WolfeStrike (De Wolfe Pack Generations #2) - Kathryn Le Veque Page 0,21

or boisterous behavior.

It was an interesting place, indeed.

The food came in courses and it had been coming in a steady flow ever since they sat down about an hour ago. The first course had been poached eggs on bread covered in a sweet and savory sauce. That had been quickly devoured and the second course had been hard boiled eggs stuffed with meat and breadcrumbs. Six had been brought to the table and Tor had eaten four of those because they were so tasty. The third course had been a fish pie, literally a pie crust in the shape of a fish. It has been filled with white, salty fish swimming in a sweet wine sauce.

Now, they were on the fourth course, which was a very good beef roast with sweet carrots. It seemed as if the wenches brought another course about every fifteen minutes and the talk between them had been light. Isalyn spoke of her recent visit to the tavern and the dish her father seemed to favor, which was stuffed capon. She spoke very little of herself or of her family except to say that she had a father and a brother but, other than that, Tor didn’t know anything about her. He suspected that she had designed the conversation that way.

But the truth was that he had not spoken much of himself, either, although he was wearing the de Wolfe tunic. That should have told her where he came from but she never commented on it. It was one of the most recognizable standards in England, if not the most recognizable in the north, but she never said a word. He began to understand why when he asked her what her favorite dish was.

That’s when Lady Isalyn began to come alive.

“There is a place in London called The Taberna,” she said. “Everything they serve is modeled after the food the ancient Romans ate. They serve a dish called Ova, which is eggs with pepper and honey. It is delicious.”

Tor was still working on the fish pie because his portion had been so large. “And that is your favorite?”

She nodded, sipping at her mulled wine. “One of them,” she said. “They also serve a dish that is made from chicken legs with a sauce of vinegar and honey and mint. I could eat that morning and night.”

She had such a deliciously round little figure that he could believe it. He liked a woman who loved to eat.

“Do you travel to London frequently, then?” he asked. “You seem to know a lot about the Roman tavern.”

She nodded. “I live there most of the time,” she said. “My mother’s family has a home in London along the Thames and I live with my aunt. She has no children, so she enjoys the company.”

Tor sopped up the fish sauce with his bread. “Do you like it there?”

Isalyn nodded fervently. “I do,” she said. “There is no place I would rather be. I long for the bustle of the city, the way of life. I like the shops, the food, the culture.”

“What culture?”

“Why, entertainment, of course,” she said as if he were ignorant of such things. “There is an entire district where actors portray great works of literature. Dramas, they are called. Have you never seen one?”

He shook his head. “I have heard of them, but I have never seen one.”

She was warming up to a subject she knew a good deal about. “Mostly, there are popular ones that portray stories from the Bible,” she said. “The church has a good deal of control over the content, but there is a district across the river that does Greek tragedies and scandalous romances. The church is angry about it, but they cannot do much except denounce it. No one listens, however. The dramas are performed to big crowds every night from the bed of the wagons.”

He was chewing the last of the bread and fish gravy. “Ah,” he said. “I have seen such wagons. They move from place to place. Sometimes they come this far north. You will see them in the larger cities. In fact, there is an ancient Roman theater near Melrose and I have heard they do great productions there from time to time, but I have never seen them.”

She smiled. “In London, they do the same thing with an ancient Roman theater near the Guildhall,” she said, her expression becoming somewhat wistful. “I miss the dramas. When I am in London, I sneak out of my aunt’s home