The Douglas Bastard, a Historical Novel of Scotland by J. R. Tomlin

Author:J. R. Tomlin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: J. R. Tomlin

Chapter Fifteen

December 1341

The English, which is to say, Henry of Grosmont, Duke of Lancaster, had called for a winter truce. Little fighting took place during the winter anyway. Hugh nagged that the advent fast must be strictly observed, and Lady Elizabeth agreed, so I was heartily tired of fish and beans by the time Christmastide was approaching. At least, unlike Lent, fasting was only three days a week.

But several deer and a boar were hanging, some of the English cattle had been slaughtered, chickens were fattened, and a shipment of spices, wine, and even sugar arrived from Perth. Barley was toasted for making ale. My mouth watered, thinking of mince pies and venison pasties, when I sadly sat down with my lunch of bean and onion pottage after the others had eaten.

Warming her hands at the hearth, Mary turned and made a face at me. “There is nothing wrong with that, Archie. Stop scowling at that bowl.”

I made a face back. She was not nearly as bad as she had seemed at first, although she was still thin-faced. “If you like beans so much, mayhap your father should send you to a nunnery. Then that’s all you will ever have.”

“If you’re mean to me, I will find a nice fat turd to put in your bed.” She narrowed her eyes.

I laughed. “You wouldnae touch a turd if your life depended on it.”

Shrugging, she said, “I could talk one of the men into doing it for me.”

I put a big spoonful in my mouth. It really was not bad, hearty, and well-seasoned with thyme, but I was still thankful there was only another week until the fast was over. And there would definitely be mince pies, each just the right size for two or three bites.

A horn blew and blew again, signaling coming riders. I swung my legs over the bench to rise as one of the guards hurried.

“Where is Lord William?”

I started to say he was upstairs in the solar when he came through the doorway.

“There is a messenger asking entry, my lord. From the English.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Take their weapons and tell them I will hear their message.” He took his place in the chair in the middle of the high table. I rose and filled a cup of wine for him and stood behind his chair.

It was a few minutes before a squire and six guards entered the hall.

The squire bowed. “I bring an invitation from his lordship, the Duke of Lancaster, Sir William.” Though he looked about eighteen years old, he was a large man with cold eyes and a wispy brown beard, face chapped red by the wind.

I said, “That is Lord William to you, Englishman.”

“Of course. I meant no disrespect, Lord William.” He bowed again. “I am Squire John de Coupland in the duke’s service.”

“I took no offense, squire. You have guest rights and are safe in my hall.” He shouted for a servant to bring them hot mulled ale. “So, what is this invitation?”

“The duke invites you to take part in a tourney.

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