‘How many are you expecting on Saturday?’ asked Golde.
‘Fifty at least. Probably twice that number.’
‘A hundred guests!’
‘We had even more the last time the bishop stayed at Oxford Castle.
Geoffrey has a large entourage. He likes to do things in style.’
‘So I can see.’
‘He is a power in the realm, Golde.’
‘I know that.’
‘Robert wants me to spare no expense. Everything must be in perfect readiness. We have only a few days.’
As the two women walked between the tables and ducked under the swinging carcasses, the cooks and their assistants watched in obedient silence. A banquet would involve an immense amount of work for them but they did not complain. It brought Edith down to the kitchen and that was always a source of delight. She consulted them, directed them, cajoled them and generally made them feel that they were performing a vital service to the inhabitants of the castle. Under her careful supervision, any banquet would be a feast to remember.
‘Is there anything I have forgotten, Golde?’
‘Ale.’
Edith laughed. ‘I will leave that in your hands.’
‘The bishop will assuredly prefer French wine.’
‘He drinks nothing else.’
‘A moderate amount of English ale, then.’
‘At your discretion.’
Golde’s friendship with her hostess had been enriched even more.
Edith put her so completely at ease that she felt they had known each other for years instead of merely a matter of days. Edith ran a discerning eye over some sides of pork and nodded in approval. They moved on to a table laden with fruit and cheese. Edith examined it with the utmost care.
Golde stood beside her and inhaled the various aromas.
‘I am sorry we are an extra burden, my lady,’ she said.
‘Burden?’
‘Ralph led me to believe that the work of the tribunal would be completed by the weekend. We should have ridden out of Oxford on Saturday and left you in peace to cope with your other guests. But the commission has had to suspend its work until Canon Hubert arrives.’
‘I am delighted that you are able to stay, Golde.’
‘The delay has been forced upon us.’
‘So I understand.’ She probed gently. ‘Why did my lord Maurice quit the town so abruptly?’
‘He and my husband had some sort of disagreement.’
‘Do you know its exact nature?’
‘Ralph does not confide in me, my lady,’ Golde lied.
‘No more does Robert in me and rightly so. Well,’ she said with a smile, ‘let us leave the affairs of the world to our husbands and concentrate simply on feeding them properly. This is where real power resides, Golde. In the kitchen. Important decisions can only be made on a full stomach.’
Golde laughed and followed her across to the serried ranks of fish, shimmering monsters laid out on stone slabs for their perusal and giving off the most arresting odours. Golde held her breath and took a couple of steps back.
‘You made mention of entertainment,’ she recalled.
‘It would be a dull banquet without it, Golde.’
‘What form will it take?’
‘The details have yet to be finalised by our steward,’ said Edith, prodding at a salmon. ‘But we will certainly have music, dancers, tumblers and clowns. Minstrels will be hired and Arnulf has promised us a girl from his choir.’
‘The celebrated Helene?’
‘Alas, no. She is lost.’
‘Who has taken her place?’
‘A young Saxon girl.’
Golde grinned. ‘I am all in favour of that.’
‘Arnulf says she has considerable promise.’
‘He is the best judge.’
‘The girl will be sparingly used at the banquet but it will be a valuable experience for her.’
‘And a pleasing one for us.’
‘I am certain of that, Golde.’
‘What is her name?’
‘Bristeva.’
She arrived not long after dawn and he was there to greet her and to thank Ordgar for bringing her so early. Arnulf the Chaplain helped the girl down from her pony then tethered it to a rail outside the stables. When they had waved her father off, Bristeva followed her teacher eagerly into the church of St George’s-in-the-Castle.
He could see that she was brimming with excitement.
‘Your father has obviously told you.’
‘Yes.’
‘And what was your reaction, Bristeva?’
‘At first, I was overcome with fright.’
‘Why?’
‘I have never sung in front of so many people before.’
‘You will soon get used to that,’ said Arnulf with an avuncular hand on her shoulder. ‘Geoffrey, Bishop of Coutances loves choral singing and he will almost certainly wish to attend a service here to listen to you. As an additional treat, I want him to hear my best pupil at the banquet.’
Bristeva was diffident. ‘Am I really the best?’
‘Easily.’
‘I do not feel it, Father Arnulf.’
‘You are getting better all the time.’
‘Helene had a far more beautiful voice.’
‘Forget Helene,’ he said with uncharacteristic sharpness, taking his hand away. ‘She is gone, you are here. Helene let us all down, you will not. Will you, Bristeva?’
‘No, Father Arnulf.’
‘Do as I say and you will have nothing to worry about.’
She nodded dutifully and walked down the nave beside him.
Bristeva had been in a state of exhilaration from the moment she set out from home. Amalric had mocked her and Edric the Cripple had been cynical about the choir, but their comments had not dimmed her pleasure, and she was encouraged when her father upbraided both of them sharply for trying to upset her. On the ride to Oxford, he told her how proud he was of his daughter and how hard she must be prepared to work to meet the chaplain’s high standards. In performing at the banquet, she would be representing her whole family.
When they stopped at the altar rail, she realised that she had never been alone in the church with him for a private rehearsal. Bristeva had always been one member of a choir before. Now she had been singled out and that filled her with the most unspeakable joy. Arnulf, too, seemed pleased to have a new soloist to whom he could impart his love of singing.
‘I want you to be happy, Bristeva.’
‘I am, I am.’
‘Singing is an expression of joy.’
‘I know, Father Arnulf.’
‘You have that joy bubbling inside you and it is my task to draw it out. But I cannot do that without your help. We must share that joy together, Bristeva.’
‘We will.’
He gave her a smile then indicated that she should kneel.
‘Before we begin, let us pray together.’
‘Yes, Father Arnulf.’
‘We will ask for God’s blessing on our endeavours.’
Bristeva knelt at the rail with her hands gently closed together.
With his back to the altar, the chaplain stood facing her and enclosed her hands between his palms. She was deeply comforted. When Arnulf began to chant the prayer in a soft, caressing voice, Bristeva felt that she was almost listening to the voice of God Himself.
It was well past midnight by the time the doctor finally arrived.
Wymarc’s man had ridden several miles to summon him, only to find him absent on another call. A long wait ensued. When the two of them eventually reached the house in the pitch dark, Wymarc berated the doctor for keeping them waiting then rushed him upstairs to his sister’s bedchamber. By the light of the candles, the weary doctor examined Helene. As soon as he realised what had happened, he cleared the room so that he could work in private.
Time trickled past. Wymarc began to wonder if the man had fallen asleep through fatigue. He himself had difficulty in staying awake.
His wife had taken to her bed and the servants had been packed off to their rooms. Wymarc kept a lonely vigil in his parlour, hoping ridiculously that Helene could somehow be brought back to life yet knowing such a miracle was well beyond any doctor’s skill. What hurt him most was the ranting discourtesy he had shown at the end.