Murder for Christ's Mass - By Maureen Ash Page 0,12
torches and beeswax candles. In the hearth, the trunk of an oak tree burned and the heady scent of cloves wafted from mounds of spiced winter apples heaped in bowls on the tables. The ambience was warm and welcoming.
As the cathedral bells rang out the hour of Vespers, flagons of wine and ale were brought in and cups filled. At the high table on the dais, Gerard Camville sat with his wife and guests. On his left were Gilbert Bassett and his wife, Egelina; their daughter Eustachia was keeping company with Richard farther down the board. The young couple made a handsome pair, Richard’s bright red hair and fair complexion a startling contrast to the dark tresses and deep brown eyes of the woman he would soon pledge to make his wife.
On the sheriff’s right hand, beside Lady Nicolaa, sat Ralph of Turville and his wife, Maud, with Eustachia’s younger sister, Lucia, watching protectively over Turville’s young son, Stephen. Gesticulating with her hands towards the musicians that had begun to play quietly at the back of the hall, Lucia talked volubly to Stephen while the boy, silent behind his silken muffler, nodded in response.
Just below the dais, where the household knights sat, Bascot took his customary seat above the ornately worked silver saltcellar that marked the dividing line between those of high rank and low. He gave a friendly nod to John Blund, secretarius to Nicolaa de la Haye, who was seated on his left in the space reserved for those who were foremost among the upper servants of the household.
Blund was an elderly man, a sparse figure with eyes of faded blue and thinning hair. His demeanour was gentle, but his face had an intelligent cast and there was a hint of fastidiousness in his erect bearing. Across the board from Blund was Lambert, the secretary’s assistant, a man of about thirty years of age and unprepossessing appearance, his lantern-jawed visage wearing its habitual introspective expression. His aspect lightened, however, when he saw Gianni and he gave the boy a companionable smile. It was Lambert’s responsibility, under Blund’s direction, to instruct the Templar’s servant in the rules of grammar and logic, and he seemed to have formed a comradely liking for the lad, even taking the time to learn the hand signals Gianni used to communicate with his master in the hope it would facilitate the lessons he gave the boy. When Lambert nodded respectfully in the Templar’s direction, Bascot returned the greeting with warmth.
Once everyone was seated, the steward, Eudo, gave a signal to the musicians and they struck up a lively air, the strings of rebec and citole providing a harmonious background to the sweet piping of flutes. As the opening strains commenced, a procession of servants came through the door that led to the kitchen, the foremost carrying wide-mouthed bowls of wassail—a costly brew of mulled ale, ginger, nutmeg and cinnamon topped with sops, or slices, of toasted stale bread. One of these bowls was laid on every table, even those at the back of the hall where the servants of lowest rank were seated, and as each of them were set down, everyone shouted the old Saxon cry of waes hael, to wish one another “good health.” Following the bowls of wassail was a huge board carried by a half dozen servants, on which was laid a whole roasted pig, including the head, its mouth stuffed with an apple. This was placed on a small table near the dais so Eudo could carve it before it was served to those seated at the high table. In the wake of the roast pig came trays laid with slices of venison and goose—for the delectation of the knights and upper household servants—and, at the end of the train, umble pies—minced offal baked in coffins of pastry filled with thick gravy. These were for those of menial rank. There were also platters of boiled turnip, parsnip, onions and carrots, and loaves of bread piled high in wicker baskets.
After all these delicacies had been devoured, bowls of frumenty, a thick porridge made of boiled wheat, eggs and dried fruit, would be served along with creamy slices of cheese and a plenitude of winter apples and plum conserve. It was a time of rare feasting and one that everyone—those of high station as well as low—looked forward to all the year long.
As Gianni heaped Bascot’s trencher with chunks of venison, the Templar gave the boy permission, once he finished his