A Love For All Seasons (13 page)

With a snarl Katel turned and threw the kitchen's door wide. "Someone answer his call!" he shouted toward the house.

As he stormed out into the courtyard, he spilled his troubled emotions on those beneath him. "What is wrong with you witless idiots, or do you expect the master to open the gate like some lackey? I vow I'll flay you all and feed your flesh to the pigs. Now, come and bar the gate behind me."

Johanna yet lay where she had fallen. Although she commanded her body to rise, not a muscle responded. Instead, she relaxed, tucking her elbow beneath her head to cushion her face against the cold, hard floor. Her eyes closed.

She would rest for just a moment. Aye, and after she had regained her strength, she'd call someone to stoke the fire and heat water for a bath. But not just now. As she drifted into sleep, a quirk of amusement woke in her, no doubt brought on by hysteria. All in all, death might well be worth that absurd look on Katel's face.

"Well now, don't they look fine indeed," Philip said as he lifted the browned and baked meat pasties from the kitchen's oven with his flat-bladed, long-handled wooden shovel.

Johanna awaited the arrival of the small, steaming pies in pride. She'd done it all, from chopping and cooking the filling, to the mixing and rolling of the crust, to crimping them shut. Well, most all of it. Philip wasn't as strict as Helewise about making her do everything herself. It was a shame Papa was missing her first moment of triumph as mistress of his house; he’d already departed on his summer travels, but this year he'd left Katel behind to tend to their local affairs.

Learning the household arts was now hers to do. Papa had been furious over Brother Mathias's attempt to beat her, vowing she needed no more than what Helewise could teach her. Despite this edict, Katel continued to pressure Papa about her schooling, now talking about a nearby convent and how the nuns were willing to educate merchants' daughters the same way they tutored noblewomen.

Philip turned and let the pies slip off the shovel onto the thick table. Johanna's heart sank. They didn't look fine at all. Only two of them looked like pasties, the others being any shape but half-moon. Papa's cook raised a brow and set a hand on his hip at her downcast expression.

"Come now, you cannot expect perfection on your first try. The next time you make them, they will be better,” he told her.

Johanna looked up at him in despairing frustration. The next time? She had to do this again? Being the mistress was entirely too much work, and she was tired of being expected to do the same task over and over again. Her spirits fell even further. Now that the cooking lesson was done, she no longer had a reason to avoid Helewise and the pile of mending the housekeeper had waiting for her. The rest of this day would be spent stitching, with Helewise making her remove what had been sloppily done.

"Here now," Philip continued, his tone consoling as he turned all the pies face up, "appearance is not all that’s important in the kitchen. There's flavor, as well. Give one to Tom and see if he doesn't think them as tasty as mine."

At the sound of his name the lackwit raised his head from the chickens he was plucking. His brow was furrowed in question.

"You must taste one of these and tell our little mistress the sort of job she's done, Tom," his father told him. Tom’s frown deepened at so important a task as sampling his mistress's handiwork then gave a single, short nod to show he was up to the rigors of it.

Juggling a hot pie, Johanna crossed to the hearth and offered it to him. Tom bit into it, the bite moving from side to side in his mouth as he waited for it to cool enough to taste. At last, he swallowed. "Good," he said with a single nod and set into the remainder of crust and meat.

A triumphant glow took hold of Johanna's heart, and she loosed a tiny squeal of pleasure. She could cook! Dancing back to the table, she tried the ugliest of them. It was not just savory, it was delicious.

"Philip, can I take these two to Helewise?" Since the bite in her mouth blurred her speech, she pointed out the perfect two in case he hadn't understood which ones.

"I will give them all to you," the cook said, tucking the pies into a cloth. "When you've finished admiring them, you can give them to Arthur and Rob."

"Nay!" Johanna cried in instant refusal. Although Philip didn't seem to think misshapen pasties any great matter, both Arthur and Rob would tease her over them.

"Come now, little mistress. You cannot keep them all to yourself. Besides it'd be a boon if you fed those lads. Our meal is late enough already."

When she looked at him in confusion, Philip smiled. "Arthur will be here any moment to pester me for a bite to eat since he is always hungry upon his return from the abbey. No doubt he'll bring Rob with him when he comes, as they went off to lessons together this morn. If you feed them for me, I can finish our meal."

Pride grew in her with his words. A swift smile touched Johanna's mouth. Philip thought her work good enough to feed those who labored for Papa. Better still, as long as she did this for Philip she could delay her return to the house and the mending. That alone was worth any tease.

"I will do as you ask, Philip," she said, offering him what she hoped was a mistressly nod.

"My thanks," the cook said, waiting until she donned her mantle before handing her the knot of cloth. "Off with you, then."

The day's off-and-on shower had finally died into a gentle mist, leaving the whole world well and truly soaked. Johanna crossed the courtyard, carefully picking her way to prevent her hems from getting mucky, her thoughts on Rob and schooling. In the same fit of pique that had ended her education, Papa had decided to send Arthur to the Benedictines, whose abbey school educated the majority of Stanrudde's apprentices. Rob had wanted to go as well, but Papa had insisted Rob wait until he'd passed his saint's day and entered his eleventh year. That had been yesterday; this morn, Rob had left for the abbey with Arthur, his very own wax tablet and stylus in his scrip.

At the gate Johanna picked a dry spot just inside the opening and nibbled on her pie as she watched the passing traffic. Pack horses and carts were churning the lane into a sea of mud while those foot-bound slogged through the thick stuff in wooden sabots, their cloaks dampened to dark hues. A regrater passed, calling to all about the extraordinary flavor of his cheese.

The minutes passed like hours and still the lads didn't come. As her impatience grew, holding herself within the gate grew very difficult. Although Helewise said lasses who strolled beyond their fathers' walls gained a name for being too forward, it wasn't fear for her reputation that kept Johanna clinging to the woven fencing, but the threat of another round of chamber pots. Only when she was absolutely certain the apprentices had been too long did she dare step into the lane.

Her hands on her hips, Johanna peered in the direction of the abbey. Just then, Arthur rounded the corner as if the hounds of hell were after him. As he ran he kept his arms wrapped around his middle, holding himself together. His hair was filthy with mud. Deathly pale, blood streamed from his nose and dribbled from a cut in his forehead. His tunic was torn and one shoe was missing.

"Helewise!" Johanna shrieked, darting back into her father's compound.

Arthur flew into the gate then stopped in front of her, panting. "When they let me go, they were still holding Rob down. Someone must save him," he gasped out.

A burst of heat exploded in Johanna, too hot for just anger. Rob was hers to care for. She'd not stand for anyone hurting him. "Where?" she demanded, her fists tightening in preparation for battle.

"They've got Rob in the abbey's market field," he cried to Helewise, who'd appeared at the forebuilding's door. Then he began to sob.

Forgetting about chamber pots and reputations, Johanna hurtled through the gate. Down the ropemakers' lane she flew, past the chandlers' enclave, then through an alley to the coopers' lane. She burst out onto the small expanse that served as a marketplace for the abbey's once-a-year fair and stopped, her sack of precious pasties yet grasped tightly in her hand.

Beneath the sky's gray curtain, the field was mud in places and dotted with daffodils in others, the blooms vibrant against the bright green of spring grass. Rob was nowhere to be seen. Four of the town's apprentices stood in one corner of the expanse. All of them were near to Arthur's age, two attached to fullers, one to a butcher, and the last to Herebert the Ropemaker. They were gathered close to each other as if sharing secrets.

Her heart seethed. She'd beat them to a pulp for hurting her Rob. Sprinting toward them, she barely slowed before striking her first blow. The elder fuller's lad yelped as the hardened leather of her sole caught him full on his shin.

She whirled to set on the butcher's boy, but he grabbed her by the arms and held her away from him "Cease, I say!"

"You hurt Rob!" she screamed at them, kicking and swinging at her captor.

"He hit me first!" the younger fuller's lad lisped in protest. Blood dripped from his swollen and cut lips. He rubbed it off with his sleeve. "He nigh on tore off my face."

"It was a fair fight," Herebert's boy cried out. His brown tunic was torn, revealing a stained and patched shirt beneath it.

"Aye, one of him against four of us," the older fuller's lad said, a touch of shame in his voice. There was mud befouling his hair and tunic. A swath of red glowed angrily down the side of his face.

"There were two of them," the butcher's boy exclaimed in protest.

"You would count that puling infant, Arthur?" another retorted in scorn.

"What have you done with him?" Johanna shouted, her anger growing mostly because the butcher's boy was keeping her from landing a blow.

"Who? The bastard or Arthur?" he asked.

"Rob is not a bastard," Johanna retorted. Although she was uncertain of the mechanics, bastards were babes born from women who had no husbands. Rob had had both a mother and a father.

"Be damned to hell if I know," the older of the fuller's apprentices said, daring to use a forbidden curse in an attempt at swaggering bravado. "Arthur went one way and he, the other."

Instantly, Johanna knew Rob was at their private place. He went there to think whenever he was troubled. Wanting only to join him and see that he was safe, she tried to pull free of the butcher's boy. "Leave go!" she commanded him, when he yet held her tight.

"Vow not to hit me and I will," her captor replied.

Rob had warned her again and again that oaths were sacred, and she should make them only when she meant to keep her word. Since she meant to do so this time, Johanna laid her hand over her heart. The cloth filled with pasties bounced against her chest. She raised her other hand to steady the bag's bottom. It was soggy and warm. "I so vow," she said, going still to prove her words were true.

He released her. She turned toward Stanrudde’s watergate and Papa's warehouse. Behind her, Edwin, the younger fuller's lad, sniffed. "I know naught what you others plan, but I'll never call him bastard again, no matter what Katel offers."

At the mention of her betrothed Johanna stopped with a jerk and whirled on the lads. Katel had done this to Rob? She frowned. How could it be? Katel was only ever patient and friendly with her. He even played her games with her, although he drew the line at toying with her poppet. But then, so did Rob.

Everyone thought her fortunate to be betrothed to a man as handsome and amiable as Katel. That was, all save Emmalina, one of the lasses who labored in the apothecary's shop. Johanna's lip curled at this. Emmalina was only jealous, pining after Katel when he already belonged to her.

Herebert's apprentice struck the younger lad's shoulder a sharp blow. "You fool! She's to wed Katel. What if she tells him what you said? He'll have our skins, that’s what."

"I'll vow not to tell," she offered.

As one, they glared at her. "Everyone knows a woman's word is worth nothing," the butcher's lad hissed, despite that he'd taken a vow from her the moment before. "What shall we do to ensure she holds her tongue, my lads?"

Stung by this betrayal and suddenly concerned for her safety, Johanna lifted her heels and sprinted in the direction of the watergate. At halfway 'cross the field she glanced behind her. Her heart leapt into her throat. They were after her!

Past the keep's mound she went, trampling clutches of daffodils in her haste. She slid around the corner of Papa's building and plowed into the willows, their branches golden-green with newborn leaves. Forcing herself between the two trees, she tried to drop into her hiding spot beside Rob. There wasn’t enough room. Rob had grown some over the winter, and now nigh on filled the wee hole.

"Hie, move aside, they're after me," she hissed.

In silence he made room for her. Johanna eased into the space, yet panting against the thrill of being chased. She went still as a mouse until she was certain the lads hadn't come this far in their pursuit. Only when she was content that she wasn't being followed did she look at Rob.

He was trying to wipe the mud from his face with his tunic's hem. One eye was already darkening to purple while there was a swelling on his jaw. The knees of his chausses were now but gaping holes, and his knuckles were red and scraped.

"Does it hurt?" she whispered in awe.

"What do you think," he snapped, trying to turn his face to the side so she wouldn't see the tracks his tears had made in the filth.

"That it hurts," she replied, undaunted. Rob was touchy about his emotions. It made him short tempered to have someone see him cry. In an effort to grant him a moment's privacy, she stared into her lap.

The cloth bag containing her pasties had survived her race intact. All that running made her hungry. With her stomach grumbling, she opened the cloth's knot. The smell of fresh baked crust filled their tiny hidey-hole.

Tears forgotten, Rob breathed deeply, then leaned over to peer at what she had. She offered him one of the two better pies. The misery in his expression dimmed slightly as he took it from her.

"Where did you get these?" he asked, most of the pie already stuffed in his mouth.

"I made them myself." Pride filled her once again, then grew when he grunted to tell her he was enjoying it. Johanna took the other pretty one for herself, handing him one of the ugly ones when he finished his first.

As she ate she looked across the hole toward Papa's warehouse. Rob's wax-coated tablet lay against its wall as if thrown there. What had started the day as whole was now in two pieces. Leaning forward to pick it up, she held the pieces together as if she could force them to rejoin.

Rob's scrawling attempts at letters now filled its soft surface. Johanna lifted a finger to trace a few of the marks. Of a sudden, she was certain she'd made a mistake in wishing to escape schooling for Helewise's tutelage. Scratching shapes into wax was definitely easier than mending.

"Did you break the tablet?" she asked, setting the pieces back onto the hole's opposite side.