Outside, she heard the thud of hooves in the yard and her husband's voice chivvying one of the serving lads. Moments later, Aubert flung into the house, his stride choppy and energetic, his mobile, ugly features pulled into a deep frown.
Felice took his heavy winter cloak and woven Phrygian cap. Aubert kissed her briefly on the cheek, then pushing his stubby fingers through his frizzy grey curls, strode to the flagon which had been filled in anticipation of their guests. Pouring himself a full measure of wine, he took a long drink.
Felice hung his cloak and hat on a wall peg, her movements fluid and calm, although her stomach was churning with anxiety. 'Does your business not go well?'
Aubert de Remy raised and lowered his bushy, prolific brows. 'Well enough,' he said gruffly. 'I've an order of wine from Leofwin Godwinson, Earl Harold's brother. It is just that the negotiating went hard.'
Felice nodded and smiled. She knew that he was lying, that the source of his frown was something else, but she had no intention of pressing him. That his concerns extended into clandestine regions beyond the mere selling of wine she had long since realised, but for her own well-being, she had never sought to know too much.
'Something smells good.' Aubert hung his nose over the cauldron.
'It's coney ragout.'
His eyes narrowed with gluttonous joy. 'I shall soon be as fat as Martinmas hog!' He laid a rueful hand upon his belt where the merest suggestion of a paunch was confined by the gilded leather.
Laughing, Felice tortured him further by telling him the other courses she had organised.
'Stop it, stop it!' Aubert groaned. 'You will be the death of me!'
She started to ask him if she should take his remark as an insult or a compliment, but was forestalled by the arrival of their guests – the armourer Goldwin, and Ailith his wife.
The young woman stood proudly on the threshold beside her husband, her head carried high, her manner almost defiant. She was easily as tall as Aubert, and of generous proportions. From beneath a veil of blue silk, two fat, corn-blonde plaits snaked the length of her short, rose wool overtunic. The undertunic was the same blue as the veil and enhanced the colour of her eyes. She wore a beautiful necklace of polished glass beads and a silver cross upon a cord. A set of housewife's keys jangled importantly from the tooled belt at her waist. Suddenly Felice was very glad that she had gone to the trouble of dressing elaborately herself.
'Enter and be welcome,' Aubert said formally, and extended his hand in an ushering gesture.
The armourer stepped forward, ill at ease, but dogged. 'Peace be on this house,' he responded with equal formality. His wife followed, her eyes modestly downcast.
With a pleasant smile and welcoming words, Felice set about being a good hostess.
Mistress Ailith remained aloof throughout the courses of the meal which Felice had so carefully planned. While the husband began to relax and genially respond to Aubert's conversation, devouring with relish the chicken broth with saffron dumplings, the coney ragout, tiny pickerel in ginger sauce, and apple comfits, his wife pushed her food around on her trencher as though it had come from one of the dubious cookshops attached to the city shambles. And yet, judging by her ample proportions, she must have a good appetite on other occasions.
'I hope your hens are none the worse for their escape the other day?' Felice was driven to enquire by her exasperation.
Her guest turned a deep shade of pink. 'My hens, no,' she said and looked down at her trencher. 'I'm sorry I cannot do your food justice. I know you have gone to a great deal of trouble.'
Felice murmured a disclaimer. 'It does not matter; the men have enjoyed more than their fair share, and what is left can be used tomorrow.'
'You must think me very rude and ungrateful.'
Seeing the defensive colour in Ailith's cheeks and the rigid set of the full lips which should have held a natural, soft curve, Felice was moved to compassion. Having found an opening, she took full advantage. 'I think nothing of the sort,' she said untruthfully.
Ailith sighed. 'If Goldwin had not dragged me to your door, I would not have come tonight. I still feel so embarrassed.'
'Oh, but you mustn't!' Felice touched Ailith's arm. 'It could have happened to anyone. I think you managed the situation very bravely. I was going to come and tell you so earlier, but I was unsure of my welcome.'
Ailith reddened again. 'Probably I would have run and hidden, I'm not brave at all,' she admitted and pushed her mauled trencher to one side. A spark of reluctant humour kindled in her eyes. 'Still, I found it easier than usual to neck three chickens for the pot.'
Felice laughed. 'Then you are more accomplished than I. Last time I killed a chicken, it ran one way with its head on one side, and I ran the other, screaming, in front of my maids. You are not the only one to bear a cross of embarrassment!'
Ailith smiled and Felice realised how attractive she actually was. Perhaps they could be friends after all. Admiring Ailith's garments, she asked her about the particular sewing techniques she had used.
Ailith's response was hesitant at first, but she rapidly warmed to her theme, and soon the women were deeply involved in needle sizes and fabric weaves, stem stitch and couch work.
Goldwin heard the warmth and confidence begin to flow back into his wife's voice, saw her hand raised in animated description of an embroidery style, and relaxed a notch. He found Aubert's company stimulating, and the food excellent beyond compare. It would have been a great pity to leave early because Ailith and Felice were not compatible. Part of the problem he knew was the incident with those dratted hens. Ailith's chagrin was still raw and she was very much on her dignity. At least now she appeared to be thawing into the true Ailith he knew and loved. He heard her laugh and saw the gleam of her teeth between the fresh, warm pink of her lips. His loins twisted pleasantly and he had to ask Aubert to repeat what he had just said.
'I wondered how well you knew the Earl of Wessex?' Aubert refilled Goldwin's cup almost to the brim and poured considerably less into his own.
'Not very. Ailith's brothers are members of his bodyguard and it's through them that I got the commission to make the armour.'
'But you have met him?'
'Of course. I had to take his measurements and check the fit.' Goldwin took a swallow of the wine. At first he had drunk it to be polite, much preferring ale, but the taste was insidious. No matter that its tang on his palate caused him to shudder, he found himself compelled to repeat the experience.
'What is he like?'
'Why?' Goldwin regarded Aubert curiously. 'Are you hoping to sell him some wine? He drinks it when he's around King Edward, but he drinks ale when he is with his own men.'
'A man of expedience then,' Aubert said lightly, his mouth smiling, his eyes cool and watchful.
'He inspires great loyalty. Ailith's brothers worship the ground he treads. All his men would die for him. And I doubt any man would stand up and die for King Edward.' Goldwin was aware through a growing haze of wine fumes that perhaps his tongue was running ahead of his mind.
'So you think he will make a good king in the future?'
'Better than anyone else.'
'And he desires that for himself?'
'Of course he does.' Goldwin narrowed his eyes. 'Why are you asking all these questions?'