the melancholy spirits and shall comfort those who sorrow.
Mortals regard the marigold as a symbol of cruelty in love, and of pain. And mortals must have pain, as a fish must have water. For mortals it is not enough that others should inflict it upon them, but they strive to inflict it on themselves.
The Mandrake's Herbal
Foul Wind from France
'Hugh, for God's sake stop exciting those brutes,' Osborn snapped irritably. 'Or I'll have them banished to kennels with the rest of the hounds.' He pulled the glass ball that magnified the light of the candle closer and bent his head once more over the rolls of parchment and ledgers scattered on the table before him.
Hugh was sprawled in the casement seat of the solar, feeding choice pieces of roasted meat to his two favourite hounds. They were drooling and yapping excitedly as he held the juicy morsel high up out of their reach. When he finally tossed the piece of meat the length of the solar the hounds bounded after it, skidding on the silk rugs and leaping to catch it before it fell. The loser came racing back to Hugh, his claws clattering on the wooden floor, and sat there hopefully gazing up at him again.
For a moment Hugh considered defying his brother, but one glance at Osborn's face told him his brother was in such a foul mood that if crossed, he'd probably order Hugh's dogs to be butchered and fed to the rest of the pack. Hugh laid the pewter dish of meat, bread and gravy down on the floor and watched the two dogs lick it clean.
He wandered across to the table and selected a fat mutton chop. God's blood, he craved meat. He could never seem to get enough of it these days. Thank heaven, the churches were closed. You were still supposed to abstain from meat on Fridays and the dozens of Holy Days in the year, but with no priest to wag his finger, Hugh didn't even make a pretence at obeying this rule. He licked the grease from his fingers. Time enough to do penance for that when the priests returned, and when they did, it would take a cathedral full of them a whole month to hear his confession.
For a start there was what he'd done with that boy in the whorehouse. It had disgusted and excited him at the same time. He had never felt so alive, so powerful. He had never desired a boy before, and the thought of it revolted him, even though he ached to repeat it. Even the hunt, which once had excited him, now seemed dull and insipid, like drinking milk- whey after a good rich wine. He gritted his teeth, trying to suppress the stirrings in his groin which the mere memory of that night aroused.
With a deliberate effort at concentration, he strolled across to Osborn and flicked one of the scrolls of parchment. 'This from King John? I saw the messenger arrive. Is it about Raoul's murder?'
His brother shook his head irritably. 'John wants money, a loan, he says, for the building and equipping of a warship. He's asking all his loyal lords to finance the building of new ships to increase the fleet. But where am I to get this kind of money? Half the merchants from Europe have ceased coming to England to buy wool, because of the Interdict. The Church tells them it's forbidden for good Christians to trade with those who are excommunicated; besides, they don't want to get on the wrong side of Philip. The prices of wool have dropped so much I can hardly give it away.'
'Then refuse John the loan,' Hugh said casually, spearing another chop.
Osborn slammed his fist down on to the table. 'How can I refuse the king after he granted me this manor?' He glowered at Hugh. 'You always were a complete numbskull in these matters. It's as well I was born the elder. You'd have lost all our father's lands and property within the year if you'd had charge of them, and probably your head too.' He raked his fingers through his beard. 'I'll just have to borrow from the Jews. No doubt they'll demand extortionate interest.'
'But the Jews are the king's property,' Hugh reminded him. 'He decides what interest they should charge. In fact I doubt you could lift any juicy piecrust anywhere in this land without finding John's thumb in it somewhere.'
Osborn eyes narrowed. 'Guard your tongue, little brother. If the