Vixen. Rosie Garland

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СКАЧАТЬ seething pots of green and white porray. The very air was foreign to me, thickened as it was with tickling spice. There was a roar as the ale was brought in.

      ‘It is the very finest,’ said Joan. ‘Made by our own Aline.’

      The ale-wife dropped to her knees as I thanked her, drowned out by thirsty bellowing. Each man dug out a beaker from inside his shirt and polished it on his stomach, ready for it to be filled.

      ‘Good Aline!’

      ‘Happy woman and happier husband!’

      The man spoken of cawed like a rook. ‘It is the spring!’

      ‘It is near!’

      ‘It will be a good spring,’ I said.

      ‘It will, God willing,’ a man declared, and ducked his head at me.

      ‘God is good,’ I continued, and they raised their cups in agreement.

      ‘And so is Anne!’ cried one voice, to answering cheers.

      ‘My death I love, my life I hate,’ sang one fellow. ‘All for a girl so fair; she is as bright as day is light, but she won’t look at me.’

      ‘So fair she is and fine,’ boomed another. ‘I wish to God that she were mine.’

      ‘Oh, Anne is a fine girl indeed,’ whispered Joan, close to me.

      ‘Fair was her bower,’ cried a third voice.

      ‘What was her bower?’

      ‘The red rose and the lily flower.’

      The company laughed.

      ‘My turn now,’ cried a voice thick with ale. ‘When the priest comes in to pray, next day Death takes you away.’

      ‘Best not get the priest in, then.’

      ‘Hush now,’ said Joan.

      ‘No disrespect, Father.’

      ‘I can sing too!’ I smiled, and took a deep breath.

      ‘Jesus Christ, my darling Lord, That died for us upon the tree. With all my might I do beseech, You send your love to me.’

      They coughed and stamped, and said, That is a good song, Father, and I was warmed.

      ‘We will be safe this year, Father,’ said Joan.

      ‘We are always safe in the Lord.’

      ‘But here, in special.’ She dropped her voice. ‘Against the pestilence. Is it not true?’

      ‘Our Saint protects us.’

      I made the sign of the Cross over the victuals, and they fell to, picking at their teeth with their knives and spitting on the floor. The hours swam by in eating and drinking, and I began to wonder if they might stay the entire night. I could not leave them to go to the church, for it would show them less holy than myself. As I thought it, Joan left off gossiping and clapped her hands. The talking and laughter tumbled into silence.

      ‘Good people,’ she said, and I thought how loud her voice was, for a woman.

      I had not yet heard Anne speak and I hoped her voice was milder than her mother’s. Someone cheered to hear himself called good, and there was jostling until Joan lifted the spade of her hand and dug it into the air. The noise was struck down.

      ‘Yes, good we are indeed,’ she continued. ‘And as such, we must be gone to our homes.’

      The man roared again, wild enough to shout about anything. He stood up to assert his goodness, but his feet were unwilling to follow and he slipped to the floor. His companions hauled him upright and I saw his face made dark with ale.

      ‘I am sorry, Father,’ he said, the drink gone from him straightway.

      The eyes of the room screwed themselves into me.

      ‘It is nothing; you are merry.’

      ‘Yes, Father.’

      ‘It is a fine day to be merry, is it not?’

      ‘Yes, Father.’

      He rubbed his face. Someone slammed me on the back. I was pleased at my cleverness not to chide him, for the word would be about that I was a forgiving man. Joan smacked her hands together, and the room was hers.

      ‘Let us say a good night to our priest. Our fine and right reverend Thomas.’

      The people cheered and I burned with happiness. If I could pick out one instant in my life when I was entirely happy, it was then. A warm room; the company of innocents stuffed with food and smiling for me alone. But it was built of shadows. I did not know what was to follow, and when I look back, I cringe that I was so much a fool.

      ‘Let me bless you before you go,’ I cried.

      ‘Yes. It would be a fitting farewell, Father,’ said Joan.

      There was a clearing of beery throats, the rustling of feet in straw. I must bid Anne sweep it out, for it was sticky with spilt victuals. It would wait until morning. Every chin dropped onto every breast.

      ‘Oh God, who created the earth and everything in it, look upon our simple feast. Bless us in our humility. Grant us health on earth as it is in Heaven. Comfort our bodies.’

       Ah yes, comfort us.

      The room rumbled its thanks. Joan began to shoo the company out of the door, encouraging them to bear away what food was left. Anne’s father grasped my wrist and gazed at me with a wandering eye.

      ‘Father Thomas, you are a good man,’ he hiccoughed. ‘She is a fine girl, Father.’

      ‘I do not doubt it.’

      ‘Clean.’

      ‘Yes,’ I nodded.

      ‘Willing.’

      ‘Yes, good.’

      ‘She could be meeker.’

      ‘I am sure of it.’

      ‘But bright in humour.’

      ‘I wonder you can spare her; she is such a jewel.’

      ‘My Joan fetches and carries well enough,’ he beamed. ‘I would rather lose a pig than send my Anne to a bad house.’

      ‘She will be honoured under my roof, Stephen. Have no fear of that.’

      ‘It is a good thing, Father.’ His eyes shone. ‘You are a better man than we thought.’

      My heart leapt and thrust water into my eyes: at last they accepted me. I sheltered the thought in the soft nest of my soul.

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