The innkeeper brought a large tray to the table and started
laying out the plates and the cutlery while his wife, a large and robust woman
with child bearing hips and thighs that looked to Bull as though they would
crush the life out of him in two seconds should he decide on a brief dalliance,
laid out two huge tureens and a basket of bread. As she removed the lids of the
tureens, the heady aroma of venison blood could be smelt intermingled with the
sweet scent of carrot and minted potatoes. After the meal had been laid out, the
pair bowed gracefully as though this were a much practised act for which they
perhaps wanted some applause but, in its absence, they left the travellers to
dine in peace.
As the three spooned large gobbets of venison onto the
plates, it became clear that the innkeeper had been too frugal with his list of
ingredients. In addition to whole cloves of peeled garlic, there were shallots,
gently sweated whole before joining the stew; bite sized pieces of celeriac;
broad beans; courgettes, sliced thickly to preserve the flavour and finally a
kind of fungus that only the Princess had any knowledge of; ‘little pigs’ they
were called, she had said, but difficult to find. She had once found them by a
tree in Natalia’s garden but that was the only place that she knew that they
grew for certain. Old Ramly, the Spicemaster in the village, had told her that
they were safe to eat and given her a name to call them by; their flavour was
richer, darker and more intense than other fungi and was made all the more
powerful when dried when they soaked up whichever sauce might be in the stew.
As Toad called for more bread, the party, to which the three
weary travellers owed such a sumptuous meal, came into the inn. They quite clearly had been visiting other
ale-houses in the area and the innkeeper visibly raised his eyes to the ceiling
as if praying for some divine aid or succour.
“Well met,” cried the innkeeper, although he did not think
that these fellows were indeed ‘well met’. “Come, your table awaits you. Wine
is laid upon the board and your meal will be served as and when you please! It
simmers on the hearth as I speak.” The innkeeper grimaced as one by one the
party made their way over in his direction, some more unsteady than others. Two
of the females could barely stand and yet the only support which they had was the
other; the remaining members of the party had clearly decided to disown them.
As the party eventually attained some kind of equilibrium on the chairs around
the table, after much changing of seats and raucous laughter in between, the
innkeeper was already beginning to seriously regret having accepted this party,
for all that it had paid well; in advance too.
The Princess found the interruption to her meal somewhat
annoying. She was enjoying the food and, if truth be known, the two soldiers
made excellent dining companions; much better than their captain she considered. Her thoughts were interrupted as a young
girl, little more than perhaps seven or eight summers old, appeared suddenly at
the side of the table carrying a basket of bread, although where she had come
from and who she was, the Princess did not know; perhaps a daughter of the
innkeeper, a tiny helpmate if the inn became too busy for one man and his wife.
Toad turned around on his chair opposite the Princess to accept the basket from
the girl; her eyes were barely level with the table. As he took the basket from
her hands with his left, he tousled her hair with the other.
“You have keen ears, little one,” he said. “To hear my call
over such din and clamour as that rabble is making. Thank you, I am much in
your debt. Here’s a groat for your trouble; buy yourself a little treat in the
village when next you go, some candied fruit or other such sweet trifle. Now
run along and get back to your mama, she is missing you already.” The child, clearly elated at such a vast sum,
to her, as a gift, disappeared behind the bar as quickly as she had appeared,
if not as mysteriously.
“Heaven, they’re a pain in the rump, make no mistake,
Princess,” said Toad, as he tore off a huge chunk of bread and dipped it into
the gravy on his plate. “Twill be no better if we retire to our rooms, I fear;
they are immediately above them if I am any judge. Let us finish our meal and
retire to the open air; I am sure that the innkeeper will not mind us taking
the chairs outside. The noise might somehow be bearable in the courtyard and it
is still a mild night; there is little chill in the air.”
The Princess and Bull both nodded, although perhaps all the
Princess wanted was her bed; still, in this Toad was right, they would get no
sleep while that party remained in the inn. At last, there was nothing left in
the tureens, Bull had used a spoon and the last of the bread to mop them dry
and was leaning back, his hands clasped behind his head, a grin of extreme
satisfaction on his face.
“Go,” he said. “I have some business with the innkeeper that
will not keep until morning. Go take the night air, I will join you shortly.
Perhaps you would check on the horses also, while you are out there, I never
trusted, or trust, that farrier, although, in truth, I had and have no reason.
Go, gather up your drinks and retire to the night air; I will return shortly
with more ale, have no fear.”
(to be continued)
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