The Lady Brewer of London

by Karen Brooks

  “What’s this?” said His Grace, laughter in his voice. “A monk, Brother David if I’m not mistaken, a squire, and two comely wenches waiting here to serve me?”

  Before I could rise or explain our presence, the tankard was lifted from my fingers. I followed its journey from my hand to the king’s mouth, and for the first (but not the last) time met the dark, weary eyes of my liege.

  Only later was I to learn that, exhausted from his journey downriver from Evesham, the king had foregone the first day of parliament, much to the chagrin of the commons and lords, and left proceedings in the hands of Archbishop Arundel.

  That was why, instead of listening to his cardinal virtues being sung by the holder of the church’s highest office in the land, my king was in the cellars drinking ale.

  My ale.

  “Well, may the Lord shine blessings upon me,” he said, smacking his lips together and then taking another swallow. “This be very fine. Who be responsible for this?”

  “That would be me, Your Grace.” Thanks to Ninkasi and sweet Mother Mary, I found my voice.

  Turning to the monk beside him, the king lifted the tankard and studied the metal, as if the vessel were somehow responsible for producing what sat inside. “Uncommonly fine. Ensure this is served tonight.” Draining his drink, he stared for a moment into its emptiness before realizing his subjects still knelt upon the cold dirt floor of the cellar.

  Indicating we should rise, he smiled at me. “Is your ale always so fine?”

  “Not as much as her beer,” said Alyson before I could answer. “Would you like some of that too, Your Grace?”

  Much to my delight, the king would not be satisfied until he tried that as well. While it was poured, I took a moment to study him. In the lamplight, I could see the skin affliction that Leander had mentioned. Pustules marred one side of his face; angry, red, and suppurating, they traveled over his temple and beneath his fair bonnet. Not even the bold ruby of the liripipe that trailed over his shoulders could disguise the marks on his neck. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead, despite the chill, and dark crescents underlined his inquisitive eyes. Even his hands suffered from the disease; they appeared scalded and sore and, though he tried to hide it, a slight quiver troubled them. None of this detracted from his magnificence. His height was mighty, and his chest and shoulders those of a warrior. The fine fabric of his embroidered surcoat gleamed in the flames, and the milky quality of the shirt that frothed at his wrist and neck was apparent. The fragrance of pine and cloves floated from his clothes and, I was certain, his forked beard as well. He spoke easily with us, his lords, Brother David, Alyson, and Tobias, reserving most of his conversation for me, taking great interest in my responses.

  I’m not sure how long we spent in the bowels of Gloucester Abbey with the king, but it’s a time I won’t forget in a hurry. After trying the beer and questioning me thoroughly about where I learned to brew such quality, the king insisted we follow him from the cellar and make arrangements with his steward for more stock immediately.

  “This reminds me of what I drank in my youth, in Prussia. God’s truth, yours is among the best. It even surpasses that which the Hanse has supplied me with over the years. You have a magic touch, mistress.”

  His words made me glow. It wasn’t the first time that had been said, but hearing it from King Henry endowed the words with a particular significance.

  Exiting the cellar in the king’s wake, we received astonished looks from the many monks, knights, merchants, and others who hovered around the chapels and cloisters, waiting to do the king’s bidding, report a grievance, or merely witness parliament.

  Outside the royal chambers on the first floor, the king bade us farewell. “I will leave you in the capable hands of my Lord Neville. He will see to it that you have a charter to provision us with ale and beer. I want a goodly supply sent to Eltham for Christmas, Thomas.” He shook a finger at the broad-shouldered man with dark hair beside him. “I hope that is in your capacity to achieve, Mistress Anna de Winter? Certainly, your champion, Sir Leander—your master, I believe?” The king turned his intelligent eyes upon Tobias, who promptly blushed to the roots. “He speaks most highly of you and your accomplishments.”

  “He has great faith in Mistress Anna, Your Grace,” said Tobias, executing a smart bow.

  His Grace spun back to me, brows raised, waiting for my response.

  “Indeed, Your Grace. It’s well within my capacity to accomplish.”

  “Why did I not doubt that for a minute?” The king smiled. It was a sad, gentle smile, as if he’d almost forgotten how. “You’re a rare one, mistress, that I can see. An exceptional flower in a field of chaff. Sir Leander is most fortunate to have found you. So, God be praised, am I.” He took my hand. The skin was coarse, irregular. “Not that I imagine someone like you would be lost for long.”

  Raising my hand to his mouth, his lips were warm and firm, but his look was not the sort to which I’d grown accustomed. It wasn’t lascivious but respectful; he gazed upon me as a craftswoman first. The twinkle in his eye that followed his kiss, however, was not that of a king, but a man. “I will enjoy recalling your face while I drink your ale and beer, Mistress de Winter. More than you will know.”

  Curtsying deeply, when I straightened once more he was gone.

  “Wait here,” said Lord Neville. “I will have the agreement drawn immediately.” We watched him leave, excitement bursting forth only once he was gone.

  “God’s goodwill and that of all the saints and angels was upon you today, Anna.” Alyson threw her arms around me. “I cannot credit what happened. Fancy that. There we were, about to test the brew and who comes upon us but King Henry, may God bless and keep him for ever and ever.” She grabbed my hands and spun me around. We giggled like little girls.

  “Hush,” said Tobias, waving us to silence as we drew stares from some monks and pilgrims. But he too wore a grin.

  When the bells for sext sounded, Brother David bade us adieu and God’s grace. “Though I believe you’ve had your fair share today.” He patted my hand kindly.

  Standing in the outer chamber of the king’s suites, we were brought refreshment and invited to sit on the benches that lined the walls. While I sipped a mazer of ale, I could not eat the trencher of bread or the cheese that was offered. My stomach churned and my mind was filled with plans. The sooner I returned to Southwark, the better. Now I was to be accorded the status of royal brewer, a title Alyson could not recall being given in Southwark and certainly not to a woman, the orders I already thought plentiful would increase at least tenfold.

  “A hundredfold,” corrected Alyson. “Sweet Jesù, we’re going to have to hire extra hands and fast. We can write to Adam and have him start looking for suitable lads and lasses. We’ve no time to waste.” I agreed.

  Yet while we waited for Lord Neville to summon us, I barely noticed the time passing. Tobias came and went, Alyson found the wife of a mercer and their acolyte son to chat with, but I simply sat in silence, making lists in my head, working out how I would fill the king’s and others’ orders. I was also considering how I could get word to Leander. Oh, I knew Tobias would be sure to tell him of our good fortune as soon as parliament finished sitting for the day, but I wanted to thank him myself. Without his recommendation, without his suggestion that we come to Gloucester, none of this would have happened. Now, not only were my future and Alyson’s assured, but those of Betje and the twins as well. I could see when Tobias looked at me that he understood and accepted that while this may not have been what Father or Mother had planned for us, or what he desired, and while much pain and suffering, loss and misunderstanding had led to this moment, we’d arrived nonetheless.

  The de Winter and Sheldrake fortunes were on the rise.

  Just as the bells for sext rang we were summoned; the doors opened wide, a servant in royal livery, with a large quivering nose and eyes that alighted upon us before fixing on a point above our heads, led us into a small study with a large des
k. Behind it sat a thin gentleman in dark robes. The insignia on his surcoat revealed he was a lawyer. Indicating I should sit on the stool before the desk, and Alyson and Tobias remain standing, he pushed a piece of parchment in front of me and quickly ran through what was written upon it. I should have had a lawyer present or someone with more knowledge of these kinds of things, but I was no fool; though I confess seeing the king’s coat of arms with its three fleurs-de-lis and lion and unicorn holding the shield did dazzle me and mayhap made me cast sense aside.

  Taking the quill from the lawyer, I signed the designated portion, the lavish ostrich feather tickling my nose and making me to sneeze. Emboldened, I laughed, as did Alyson, who also squeezed my shoulders and dropped a light kiss on top of my head. At that, even the lawyer raised his head and grinned.

  “We must needs return to Southwark as fast as possible and secure this order,” I said, clutching the copy of the royal agreement while trying to slide my fingers into gloves.

  “Southwark?” Raising his chin momentarily, his brow furrowed, the lawyer lifted a few papers from one pile and, glancing casually at their contents, shifted them to another. “You’d be better off tarrying here awhile.”

  “Oh, why is that?” said Alyson in a haughty tone, assuming he was casting aspersions on her home.

  The lawyer dropped the last of the papers on top of a growing mound and straightened the edges. “Have you not heard?”

  “Heard what, sir?” I asked.

  The lawyer glanced at Tobias. “Have you not told them?”

  “What?”

  “We received notice that pestilence has once again marred our shores. London, Southwark, Bishop’s Lynn, even York. People are dying by the hundreds. You’d be wise to avoid returning until it’s safe.”

  Horrified, I leapt to my feet, the stool rocking on its legs.

  Betje. The twins.

  “Forgive me, sir, then it’s more imperative than ever that we leave at once.” I spun to Alyson, who was wringing her hands, her mouth working but no words escaping.

  Tobias looked at me in pity, shaking his head. “Anna, are you sure that’s wise?”

  The lawyer regarded me over steepled fingers. “I fear your ale has gone to your head, mistress. You’re safe here.”

  “But my babes are not, and they need me. May God give you good day, sir.” With more force than I intended, I pushed past Tobias, Alyson in my wake, and marched out of the abbey, blind to the looks my swift passage attracted.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I snapped at Tobias.

  “It had not yet been confirmed and we didn’t want to alarm you.”

  We? I recalled the looks my brother and his master had exchanged. “You’d no right to keep this from me.”

  “Or me,” added Alyson, fury coating her words with a fine spray. “We’re not children to be shielded from bad tidings, but women who have responsibilities, a duty of care to others.”

  Abashed, Tobias’s mouth folded into a grim line. “I must tell Sir Leander.” Excusing himself, we parted company. I barely gave him a thought.

  All I could think was that the bells, the people dying in Southwark, in London, all made terrible sense.

  Pestilence, the murrain.

  Once again, Death was knocking on my door, only this time, I wasn’t there to ensure it remained closed to him. I wasn’t there to protect my babes.

  “Oh, Anna,” said Alyson, her voice a lament as we all but ran back to Master Banbury’s. “Why did we ever come?”

  For once, I’d no answer.

  Fifty

  Southwark, The Swanne

  Late October

  The year of Our Lord 1407 in the eighth and ninth years of the reign of Henry IV

  A journey that should take four days took us less, thanks to Sir Leander and the horses and escort he placed at our disposal. Unable to accompany us, he sent Tobias and the guards who’d originally brought us to Gloucester in his stead. Mounted upon two fine destriers, we left as dawn broke on the twenty-fifth of October and passed through Ludgate before curfew on the twenty-eighth.

  The entire way, rain and sleet lashed our bodies; icy gales transformed our cloaks into giant wings as we rode like the hounds of hell were snapping at our heels. Truth be told, I felt little. Barely recalling where we stayed or what we ate, my one purpose, my consummate focus, was on getting back to The Swanne—to Betje and the twins. Rumors of the pestilence were rife and each time we changed horses, the number of dead and the areas afflicted grew. The closer we drew to the city walls, the more evidence of the horror presented itself. There were mass graves, houses set to flame, weeping children, women, and stoic men grieving over freshly dug mounds. Hovering above it all was the stench of death.

  Filled with trepidation and urgency, scarves covering our noses and mouths so we didn’t breath the foul odors, we rode through London, crossing a much subdued and fogbound bridge. Suspicious faces peered at us from cracked shutters, limpid voices called for help, God, their mothers, from murky corners. People scurried out of sight to avoid contact. In London and Southwark fires burned, the gray smoke rising and blending, joining the city and its poorer cousin together in a way they never would be upon the earth before merging with the leaden clouds that slumped over all. Church bells rang; hollow, discordant voices tolling dirges for the dead and dying.

  Evening was upon us by the time we trotted past the darkened doors of inns, taverns, shops, and the infamous bathhouses of Bankside. Apart from a cart covered with a sodden piece of canvas and two men, their faces wrapped in filthy linen, walking solemnly on either side of the poor beast dragging it, while the lamps attached to the cart spluttered their protest, it was deserted. Only as we drew level with the cart did I see the stiffened limbs jutting out of the corners, the swollen, putrid flesh gleaming ghostly in the fragmented light, and caught the overpowering stench. After that, I could smell nothing else.

  Without speaking we rode, choosing not to look at each other lest we see our own trepidation confirmed. Anxious faces pressed to windows and peeling back pigskin to spy our passing meant our arrival was noted.

  Knocking at The Swanne, it took Alyson’s shouted threat and Tobias’s demands before the gates were reluctantly opened. Snapping shut behind us, lads I’d never seen before secured the bolts then ran forward, their eyes assessing our state before helping us to dismount.

  “Who might you be?” Alyson turned upon the youths, taking in their slovenly appearance, their dirty faces and filthy hands, slapping a proffered arm out of the way and sliding off her mount unaided. Tired, afraid, she bristled with fury.

  The poor boy she addressed trembled. “I be Hodge, mistress, Hodge le Dun, assistant to the ostler.” He jerked his chin toward the older boy waiting to help me. “That be me brother, Ralph le Dun.”

  Alyson grunted and spun around, her eyes grazing the shuttered windows, the stable door ajar, the overturned barrel in the mud.

  One of the guards helped me off the horse. Smoke was thick in the air, but it failed to disguise the sweet, ripe smell that only death conveys: the pungent miasma of sickness. Screwing up my nose, I looked at the barren spaces where less than two weeks ago, womenfolk bustled along corridors and up and down the stairs, tradespeople entered and exited, shouting for assistance or payment, deliveries arrived and customers were entertained. Banished into the halls of memory, there was only silence. Silence filled with foreboding.

  Rain began to fall. Light at first, collecting in opaque pools at our feet. Still, we didn’t move and no one came. My throat burned. None of this augured well. I tried to find some courage, the strength to face what we would find, but it was in short supply. All the prayers I’d sent to the good Lord, to Mother Mary, the desperate, belated bargains I’d struck from the time we left Gloucester to this moment—anything to prevent or reverse what I feared—seemed futile. It was evident they hadn’t been answered. God was not in the mood to trade.

  Alyson took a deep breath, but before she could shout or I
could offer caution, we heard voices. First Harry then Betje stumbled out of the kitchen door, Harry holding a cresset lamp and a dagger.

  With a wail of relief, Betje limped over, while Harry, much to my surprise, let alone Alyson’s, cast aside his weapon and flung himself into her arms, rendering her speechless.

  At the sight of Betje, the guards exclaimed, one crossed himself and turned away. Anger swelled, and Tobias went to admonish them, but paused. They took her scars for the pestilence and were anxious for their safety. Seeing me clasp her, they were shamefaced. Give them a battlefield, a foe with a sword, and they would fight to the death. But a disease that works in stealth and attacks with no warning, which wields an invisible and corrupt weapon? Who creeps into homes and businesses, lurks upon the streets and river? That’s an enemy worth fearing, and on spying Betje, they confronted their own weakness.

  “Betje, my sweetling. Are you all right?” I showered kisses upon her head, dismayed by the greasy tangles, the filth that matted her gown and cheeks.

  “I am,” sobbed Betje. “Isabella and Karel too. They’re safe.”

  The twins lived. Thank you, Blessed Mary, oh my sweet Lord Jesus Christ, thank you.

  “But . . . but Anna . . .” She hiccuped, unable to speak for her tears. I held her close, looking over her head toward Alyson, who stood with her arms around Harry, her eyes glassy.

  “Hush, sweetling, all in good time.” Tobias came to my side, dropping to one knee beside Betje, stroking her hair, ignoring the knots, the dirt.

  Around us, Hodge and Ralph tended the horses in the growing dark, the guards helping them. The rain was steadier now, steady and ice cold, frozen pinches to the flesh. There was no sign of Adam. The knot of wire that had sat in my stomach since we left Gloucester tightened, lancing my rib cage and finding its way into my throat.

  Holding Harry tightly for a moment longer, Alyson then held him at arm’s length, blinking the water out of her eyes. “Pull yourself together, me lad. I need you to be a man and tell us what’s happened.” She led him under the eaves and we followed.