Knight's Move. Jennifer Landsbert
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flatter his vanity.
By the time she reached the hall, all the others were seated at the long trestle tables, ready to receive their meal. Sir Guy and the other five were on the dais, already tucking into the wine. As lady of the house, it was her place to serve the guests on the top table. She strode over to the door where the serving girls were appearing with the great bowls of bruet.
‘I’ll take that one for the visitors,’ she said to one of the girls.
As Hester slopped out the stew of meat and vegetables on to the huge, round chunks of bread which sat on the table in front of each of the diners, one of the knights demanded, ‘What meat is this, lady?’
‘’Tis an Abbascombe speciality, a delicacy hereabouts,’ Hester told him.
After an exploratory mouthful, he spluttered, ‘Rabbit! Beauvoisin, she’s serving us rabbit. An Abbascombe delicacy indeed! Is this how you are welcomed home?’
‘My lady was not expecting us, Sir Edward. You must make allowances,’ Guy replied, then he looked towards her and beckoned her over, indicating the empty seat beside him. She sat down silently and picked up her spoon.
‘I’ll tell you what, I wouldn’t stand for it,’ Sir Edward continued. ‘You should show her who’s master, start as you mean to go on, just like training that hound of yours there,’ he said, nodding at Amir, who lay quietly beneath the table at Guy’s feet, waiting patiently to be fed titbits from his hand.
‘Do you compare my wife to my dog?’ Guy asked, amused, glancing at Hester’s furious face.
‘I do indeed. Too many of you young fellows make the mistake of showing injudicious leniency. A wife must be trained to obey her master exactly as a dog unless you wish to store up trouble for yourself later on.’
‘I suspect ten years’ absence has stored up enough trouble already, sir.’
‘All the more reason to act now. Let her feel the strength of your hand tonight.’
‘After ten years away, Sir Edward, I believe Beauvoisin will have better things to do tonight than to beat his wife,’ one of the other crusaders interjected with a leer and they all laughed, except Guy. Hester felt his eyes on her but didn’t dare raise hers to return his gaze. She felt herself flushing with a burning mélange of embarrassment, indignation and trepidation.
The villagers were having a merry time of it at the other tables, knocking back their mugs of ale and toasting the return of their lord. Hester looked at them enviously. She would have much preferred to have been sitting with them, instead of with these offensive, opinionated louts. In fact, she thought, she would have preferred to have been one of them, then at least she could have chosen not to marry. She stole a furtive look at Guy as he drained his goblet of wine. He had said he was going to wash, but it had made little difference to his appearance. He was still scruffy and illkempt and his clothes smelled of long days in the saddle. He was eating his stew, while Sir Edward continued his lecture on the advantages of wife-beating.
‘I’ll tell you what,’ the old boar was saying. ‘My lady will not dare to serve me with rabbit bruet when I reach home. Now, look at that obedient hound of yours…’ This was too much for Hester. Didn’t the offensive old fool know when to stop?
‘If men treat their wives no better than their dogs,’ she retorted loudly, ‘they will behave like dogs and bite their husbands when they have the chance.’ The table hushed and six pairs of male eyes fell upon her. She felt their hostility, but wouldn’t back down now.
Sir Edward spluttered indignantly, the juices of the stew running down his chin. ‘I’d like to see my wife dare,’ he returned sharply.
‘You’ll never see it, Sir Edward, for she will be too afraid of being struck to do it openly. She’ll creep up behind your back when you’re not looking and then she’ll bite you hard.’
Sir Edward was turning red with apoplectic rage. He began hammering on the table with his fist, his eyes popping as he exclaimed, ‘Never heard anything like it, Beauvoisin. This damned wife of yours needs some discipline…’
‘Sir Edward,’ Guy addressed him sharply, ‘You have been away from the company of ladies for a long time. You are unused to the courtesy which is their due, else I am sure you would not have damned my wife.’ Hester shuddered at that final word, but longed to hear Sir Edward’s reply.
‘No, indeed. ’Twas not my intention to offend,’ the older man said sheepishly. ‘But such words from a woman, Beauvoisin, surely you must understand…’ he ended, casting a look of appeal at Guy.
Hester felt ready to whoop with victory, until she saw that Guy was nodding as if in agreement. She opened her mouth with a rejoinder on her lips, but suddenly Guy’s hand was gripping her arm. He leaned across to her, hissing in her ear, ‘That’s enough baiting of Sir Edward, my lady. No matter how you dislike him, he is a guest at your table.’ She swung round at him. ‘And I’ll have no more tongue-lashings from you either,’ he rasped without giving her a chance to speak. ‘Else I shall be tempted to follow his advice and try to beat some respect into you.’
‘That’s it, Beauvoisin, you give her what for,’ Sir Edward was cheering.
Hester slumped back dejectedly in her seat. Her whole world had turned upside down. Here were these uncouth louts at her table, giving her orders, saying that she should be beaten. She, who had ruled here as absolute governor for the last four years since the old lord’s death. It was intolerable, it was disgusting, it was disgraceful—and yet there was nothing she could do to evict them from the domain which had been hers until this afternoon, when this devil of a husband had returned to shatter her kingdom.
‘My lady, not eating?’ asked Maud as she brought another flagon of wine to the table.
‘I’m not hungry,’ Hester replied flatly.
‘Oh, you must eat,’ Maud cajoled gently, then whispered, ‘Don’t worry, my lady, it’s natural to be nervous. After all, it’s just like a wedding night for you, but don’t be too anxious, it won’t be that bad.’
Hester pulled away from her confiding whisper. Maud meant only to be kind, but Hester couldn’t help scowling so fiercely that the old woman went scuttling away out of sight.
More courses followed. Fritha had managed well in spite of the lack of warning, determined to impress her lord even in the face of Hester’s strictures. For the top table there were whole eggs fried in batter with mint custard, shellfish in a vinegar sauce, and an elder-flower cheese tart, while humbler dishes and plentiful ale flowed freely for the villagers.
At last the dinner was over and the villagers rose to leave, many rather unsteady on their feet. In past years this had been a merry night for Hester, celebrating the end of sowing, but tonight she could hardly muster a smile in return for their wishes of ‘Good night, my lady’.
‘Ah,’ exclaimed Sir Edward, ‘at last we can have some civilised entertainment. I was beginning to think those yokels would never leave. If I were you, Beauvoisin, I wouldn’t give my hall over to them so readily. You don’t want people like that getting the wrong idea.’
Guy bowed his head politely and made no reply, but Hester could stand it no longer.
‘Sir, those people you refer to so disparagingly have worked ceaselessly on behalf of the lord of Abbascombe all these years he’s been away. Thanks are in order, not…’
‘Well,’ Sir Edward continued, addressing Guy, ignoring Hester as if she were beneath contempt, ‘you see, she’s been completely spoilt by having her own way. That’s the one fault with the wars—too many women left masterless. And this is the result. You’re going to have your work cut out with her.’
‘I do believe you’re right, Sir Edward,’ Guy replied. ‘And you advise beating how often? Daily? Or perhaps twice daily in such a bad case as this?’ Hester felt her ears burning with outrage as she heard the words. What sort of monster was this so-called husband?