Food for Thought by Harcourt Tendhall
8 March 2022 { Historical Fiction }
They assembled in the castle’s great hall, as every evening. Servants had swept away the excesses of the previous night and replaced the hay on the floor. A daily ritual, replacing malodours with the scent of a late summer’s day of haymaking. Candles were lit, giving the room a warm glow that belied the chill of late autumn. As Lord Blagden entered, a hush fell upon the room. All eyes turned to him, then quickly lowered as the assembly stood and bowed their heads. He strode across the room, taking his place at the top table. Harry smiled at his two daughters and Lady Sarah Blagden as he joined her.
His eyes scrutinised the faces of the affinity stood before him. To his right were his trusted knights. On his left, beyond his wife and daughters, were the bishop and his family, the local sheriff, and his bailiffs. Everyone else in the room was a relative, worked for him or owed him some duty or favour.
Satisfied all were present, he declared, ‘Let’s eat,’ and sat, as did everyone else.
The tension evaporated and the chatter surrounding mealtime resumed. The minstrels began playing, and servants delivered food and poured beer or mead. Soon, the head table groaned under the weight of root vegetables, roast lamb and a brace of pheasant. Harry cut an enormous slice from the rump of the lamb, broke one pheasant in two, adding one half, potatoes, parsnips, and turnips to his plate. His wife called over a servant, asking her for something Harry couldn’t hear. She returned shortly after with a breast of chicken. She helped herself to a few vegetables and picked at her chicken.
Harry continued devouring food, drinking, and joking loudly with his knights. The servants replaced the main course with apples, berries, and pastries as everyone relaxed into another evening’s drunken contentment. A jester ventured into the centre of the room, bowed to his lord, seeking permission to entertain. Harry gesticulated for him to begin, and the jester performed juggling and balancing tricks. He continued with a song, accompanying himself on the lute, about Lord Harry’s heroic feats in battle against the Celts. It was success in these battles that resulted in the King elevating him to Marcher Lord and extending the lands he now owned.
* * *
Harry had a problem. His wife had borne him two lovely daughters, but in times such as these, the need for a son and heir was a pressing concern. She had not become pregnant again and, after years of trying, was unlikely to again. Although never stout nor hearty, his wife was a fighter, which was part of her charm for him. She would not concede to anything unless convinced of it, and this had led to him being thought of as somewhat benevolent compared to others in his position. She was also very popular in the town that had grown about his castle.
If he simply had her killed, as often happened when a change of wife was needed, there would be a huge hue and cry. That could spark riots if the mob discovered who had carried out the deed and, critically, could lead back to him. No, this called for something more cunning, but he had allies to help him. Last year, he had to sack his cook, who was stealing food for her family. She was lucky to escape with her life; another of his wife’s interventions. He had selected his new cook, Evelyn Carpenter, carefully, ensuring her loyalty, as her family was in debt to him. He left the debt outstanding, rather than insisting on full payment of their tithes. Two weeks before, he’d enlisted the help of his most loyal knight, Sir Rodney Bastable.
‘Rodney, it is time for me to take a new wife, for I need an heir. Without, my title cannot pass to other relatives. The King would take my estate back. You would all have to return to the land, and my cousin would inherit the remains. He takes a much harder line than me.’
‘Yes, my Lord. I understand. There is so much more than simply love and honour at stake. What would you have me do?’
‘Nothing by your own hand. I want you to speak with my cook, the Carpenter woman. Remind her of her family’s debt to me and have her administer a slow poison to my wife. She already fusses over food so much, eating a thin choice of what’s available. It should not be difficult to concoct a way of ensuring a painless death follows a period of illness.’
‘Very good, my Lord. I know of a woman, Ruth Cutter, who is an expert in herbs, medicines, and poisons. She has an excellent reputation for healing, and for dealing with vermin. She is also loyal to my family. Leave it to me. I will not fail you.’
* * *
Back to the evening and the jester finished his song to rapturous applause.
Lady Sarah leaned across to Harry and said, ‘Husband, I’m afraid I must take leave of you, for I am sickening again. I’m sorry.’
‘My dear wife, do not be sorry. Here, let me help you.’
Harry helped his wife to stand and beckoned her chambermaid, who came scuttling over.
‘My Lord?’
Quietly, Harry said, ‘Lady Blagden is unwell. Please escort her to her chamber and attend to her.’ He saw the concern in both his daughter’s eyes and said, ‘Let her be for the moment. Give her time to make ready for her bed, then go up to see her. We do not want all present to share our concern.’ He then turned to his knights and boldly declared, ‘Methinks my Lady has partaken of too much mead.’
They laughed raucously and the rest of the room laughed along, except his two daughters, who just smiled. They soon left the table to join her.
The bishop came over to speak to Harry, ‘My Lord, Lady Blagden did not seem herself this evening; I do hope all is well.’
‘Nothing to concern you, Rothwell. None of us can claim to be at our peak all the time. I fear the girls may have tired her, and she does so much for the townsfolk. It can take its toll. I’m sure a good rest and good food will see her back to herself.’
‘Very good, my Lord. Tonight I shall pray for Our Lord to watch over her.’
‘Thank you, Rothwell. Now tell me, what news from Canterbury?’
‘I fear I have nothing to report to you. It was the most mundane meeting I have ever attended. The Cardinal and the King are curiously aligned in their views on current politics of the country, so all is calm. I cannot say the same of France and Italy, of course, or even Spain. However, it seems all is quiet for England at the moment. Long may it remain so.’
‘Amen to that, Rothwell. Come now, more mead for you,’ Harry said, and in a louder voice, ‘Minstrels, more music. We are not yet finished this night.’
* * *
One week later and Harry was sitting in his bedchamber, his wife lain on the bed. The door opened and Bishop Rothwell was ushered in.
‘My Lord, please accept my deepest condolences,’ he said, bowing slightly.
‘She’s not dead yet, Rothwell, but I fear she is close to it. I asked for you to read Lady Sarah her last rites,’ Harry replied sombrely.
‘Of course, my Lord.’ The bishop set about his task.
Sarah did not move; her breathing was shallow and laboured as the bishop carried out his work. As he finished, Ruth Cutter entered, holding a small flask.
The bishop said, ‘My Lord, I am pleased you have called on the services of Ruth. She has an excellent reputation for healing.’
Harry replied, ‘It was the least I could do.’ Looking Ruth in the eyes, he said, ‘Woman, you are doing this family a great service. Please carry on.’
Ruth simply replied, ‘My Lord.’
She walked to the side of the bed, lifted Sarah’s head up and put the flask to her lips, tilting it until the liquid poured gently into her mouth. Evelyn swallowed, but made no other movement. She died later that evening.
The bishop presided over her lavish funeral, held in the new cathedral with its lancet windows, built in the new Gothic style of architecture.
As the entourage walked away from the grave, Sir Rodney joined Harry and they spoke quietly together.
‘My Lord, I am glad we have completed this episode to your satisfaction.’
‘Yes, Rodney, the Cutter woman was most useful.’
‘She has done us a great service.’
‘Indeed. Now kill her.’
‘My lord?’
‘You heard, Rodney. She knows too much, and I have no hold over her. Oh, and bring me proof.’
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