Geraint (Hengist-People of the Horse Book 5)

by Jacky Gray

  ‘Don’t call me silly. Father will be angry; this dress cost a lot of money and he told me it would get spoilt…’

  ‘If you wear it while I’m here. Does he think we will be climbing trees? And you called me silly.’

  ‘I know, I’m sorry. We’d better go in now or Father will get impatient.’

  14 Dinner at the Ritz

  Geraint had never been so self-conscious eating a meal. He felt as though every word he said and every move he made were scrutinised and occasionally commented on. He knew whenever he got upset he lost his appetite completely, but he’d not realised how his ability to enjoy and digest his food was so badly affected by his mental and emotional state.

  It started off all right; the spicy soup tasted exactly how he liked it, thick and full of chunky vegetables. He only managed to appreciate half of it before noticing Siany’s mother looked over at him every time he put the spoon into his mouth. She didn’t exactly frown, but the radiant light around her dimmed slightly and he became aware that no one else around the table made a slurping sound as they ate their soup. He’d never noticed it before because everyone he normally ate with made the same sound, but it seemed to be different here. Helping himself to another piece of the delicious bread, he took his time breaking a few pieces into the soup and stirring them in, while surreptitiously watching as each of the others in turn ate a mouthful without a sound. In fact, the silence in the room meant every small sound became magnified, from the scrape of the spoons on the bowls to the rustle of Siany’s dress as she reached for another slice of bread.

  The weight of his gaze made her turn toward him, but her smile diminished as she saw his bowl still half full. ‘Don’t you like the soup? Mother’s secret recipe is famous all over Oxford.’

  ‘It’s delicious, just a little hot.’

  ‘Too spicy? Don’t eat it if you’re not used to spices.’

  ‘I really like it, but I didn’t want to burn my mouth.’ He regretted the words as soon as they were out, they made no sense as the soup was barely warmer than the room. Oleta hid her surprise more successfully than her husband whose eyebrows shot up a full inch. But the worst thing was the way everyone looked at him. Geraint could no more force a spoonful of soup into his mouth than jump up and run home, the only thing which would make him happy right now.

  Feeling the heat of embarrassment crawling up from his neck, he was ridiculously grateful when Oleta distracted everyone by asking for the water jug. With a smile, she suggested she’d possibly overdone the mustard seeds as it was making her thirsty. Under cover of the noises made as everyone took the opportunity to fill their water beakers, he managed to eat half of his remaining soup. Darryn then picked up the wine jug and replenished their glasses, allowing Geraint to finish the soup, but he did not have anything like the same experience as with his first few spoonfuls. Whereas they’d been warm, rich and full of flavour, the last ones were cold, wet and tasteless. He might as well eat the sludge from the bottom of a muddy puddle.

  As Oleta cleared away the bowls, Geraint took a sip of wine, keeping the unfamiliar fruity flavour in his mouth for a second before swallowing it. Unlike the weak ale he usually drank, this left a strong taste on his lips and warmed every inch of his throat as it slid down toward his stomach. Licking his lips, he took another, larger sip. Putting the glass goblet down, he caught the edge of a spoon which tipped up and clanged down on the fork. Darryn was talking to Siany about an incident which happened at lehren that week, so he didn’t notice. Geraint could tell by the way her eyes lifted heavenward, that Siany had.

  He gave up trying to follow the complexities of the tale; there were too many references to people he didn’t know and things he’d never heard of. With nothing else to do, his restive hands occupied themselves between courses with the ornately carved wine goblet, taking more and more sips of wine. By the time Oleta returned with plates laden with thick slices of ham and tender chicken breast, he’d emptied his goblet.

  The noise level in the room rose as people helped themselves to the various dishes of vegetables, sauces and many other small treats which accompanied the meat. He compared it to his customary fare: Sometimes, after broth, they had little more than a piece of tough meat or cheese and a hunk of bread. So he watched Siany, trying to choose the same things she did, but despite only taking a small amount from each dish, his plate heaved with food. But what a picture it made, with foodstuffs of all shapes and sizes and vegetables in a rainbow of hues from red to green, it almost looked too good to eat.

  ‘Gravy, Geraint?’ Darryn passed over a tall jug, filled with a dark, aromatic liquid.

  Taking the jug, Geraint sniffed. He felt the warmth and assumed it was some kind of drink, like hot mead. Picking up his empty goblet, he poured the liquor into it, but Siany spotted him and squealed. ‘Stop Geraint, the gravy’s hot, it will break the goblet.’

  Her agitation startled him, so he nearly dropped both things, but Darryn managed to rescue the jug. The contents of the goblet however, spilled all over his plate and he looked at the spoiled picture in horror.

  ‘Oh well, all’s well that ends well. Why don’t you pour him a fresh goblet, dear.’

  ‘Certainly, I’ll just use this while I have it.’

  Geraint watched in disbelief as Siany’s father poured the brown liquid over his food, then passed the jug to Siany, who did the same.

  As she took the jug from her daughter, Oleta looked at him. ‘Don’t wait for us, dear. You start your meal while it’s hot.’

  Looking down at the things on his plate going soggy and cold, he wondered what kind of people would ruin perfectly good food by drenching it with liquid. With a small sigh of resignation, he picked up his knife and cut the least drowned piece of the chicken and put it into his mouth. His taste sensors had no problem this time as they flooded with a subtle blend of herbs, spices and fruit flavours which turned the bland morsel of meat into a piece of ambrosia.

  ‘Are you enjoying that, Geraint?’ The warm smile in Oleta’s voice suggested she knew perfectly well, but still wanted his verbal approval.

  It wasn’t until he opened his eyes that he realised they were closed. ‘It is without exception the most wonderful piece of chicken I have ever tasted in my life. So moist and tender, and all those flavours. Heavenly. I’m sure the Gods tasted nothing better at their grand banquets.’

  ‘That’s sweet of you to say.’

  ‘Eloquently put, young man. Absolutely accurate. I must say, you have surpassed yourself today, my dear. This is indeed a most heavenly meal.’

  With total harmony restored to the table, every mouthful Geraint lifted to his lips delivered a delightful combination of flavours and textures completely outside his normal range of plain meats and pot-roasted, mushy vegetables. He was particularly impressed with the forcemeat balls, insisting Oleta explain how the breadcrumbs, sausages and herbs were combined so he could make some himself.

  ‘You mean you’ll get your mother to make some.’ Darryn’s tone suggested he’d never heard of anything as peculiar as a young boy trying to cook.

  ‘My mother died when I was very young.’

  ‘Oh, I am sorry, I didn’t know. I find it strange a boy of your age should be interested in recipes.’

  ‘We all have to learn how to cook as part of our survival trial.’

  ‘Admirable. Unusual, but admirable. I’m sure we could learn a lot from your people.’

  Although the remark itself seemed fairly innocuous, coming so soon after the mention of his mother it rankled, as though Geraint had only been invited here to perform like some trained monkey while the great and noble professor poked fun at his ignorance and uncouth manners. Immediately, the food, which had tasted wonderful, turned to a lump of inedible stone in his mouth. He valiantly chewed and tried to swallow it.

  Reaching for his water beaker, Geraint somehow ended up with the wine goblet instead and he took a long gulp of the fiery liquid, nearly choking as it hit his palate. Putting the drin
k down quickly, he sipped on the water, trying to control his breathing to stop himself from spluttering his food out over the table. The effort became so great his eyes started to water and he once more became the focus of everyone’s attention. Siany leapt up and thumped his back and then it was all over.

  15 Healing Energy

  Siany did not visit during the next week, and no-one mentioned what had gone on at the house. It must have been obvious to Tol and Janna that something had happened when they came to pick him up, but they seemed content to leave without a cup of tea.

  The lack of Siany’s patient teaching severely hampered Geraint’s progress with the writing, but he spent some time practising the nine letters she’d already shown him. Initially he only wrote their names, but he wanted to do more so he pestered his hosts over breakfast every day to show him some new letters. Eventually he became confident enough to work the remaining letters out for himself and Janna stopped working and smiled when he presented her with a sampler showing off his progress.

  ‘That looks lovely Geraint; beautifully written. You’re really coming on with your letters. I suppose you’ll need a few more now.’

  ‘No, read it out loud.’

  ‘”The five boxing wizards jump quickly.” Oh that’s unusual, is it a poem?’

  ‘Not exactly, just read on.’

  ‘”Sphinx of black quartz, judge my vow.” It doesn’t make sense and it doesn’t even rhyme.’

  He gestured for her to continue and her eyes widened as she read the next line. ‘”Pack my box with five dozen liquor jugs.” Geraint, what is this all about? I’d have thought five dozen jugs of liquor is the last thing you’d want after what Darryn said about Sunday.’

  ‘I don’t. They’re just sentences I found in the back of the writing book Siany left for me.’

  ‘Oh, I know this one. “The quick brown fox jumps over a lazy dog.” It has all the letters of the alphabet in it.’

  ‘They all do. See, each sentence has all the letters.’

  She studied it for a few seconds. ‘Which means you must know them all now. That didn’t take long.’

  ‘I haven’t had anything else to do.’

  ‘I know, I’m sorry. We should have spent more time with you …’

  ‘But I understand you can’t. There’s so much work to do after the harvest is finished, and that is more important.’

  ‘Oh dear, you must think us rude. You are important to us.’

  ‘I didn’t mean it like that, but with the nights drawing in so quickly, it’s important you spend the daylight hours outside.’

  ‘That’s very considerate of you. I’m afraid we do get tired being in the fresh air all day though, so we do go to bed early.’

  ‘Me, considerate? I know you were happy to have me for two weeks but it must be hard for you that I’m still here five weeks later, eating all your food and not helping out much.’

  ‘But you have no idea how lovely it is to come in and have a cup of tea waiting. And not having to prepare the vegetables for the meal is a big help, trust me. I hate peeling potatoes and carrots.’

  ‘It’s the least I can do after everything you’ve done for me.’

  ‘And we’ve never finished the jams and chutneys by Samhain before; all thanks to you chopping all the fruit.’ Looking at him, she pondered for a moment or two before asking her next question. ‘Are you upset about missing the Samhain celebrations? I know your mother used to love them.’

  ‘I’m not my mother. She loved people, but I hate it when the boys from the other tribes come and make fun of me and chase after the girls.’

  ‘I don’t think anyone will make fun of you after you defeated that lad from Hereward’s camp. Your father told us; he seemed very proud.’

  ‘I’m sure Manfrid will just be looking for an opportunity to prove he can best me so he can restore his standing with the rest of his friends. So, no. I’m actually very glad about missing Samhain.’

  ‘You won’t miss it completely. We always have lots of the neighbourhood children coming round for the souling, so I will be baking lots of biscuits and cakes.’

  ‘The souling?’

  ‘Of course, you wouldn’t know about it. They dress up as ghosts or spirits and come round at sunset with a jack-a-lantern singing a song or saying a prayer for the dead.’

  ‘And you give them cake?’

  ‘Only to the ones that deserve it.’

  ‘Which knowing you, is all of them.’

  She smiled. ‘You know me too well. But I merely give a small biscuit to most of them. Only the best song or most creative costume out of each group gets a cake.’

  ‘Maybe I can help you bake.’

  ‘That would be lovely.’ She rolled out the pastry for the leftovers pie they were going to have for supper, as he peeled a pile of carrots and potatoes. Her manner struck him as odd, with frequent glances darting his way as she seemed on the verge of speaking, then thinking better of it. He could tell she wanted to discuss something contentious and guessed it was about Sunday.

  ‘Why don’t you just say it?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Whatever it is you think will upset me.’

  Sighing, she halted the rolling pin and looked at him. ‘I’d forgotten how perceptive you are. I merely wondered if you were ready to talk about Sunday yet.’

  ‘There’s nothing to say. I ate their food and drank their wine and lived up to their expectations of what a rough gypsy boy would be.’

  ‘What? Why do you say that? Were they mean to you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So why say it?’

  ‘Because it’s true. I’d never seen a clock before and I didn’t know how to shake hands.’

  ‘I’m sure the same is true of many people who don’t live in big houses, it doesn’t mean ...’

  ‘But then I made horrible noises when I ate and poured gravy into my wine goblet. He started saying things about mother and how boys don’t cook and I got annoyed and my food got stuck in my throat. I tried to swallow some water to help, but I picked up the wine instead and it made me start choking.’ The words were tumbling out and he paused to gulp in some air.

  ‘So the food made you sick, not the drink. I thought from what Darryn said you’d drunk too much.’

  ‘I had less than two glasses of wine. Siany slapped me on the back and I couldn’t stop the food from coming out all over the table.’

  ‘So you weren’t sick then.’

  ‘No, but it ruined the meal. No-one wanted to eat any more after that. I just ran into the bathroom and then Oleta suggested I should lie down in the garden room until you came.’

  ‘I see. Can you remember why you got so annoyed that your food stuck?’

  ‘Because he kept calling me names and talking about “your people” as though we were some kind of animals or something. And he looked at me as though I was stupid every time I didn’t know what to do, like washing your hands before you eat.’

  Raising her eyebrows in obvious disbelief, she asked what names he’d been called.

  ‘I can’t remember exactly, something like boheman.’

  ‘Bohemian?’

  ‘Yes, that’s it. What does it mean?’

  ‘Someone who travels around. Which is not exactly untrue or derogatory.’

  ‘What’s derogatory?’

  ‘Insulting. I’m sure he didn’t mean to treat you differently to any other friend of Siany’s. It’s probably because he was brought up with lots of very rich people who think they are better than the rest of us.’

  ‘So that gives him the right to make me feel like some kind of circus animal there to perform gypsy tricks for his entertainment.’ Geraint’s face matched his bitter tone.

  ‘Oh dear, I quite understand how you felt. He has that effect on me sometimes. But he doesn’t do it deliberately, he just doesn’t know any better.’

  ‘So why has he stopped Siany from coming to see me?’

  ‘I don’t think he has. They co
uld have gone away for the mid-term break; they sometimes do.’

  ‘If they were going away, she would have mentioned it on Sunday wouldn’t she?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Well, I do. He’s keeping her away because he doesn’t want her mixing with scruffy little bohemian boys who can’t hold their liquor.’

  ‘I’m sure he doesn’t think that.’

  ‘I’m sure he does.’ He looked away to hide the tears of self-pity forming in the corner of his eyes, but Janna seemed not to notice as she tried to placate him.

  ‘Maybe she’ll come round on Samhain eve for the souling and we can ask her then.’

  The Sabbat came and went without her. Janna roped Geraint into judging the costumes and performances of the steady stream of hopeful youngsters who knocked the door for the two hours either side of sunset. Settling down with a large beaker of ale and leftover cakes, he had to admit he’d enjoyed the experience. He found the way the smaller children tried so hard to copy their brothers and sisters completely heart-warming. The older siblings gave the impression of being bored by the whole thing but he could tell they were secretly enjoying it every bit as much.

  The very best thing for him was when one of Janna’s friends came round with her small children who exclaimed with glee over the big tub of apples in the kitchen. While they bobbed for them, Petronella introduced herself, asking about Geraint’s injury. She spent some time pouring healing energy into his leg. He wanted to refuse as he had no way of repaying her, but she insisted a ten minute respite from her lively charges was payment enough. He’d been lucky enough never to have needed this kind of attention from Savannah, but he knew it took a lot out of her every time she healed someone in the camp.

  Watching carefully as she closed her eyes and drew in the energy from the earth, he wondered if it could be the same thing he did when meditating and started to draw in the energy himself.

  ‘My goodness, that’s a powerful energy flow, but you should not do it while I am treating you, it’s not a good idea to have conflicting flows going on at the same time.’