Brewer's Tale, The (71 page)

The frown that marred his brow did not concern me, though I caught Tobias casting his master an uneasy look. Before I could question the source of this discomfort, the maid entered with a tray. Drinks were poured and a platter of pork dumplings provided for the men, who ate with relish.

‘We had supper hours ago,' explained Tobias, with the hunger one expects of a man of eighteen. ‘Since then, we've had to endure endless introductions to knights, lord this and lady that, and so many monks. I'd not thought to see that number of churchmen gathered in the one spot until I ascended to God's side.'

Leander spluttered his drink. ‘In my experience, by God's side is not where you'd find them, Tobias.'

‘Amen to that,' chuckled Alyson.

Mention of the monks recalled my earlier sighting. I could not join the laughter but found myself wrapped in a mantle of worry once more.

‘What is it, Mistress Anna?' asked Leander, putting his goblet down. ‘From your expression, it's evident something is bothering you.'

Cursing myself that I could not dissemble, I tried to smile. ‘'Tis nothing, my lord, but a foolish woman seeing ghosts where there be none.'

‘What ghosts?' Leander looked from me to Alyson.

Quickly, so Alyson didn't embellish, I told Leander and Tobias what had happened and who I believed I saw.

‘I know it's irrational, imprudent even, but this monk had the same almost silver-blue eyes and wore the robes of a Benedictine, and …' my voice petered out. Articulating what had happened hours after the event greatly lessened its power to disturb me. I shrugged.

‘For certes, eyes like that are not common, but they're not uncommon either,' said Leander softly, his words the caress he could not extend physically. ‘Rest assured, mistress, I will make some enquiries and see if I can discover who this monk might be. Let us see if we cannot end your perturbation. I only vaguely recall Calkin myself, but enough to recognise him if, like the good Lord, he's been resurrected.'

‘You mock me, my lord.'

He shook his head. ‘I seek, mayhap poorly, to reassure you.'

This time the smile reached my eyes and showed my gratitude.

‘The rogue Calkin is dead, Anneke,' said Tobias. ‘Leander and I searched the remains of Holcroft House thoroughly — no-one could have survived such a terrible blaze. We … er … spoke to the monks of St Jude's, Abbot Hubbard as well, though he was replaced not long after what happened.'

My eyebrows shot up. I'd not known that.

‘Aye,' said Tobias, ‘he became very ill. Calkin never returned. Abbot Hubbard denied any knowledge of him, admitted to having only one son and that was not his name. Claimed he would abjure such behaviour in a monk, let alone a child of his. No matter who we asked or how hard we probed, we found no proof of a Calkin ever having existed — except in Holcroft House.'

‘But he did.'

‘Indeed, we met him, though I have trouble recalling him, so little did he draw attention to himself. Rest assured, dear sister, God has punished him for his vile sins.'

The fire crackled, a candle went out, its dark smoke an ethereal finger that pointed heavenwards. For all that I should forgive, I could not. I hoped Westel's soul resided far below. Merry voices carried along the corridor along with faint strains of music. No-one spoke.

Tobias was right. Leander and Alyson too. Westel was dead, and every time I thought about him, or believed I saw him, I was merely bringing him and his wicked deeds to life again, punishing others and myself over and over. It did no-one any good, least of all me. I had to bury him once and for all.

‘You're right,' I said finally. ‘It was just a trick of my mind. God has punished him and for His eternal justice I am grateful.' I clapped my hands together. ‘Now, my lord,' I twisted towards Leander. ‘Tell me, when do I get to meet His Grace? After all, is that not the purpose of this journey?'

Leander gave a look that melted my heart, and tested my resolve not to throw my arms around him and beg him to carry me into the shadows then and there. I half rose and then sat again.

‘My, you are excited, Anneke.' There was a note of disapproval in Tobias's voice.

I bit back a laugh. Oh, I was.

‘Well,' said Leander, rubbing his chin. I noticed then how tired he looked, the shadows under his eyes, the way the muscle in his jaw throbbed when he moved his leg. Here I was, anxious about phantoms when real pain wracked my beloved. ‘Tomorrow will be a busy day for His Grace, but I'm hoping that once the commons choose their Speaker, and discussion starts, Arundel will ensure the sittings are not too onerous for the king. He's not enjoyed the best of health lately.'

‘So we'd heard,' said Alyson. ‘What ails his Grace?'

‘No physician has yet been able to uncover the problem, despite taking samples of royal piss almost every other day and consulting the stars.' Leander shook his head. ‘It matters naught what they give him — potions, unguents — his skin burns, and he is afflicted with angry pustules over his body. He suffers great lethargy from time to time, hence the slow trip to Gloucester, eschewing the road for the river.'

‘He needs Marcian Vetazes, does his Grace. Works marvels, that man.' Alyson folded her arms and nodded sagely.

‘Our apothecary,' I explained.

Leander seemed to consider the possibility before continuing. ‘I'm hoping, however, that His Grace will see you the day after the morrow. If I've any influence, it will be by week's end.'

I wasn't sure how to respond. What I really wanted to know was when I would see Leander again. ‘And you, my lord, will it be busy for you as well?'

‘Parliament always is. That's why, now that I'm assured my friend, Banbury, has made you comfortable and that you and the brew have arrived safely, I must depart.' He sighed and heaved himself to his feet. Relying on his cane to keep him steady, he went to the door and paused.

I rose, smoothing my tunic. ‘My lord, forgive my fuss, but I must inspect the brew before the king tastes it. It wouldn't do for him to be served an ale that has soured or a beer that does not froth into a tankard, now would it?'

Leander smiled. ‘I doubt your brew would ever suffer the faults that afflict others. But you have a point. Tobias will escort you to the abbey's cellars after tierce tomorrow. You won't be the only brewer wanting to ensure the king's supplies made it here intact, so it would be good to arrive early.'

Tobias frowned. He didn't like the idea of my needs taking priority over his. Leander clapped him on the back. ‘I've recommended your sister's brew to the king, if there's something wrong with it, I want to know before his Grace. Parliament can be a dull affair. You'll thank me for this distraction. Wait and see.'

Tobias appeared dubious but resigned. I flashed Leander a grateful look.

‘Come, Tobias, I promised John we'd join him for a drink in the hall. I just hope he's able to remember I kept my word.'

Bidding adieu, I remained at the door as the men descended and, with a last look and wave back up the stairs, retreated into the hall. Shortly after, the maid came and helped us undress. Alyson wasted no time clambering beneath the furs, muttering her prayers as swiftly as she was able. Within minutes, gentle snores wafted the curtains.

Drawing a chair up to the window, I rested my elbows upon the sill and stared into the night. The moon glimmered on the river and the crenellated towers of the castle. Below, night watchmen, lamps held aloft, patrolled the streets, and within the dark, figures darted around corners and into doorways just ahead of their radiant path; those few folk brave or foolish enough to defy curfew and wander without light.

Though I'd made a commitment to bury Westel, it was moments like these, when I was left with no company but my straying thoughts, that he returned from the grave, larger than life and with a malice that made me tremble. Leander might think eyes that colour weren't uncommon, but it wasn't just the colour that made them different; it was what I saw reflected in those opaque orbs that made me quake in the depths of my very soul. For what I hadn't told anyone was that in that brief moment when our eyes locked I saw not evil or a gaze of longing or lust, which even monks were capable of giving. Nay. What I saw was fear. Fear and disbelief. And, in that, the monk's eyes echoed mine.

‘That's ours, over there,' I said, raising the cresset lamp high so it illuminated the corner of the cellar.

‘Where?' asked Tobias, lifting the light he carried and almost bumping the monk Brother David, who had led us down here, in the face with his elbow.

‘See? It says Son of Ale, there, beneath the band.' I pointed to a stack of barrels.

‘Son of Ale?'

‘It's what your sister calls her beer,' said Alyson, squeezing past. ‘Just as well or we'd be here all day trying to find the bloody barrels. Oh, excuse me, father,' she said, trying to swing around, but colliding with Tobias. ‘I'd not expected so many.'

The black-garbed monk merely raised his eyes to the ceiling and crossed himself.

Forcing my way between the hundreds of barrels bearing the brands of other brewers, I reached my own. When I entered the cellar and saw how many were stored in neat rows beneath the abbey — and these just for the king's and parliament's consumption — any fancy I had about being given Crown trade on the basis of this delivery dried quicker than a spilled ale in summer. Why, there was beer from Flanders, Belgium, Norwich, Chester, Brigstock, Tewksbury, Surrey, Kent, London and many more places besides. Local brewers had also provided ale. Brother David explained how suppliers were sourced from everywhere and only the best were selected for the king's table.

‘His taster and possibly one of his lords will be down shortly to try a couple of the brews. This occurs daily. Those approved end up at the high table.'

‘What about those that aren't?' asked Alyson.

‘Why, they're for the commons to drink, or the monks.'

‘But, how does the taster get through all these?' I looked around the cellar, trying to take in the vast amount of barrels and skins.

‘He doesn't. It's simply not possible.' Brother David's voice was sympathetic.

‘So, mine might not get tasted at all.'

Alyson huffed. Tobias shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. Trying not to become despondent, I thought about those other brewers who didn't even get this opportunity. There was no point worrying about what might not happen. What if the king did try my brew? It was important that, just in case this should occur, I knew what he would experience. Taking a deep breath and trying not to cough as the cold air entered my lungs, I indicated two barrels. One bore the name Son of Ale, the other the three xs branded in the manner of Southwark ale-conners and which denoted my ale. ‘Knock the bungs out of those, Tobias. Alyson, do you have the tankards?'

‘Aye,' said Alyson, sliding one expertly beneath the spot where Tobias struck and caught the little wooden plug. Ale chugged into one then another. Tobias quickly pushed the bung back in, hammering it sealed. Only a little liquid spilled onto the floor.

Putting my lamp on top of a neighbouring barrel, I reached for the tankards. Passing one to Father David, I raised the other and, swirling it a few times, smelled the contents, capturing the earthy, rich odour of the malt, the smoky scent of the moss I'd burned with the wood and the herbs I'd added to impart flavour. But the proof was in the tasting.

Brother David was about to take a drink when a noise at the other end of the cellar made him pause. Voices followed by laughter and leisurely footsteps. A light bobbed. People approaching quickly, no doubt other brewers come to do exactly that which we were about.

I took a quick sip and was most pleased with the result. I lifted my tankard for Brother David to do the same.

‘If you would just come this way, your Grace,' said a rough voice. ‘You'll find some of the lesser known brews.'

Your Grace? I shot a puzzled look at Alyson who was staring wide-eyed at the approaching figures. She jerked her head furiously in their direction.

Turning, I watched a short but very wide monk holding a lamp aloft draw nearer. Behind him, three dark figures could just be discerned. The tallest had a graying, forked beard, a fine moustache and his high forehead glinted, as if it were embedded with jewels …

‘Your Grace,' whispered Father David in shocked tones and dropped to his knees. Tobias and Alyson followed suit. If Alyson hadn't tugged my tunic, pulling me down beside her, I think I still would have been gawping, a brimming tankard in my hand as the king drew level. As it was, I fell into a deep curtsey, my chin tucked to my chest, one arm across my middle, the other still holding the ale.

Though I'd not yet offered proper thanks to them, I believe the gods and crones were looking out for me in that very moment.