"A bowl of stew, then, and two bowls of pease porridge, hot. And a flagon of ale." Rod noticed the keeper rising and moving to another table, where he sat and chatted again.
"Ale for the child, also?"
"Mm? Oh, not just yet."
The landlord smiled, bobbed his head, and bustled off toward the kitchen. Cordelia looked daggers at her father.
"Not till you're twenty." Rod leveled a finger at her. "I don't care what you think other girls your age drink."
"Even babes do swill ale, Papa!"
"Yeah, and some of them are alcoholics before they're fifteen. No, dear, nutritional value isn't the only factor."
"Thou and Mama! Thou dost conspire against us!"
"No, we just discuss the issues ahead of time." Rod watched the keeper rise and move to a third table. Popular man. "Good, here's dinner."
The landlord set a bowl of soup in front of each of them and another bowl in the middle. Rod noticed dumplings, and smiled as a mug thumped down in front of him. "Thank you, mine host." He laid a silver penny on the table. The host picked it up, raising his eyebrows, nipped it with his eyeteeth, and smiled. "Thank'ee, goodman."
"My pleasure," Rod said around his first mouthful of stew. "My compliments to whoever revived this old biddy so well."
"My wife?" The landlord frowned a moment; then his face cleared. "Ah! Thou didst speak of the hen. Well, I'll tell the other of thy thanks. Good appetite to 'ee!" He moved away again.
Rod watched the keeper move to a fourth table.
Cordelia inhaled steam and smiled happily, then reached for a piece of bread. She smeared butter on it, then looked up at her father with a happy smile that turned to a look of surprise. "What dost thou see, Papa?"
"A keeper," Rod said, his voice low. "You know, a forest warden who keeps an eye out for poachers. He's chatted with people at four different tables in the last few minutes, but not enough for a real conversation with anyone. Whups! There go the first set of people he sat with, out the door, and the second set look as though they're trying to finish their meal fast."
"He doth spread word," she said, eyes wide.
Rod nodded. "Word about going someplace. I think maybe we'll tail along."
"Oh, goody!" Cordelia squealed, then scrunched her head down between her shoulders, glancing to either side. "An adventure!" she said more softly.
A relatively safe one, though. Rod hoped she wouldn't mind.
Twenty minutes later they were strolling into the forest along a deer trail with newly flattened brush to cither side of it. There was no one visible in front of them and no one behind them, but Cordelia was staring off into the dimness of the leaves as though she weren't quite seeing it. "I hear curious thoughts before us, Papa."
" 'Curious' meaning 'odd', or meaning that the peasants aren't sure what's going on?"
"The last, Papa. Yet there is apprehension in it… Oh, Papa! 'Tis perfectly safe!"
"Maybe, but there's no sense taking chances." Rod picked up a dead branch, lashed some grass to it, and handed it to Cordelia. "Go aloft, would you, 'Delia? You'll see more that way."
The view from the Archbishop's study was delightful—a dozen troops of knights, each with a half-dozen men-at-arms, practicing passages of arms in the meadow beyond the monastery wall under the noonday sun.
"Doth it not delight thine heart, my lord?" Brother Alfonso asked.
"In truth, it doth." The Archbishop beamed at the proud sight of the Duke di Medici in full plate armor, charging across a field with blunted lance lowered as one of his knights rode against him.
"They will not be content with tilting forever," Brother Alfonso reminded. "They must needs ride, my lord—against the King, or away to their estates."
But the Archbishop wasn"t about to let his secretary's pessimism darken his day. "Peace, peace, good Brother Alfonso. If they gain their desire without bloodshed, the more pleased will they be."
The dark look on Brother Alfonso's face plainly denied the claim, but before he could say so, the Archbishop gave a glad cry, pointing. "See! Another train doth come!" Then he frowned and peered at it. "Yet 'tis odd. I see no proud flags, no glisten of mail…"
Brother Alfonso looked, too. "Those be mules, my lord, not chargers—save for the first, which is a palfrey." His eyes widened. " 'Tis a woman!"
"The Lady Mayrose!" The Archbishop exclaimed, his whole face lighting in a smile. His eye lingered fondly on her form for a few minutes before he turned away toward his study door. "Ho, chamberlain! Brother Anho!"
The monk stepped in, bowing. "Aye. my lord?"
"The Lady Mayrose doth approach the gate with her train! Bring them in, bring them in, and conduct her to this room!"
Brother Anho stared, shocked. "My lord! A woman, within—"
"Do as thou art bid, man!" the Archbishop stormed in sudden rage. "Must I invoke thy vow of obedience? Bring her in, and conduct her here!"
Brother Anho swallowed, paling, then backed away, bowing, and turned.
Brother Alfonso watched, with a slight smile.
"Ah, 'tis good of her to come!" the Archbishop said, rubbing his hands. "Yet what can have occasioned this visit?"
"What indeed?" Brother Alfonso murmured. "And what could she have brought?"
They found out a few minutes later, as Brother Anho appeared at the study door, pale and tight-lipped. "My lord the
Archbishop, the Lady May rose." And he stepped aside as the lady entered.
"Lady Mayrose, how good of thee to come!" the Archbishop seized the hand she preferred and swept it to his lips for a kiss. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"
"Why, to the troops who gather in thy meadow. Thy Grace," she answered, dimpling. "We had thought they must be provisioned, my grandmother and I, and therefore hath she sent me to conduct hither such poor provisions as we can offer."
If Brother Alfonso had his own suspicions as to who had persuaded whom, he kept them to himself. He only smiled broadly as the Archbishop turned to him with an expansive sweep of the arm, saying, "My secretary, Brother Alfonso."
"Honored, milady." Brother Alfonso bowed. "I have heard so much about thee from milord the Archbishop."
"And I of thee, good Brother! I had oft wondered what pillar of strength could support the world weight which lies upon His Lordship's shoulders!"
"Ay, thy tongue is gilded," Brother Alfonso said, with a true smile. "Yet I doubt not thou, too, hast given encouragement to this our good lord."
"What little I may, I give gladly," she answered. "In truth, "the holiness of this house doth excite me, to know that herein, men may be stirred to deeds of righteousness!"
"May we always be so," Brother Alfonso said piously. "Yet now, I fear, I must be stirred to the work of the countinghouse, without which no enterprise can succeed in this sordid world, no matter how holy its purpose."
"Well said, Brother," the Lady said, amused. "I trust I shall have further converse with thee?"
"I trust thou shalt." Brother Alfonso had moved to the door; he turned back with a bow. "By your leave, my lord?"
"Why… that is to say, I…" The Archbishop swallowed heavily, daunted by the prospect of being left alone with the beautiful young lady. But she smiled at him roguishly with a challenge in her eye, and he felt a surge of indignation. "Nay, assuredly thou must be about the tasks to which I have set thee!" But his heart sank as he watched Brother Alfonso bow himself out of sight.
"La, my lord," the Lady Mayrose laughed. "Wouldst thou have me think an Archbishop afeard of a maid?"
The Archbishop laughed with her, but anger spurted within him at the challenge. He took her hand, conducting her to the window and chatting a mile a minute, to gaze out at the gathering of troops.
In the antechamber, Brother Anho looked up from his breviary, saw the Archbishop at the window with the lady for all the world to see, and felt his blood run cold.