The Lady Brewer of London

by Karen Brooks

  Alyson arched a brow.

  “We have a home here, a life—a good one.”

  “For how long now that Roland le Bold is here?”

  I couldn’t answer.

  “What if I told you that I’d come with you? That we’d all come across the river and start over? Would that persuade you to take this chance, grab this opportunity with both hands, before it’s too late?”

  I sat forward on my chair, not crediting what I heard. “Are you saying you’d leave The Swanne?”

  “I’m saying I’d bring it with me, and on me bloody back too.” She threw up her hands. “Of course I’m saying that.” Leaving the table, she came and sat beside me, taking my hand and placing it between hers in her lap. “The Swanne has been very good to me and, I hope, I’ve been good to it.” She looked around the room. “But, like a marriage, sometimes you have to know when to walk away.”

  “I thought all your husbands died?”

  “Did you now? Same thing, isn’t it? If they’re dead to me, they’re as good as in the ground.” She fanned the air before her face, as if ridding it of foul humors. “Anyhow, it’s time for me to walk away from here. I’ve felt that way a while. I think that’s why I kept going on all those pilgrimages; I wanted to ask God and the saints what I should do. I wasn’t content. Then, what happens? You come a-walking into my life. Your sweet sister, Master Adam over there, and yourself—one of the most beautiful, smartest chicks I’ve met and with enough pluck to outdo the king’s best.

  “I’m not letting you turn down an offer that will be the making of you, Anna, but nor am I letting you walk out of my life. So, I’m coming with you. Actually, I don’t know why I’m bothering asking. You’ve naught to say in the matter. We are London bound—all of us. You will join the Mystery so you can become what young Will always predicted you’d be.”

  “The finest brewer in all of England,” said Adam again and with a trembling hand, raised his mazer.

  Hesitating only a moment, I threw my arms around Alyson and hugged her as tightly as I was able.

  “I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve this.” Tears began to flow, stoppering my throat and making speech difficult.

  “What rot. I don’t know anyone who deserves it more and the sooner you start thinking like that instead of listening to the likes of that mad bishop, the better off everyone’ll be.” Helping me to my feet, Alyson led me to where a jug of ale and an ewer of wine stood.

  “This isn’t good enough,” she said, peering into the ewer. “We need beer if this is to be a real celebration.”

  “Thought it wasn’t to your taste?”

  “That can change.”

  Letting me go, she went to call for the maid.

  Adam sniffled quietly. I dropped a kiss on his withered cheek.

  “She’s r . . . r . . . right, you know.”

  Wrenching open the door, Alyson let out a small scream. Spinning around, I saw what startled her.

  Standing in the doorway was a tall, dark-haired man leaning on a cane.

  “And what are we celebrating?” asked Leander. “Because for certes, I could do with a drink.”

  I’d always been taught that ladies do not shout, run, or pick up their tunics in order to hasten movement, or forget themselves with ungainly displays of affection.

  I’m sorry to say, Cousin Hiske was right all along.

  I am no lady.

  Fifty-Five

  The Swanne

  Late March to June

  The year of Our Lord 1408 in the ninth year of the reign of Henry IV

  When you find the person who is the half that makes you whole and complete again, as Aristophanes describes, there’s sometimes no need for words. Just the presence of the beloved has the capacity to renew the world and make it dawn afresh. So it was with Leander. Banishing the demons that Roland’s threats had aroused, the nightmares his touch had invoked, I sailed into Leander’s arms and was returned to a safe harbor.

  Tempered by the presence of not just Alyson and Adam but Captain Stoyan as well, our initial embrace was joyous, but restrained. Not that it would appear that way to those who witnessed my ebullience. I still smile when I recall it.

  Almost immediately, as Leander saw for himself Adam’s condition, our mutual joy was dampened. Seated beside Adam, Leander patiently waited for answers to his questions. Watching them out of the corner of my eye as Alyson and I gathered near Captain Stoyan so he could recount his adventures, I was filled with love and pride. For all the Rolands and Master Fynks of this world, it was good to be reminded that there were also Leanders, Adams, and Hatto Stoyans.

  Riding north, the captain saw the aftermath of the triumphant battle at Bramham Moor where the rebels had been defeated (as this was related, I closely studied Leander for signs of injury and much to my relief could detect none), and finally caught up with Leander in Nottingham toward the end of March.

  From there, having delivered my letters and ascertained that both Leander and Tobias were in fine spirits, the captain elected to journey on with the king’s company to Wheel Hall in the very north. It was here that the king meted out both punishment to his enemies and rewards to his supporters.

  Leander picked up the tale. “The Earl of Northumberland met a traitor’s death.”

  “What’s that?” asked Alyson.

  Leander hesitated.

  “Do not concern yourself with my sensibilities,” said Alyson scornfully.

  “Madam, I was not.” Leander gave Alyson a grin, and then looked to me.

  Alyson gave a bark of laughter. “You cheeky cock.”

  “Pray, continue.” I smiled. I also desired to know, as chilling as the answer would be.

  “A deserving and vicious one, Goody Alyson. His body was hacked to pieces and parts sent to Newcastle, York, Lincoln, Berwick, and London. That’s how I come to be here. I offered to bring his head. The graybeard sits on a pike atop London Bridge as we speak, a reminder to those who seek to betray the throne.”

  Shuddering, I glanced toward the window, imagining the rotting face of the king’s seditious earl. Indigo darkness scattered with jewels lay beyond the thick glass.

  “The nature of our task meant we were able to cross into Southwark, despite curfew and the closing of the gates, the guards being sympathetic to our cause. Thus our late arrival. I’m most pleased to see we haven’t disturbed your slumber, as I feared, but a celebration. What is it you celebrate?”

  In a babble of enthusiasm, Alyson and I told him and the captain about the offer from the Mystery, looking to Adam on occasion for confirmation.

  “Mistress Anna.” Captain Stoyan offered his hand and pulled me to my feet, kissing first one cheek and then the other. “This news is gut, ja? You will accept?”

  “She’s accepting,” drawled Alyson, “we all are. And none too soon, not now Bishop Roland le Bold holds the power and purse strings of this part of Bankside.”

  “Le Bold?” said Leander, his brow furrowing. “He’s taken up residence already? You’ve seen him?”

  I nodded.

  Leander started. “He wasted no time since Gloucester.”

  A stygian cloud descended. I didn’t want to discuss Roland and the long shadows he cast. There was much to be glad about and I wished to concentrate on that. I would tell Leander Roland’s real identity in good time. But Alyson had other ideas.

  “She was right all along, you know,” said Alyson. “Roland le Bold is the blackguard Westel Calkin.”

  Captain Stoyan spluttered his drink. Leander rose to his feet, his hand on his sword.

  “Please, Alyson”—I placed a hand on hers and gripped it—“not now.” I went to Leander, put my palm on his chest, and met those oceanic eyes. “There is no mistaking him, he is Westel Calkin.”

  “Anna, I am so sorry.” Leander cupped my face. I placed a hand over his.

  “You have nothing to be sorry about. It is Wes . . . Roland, who should be sorry.”

  “I will make him.”
<
br />   It was an oath, solemn and true.

  Why then did it scare me so?

  Spinning out of Leander’s orbit, I tried to make my voice sound light. Bringing the jug around to top up mazers, I attempted a laugh. “Oh, he offered me threats to guarantee my silence. In this, I’ve chosen to disobey him, not with the intention to report him to authorities, but so I can inform those I trust about his machinations.” Holding the jug in both hands, I paused by Leander’s chair. “Le Bold has made it more than clear that not only would his past sins be pardoned should I seek justice, but that he would ensure everything we’ve achieved here, and not just the brewery, is ruined. He’s not only threatened me, my lord, but all those who have aided and, as he sees it, abetted me in my endeavors.”

  “And what of those who aided and abetted him?” Leander growled.

  “Ja,” said Captain Stoyan. “What of the prior of St. Jude’s, the sub-priors, and those who endorsed all that le Bold did?”

  “At the least,” said Adam, “they h . . . harbored a criminal.”

  “The old abbot is dead. I’ve no proof, don’t you see?” I turned to Leander. “You said yourself that the abbot denied any knowledge of Westel Calkin. They even seemed shocked to learn he’d been accused of such a thing. And that’s all it is. Accusation with no foundation—being able to identify him achieves little. He could claim a conspiracy and convince a jury it’s mere resemblance. That he’s Westel Calkin’s distant relation. He would say it’s nothing but a jealous brewster’s malice.”

  I sank into a chair.

  The fire crackled. A light breeze blew through the room causing the flames on the candles to sway. Aware of eyes upon me, I couldn’t raise my head. Tears blinded me and I didn’t want them to be mistaken for weakness, not when they were born of frustration.

  “There are other ways of ensuring justice is served,” said Leander quietly.

  “That there are,” I agreed. “And I know the types of which you speak. All of which place you in grave danger, and that I cannot bear.”

  “And I cannot bear the thought of doing nothing,” snapped Leander. “Of allowing that rogue the upper hand. He must be made to pay for what he’s done.” He ground his fist into his thigh.

  “At what cost?”

  Leander glared at me, his early warmth replaced by a deadly solemnity.

  “But would it be worth it?” suggested Alyson.

  “Worth the twins? Betje? Adam? Worth what I’ve worked so hard to achieve, and against the odds?” Rising, I went to the hearth and stared into the flames. “Don’t you think I haven’t dreamed of vengeance? Of punishing the man who tore apart my family and brought so much evil into the world?” I half-turned. “I did little else for months and all it brought me was misery. I thought it was because he was dead and there was no recourse, no matter my dark desires or wishes, that I wallowed in anguish. I was wrong. Finding him alive made me understand that revenge is not what I want. It won’t bring back Karel, Saskia, Will, or Louisa. It won’t rebuild houses or transport us back to Elmham Lenn. It won’t change the fact I brew for a living.” I turned to face them, uncaring that tears streamed down my cheeks.

  “If I seek justice—of any kind”—I looked pointedly at Leander—“then I risk losing all that I’ve gained since Westel . . . Roland. I risk losing the twins, Betje, you”—I gestured to Adam—“you as well,” I said to Alyson. “And, my lord, I risk losing you.” My eyes softened and I choked back a sob. Leander began to rise, but I gently pushed him back in his seat. “If I don’t lose you and all the good that has come from evil Roland le Bold and his plots, then I will lose everything by corrupting my soul in enacting a revenge that’s not my right. As God is my Lord and master, I refuse to be molded by retaliation. That is not justice, that is self-destruction. I would rather flee again and start afresh.

  “That such opportunity, to join the Mystery, to live in London, is placed before me now when the situation is so dire shows the hand of God, does it not? I did not see it that way until you declared you would join me, Alyson.” Putting the jug on the mantelpiece, I knelt before Leander. I tentatively took his hands. “That is God-given justice, my lord. If I’m to be punished, if Roland is, let it come from Him. Not me, not you. Didn’t Socrates say, ‘The secret of change is to focus all of your energy not on fighting the old, but on building the new.’ This is what I choose.”

  I levered myself upright again and finished pouring the drinks.

  Leander’s frown deepened. “You make it impossible to argue.”

  It was not a compliment.

  Sitting back down, I tried to turn our thoughts to other matters, knowing the subject was by no means closed. “Where’s Tobias? Is he here, or does he remain in the north?”

  Captain Stoyan’s head snapped toward Leander and, from the expression on his face, he was curious how Leander was going to answer the question.

  Prevaricating, still disturbed by my attitude, Leander sipped his drink.

  “Your brother sends a reply to your many letters that I swore on the Good Book you would receive.” From out of his dusty surcoat, he pulled a rolled piece of paper and passed it to me. I took it somewhat reluctantly.

  “I’ll read it later,” I said.

  “Then, we will talk further,” said Leander. He didn’t only mean about Tobias either.

  We made light conversation before Adam, aided by the captain and Alyson, made his way to bed. Bidding us good night, the captain and Alyson didn’t return.

  Taking me in his arms, Leander held me tightly. For the first time in weeks, in spite of our differences earlier, I felt myself relaxing. The shards of steel that had dwelt in my stomach, spine, and throat became malleable. Running my hands over his surcoat, enjoying the feel of the velvet, the whiff of spice and pine that clung to him, as well as the faint odor of horseflesh, I fitted my body to his and nuzzled his neck.

  How long we stood like that I could not say, but when he finally raised his head, it was with that determined gaze I knew too well. I’d barely time to register, to ask about his well-being, when, steadying himself against the chair, he scooped me off my feet and into his arms.

  “Hold fast,” he ordered, picking up his cane. I locked my hands behind his neck.

  “You don’t have to carry me, Leander, I’m more than capable of walking by myself.”

  “I know. Some would argue that for a woman, you’re far too capable.”

  Understanding he intended to debate me further, I gave a sigh of resignation.

  “That’s why you bring the devil out in me, frustrate me beyond reason, and it’s why I love you. It’s also why you will allow me, at the very least, this indulgence.”

  * * *

  Much later, when the moon was a silver crescent high in the sky, and a parliament of owls had taken wing, their haunting cries echoing in the still night, I lay in Leander’s arms. We hadn’t made love; what had been discussed quenched passion, though not our love. Lying back against the covers, my head pillowed on his chest where the steady beat of his heart was like a lullaby, we talked long into the night. Sometimes our words were heated and strained, but more often, they were frank and reasoned.

  Leander insisted that I tell him everything Roland had said, a full accounting. Of what he did, what he tried to force me to do, I remained mute. Not because I wished to protect Roland, or even my own modesty, but because I knew that any restraint I asked of Leander would become impossible. He would charge down to Winchester Palace and demand a reckoning regardless of who witnessed it or how his role would be perceived. Leander’s desire to strike Roland down, run him through with a sword was already palpable. Anger heated his body, made him restless. Rising from the bed as reason battled with instinct, he strode around the room, his limp more apparent tonight than it had been for a while. He wanted, needed, vengeance. Knowing Westel was alive, that he lived not far away, was almost more than he could bear. I understood that.

  But bear it he must. For me.

  This,
I told him. What I did not share was my fear that despite Leander’s strength, connections, and titles, his revenge would fail and Roland would triumph. He would use Leander and my love for him to wound me more grievously. I could not, would not allow that to happen. So, I advocated, I beseeched. Using my own womanly arsenal, I even wept.

  Though he comforted me and made vague promises that left me uneasy, he continued to envisage a revenge befitting a man such as le Bold. His silences, his tense limbs and shallow breathing revealed much to me.

  Trying to divert his thoughts, I asked about the battles, the king’s health (which was very poor), and even, with the gentlest of questions, about his late wife. Answers, though given, were superficial and distracted. As he spoke of Bramham Moor, the place where the final skirmish against the rebels took place, he described the endless cold, the dreadful, chilling winds that froze the rivers and hardened the ground, making it impossible to bury the dead. He told me how, at Wheel Hall, an abbot was put to death and the Bishop of Bangor imprisoned at Windsor. This last was to remind me that King Henry was not above meting out justice to clergy and was meant to allay my fears. In that, my beloved failed.

  Finally, as the moon disappeared and the stars dissolved, we fell asleep, dreams of Roland le Bold churning and churning like the Thames as it beat against the footings of London Bridge.

  * * *

  Leander left early the following morning to return to Ashlar Place and his own affairs. He was tired, disgruntled, and more than a little moody. Anger that I had made him promise not to act formed a black impenetrable cloud over him. Captain Stoyan returned to his barge, a cartload of barrels accompanying him to be delivered upriver to Westminster. The captain was eager to resume business and sail the green waters once more.

  Bidding Leander adieu, acutely aware of the strain that had developed between us, I saw the barrels safely onto the cart and into Captain Stoyan’s care before returning to the brewery. I’d already sung the ale to life and honored my crones and there was great comfort in resuming familiar patterns.