Wednesday, 7 November 2012

Encounter at the Inn (part 5)



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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