Chapter Eight #5
Men began to trickle into the great hall now that the sun had set.
What few servants there were had begun lighting the big iron sconces along the walls, torches soaked in fat that burned black, sooty smoke into the air.
Trastamara soldiers were entering, finding a place at one of the three big feasting tables, pouring themselves cups of the cloudy ale.
The low hum of conversation began to fill the stale air of the hall as Amabella began to bring out steaming trenchers.
Patrick was the first man served, followed by Markus and Cassius.
The big, stale bread disk was filled with fish, which was surprising.
Usually, men on a grand scale were served beef or mutton, so fish was not the usual feasting fare.
The trencher also contained boiled onions and peas, and Markus noticed that his trencher in particular had yellow, stuffed eggs.
“There,” Amabella said. “I brought you some yellow eggs.”
He grinned at her. “Does Lady Ambra know?”
Amabella’s eyes twinkled at him. “She is in the kitchen with me,” she said.
“It was she who told me to give you some. I told you she likes her food, and believe it or not, the fish is something she created with the cook. Our cook was my father’s cook many years ago, from Spain, and she is very good.
She and Ambra create dishes together. Try it; it is delicious. ”
Markus looked at the white fish, covered in a clear sauce with bits of spice and onion. He didn’t even hesitate; he stabbed his knife into it and put a rather big bite in his mouth. After chewing only a couple of times, he looked at her in surprise.
“It is good,” he said. “Lady Ambra made this dish?”
Amabella smiled proudly. “She simply tells the cook what flavors she likes,” she said. “She doesn’t actually cook it herself, but she is very good with flavors. My daughter has a discerning palate.”
By this time, Patrick and Cassius were carving into the fish, agreeing that it was quite tasty. Seeing that her guests were pleased, Amabella turned for the kitchen, leaving Markus to watch her from the corners of his eyes.
He found he couldn’t take his eyes off her.
“Who is this Lady Ambra?” Cassius asked, interrupting Markus’ thoughts. “Is she married?”
Markus snorted. “She is a child of five years,” he said. “She is too young for you.”
Cassius shoved more fish into his mouth. “It does not matter,” he said. “If she can create dishes like this, I will have Papa negotiate a betrothal this very night. I will wait for her to become of age.”
Patrick shook his head at his gluttonous son as he thought that culinary talent was a good enough reason to marry.
Truth be told, however, the child had a great talent if what her mother said was true.
He was deep into his fish when a small girl came bouncing into the hall, climbing up on the bench next to Markus.
When he saw her coming, he tried to cover his food.
“If you have come for your eggs, you cannot have them,” he told her. “These are mine. Your mother said so.”
Ambra grinned brightly, a mouth full of little baby teeth. “I’ve already had many,” she told him. “More than you. Many more than you.”
He frowned, exaggerated. “I am going to eat mine right now so you cannot have them,” he said, popping one into his mouth and realizing it was delicious. He looked over at Cassius. “This is Lady Ambra, Cass. Still want that betrothal?”
Cassius looked at the little girl, his mouth full of fish. She was an adorable little thing with big, green eyes. “Tell me something, my lady,” he said to her. “Did you really make this dish?”
Ambra looked at the fish on Cassius’ trencher then looked to the remains of the fish on Markus’ trencher. Reaching out, she snatched a piece of Markus’ fish and shoved it into her mouth.
“I told the cook how it should taste,” she said, chewing with her mouth open as tiny pieces of white fish flew onto the table. “There is onion and honey and vinegar. It tastes sweet, but it also tastes sour, like it has been pickled.”
“Do you know what pickled is?”
She nodded firmly. “I do,” she insisted. “I like pickled carrots and pickled cucumber and pickled beets. Cook makes them for me and they make my mouth go like this.”
She suddenly puckered up her lips and squeezed her eyes shut, a true reaction to sour pickling.
It was amusing. But she also spoke with a knowledge and diction beyond her years, which was surprising.
Lady Ambra was an unusual child, indeed, and Cassius fought off a grin at the food flying from her lips when she spoke.
“My compliments,” he said. “Are you married yet?”
Ambra laughed out loud and food went flying. “Nay!”
“Are you certain?”
“Aye!”
“I think I will marry you myself if you can create food like this.”
She giggled, pointing her finger at him. “You’re too old.”
“I am now, but not in twelve years. I will be just right.”
Ambra shook her head, the red curls whipping around. Pieces of fish from her lips were sticking to them. “You’re silly!”
She was ridiculously adorable. By this time, Markus, Patrick, and Cassius were laughing at her and she giggled with them, not realizing they were laughing at her.
She took another handful of fish from Markus’ trencher and as she pushed that into her mouth, Amabella emerged from the servant’s door, carrying more food.
One look at her daughter eating off of Markus’ trencher and her eyes widened in horror.
“Ambra,” she hissed, quickly setting down the trenchers in her hand so she could grab her daughter. “You do not eat off a guest’s meal. That is the lord’s food.”
Ambra looked at her mother as if she had no idea what the woman was talking about, but clearly, her mother was appalled and that upset her.
It didn’t occur to her that all of the food in the hall, regardless of whose trencher it was on, didn’t belonged to her.
She didn’t often eat in the hall because Roget didn’t like his children around when he was eating, so the consequences of that were poor table manners.
Her lower lip began to tremble when she realized she was being scolded. She turned big, watery eyes to Markus.
“Can I have your fish?” she said, wiping the tears pooling in her eyes.
Markus shoved the trencher in front of her. “Eat, sweetheart. You can have all of it.”
She was trying very hard not to cry as she looked at her mother, who was looking at Markus apologetically.
“My lord,” she said quietly. “You did not have to…”
Markus cut her off gently. “She can have it,” he said. “You can bring me more.”
Amabella smiled at him gratefully as she turned for the kitchen once more.
Markus found himself watching the little girl as she took handfuls of the fish, which was cooled by now, and shoveled it into her mouth.
The tears seemed to be forgotten and, at one point, she held out a sticky piece for him, like an offering.
He grinned as he took it, putting it in his mouth, much to her delight.
Being the eldest of six siblings, Markus was comfortable around younger children because he happened to have two younger sisters of his own.
For all of his size and strength, he was quite gentle when it came to the female sex because he enjoyed them.
He thought women and girls, as a whole, were charming and intelligent. Ambra was no exception.
He was coming to like her.
As he took bits of fish from her sticky fingers, some commotion at the hall entry caught his attention and he looked over to see Damien, Anson, Hermes, and Kieran entering the hall.
Atlas and Alfie were leading the pack. Atlas had hold of his little brother as they headed straight for the table with Markus and Patrick and Cassius.
“Sir Knight!”
Alfie was halfway across the hall when he caught sight of Markus, shouting to the man.
Yanking free of his brother, he began to run.
There was a table between them, but that didn’t matter to Alfie.
He climbed up on the table and nearly kicked Patrick’s trencher in his haste to get to Markus.
In fact, Markus ended up standing up, picking the child off the table, and then setting him down next to his sister.
All the while, Alfie had eyes only for Markus.
“Did you make the sword for my knights?” Alfie asked eagerly. “For Aldwin, I mean. He needs a sword.”
Markus caught his father’s curious expression. “Papa, this is King Alfie,” he said. “Alfie, this is the Earl of Berwick, my father. Greet him properly.”
Alfie had to lean forward to get a good look at Patrick. “Do you have many knights, my lord?” he asked.
A grin flickered on Patrick’s lips. “I do,” he said. “I hear you have some also.”
Alfie nodded, climbing onto the table again so he could talk to Patrick without Markus and his sister between them.
“I have three,” he said excitedly. “Sir Knight was going to give them real swords so that they could protect me.”
It was clear that Alfie only addressed Markus as “Sir Knight”. To him, Markus was the knight. When Patrick looked at Markus regarding the sword declaration, the man merely shrugged.
“They were using sticks as weapons,” he said. “I told them I would see if I could find someone to make them swords.”
Patrick nodded in understanding. “Just like Poppy, I see.”
Markus grinned. “Except Matha isn’t here to take them away.”
“Nay, but Lady de Sauque is,” Patrick said. “If you are serious, you should ask her permission.”
“My lord!” Alfie demanded because Markus and Patrick were talking between them. When Patrick looked at him, he scooted closer to him along the tabletop. “My lord, someday I will be a great knight, too, like Sir Knight. He is a great knight, isn’t he?”
Patrick’s eyes glimmered with mirth at the enthusiastic young boy. “He is the greatest knight you will ever see,” he said. “So is his brother, Cassius. They are so fearsome that the Scots runaway at the mere sight of them.”