I HAD BEEN SITTING FOR I DON’T know how long when Widow Daventry noticed me. For a moment she stared at me as if she’d not seen me before.
“You there, boy,” she called, avoiding my name, though she knew it perfectly well. “You’re supposed to be in the kitchen.”
Taken by surprise—for I was sure I hadn’t been told I belonged there—I made no protest but came down the steps. In haste, she took me by an arm and led me away. Though one or two of the men called out, asking who I was, she did not answer.
“Where’s Bear?” she asked when we entered the back room.
“Asleep.”
“You mustn’t be seen,” she said. “He should have told you.”
I made no reply, assuming Bear had told her of the attack on me, and that she felt a need to protect me. If Bear trusted her, I told myself, so should I.
I looked about. We were in a kitchen filled with food. On one side stood great barrels. From the smell of them, they contained wine or ale. Against another wall was a brick oven. There were shelves upon the walls where loaves of bread and trenchers lay. They smelled like bliss itself, enough to make my mouth water.
“Make sure the pies in the oven don’t burn,” the woman told me, handing me a long, shovellike wooden tool. “Place the done ones there,” she said, pointing to the shelf. “There are breads ready to bake in there,” she added, indicating a wooden chest.
Then she bustled out, but not before saying firmly, “And stay in here.”
I peeked into the oven where the pies were baking. With the tool I’d been given, I reached in and fetched out some. Seeing that they were not so brown as those on the shelves, I returned them to the heat.
While waiting, now and again adding more wood to the oven fire, I looked about me, amazed anew at the quantities of foods I saw. Dangling from a ceiling hook was a piece of meat as large as I had ever seen, spotted thickly with flies. Bunches of herbs—I recognized parsley, sage, and rosemary—hung from the ceiling, as did onions and leeks. Turnips and cabbages sat on shelves. Bushels of grain were there. There were clay jars and bowls aplenty, filled with I knew not what. Everything had a different smell, some pleasing, others not.
After a while I rechecked the oven. The pies were now uniformly brown. In haste, I slid them out and attempted to place them on the shelves with the others, all but scorching my hand. One was so hot it slipped from my fingers and fell to the ground, where it broke open.
In a panic, I scooped up the pieces and tried to push them together. When the bits failed to stay, I looked for a place to hide the damage, but finding none, I simply ate it, bolting the pieces like a hungry dog.
Despite my nervousness—and the speed with which I ate—I could hardly believe how rich and fine it tasted, filled with savory things I had never eaten and could not name. What’s more, being hot from the oven, it filled me with a pleasing warmth.
Widow Daventry bustled in. “Have you taken the pies out?”
Feeling guilty, I said, “I put them on the shelf”
She considered them, then me. “Except for the one you ate,” she said. She opened a wooden chest and took up five unbaked loaves of bread. “Bake these,” she said, “but eat no more,” she admonished before hurrying out.
Embarrassed, I did as I’d been told, being much more careful this time. Still, I confess, the memory of the goodness lingered for a long time in my mouth.
After a while Widow Daventry returned. “Now come with me,” she said, and led me into the tavern room. It was empty of her customers. What remained were scraps of bread upon on the floor, and mostly empty tankards on the tables.
“Gather up the tankards,” she commanded. “And bring them to me.”
I did as I was told. She took them, sloshing out what remained onto the floor.
We worked in silence. She seemed tense. But then, as if she’d been thinking the matter over for some time, she said, “Crispin, I’m sorry for your troubles, but if ever a boy could find a good master, you’ve found him in Bear. As God is merciful, keep him close to his true calling—his juggling and his music. Don’t let him mingle too much with those who would cause trouble. Because"—she looked at me as if I knew something I didn’t—"if you don’t help him, things could go much the worse for you both.”