Brewer's Tale, The

by Brooks, Karen

  It was not that he’d kissed me that distressed me so much as how I’d responded. Oh, sweet Mother Mary, with every fibre of my being I’d answered his Christmas kiss with a wantonness that shocked me.

  Frozen in the moment, the movement around me didn’t register until the swirl of skirts and flicker of hands could no longer be ignored. Already the kiss was forgotten and the dance had resumed. After all, what else did one do beneath mistletoe? It was custom. First Saskia and Captain Stoyan, then Iris and Blanche, Tobias and Louisa also kissed, cheeks, mouths, fingers, as they moved around and beneath the greenery.

  I wandered unsteadily back to my stool, to the twins who both sought my lap as soon as I sat down, Karel winning, Betje taking second place by my side.

  In a daze, my thoughts and flesh afire, I watched the dancing, refusing to look at Sir Leander, even though I knew exactly where he was in the hall and with whom he chose to dance and for how long.

  Tobias staggered over, looking as if he wished to say something but, as he drew closer, he changed his mind and led the twins away instead.

  ‘Last dance before bed,’ I called, grateful for the distraction.

  ‘Not till we’ve had frumenty!’ cried Karel as Tobias swept him into his arms and spun him around. Finding his feet again, Karel planted his hands on his hips and stared at me, waiting for a reply, determined not to miss any of the fruity pudding he loved.

  ‘Very well,’ I agreed, ‘but then straight to the nursery.’

  Leaning back against the wall, I sighed and ran my fingers through my hair. It had come completely loose and fell over my shoulders, forming tangled tendrils around my face. I tried to make it neater. It was a lost cause. Addle-headed, I left my hair undone and sighed again.

  ‘Are you all right, Mistress Sheldrake?’

  It was Westel. Standing next to me, on the other side of Betje, who’d fled the dance, he passed me a fresh cup of wassail. I blinked and gratefully took it, swallowing it too quickly. I spluttered and wiped my mouth, aware again of my lips, of Sir Leander’s. I saw the flash of his dark green doublet out of the corner of my eye.

  ‘Shall I get you some water?’ Westel pushed Betje aside gently and knelt down. Our eyes were level. He had such a sweet face. No wrong could come from someone who looked like that, could it? He didn’t steal kisses, call me whore, retract it and then confuse me with his ways.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I said slowly. ‘Just very warm.’ I fanned myself with my hand. ‘Thank you for the drink.’

  ‘Thank you, Mistress Sheldrake.’

  Betje tried to grab my attention. Karel ran over, a bowl of frumenty in his hand.

  ‘Are you all right, Anneke?’ he said between swallows.

  ‘I think it’s time for you two to go to bed,’ I said.

  They began to argue, but hearing me, Louisa came at once. ‘Come on,’ she said softly. ‘It’s well past bedtime. Bring the frumenty with you. Tomorrow’s St Stephen’s Day and you want to be awake early to receive your gifts, don’t you?’

  The reminder of the presents we would exchange was enough to still any arguments the twins were ready to muster. With hugs and kisses, bows and goodbyes, they bid us all goodnight.

  Once they’d left the hall and the dancing resumed, I turned my attention to Westel again.

  ‘For what do you thank me, Westel? The way I see it, I owe you a great deal. Life has been very different since you arrived at Holcroft House. The success of the ale, the quantity we produce, is in large part due to your hard work.’

  Squatting, his elbows on his thighs, his fingers pointing towards the floor, Westel considered his response. For all that he appeared open, Westel was a closed book to me. Aware of my thoughts, he flashed a grin. ‘Aye, and for that I’ll reap my own rewards. But you’ve been so kind to me. You’ve not only given me a job, but welcomed me into your family and given me a home.’ He looked around the room. ‘I don’t recall ever experiencing merry-making like this. Christmas past was spent in prayer, in cloisters and then, tending the poor.’

  ‘I don’t imagine you would have spent the day this way where you came from. It must feel strange … wrong?’

  ‘Not wrong. Not exactly.’ Westel gazed at the floor. ‘It’s not what I’m accustomed to, that’s all.’

  Interpreting that as another thanks, I patted the back of his hand where it dangled above the floor. ‘You’re very welcome.’ I smiled. ‘I hope you’re with us for a long time, and that you will always enjoy the fruits of your labour.’

  ‘Oh, I intend to, Mistress Sheldrake. Always. No matter how hard or long I’ve to work.’

  There was something in his tone that gave me pause, but then he flashed that smile. I nodded and returned it. ‘May God bless you!’ I lifted my cup towards him, inviting him to touch it with his own.

  Our cups clicked and for a fleeting second, I saw something in his eyes that reminded me of the icicles that formed over the lintel to the shop. I shrugged the notion off and, in companionable silence, Westel and I watched the dancing.

  Little did I know as the music played, the floor thrummed and my mind settled into a comfortable haze, that this would be the last time I would know real happiness.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  HOLCROFT HOUSE

  St Stephen’s Day

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

  Tipping his comb so the wattle beneath was exposed, the rooster stood atop the stone wall and crowed as I crossed the yard. Wrapping my shawl tightly and striding quickly, my breath was a stream of pearlescence against the coming dawn. The ground crunched, each footstep loud in the still air. As I neared the coop, the soft clucks of the chickens disturbed the peace, followed by snuffling pigs who began to trail my path, searching for something edible where my heel cracked the white mantle of snow. I missed the hounds’ enthusiastic welcome, but assumed Adam must have risen early to walk them.

  Pushing open the brewery door and inhaling the rich malty scent that clung to the place the way woodsmoke does clothes, I lit the candles, stoked the kiln and, as I did every time a brew was ready to be barrelled, sang the ale to life.

  Lowering my arm into the cold mixture, I sucked the air in through my teeth. Before long, I’d shucked off my tiredness and relished the way the liquid caressed my flesh, adhered to my arm, covering me in a protective layer. Perhaps it was my imagination, but I fancied the fluid grew warm with each verse. Out the window, the sky slowly transformed, the grey swallowed by a whispering palette of rosy pinks and soft yellows before a band of gold fired the horizon. Lost in reverie as I sang, my mind drifted back to last night and the moment Sir Leander kissed me.

  It had been so unexpected and yet, as his lips touched mine, it was as if, I too, had been sung into life.

  A sweet feeling blossomed in my core, my song deepening as I relived the sensations summoned from my body. I remembered the taste of cloves and wine upon his warm, firm lips, his liquid tongue … Oh dear Lord, his tongue … The scent of pine, the comforting odour of velvet, and something that I couldn’t identify, something that belonged just to him clinging to his doublet. I recalled the silky feel of his hair sweeping my cheek as we closed the distance between us and, earlier, as we moved across the floor, united in our dance in a way that we could never be in life. A tremble shook me. Shutting my eyes, I allowed one arm to drift in the now tepid ale, while the other tightened around my middle, imagining that it was Sir Leander holding me once more.

  A shout brought me back to my senses. My eyes flew open and finishing the song as quickly as I dared, I withdrew my arm, studying the pale ale, fancying that it wasn’t the sunlight stealing through the window alone making it glow, but the heat and ridiculous hope roiling in my soul.

  If my offering to the corner crones and goddess was not as measured as usual, I knew they’d forgive me. The house was astir and the call I’d heard earlier now echoed about the yard. Frowning, I wiped my arm and hands on a cloth and went to the door. I was about to
pull it open when it was wrenched from my hands.

  ‘Morning, Mistress Sheldrake.’ Sleep-tousled and rather heavy-eyed, Westel flashed me his customary grin, touched his ever-present cap and, tucking in his shirt, staggered down the stairs and wended past the tuns and troughs to the malthouse.

  ‘Good morning, Westel.’ I peered around the door. Dressed in cloaks, Adam, Saskia and Iris were shouting for the hounds. ‘Is everything all right?’

  Westel shrugged. ‘It’s the dogs, mistress. They’re missing. Adam thinks something’s happened to them.’ He scratched his head. ‘They probably became fed up with waiting and took themselves for a walk; it’s well after prime.’

  Frowning at Westel, who shrugged, heaved off his boots, picked up the shovel and descended to the malthouse, I glanced back outside. There was an urgency to Adam’s stride as he marched around the yard, to the way he cupped his hands about his mouth and shouted.

  ‘I’ll be back shortly,’ I said to Westel. ‘Can you stir the mash as well, please.’ I ran outside.

  There was no sign of Iris, and Adam slipped out the church gate before I could reach him. Spinning around helplessly, I saw Saskia. She was ignoring the pigs grunting at her feet, her eyes screwed up against the sun, her mouth grim.

  ‘Oh, Mistress Anneke,’ she wrung her hands. ‘The hounds have gone. Normally, that wouldn’t be such a worry, but their rope’s been cut and the gate’s open.’ She pointed towards the alley.

  I half-ran to the stables where the dogs were secured each night and bent down to inspect their bindings. Saskia followed.

  ‘See?’ she pointed at the neatly severed ends of rope. ‘That’s been done by a knife and a sharp one at that.’ I glanced over my shoulder towards the gates. One was ajar — just wide enough for the dogs to slip through. ‘Someone’s taken them …’

  ‘But, they wouldn’t go with just anyone,’ I protested. ‘The gate’s been left open plenty of times and the dogs have slipped their rope before. Someone had to have lured them out of the yard.’ I studied the ground. Fresh snow had fallen overnight. There were no prints except for the scuffed marks of boots — ours. ‘Or forced them out …’

  ‘That’s what Adam thinks,’ said Saskia. ‘He’s taken Will and they’ve gone into the woods. He said they’ll come back along the bay. Iris is combing the nearby streets.’

  In the distance, I could hear their voices. Images of my two great shaggy hounds, their wiry coats, their gentle brown eyes and lolling tongues rose in my mind. Please, God, don’t let anything have happened to them. But hounds like Patroclus and Achilles were valuable — good hunting dogs, they’d sell in a market. Not here in Elmham Lenn, where everyone knew who owned them, but the markets at Bishop’s Lynn and Norwich were not out of the question.

  ‘If Adam returns, tell him I’ve gone to search as well — only, I’ll go into town. You never know. Someone may have seen them.’ Or who took them. ‘I’ll head straight for the square and then come back past St Nichols and up Gold Street. If he finds them, please send someone to fetch me; I’ll send word should I be so fortunate.’

  Saskia held my arm. ‘Mistress Anneke, leave it to Adam and Will. What if —’ She left the thought unsaid.

  ‘I have to, Saskia. They were Adam’s gift after Mother’s death. They too are family.’

  Saskia nodded. Though she’d often complain about the beasts, their noise and smell, I knew she loved them. With a sigh, she released me.

  ‘When the twins wake, don’t tell them what’s happened.’ Re-plaiting my hair, I tucked it firmly beneath my kerchief. ‘Once we find them, they’ll be none the wiser.’

  Saskia bit her lip.

  I clutched her hands and turned to leave.

  ‘Wait! You can’t go on your own,’ she called as I raced towards the house to grab extra layers.

  ‘I’ll take Westel,’ I shouted back. ‘He’ll need a cloak and gloves. Tell him he’ll find me out front on Market Street.’

  With a brisk nod, Saskia raced to the brewery.

  We never found a trace of the hounds that day or in the ones that followed. It was as if they’d melted away like spring snow. Westel and I searched until nightfall, our voices hoarse, our steps ragged, the brewhouse forgotten as I grew more distraught with each passing hour. If it hadn’t been for Westel, I would have given up long before, but he encouraged me to keep searching, to hope. Fetching a drink when I thirsted, buying a pie from a street-vendor that he insisted I share with him, he was a good and loyal companion that day and I would not easily forget that.

  Finding me in town, Tobias and Sir Leander joined the hunt as well, entering darker alleys, questioning the women and men who lolled in corners and on stoops, but to no avail.

  We were a subdued household that night. Not even the twins’ delighted squeals as they received and gave gifts could penetrate the mantle of gloom that settled over my heart. My eyes continued to stray to where the dogs used to lie, close to Adam, and the way his hand dropped to his side, his caress meeting only empty air, was a cruel reminder our hounds were gone.

  Deep in my heart, I knew who was to blame. Brother Osbert’s warning echoed through me.

  After the twins went to bed, I found it hard to settle. The false jollity of Louisa, Iris and Westel, even the efforts of Tobias and Sir Leander, both of whom had tirelessly searched and were now simply attempting to divert the rest of us with their songs and stories, irritated me. Rather than spoil their kindness, I excused myself and went to the office. I was in no mood for music or even food. My appetite had fled along with my goodwill towards men. I needed a diversion, something upon which to focus, something I could control. Prodding the fire back to life and illuming a couple of rushlights, I pulled out the piece of paper upon which I had calculated how much ale and beer needed to be sold to ensure a profit when I opened the alehouse.

  But I wasn’t in the right frame of mind for figures and facts either. Pushing the document away, I opened the shutters between the office and the shop, leaning on the lintel. As my eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, I began to picture the space as an alehouse. To imagine how it would look and feel when it was filled with people buying and drinking not only my ale, but beer as well. I knew I was playing with the laws, that like London brewers, I should be choosing to sell one or the other but, until my patrons decided whether they’d like beer, until I knew whether it was worth my while, there was no point trying to sell it alone in Elmham Lenn. A tankard or mazer, even a jug in an alehouse, however, was viable. When it came to new products, caution was a sound business partner.

  Already there were two low tables and a few stools in the middle of the room, and a long bench tucked under the large table I used to conduct transactions. I would only need a few more seats and tables to create the right kind of atmosphere. The logs we’d used as stools after Hiske left would suffice until I had the funds to purchase proper ones. Likewise, we could move a couple of the small tables from the hall into the tavern. Sconces were screwed into the walls and, once torches burned in these, a good light would be cast. The hearth on the north wall was useable again since the chimney sweep had cleared it of the gulls’ nests and rodents. Altogether, it wasn’t a big room, but it was adequate for my purposes. I began to plan how I would notify folk that an alehouse was in operation. A poster in the square on market days, a word in a few traders’ ears and, of course, a sign. Master Proudfellow would let his patrons know, especially as I intended to give him additional ale for the service, while a couple of the nearby inns might also point some customers in our direction, for the right price. Dipping the quill in the ink, I began to design how I would arrange the tables, exactly how many more I would need. I drew benches, stools and a service area behind which the drinks would be poured and mazers, tankards and wooden trenchers for basic food could be stored. I began to tally up how many trenchers I would need, how much, if any, wine I would purchase, the number of goblets, napkins and spoons I’d require. Delyth and Awel had already expressed an interest in
serving; Will and Iris as well. Westel would do anything I asked. The thought made me smile. Able to push aside my misery, I wasn’t aware the office door had opened until Tobias leaned over my shoulder.

  ‘What’s this?’ he asked.

  I leapt in fright, my hand gripping my chest. The wisp of rushlight flickered and almost went out. ‘Tobias!’

  He gave a laugh and placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I was worried. You looked so melancholy back there.’ He jerked his head towards the hall. ‘I guessed you wanted time alone, but I wanted to say goodbye. Leander does as well. We sail to Gascony tomorrow.’ He glanced through the open shutters. ‘It’s dark outside and no doubt we’ll be accosted by the night’s watch and asked to explain why we’re abroad.’

  ‘Let me fetch you a lantern,’ I said, not moving. Without intending to, I released a long sigh.

  ‘What’s bothering you, Anneke? It’s not only the dogs, is it? I don’t have to be on my way just yet …’ Slipping onto the stool opposite me, he rested his elbows on the desk, regarding me earnestly.

  ‘Oh, Tobias. It’s just —’ I shrugged, then shook my head, staring into the flames. ‘I know to some people they’re only dogs, but they’re more than that — in so many ways.’ I searched for the right way to explain. ‘It’s what their absence means that’s affecting me most of all. They’re another loss, aren’t they?’ I used my fingers as a tally. ‘Mother loses all those babies, then she dies. Father is lost at sea, we lose the rights to his business and, just when I’m getting to know you all over again, I’m about to lose you too … Oh I know I’m being silly, that you have a life, you’re a squire to a merchant knight, you travel all the time. It’s just … well,’ my eyes flickered to the corridor, ‘who knows when I’ll see you again?’ I dropped my hands into my lap, blinking fast. ‘I sometimes wonder if that’s to be our destiny, or at least, my fate. To always lose things … people …’