She laid her hand on his arm, for all the world a grand lady and started to the door. She didn’t see the grudging admiration lighting his eyes.
***
Oliver led Rosamund to a place on one of the trestles, and his fingers tightened briefly on hers. A caress? She looked up in time for him to drop her hand, give her a formal bow, and stride off to the high table on the dais where Sir Geoffrey sat with his family and intimates.
A few cursory introductions were made. Rosamund sat stiffly on the bench, hoping she would remember the names. She felt very out of place. The Great Hall was huge, as large as the village church, and she was hemmed in on one side by a black-eyed ladies’ maid called Inga, and on the other by a plump, red-cheeked nurse whose duty it was to keep an eye on the lord’s son and heir, Henry. The nurse’s name was Marie.
‘I don’t know what the world’s coming to,’ Inga said, looking down her nose at Rosamund.
‘What’s that?’ Marie asked, speaking through a mouth crammed with fresh bread.
Inga made an extravagant gesture which dug Rosamund in the ribs and almost had an ale jug fly off the trestle.
Grabbing the jug, Rosamund pushed it safely to the middle of the board.
Inga leaned in and lowered her voice. ‘Sir Geoffrey’s taken to throwing peasant’s wives at his squires...’
Rosamund’s jaw tightened, and her cheeks scorched.
‘...And then they are brought to table, stinking from the midden and we must break bread with them. Marie, I don’t know how you can enjoy your meat sitting next to her. She’s a whore, a verminous whore.’
The nurse glanced at Rosamund, and wiped the back of her mouth with her sleeve. ‘Pot calling the kettle black, is it?’ she remarked lightly.
Inga’s face froze. She hunched her shoulder on them and turned huffily to a groom seated at her other hand.
‘Pass the loaf,’ Marie said, winking at Rosamund. ‘Thank you, love. Don’t pay no mind to Inga. She’s not wed, and I can tell you she’s no innocent. Saints, there’s not much I can’t stomach, but hypocrisy sticks in my gullet.’ Settling more comfortably on the bench, Marie picked up her cup. ‘This is a good brew, you should try it. Here, take some bread. You’ve got to eat, girl.’
Rosamund found herself warming to Marie. She took a chunk of bread, and managed a smile.
‘That’s better,’ Marie grinned. ‘Never let them see that they’ve got to you, it only encourages them. What you need is some good meat inside you – build up your strength.’
Maybe Marie was right. After a few mouthfuls Rosamund was better able to take stock of her surroundings. Last night she had been blind to everything but her own terror.
Ingerthorpe Great Hall was famed for miles about because rather than being rectangular it was round. It was large and airy and magnificent. The roof beams arched up and met at a central point. They were painted in deep blues and reds. On the walls, every available inch of plaster had been decorated with murals and patterns. It was true that the murals lay beneath a light film of dust and soot, but none the less Rosamund had never broken bread in anywhere half as grand.
Baron Geoffrey’s servants and retainers were ranged about on trestles set up in the central space. The high table overlooked all from a dais in front of the wide fireplace, so those privileged enough to sit there had the warmth of the fire at their backs. Not so Rosamund. Her table was at right angles to the raised high table, and everyone sitting with her had to suffer the draughts from two stairheads.
Oliver was in earnest conversation with his neighbour, he didn’t look her way.
The rushes rustled and something warm brushed across Rosamund’s feet. Rats? With a shudder, she leaned back to peer beneath the board.
‘It’s only the hounds. Throw them a lump of gristle and they’ll go on to the next person,’ Marie said. With a contented sigh, she pushed the bread away. ‘That’s better, I was so hungry, I couldn’t think. Tell me about yourself. What do they call you?’
‘Rosamund. I’m Osric Miller’s daughter.’
‘Talk right pretty don’t you, for the miller’s lass?’
‘I copy what I hear...’ she indicated Oliver with her eyes ‘...I didn’t want his mockery. And now I suppose I’ll have the mockery of my fellows instead.’
The nurse smiled. ‘I make no judgements.’
‘Thank you. None of this is my fault, and frankly, I can’t believe it’s happening – it’s all so unfair.’
‘You expect life to be fair?
‘I...yes!’
‘Go on. What happened?’
Rosamund took a deep breath. ‘Yesterday I was wed to Alfwold – he’s a grindstone dresser. Baron Geoffrey decreed that instead of my father paying the bride fine I should be brought here, to wait upon his pleasure. I suspect my father didn’t object very strongly.’