes went straight to Emily.
“You’re staring. Am I dressed wrong? Is this not good enough for the Prince? she asked rapid fire.
“You are more than good enough. I was staring because you remind me of a butterfly that comes in summer. Its wings are blue-green and shine.”
“No one has ever compared me to a butterfly. Thank you.”
He broke off from staring at Emily and tipped his head toward Electra. “You look lovely as well.”
“Thank you. I’m surprised to see you here and not a squire,” Electra said. “Isn’t this beneath your station?” She quickly clarified her question, “I’m not being a smarty boots when I ask.”
“Under most conditions, a knight, like myself, wouldn’t handle a duty such as this. When I learned of the prince coming, and knowing of your challenge, I thought it best to keep watch myself.”
“I appreciate it. Again, thank you,” Electra said.
“Now that you’re here, I’m no longer needed. I’ll be off.” He gave Emily a brief smile and left.
Electra snapped her fingers. “Rats. I forgot to ask where we’d be sitting tonight.”
Two folded aprons lay on the end of a wooden counter. She shook them out and held them up for inspection. One looked fresh laundered. She handed Emily the second quasi-clean one and they covered their gowns. She went from pot to pot, tasting her dishes and adjusting the seasonings before she began final preparation.
Shouts and the sound of men running were followed by the sound of several horses entering the bailey. Had to be the arrival of the Prince and his party. A serving girl dashed into the kitchen and over to where Electra was demonstrating how the main course was to be presented.
“Richard said for me to tell you the Prince is here. You’re to be ready to join them at the head table at half past the hour. The Prince wishes to wash the road dust from his face and hands and to change his clothing first.”
Electra tasted and tasted the food as it simmered. She was proud to serve her dishes to the Royal. Royals today might be a little persnickety, as it wasn’t a meal that people would describe as a party in one’s mouth. But the creamy sauce injected with Middle Eastern spices gave the mild fish a burst of flavor. The savory side dishes were nicer than those she’d had when she first arrived. She alternated between tasting and pacing with renewed nervousness.
Time passed and when no one came for her or Emily, she hoped they’d forgotten about them. Her revelry at the possibility was short-lived. Simon appeared in the doorway. He’d changed from the simple white tunic he wore during the day into a red one with a grey swan embroidered on the front. The swan on a scarlet field was the Baron Guiscard’s heraldic badge.
“Come along,” he ordered. “The Prince is already seated. Remove your aprons. Edward knows you’re the cook.”
The sisters removed their aprons and tossed them on a nearby work table. Emily did a quick check of her hair, patting the sides to make sure nothing had escaped her snood. Electra checked her cuffs and sleeves, making sure she hadn’t accidentally spotted them with sauce.
Prince Edward was the only member of his party who sat at the head table. To Electra’s dismay, his presence still left seats for her and Emily.
He and Richard stood while Simon introduced them. Edward was an easy 6’2, taller than both Richard and Simon. No surprise. The Plantagenet kings, his father, grandfather, and great grandfather were known for their height.
Electra curtsied. She didn’t know the proper protocol for the Middle Ages, but she’d seen news stories showing people bowing and curtsying to the current queen.
“Honored to meet you, Your Highness,” Electra said, unsure if that was the correct form of address. If it wasn’t, he didn’t correct her. Emily mimicked Electra and Edward gestured for them to take the two seats to his right.
Emily moved faster and grabbed the one farthest away and next to Simon, forcing Electra to be on the Prince’s immediate right.
Edward of Woodstock was everything English historians claimed: handsome, charming, charismatic, and a clever conversationalist. Historians spoke of his analytical personality and shrewd ability to speak easily with someone while evaluating the person behind a genial smile. He had bright blue eyes. Unlike Emily’s bluer ones that Electra would describe as warm, the Prince’s, at first glance, seemed merry with a sexy glint. But looking deeper, there was a cool, dispassionate quality, a sense of him taking your measure and filing the finding away. Electra had only seen drawings or effigies of Edward the Third, but from those it appeared the Prince had his father’s long nose and strong jaw. His hair was a soft brown and hung loose to his chin. It was a strange thing to notice, but Electra couldn’t help thinking he had great skin for a man, smooth with a hint of masculine ruddiness. He’d definitely set hearts aflutter.
Dinner went better than Electra imagined. Everyone at the table loved her dishes.
“I understand you are responsible for the delicious meal,” the Prince said.
“I am.”
“I’ve never heard of Greenland, but if all your food is as wonderful as this, I must go one day.” Edward smiled.
Electra, thrilled and proud, gave him a huge smile in return. What he said next was the last thing and worst thing he could. In a thousand years, she’d never had considered the possibility.
“Richard, I regret incurring your peevishness for what I’m about to do but I must do it.”
Richard held his arms out and tipped his head in a sign of compliance.
Edward turned to her and smiled, looking as confident as a Prince who always gets his way can look. “You will be my personal cook. I want you with me in my travels and in my other residences. I will be leaving tomorrow at midday. I assume you can be ready.”
Part of her wanted to think she’d heard wrong. That fleeting wish led to a moment of denial and a sort of mental free-fall. “I can’t go with you.” She and Emily had to remain near the outcropping. It was the only way home. They couldn’t leave. They couldn’t. “We have to stay here,” she blurted.
“Don’t be silly,” Richard said, leaning forward. “What difference if you’re lost here at Elysian Fields or in Wales. Wales is your destination, is it not?” he asked the Prince.
“It is.” Edward turned back to Electra. “I must correct you. I’m afraid you misunderstood. I’m only taking you. Lovely as your sister is, I’ve no reason to bring her along.”
No way could they be separated. Electra’s heart beat so fast, she thought she might have apoplexy.
“Are you all right, milady?” Edward asked. “You’re breathing like a hound at the chase.”
“I know. I’m...I’m....just terribly upset that you don’t plan to take Emily. This isn’t our homeland, as you know. We’ve gotten lost. You heard Richard. We must find our way together.”
“If one or the other of you manages to do so, word will be sent. After all, we are quite civilized and have sufficient means of communication.”
“I need her. She’s my sous chef.”
“Sous chef?”
“My trained and trusted assistant. I must have her.”
“Not to worry. I will provide you with a dozen assistants.” He looked past Electra to Emily. “You’ll be fine here.”
Electra tried to force calm into her voice. “Please, Your Highness, please, my sister and I are best friends. Leaving her is like leaving a piece of myself behind.”
Edward gave her a sympathetic look and patted her hand. “We’ll be back for visits.”