Brewer's Tale, The

by Brooks, Karen

  My heart sank. This was an obstacle I hadn’t thought to reckon with.

  Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Master Perkyn became thoughtful. ‘It’s a pity you don’t have someone to vouch for you, someone the ale-conners and guild, never mind the abbot, would be concerned about crossing …’

  Master Perkyn was right. If there was someone I could ask to help, someone with status … Then it occurred to me. Of course. There was someone, someone from an organisation who wielded such great influence that I knew the abbot didn’t have the power to touch him.

  While Adam and Master Perkyn discussed the quantities of barley we’d need and debated prices, some of which would be paid in ale (if it passed the ale-conners’ standards), I thought about how I’d approach Captain Stoyan. I’d had a brief note from him in response to mine telling him of Father’s death. Short, but no less warm for its brevity, he’d written that if I needed anything, to let him know.

  These sorts of platitudes were often uttered in times of tragedy, I was sensible enough to know that. But Hatto Stoyan was different. And I would test his statement at first light tomorrow.

  From Master Perkyn’s warnings, if I was to have even a chance of succeeding, I needed all the friends I could muster.

  NINE

  ELMHAM LENN AND HOLCROFT HOUSE

  The following day

  The year of Our Lord 1405 in the sixth year of the reign of Henry IV

  Adam and I stayed in earnest discussion well into the evening, locked away in the office. Master Perkyn’s words had affected us both deeply. While they made Adam want to dissuade me from proceeding, they had the opposite effect upon me. If anything, they strengthened my resolve. Perhaps it was foolish, but the injustices Master Perkyn described fired me. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I thought I could change everything; that if I defied the abbot and sold my ale, then others, like Mistress Amwell, would be able to as well.

  Mollifying Adam’s worries about my stubborn refusal to relinquish my plans by agreeing to be chaperoned when I went to the Hanse was no hardship, and Will was delighted to escape his usual tasks.

  The next morning, Adam harnessed Shelby to the cart so, instead of walking through town and along the estuary to the bay, Will and I rode, joining other folk on their way to market and going about their daily business.

  The mornings were getting colder, tacit reminders of the winter fast approaching. Though the sun was climbing over the horizon, it battled its way through a thick mist, beams of tepid light striking the damp road and gently melting the frost. Grateful for my fur-lined coat and woollen gloves, I nonetheless enjoyed the crispness of the air and noted how it turned Will’s cheeks and the end of his nose bright pink. I imagined mine looked the same.

  Merchants and market vendors doffed their caps to me as we passed. Those who’d also lost loved ones aboard the Cathaline met my eyes sadly. It was distressing to see the depth of anguish among the townsfolk, the constant reminders of loss. Melancholy, I stared out to sea, surprised I felt no resentment, no anger towards the element that had claimed so many.

  Both the bay and the river were filled with traffic. Now the storms had called a truce, ships that had been confined to the North and Baltic Seas were able to make their way into port and unload men and cargoes before reloading and returning to the Cinque Ports, Calais, Germany and Flanders. The Wash was crammed with galleys and barges navigating the inland waterways. Even at this time of the morning, the air rang with shouts, whistles and the hum of activity. A few ships were in dry dock, held tightly in wooden scaffolding so their hulls could be caulked. The smells of tar and pitch joined those of fish, smoke, spices and cooking, all mingling with the ever-present tang of the sea and the musty odour of old seagull nests.

  Leaving Will and the cart at the end of the track before it surrendered to the pier, I gave him coin so he could purchase some breakfast from one of the vendors that catered to sailors and shipwrights.

  My step quickened as I passed warehouses filled with salt, wool, silks, yarns, tin and other produce. Up ahead, a familiar figure stepped onto the dock. Captain Hatto Stoyan stood outside the Kontor, arms folded, legs apart, as if he was riding a canting deck, and watched me approach. Short and stout with the broadest of shoulders, he had an unruly thatch of greying chestnut hair, a neat, trimmed beard and the face of a man who’d spent most of his life squinting into the sun. Lines criss-crossed his darkened skin, which only threw the clarity of his pale blue eyes into stark relief. They were the kind of eyes dishonest men could not hold for long.

  ‘Guten Morgen, Fräulein Sheldrake,’ he said as I joined him, giving me a small bow. ‘Es tut mir leid um ihren Vater.’

  Unlike the words proffered by Lord Rainford and others, the captain’s sympathy sounded sincere. Captain Stoyan may not have liked my father, but he had respected him — at one time at least.

  ‘Danke schön,’ I replied.

  Glancing pointedly at the smaller boats and barges floating in the water outside the warehouse and the crews working on them, the captain lowered his voice. ‘Wir unterhalten uns später in Ruhe.’

  It suited me to wait till we were inside to talk. I didn’t want what I was about to say overheard. Indicating I should go ahead, Captain Stoyan shouted some orders then followed me into the Kontor.

  It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dark interior. Beneath the pitched roof and wooden walls of the warehouse men rolled huge barrels, clambered over enormous bales of wool, sorted crates of metal, hammered nails into chests and, using ropes and pulleys, moved enormous loads in and out of the building. Spools of fabric were checked by well-dressed merchants, while clerks stood nearby with counting boards and portable desks, ready to record any transactions that might take place. Livestock was quarantined to one side: chickens, sheep and cattle. In one corner, the floor was being swept vigorously by two lads with straw brooms. In another, crates were being stacked on top of each other. There was a sense of order in the work around me. As I walked beside Captain Stoyan, I caught snatches of conversation in different languages, including the singsong purr of Flemish and my mother’s native Dutch, as familiar to me as English.

  The captain and I entered a large quiet room at the back of the warehouse. It had been years since I’d been inside this room, and yet, it was as if time had stood still. The ageing map featuring England, Scotland and Wales was nailed to a wall. France, the Netherlands, the German Empire, the kingdoms of Denmark, Sweden and all the small countries, duchies and provinces that lined the North and Baltic Seas were captured in pastels. I used to stare at this map for hours when I came to Father’s meetings with the captain, imagining travelling to such marvellously named and shaped places. The rusting iron holders still clutched their melting pillar candles, which the captain lit as I waited. Everything was exactly as I remembered. Boxes were still stacked against one wall; the tattered rug from Persia, with its ruby and sapphire boldness, was the same. Even the cobwebs appeared unchanged, shimmering in the corners. A fire burned in the grate, making the place warm enough for me to ask permission to remove my cloak.

  ‘Of course,’ said the captain and came to take it from my shoulders. ‘I ask that we speak in English, Mistress Anneke. If we’re overheard, we’re less likely to be understood. My men are many things, but fluent in that, they’re not.’

  ‘Very well.’

  Hanging my cloak on a hook that jutted out of the wall behind his desk, he gestured to the comfortable chair opposite his own. Gathering my skirts, I sat.

  ‘It’s been too long,’ he said and, going to a huge old sea-chest in the corner, pulled out a jug and two silver mazers. Knocking the top off the jug, he first poured a drink for me, then himself and sat, pushing aside the clutter on his desk with his forearm. His voice was almost a growl. ‘The last time I saw you, you were but a kind, a child. Now, you’re a woman grown and, if I may be so bold, a very lovely one.’

  My cheeks reddened as I thanked him.

  ‘I’m sorry ab
out your father. His loss will be felt by many in very different ways.’

  I didn’t know what to say.

  ‘To old acquaintances,’ he said and raised his drink.

  ‘Old acquaintances.’ I sipped the ale slowly, noting the foam on top and the rich honey colour of the fluid. It had a mild, slightly bitter taste. ‘Where’s this from?’ I knew the captain imported wines and ales from across Europe.

  ‘That’s from Bruges. I thought you might like it. Reminds me of what you and your Mother used to brew.’

  It was a perfect introduction to what I wanted to discuss, but before I could say anything, he resumed. ‘Forgive me, Mistress Anneke, but when I heard the news of your father’s death and received your note, I made some quick enquiries.’ He drained his mazer. ‘Mein Gott!’ He thumped the table hard, the empty mazer tipping over. ‘What was your father thinking? To not look to his children’s future, to leave you in such a position?’

  He wasn’t thinking. He was hurting.

  I examined my hands, twisted together for strength.

  ‘Do you know the story of when I first met your mother?’ the captain said softly.

  My head flew up. ‘Please, tell it to me.’

  Righting his mazer, he refilled it and sank back into his chair, legs stretched before him, his face taking on a dreamy, faraway look. ‘I first met your mother when she was but a child. As the daughter of Herr Gottfried de Winter, the great merchant and official of the Hanseatic League, she was precious, not just to her parents, but to all who served Herr de Winter, myself included.’

  I knew my grandfather had been an important man, but to hear Captain Stoyan speak of him in such tones imbued him with a significance I’d never gleaned from Mother or Father’s conversations. It filled me with a combination of excitement and sadness. I’d never met any of my German or Dutch relatives, except through Mother’s tales … apart from Hiske, and she’d spun her own, less favourable stories to counter Mother’s. Listening to Captain Stoyan was an unexpected boon.

  ‘Herr de Winter was not always able to return to his home in Maastricht to see his family. Too often he was called upon to attend to Hanse matters in other ports, other countries. He would ask those of us he trusted to visit in his stead, to take gifts and letters to his wife and daughter on his behalf. I was one of the first to be given the duty. That was how I met your mother.’

  I placed my elbow on the table and rested my chin in my hand. ‘What was she like?’

  Captain Stoyan chuckled softly. ‘An angel. I still recall disembarking from the small barge I’d hired to sail up the River Maas. I was all of seventeen, a callow youth, and how I’d resented this task your grandfather had forced upon me!’ he chuckled and shook his head. ‘I was determined that I would simply drop the parcels and notes and leave immediately, believing I’d much more important things to occupy me. I even told the boatman not to weigh anchor, but to tie the craft and wait. Stupid, when I think of the currents in the Maas. As it was, I leapt onto the bank, and in my haste, landed heavily, twisting my ankle. I fell over, rolling and yelping like an injured pup. And, when I stopped, there was this vision with silver hair and the greenest eyes I’d ever beheld —’ he focussed on me briefly, ‘your eyes — standing over me. God bless her, she placed her tiny hand in mine and tried to help me to my feet. “You’ll be all right,” she said. “I’ll make sure of it.” I’ll never forget that. This sweet child helping me.’ He paused, savouring the recollection.

  ‘After that, I volunteered to make the trip, going back many times over the years. Each visit, Cathaline would seek me out, talk to me. I used to bring her not only Herr de Winter’s gifts, but treats I’d found to delight her. There was nothing I would not give to see her smile.’ He rubbed his beard.

  ‘Then I was given my own ship to command and sent to the Mediterranean. Years later, I returned, only this time your mother was no child. She was a woman and so comely to behold, she left me speechless. By then, she was already engaged to your father — the Englischer bastard, we’d call him, so envious were we. We couldn’t understand why Herr de Winter was giving her to an Englishman, this prize! We should have known; everything Herr de Winter did was costed and measured and your mother’s husband was no different. She was given to Sheldrake because of what he promised he could do for the Hanse — dominance of the ports along this part of the English coast.

  ‘Your father persuaded Herr de Winter that there was great wealth to be had through importing salt, ale and wool and exporting beer, cloth and spices, especially with prices rising so high here and crops failing. That he’d ensure, using his legal skills and connections with a great English lord, that exclusive contracts were granted, shoring up the Hanse’s profits.’ He gave a dry laugh and paused to drink. I did as well. Questions burned inside me.

  ‘Over the years, in fact, quite quickly, your father did well; he expanded trade, negotiated excellent tithes in ports, and overall made profit. What I don’t understand is the nature of the agreement he had with Lord Rainford. I never knew … it wasn’t until I looked into matters after he died that I discovered the truth … that while he lived, Joseph Sheldrake earned an excellent living, but upon his death, everything reverted back to Lord Rainford.’ The captain threw his hands up in the air. ‘It’s perplexing and seems out of character with the man I knew. With the man to whom Herr de Winter gave his daughter.’

  A wave of heat swept my body and took my voice away momentarily. I cleared my throat. ‘I didn’t know about any of this until after Father died either.’

  Not about the debts … the fact that Father effectively signed over all his rights to any profit …

  Unaware of my disquiet, Captain Stoyan continued. ‘Part of me can forgive your father placing his trust in Lord Rainford — what I cannot forgive is that he placed your trust,’ he jabbed a thick finger on the desk. ‘Your future, there as well and, in doing so, denied you one. You and Cathaline’s twins.’

  What could I say? Captain Stoyan was right, but I knew why. Outside, a dog barked and seagulls cawed.

  ‘So,’ said the captain finally. ‘In your note you mention seeking my help. What can I do for you?’

  Gratitude flooded my body. At last, I could steer this ship into what I hoped were less troubled waters. ‘I have a request to make —’

  TEN

  OFFICES OF THE KONTOR, ELMHAM LENN

  The same day

  The year of Our Lord 1405 in the sixth year of the reign of Henry IV

  I told Captain Stoyan my plans. I told him about my meeting with Lord Rainford, his assurances that I would be granted till Hocktide to try and earn enough funds to keep the house. I told him about the brewhouse, Mother’s recipes, the arrangement with Master Bondfield and Master Perkyn, my desire to enter the brewing trade. Then, I told him what I’d learned from Master Perkyn about the abbot and the city ale-conners. I also told him my fears that, somehow, the guild, which I’d first thought to seek help from, might also be receiving bribes; that in Abbot Hubbard and the Friary of St Jude’s lay potential danger.

  ‘And yet, despite telling you this, this miller, he will still grind your malt?’

  ‘He’s a friend.’

  ‘That he might be, but he’s also foolhardy. Not that this is necessarily a bad trait.’ The captain gave me a crooked smile.

  I placed my forearm on the desk and leaned forwards. ‘All I want, all I need, is the chance to sell my ale, to make enough to pay the lease, maintain the house, keep my family and our servants together. But I’m concerned I may not get that opportunity. And that’s where I need your help, Captain Stoyan.’ I sat up, businesslike. ‘Firstly, I need to know: is Master Perkyn right? Are the ale-conners in the abbot’s pocket? Is the guild? Because if they are, and the abbot learns what I’m doing, he may ask them to sabotage my business as he has others — accuse me of using incorrect measures, declare my ale unsuitable for drinking whether it is or not and apportion a fine. If that should happen …’ I left Captain Stoyan
to draw his own conclusions.

  I omitted to tell him what else Master Perkyn shared with Adam and me — about the fire, the brutal killing of a pet and injury to livestock.

  Instead, I waited for the arguments as to why I shouldn’t brew: that it was unsuitable, that I would never succeed.

  Captain Stoyan straightened, his brow furrowed. ‘If that should happen, you would be ruined before you even started.’ He tapped his fingers on the desk a few times. ‘It’s common knowledge around here that the abbot pays the ale-conners to pass his ale for sale. The mayor doesn’t care so long as the friary pays its most generous tax, the merchants’ guild turns a blind eye because they still get paid to sell it around the county. And the Mystery of Brewers? Well, how often does a representative from London get to Elmham Lenn?’

  I shrugged. I knew not.

  ‘Exactly. As for the ale-conners, well, they’re simple folk tempted by extra coin. Of course they accept the abbot’s bribes — all they have to do is pass as acceptable what any decent alewife would tip in the dirt and call draff. To them, it’s not a great sin and I’m sure the abbot, or whoever he sends to deal with them in his stead, grants them indulgences, or for a groat they get one from a pardoner.’ He inhaled sharply. ‘In other words, Mistress Anneke, you’re right to be concerned.’ Rising to his feet, Captain Stoyan circled the room. ‘We all know what’s going on — the mayor, the aldermen, the Hanse. Frankly, I didn’t care. If the Englischer were stupid enough to drink the friary’s rubbish, let them. Here we have access to some of the finest ales and beers in Europe,’ his hand swept towards the jug on the table. ‘Why would we drink the abbot’s?’ Rubbing his chin, he regarded Anneke carefully. ‘But it’s different now. I’ll not let him or any of those crooks hurt you.’

  Hope fluttered in my breast. ‘You’ll help me?’