Page 16 of The Dragon Ring
I gazed at the faces of the people to whom my arrival meant so much. They were a mixed bag of grey headed older men, women of all ages, and spotty youths boasting sparsely whiskered chins, but few men of fighting age. Perhaps they were away somewhere with Arthur.
But the women were more of a cross-section, from fresh faced young girls through women in their twenties and thirties to the older, wrinkled and gap-toothed ones of Cottia’s generation. She was there herself, wedged between two young women who looked enough like her to be her daughters, their round rosy cheeked faces full of excitement as the sound of voices rose to the rafters.
Merlin sat down beside me at the High Table, sweat beading on his forehead as though he’d just done something strenuous. Had he been nervous? Had he doubted they would accept what he told them? Whatever he’d been feeling before, he now looked relieved.
A servant brought us a platter of the sliced venison, and another laid bowls of stew on the table in front of us. A dish of beets in a heavy sauce, a plate of charred leeks and some thick pottage joined them. A third servant filled my pewter goblet with rich red wine.
I took a thirsty gulp, which I really needed, then helped myself to the meat, some stew and the vegetables. A boy brought dark bread cut into hunks, so I took some of that, too, and for the next ten minutes or so concentrated on ridding myself of the aching hole in my belly.
The food was good, but with some strange flavors I didn’t recognize. Better not to know the ingredients. The last thing I wanted was to ruin my appetite. Eating was not so easy, though. All I had beside my plate was a knife, which was only useful for cutting and stabbing things. I watched Merlin to see how he coped, which involved a mixture of fingers and using the bread as a scoop for the stew and runnier purees.
We didn’t talk. Perhaps he was afraid I’d bombard him with questions again, and as for me, I was too busy taking in my surroundings for conversation. The people, the smoky interior of the Hall, the hounds beneath the tables squabbling over discarded bones, the servants, and the different foods held my attention. A living history lesson. No one else from my time had ever done what I was doing. No one else had ever seen what I was seeing.
The smoke from the fire and the torches curled upwards, disappearing into blackened rafters, leaving its eye-watering pungency in the air. Voices rose in argument and conversation. People shouted for servants to bring more food. One of the hounds bit a man’s ankle and there was a momentary disturbance as a servant evicted the offending dog. The rich aroma of roasted meat mingled with the smell of sweating humans, damp dogs and smoke.
“Do you eat like this every night?” I asked Merlin as we were served more venison slices, dripping fat across the wooden table.
He nodded. “Most nights. It’s easier to cook once for many than it is for each household to cook for themselves. There’s nothing wasted because what’s not eaten goes tomorrow to the small children who don’t eat in the hall, or to break our fast. This way every family gets to eat meat most days.” He gestured round at the menfolk. “And that’s important for warriors. You can’t fight on a diet of bread and cabbages.”
After the venison came sausages, but not like any sausage I’d ever eaten before. I was having a lot of experiences I’d never had before. Some were made of fish and some a bit like black pudding. I tasted them all, getting into the swing of things, and liking most of what I tried. I washed them down with more of the strong red wine.
Then came a thick meaty soup served in wooden bowls and mopped up with more bread, but by then I was getting full and could only manage a small helping. Quickly following on from the sensation of satiety came the renewed sensation of exhaustion. The noise in the Hall of people eating and shouting to one another washed over me, and my eyelids began to droop.
Merlin’s hand touched my arm. I blinked myself back to wakefulness, jerking upright and hoping he was the only one who’d seen.
“You’re tired.” He sounded solicitous. “I think you need your bed.”
I managed a sleepy nod. “It’s been a long day.” A vague feeling of disappointment that I hadn’t managed to ask him any more questions nagged at me. Now I was too tired to try.
He lifted a hand toward Cottia, and she managed to extricate herself from between two stout younger women who might have been her daughters. They immediately slid over to take up the space she’d vacated. Heads turned as Cottia helped me to my feet and escorted me back through the door into the chamber of the absent Arthur.
Glancing back over my shoulder, I saw Merlin lean back in his master’s chair, his eyes still brightly alert.
The door closed behind us, and the hubbub of noise fell to more acceptable proportions.
Cottia turned back the plaid blankets on the bed. It looked inviting. “Don’t ee worry ’bout the noise, it’ll be finished soon. In winter we’re all to bed early. They’ll not be stopping ye from sleeping.”
I walked over to the bed. All I wanted was to collapse onto it and go straight to sleep. But she had other ideas.
“Let me ’elp you get out o’ them clothes.”
I realized with a jolt that these were indeed the sort of clothes you couldn’t get out of by yourself. My gown fastened down the back with laces that only another person could undo. It took what felt like ages, but eventually I stood in just the long undershirt and my bra and panties, which luckily the undershirt hid, so Cottia couldn’t see them and tut again. I spotted the dirty clothes I’d arrived in, folded up and set in a pile on the top of a big ironbound trunk. A thought struck me.
“Cottia, can you wash clothes for me?”
She looked pleased. “I’m ’ere to do as Milady wishes, and to keep yer clothes clean is one o’ them things.” I’d never had a servant before, someone at my beck and call. The sensation felt odd, to say the least, but more pleasing than I’d like to have admitted.
I nodded to my old clothes. “Can you wash those for me– and bring them back?” I didn’t want to lose them. They were a lifeline connecting me with the reality of where I’d come from. “And if I take these off, can you get them washed and dried for tomorrow morning, d’you think?” Under my shirt, I wriggled out of my panties, and my bra followed. I passed them over to her. “They’re important, and I want them back quickly. Can you do that?”
Cottia turned over the flimsy-looking lace in her hands. “Well, they looks as though they’ll take no time to dry if I puts ’em by the fire in my ’ouse. But the rest…” She looked at my jeans and sweatshirt with a frown. “Them’ll take longer.”
I picked up my muddy coat. “You’ll only need to sponge this off, not soak it. It’s waterproof, you see.”
She looked blankly at me. I fell back on my previous excuse. “A new process from Gaul. If you treat the material properly, it keeps the water off.”
She felt the cloth between her fingers. “Like lanolin from sheep’s wool, ye mean? Only this don’t ’ave the feel o’ that about it. Somethin’ similar?”
I nodded. Then I thought of something else. All that wine had filled my bladder, and I had no idea what the toilet arrangements might be in the Dark Ages. Nothing my father had ever said had covered the possibility that I might require the Dark Age loo. I looked about uncertainly.
