Brewer's Tale, The (94 page)

Excited by the change and by their new nursery, which was a larger room on the second storey, the twins walked up and down stairs, grabbing the railings, crawling and running through rooms, hiding beneath tables and in chests, getting under everyone's feet and generally exhausting Constance and Emma who found even their endless reservoir of patience drained.

Each night I fell into bed, pleased with how The Swanne was taking shape. From the second day, using supplies we'd brought from Southwark, Alyson opened the taproom and began to sell our ale and beer. Already, we had additional orders to meet, on top of our regular customers. Masters Porlond and Hamme had visited and declared themselves pleased and arranged a date for me to be invested into the Mystery of Brewers.

Leander organised for Captain Stoyan to take the remaining sealed barrel from The Swanne down the river.

‘What's wrong with it?' asked the captain as they manoeuvred it up the stairs.

‘It's soured,' said Leander and quickly explained.

‘Ah. It's a monk's pissy brew then,' said Captain Stoyan.

Leander's lips twitched. ‘Aye, one of a kind.'

As Leander sat on the chair near the bed and pulled off his boots, rubbing his twisted foot before undoing the laces of his shirt, I put down my mother's recipe book, pulled myself to the edge of the mattress and touched his thigh.

‘Thank you,' I said.

‘What for?'

‘So much, so much.' I found my voice becoming thick. ‘You saved me you know. Not only my life, but
me
.'

Leander gave a dry laugh. ‘You save yourself so often, Anneke, I sometimes wonder if you need me at all.'

Rising, I stood in front of him and waited until he shifted position so I might sit in his lap. ‘My lord,' I began, linking my arms around his neck, ‘whatever else you think of me, whatever else you might say —' He opened his mouth, but I placed my fingers against it. ‘Sh, let me finish. However it might seem, know I
always
need you — more than that, I
want
you.'

He gazed into my eyes, his face softening, his eyes glistening.

‘Now may I speak?'

I nodded solemnly.

‘I want
you
. God, Anneke, from the moment I first saw you, I wanted you. What I never anticipated, what has delighted me to my very soul, is that I
need
you too.' I went to say something, but this time, he stopped me with a kiss. ‘Not yet. I'm not finished.' He paused and his sapphire eyes looked deep into mine. His warm breath was on my cheek, his hair beneath my fingers. ‘I love you, Anna de Winter, Anneke Sheldrake, in whatever your next incarnation will be. Know this, I will always love you.'

I bent my head and silenced him for a long time.

Nestled in his arms, watching the stars twinkle and listening to the unfamiliar night sounds of Cornhill Street, something occurred to me. ‘My lord, on our last night at The Swanne, you said you didn't believe I could keep my word and that you had a solution. While I chose not to be offended by such an outrageous suggestion,' I smiled, ‘I'm curious to know. What was it?'

‘Simple,' said Leander, untangling my braid. ‘You must marry me.'

I placed my hands on his shoulders and leaned away so he was forced to drop his fingers. ‘
Marry
you?'

‘That way, you must promise before the Holy Church and in the sight of God to obey me, so when I ask for your word, you've no choice but to abide.'

I burst out laughing. ‘My lord, that is the funniest of proposals. I don't need marriage to obey you — or not.'

When he didn't chuckle or smile in return, I stroked his face. ‘Sweet Mother Mary, you're serious.'

‘Most.'

‘But, Leander, you're a knight of the realm, the son of a lord, a king's man and I'm … I'm …'

‘The most remarkable woman I've ever known.'

‘I'm a brewer, Leander. Your mistress, a murderer …' I arched a brow and looked at him out of the corner of my eye. ‘You can stop me whenever you wish, my lord.'

‘You're all those things. But you're also my brewer, and I wouldn't have you any other way.'

‘What would your father say?'

Leander's brow furrowed. ‘Frankly, I don't care. But, you might be surprised. I don't think he'd object, at least, not too hard.' He gave a half-grin. ‘I'm the youngest son and a cripple —'

I made a noise of objection. I barely noticed his infirmity, like Betje's scars, like our histories and memories, it was a part of who he was.

‘For all that you may think poorly of him because of what he did to your family, he perceived himself as putting a terrible wrong right. That he lacked judgement, that he did not consider the future for all concerned, I think are points he would concede. I, however, want to consider the future — our future. In taking my name, not only is yours assured, my love, but so is Betje's and the twins.'

‘Is that why you ask, my lord? To put a terrible wrong right? You did not rape my mother, Leander, you did not sign a devil's deal that rendered my family destitute; you're not responsible for what Roland did to me either.' I stared past his left shoulder, at the lamp flickering by the bed. ‘I know you feel great affection for Betje, but how … how could you love Karel and Isabelle knowing who … knowing their father?'

‘The same way I love Tobias, knowing how he came into this world. Tobias is a good man, a decent man. Are you worried the twins will be tainted by their father's blood? Not if I've any say, Anneke, not if you do either. Just as Symond has had no say in Tobias's upbringing — that was one thing my father did do right.' He took my chin in between his fingers and forced me to meet his eyes.

‘What do you say? Do we create a new, unconventional family from our band of misfits and cripples? A brewer and a knight, adorable giddy twins, and sweet little Betje?'

‘Don't forget Tobias.'

‘Never.'

‘Nor Adam and Alyson —'

‘Aye …'

‘And Captain Stoyan.'

‘Well … I jest my love, I do but jest. Of course.'

‘And dear Harry.'

‘And dear Harry.' Leander sighed and raised a finger. ‘I will draw the line at any of the girls — not even my father at his most agreeable would concede their inclusion.'

I laughed and kissed his finger.

Lost for words, my thoughts spiralled to the heavens. Wasn't this what I'd always dreamed of, wasn't this what, in the secret depths of my soul, I'd always wanted? A husband, a family? It had been, once. But if the events of the last couple of years taught me anything, it was that I didn't
need
that any more. I'd the love of a good man, husband or not; I'd my sister, my beautiful children, and such dear, dear friends. I had the type of family of which I'd always dreamed — bound by love, not blood; by experience, not rank or status; and not even the Rainford name could change that. I'd an occupation I loved and a successful trade. Being the best brewer in London, or England as Will had once declared, was no longer an impossible dream but an attainable goal. It wouldn't be easy; I'd be a fool to imagine otherwise. There were more battles to fight, arguments to win or lose and more injustice to overcome. But I could do it — together, we all could. Was I so very wrong to
need
to achieve that as well?

It was who I was.

But what Leander asked of me, it wasn't about need. It was about want. And God and the crones and Mother Mary and Ninkasi knew I wanted him. More than I'd wanted anything in my life. But still …

Taking Leander's face in mine, I held it firmly, studying the firm mouth, the dark bristles, the little dimples that resided in his cheeks, before locking onto his eyes once more and seeing the hope, the want, residing there. ‘I love you almost too much to become your wife, Leander. You have so much to lose by tying your name to mine, to my reputation.'

‘Your answer is nay, then?' He tried to pull away, not in anger, but disappointment. I wouldn't release him.

‘I didn't say that, did I?'

‘Nay.'

‘If you recall, I said “almost”. You see, my lord, I too can be selfish.' A light began to dance in those eyes. ‘Leander, can you wait until I'm settled here in Cornhill Street, till the brewery is solvent and established? Can you wait till I'm secure in the trade and have trained new journeymen to assist Betje, Harry and Adam?'

‘Why?'

‘Because then I want you to ask me again.'

Understanding dawned and his face transformed. His mouth twitched.

‘I can, beloved. I can.'

I leaned my forehead against his, lowering it till our noses, then our lips, just touched. His heart drummed beneath my palm, vibrating along my arm and answering the rapid beating of my own.

‘What will your answer be then?'

‘If I tell you now, then I spoil our tale.'

‘Not for me. Never for me.'

‘Then, my answer will be aye, beloved,' I whispered against his mouth, breathed into his very soul. ‘It is aye.'

L
ike most historical novels,
The Brewer's Tale
draws upon real places, events, records and people, as well as a documented political and cultural ­backdrop — including all aspects of beer and ale production, and the laws and punishments described — to enrich and add veracity to a work of fiction. What I'd like to do here is explain where I've either followed or veered from fact to create the tale you've just completed.

The book opens in the bustling port town of Elmham Lenn, which is an invention. Though a fictitious place, it's loosely based on medieval Bishop's Lynn (now King's Lynn) and Cromer, both port towns on the east coast of England.

The second half of the novel is set variously in medieval Southwark (mainly Bankside) and London, as well as Gloucester, and in terms of setting is as close to accurate as possible. Using original maps from the era and a slightly later period, historical records and the work of so many wonderful and erudite historians, I've tried to recreate the sense of what it would have been like to live and brew in those times. While I've aimed for authenticity, I've chosen to modernise the spelling of some genuine locales in Southwark and London (for example, St Saviour's Church instead of Sint Savyors and Pepper Alley in lieu of Peper, etc., though some others maintain the original, such as the Tabard Inn and the Cardinal's Hatte) in case keen readers wish to track these places down. I have, however, taken mild liberties as to the exact location and names of certain streets, churches and conduits (for the sake of the story) around Southwark and London, though most are precise.

The references to King Henry IV, or Henry Bolingbroke as he is also known, and his whereabouts at different times throughout the novel are faithful, including physical descriptions and those of his ailments. The skin affliction he suffered is documented fact. It's also fact that the king slipped into a temporary coma on the date described, many believing that he was at death's door. He made a recovery, but his health before and after was never very good. It's also true that, much to the chagrin of the nobles, officials and merchants who'd descended on Gloucester for the sitting of Parliament on 24 October 1407, Henry didn't make an appearance, leaving Archbishop Arundel to officiate instead. The reason for his failure to attend is not known, but probably had something to do with his recuperation from the long river journey, even though this would not have been arduous. He did attend Parliament on the second day, but kept silent.

It's also true that King Henry developed a taste for beer, something historian Ian Mortimer in his excellent biography
The Fears of Henry IV
, attributes to his time in Lithuania as a young man. This worked very well for the novel and it was not too great a stretch (I hope) to have him ordering Anneke's beer, let alone ale, for his own table.

The plague that strikes London and Southwark in 1407 is based on an obscure record and I thank my dear friend, historian Dr Frances Thiele, for uncovering that and other facts for me. There were many outbreaks over this period, some worse than others and none as great as the plague the century before — 1348–1350 — or the Great Plague that decimated London in 1665–66.

The Thames famously froze in the winter of 1407–8, and various entertainments occurred on the thick ice of the river, including Frost Fairs. Likewise, the descriptions of crops thriving or failing, wars, allegiances, and the ports owned and operated by the Hanse or Hanseatic League, and various trade and pilgrim routes are all based on actuality.

As for the ale, beer and other alcoholic beverages that feature in the book, references to the methods used in brewing, the levels of consumption, as well as the taxes and laws, are historically correct. In medieval times people didn't have the choices, knowledge or understanding of health that we do now. Water, which was often polluted and brackish, was considered dangerous — and it was. While other alcoholic and non-alcoholic drinks were available in England before the 1400s, the main beverage consumed by the young and not-so-young, particularly in the lower classes and religious houses, was a home-brewed ale. In the 1400s, people drank on average between one and a half to five litres (the latter in extreme circumstances) of ale a day (often on top of wine, sack, cider and mead). While A. Lynn Martin in his scholarly book,
Alcohol, Sex and Gender in Late Medieval and Early Modern Europe
, explains this consumption by analysing the figures and proposing when and where these amounts were downed, taking into account the food eaten while drinking, as well as the strength of the beer and wine (which was reasonably heady), it still leaves us with the undeniable truth that a great deal of alcohol was consumed every day. That meant that most people were at least a little inebriated much of the time.