“What is it?”
“What if it happens sometime that I haven’t chosen it?” he said, sharing one last echo of doubt.
“It won’t,” she said, running her palm across his chest. “The two times it’s happened you’ve been in battle and fighting for your very life. How likely is that to happen again?”
He took a deep breath and thought of all of the people and events that could conspire to drag him and the folk of Grandaise into the quarrels of the age.
“It’s not impossible to imagine.”
She took a deep breath, too. And looked up at him with that stubborn smile that never failed to make his heart skip.
“If it happens again … at least you’ll be better prepared.” The love in her heart shone through her eyes. “And whatever happens, we’ll face it together. We’ll always face it together.”
It was late the next morning when Julia and Griffin emerged from their bower and descended to the hall. Everyone from the duke to the lowliest servant could see that tensions between the two had been laid to rest. Julia glowed with health and the happy air of a well-loved woman. Griffin beamed with strength and vitality and the relaxed air of a man sated with loving pleasures.
Sophie and Sir Martin were still casting wistful, longing glances at each other, and Julia laughed sympathetically and gave Sophie a tight hug.
“It will be worth the wait,” she whispered. And she knew it must be true love when salty, impatient little Sophie sighed and looked across the hall to Sir Martin.
“I know.”
A joint wedding celebration, that was what they needed, the count of Verdun declared when he arrived in the hall that morning. He was still weak, but not so weak that he couldn’t contrive to pass off some of the expense of a wedding feast onto his neighbor and longtime rival. Julia embraced the idea straightaway, and Sophie—as soon as she was assured the vows themselves wouldn’t have to wait another two months—was delighted to be able to share her celebration with her best friends.
Julia was just giving Griffin a parting kiss, heading for the kitchen to consult on the day’s menus when a runner came from the gates, saying that a party of travelers approached … two men and a cart full of nuns.
Julia looked at Griffin, who looked at the duke, who—after a moment—took refuge in his ducal authority and sat a bit straighter in the master’s chair. A cart full of nuns, his air of confidence said, was not necessarily a bad thing.
He changed his mind, a short time later, when a trio of nuns in black habits sailed into the hall demanding to be shown into the presence of Griffin of Grandaise and looking like a trio of angry crows.
“Welcome, Sisters,” Griffin declared, rising. “I am the lord of Grandaise. What can I do for—” He stopped dead as a pair of venomous brown eyes fixed on him. “Reverend Mother. Well … this is certainly a surprise.”
“Where is my cook, Grandaise?” the abbess snapped, seizing the long silver crucifix that dangled from her belt and looking for all the world as if she was considering stabbing him with it.
“Well, Reverend Mother … um …” He looked to the duke, who blanched and slid lower in his chair, as if trying to make himself a smaller target.
“I got a message from Avalon saying something about a marriage and an annulment and the king—” A twitch from the head table drew her all-seeing gaze and she recognized and pounced on the duke. “So, there you are.” She stalked toward him with her veil flapping. “Where is my cook? What has the wretch done with her?”
“Here I am, Reverend Mother,” Julia said, rising from a bench beside the hearth, where she and Sophie had been talking. The abbess squinted at her and paled as the sight of her registered.
“I’ve come to collect you, girl. Gather your things. We’re leaving.”
“I’m afraid not, Reverend Mother,” Julia said. “I’ll be staying here.”
“With her husband,” Griffin said, coming to put an arm around her.
The abbess turned on the duke. “Why are you just sitting there? Do something about it—you were supposed to protect her.”
“I’m afraid, Reverend Mother, that it is out of my hands now,” the duke said, clearing his throat and sitting a little taller with each word. “The marriage is part of an intricately balanced peace settlement authorized by the king himself. Julia of Childress was required to wed and is now the Lady of Grandaise. I doubt that even I could influence a change in her status.”
“This cannot be!” The abbess stomped a foot. “I won’t allow it! I have come all of the way from Rheims—” She turned from the duke to Griffin to Julia, finding only the same solidifying determination. She edged closer to Julia, scrutinizing her changed appearance … her unbound hair, her white silk gown, her regal bearing, and the earthy, womanly glow about her that spoke of experiences that put her forever outside the purview of the convent. The resolve in Julia’s face caused her shoulders to sag briefly. She turned to the other sisters, her eyes dark with desolation and they hurried toward her. She clasped their hands for a moment, drawing strength, then she turned to Griffin with her fighting spirit rebounding.
“So you’re breaking our agreement and keeping my cook.
Fine.”
She glanced at the duke. “Then I demand compensation. And plenty of it.”
Thus began a prickly bit of negotiation that ranged from the convent taking over Grandaise’s entire estate, to a season’s production of wine, to cold, hard, coin to nothing at all … at least for the balance of the year that Julia was to have served at Grandaise.
Seeing the abbess’s intractable attitude and knowing her susceptibility to good food, Julia hurried to the kitchens and used the last few truffles to produce another batch of the lovely Truffled Eggs in Pastry and a delicious Baked Truffled Brie en Croute like the one she prepared for Griffin the night before. Regine, who was out collecting herbs from the kitchen gardens, returned to find Julia hot and flustered and a bit desperate.
“Here, let me—you’ll get your lovely gown dirty,” Regine said, taking the grater from her and finishing the grating of the truffles over the finished product. “His Lordship must have really like these dishes for you to be making them again so soon.”
“Oh, Regine.” Julia looked stunned. “Hasn’t anyone told you?”
Shortly Regine was running flat out for the hall, bearing the egg and truffle dish and letting out a cry of joy at the sight of the abbess and her fellow nuns. After a brief reunion, the duke suggested they adjourn for a bit of sustenance and Julia served her truffle dishes, which were paired with some excellent wine.
As Julia suspected, the Reverend Mother was enraptured by the food and mellowed enough to hear what Sister Regine related about her own experiences at Grandaise.
“I’m becoming something of a cook myself,” she beamed. “I confess, I find it so much more interesting than stitchery and inspecting the girls’ dormitories. There’s always something new to learn. Like these truffles. Did you know that they only grow in a few places in the world, and they’re harvested by pigs. No,
truly.
And it’s good that one of the few places they grow is right here in this province, because they’re very dear and usually can’t be enjoyed by any but the very rich.” She scowled. “I wonder what will happen to all of those truffles on that old baron’s land. It would be a shame to have them go to waste …”
Julia looked to Griffin, who looked to the duke, who looked to the abbess.
Thus was born the single solution to the problem of the compensation for the convent, the disposition of Old Thibault’s lands, the continued harvesting and care of the truffles, and the potential for Verdun’s acquisitive impulses to get the better of him. Grandaise and Verdun would both donate their interest in the southern forest, which they had mostly avoided for years anyway, to the convent … which would send a group of sisters to live there and tend and harvest the truffles. Sister Regine volunteered to head the new residence and to study the care and harvest of the truffles … which meant she always would be close to Julia and Griffin.
Over the next several days of the abbess’s visit, the abbess ate a great deal of wonderful food and had the sisters who accompanied her record on parchment several of Julia’s recipes for the kitchen at the convent. When Julia and Griffin stood on the step and waved farewell as the nuns rattled off in their donkey cart, the abbess waved and then turned back to face the front with a sigh.
“Well, I won’t miss the chit’s stubbornness. That’s for certain. And I think we got a pretty good deal out of them.”
“You know,” the youngest sister said, “I’ve always liked the kitchen. I wouldn’t mind learning to cook.
“I think we should have the maids spend much more time in the kitchen … I mean, it would probably make them more marriageable if they had more in the way of cooking skills.”
The abbess, never one to let a single scrap of information lie idle, inserted her hands up her sleeves and thought about the possibilities that were opening up for the convent.
“Hmmm,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “You know, the time may be coming for a change in the way we do things. The bride market’s just not what it used to be. And we have all those maids with time on their hands. Yes, now that I think about it …
cooking
may just be the way of the future …”
Passionate as I am about both food and history … as I researched and wrote
The Marriage Test,
I found myself enjoyably lost in the culinary world of the High Middle Ages. It was a time very different from our own in its approach to nutrition and taste and understanding of the chemical and physical properties of food and the needs of the human body. Attitudes toward food ran the gamut from punitive regimens of denial to lavish displays of consumption that make our annual bit of Thanksgiving gluttony seem puny by comparison.
A great deal of research and experimentation went into making Julia’s meals both authentic to the times and palatable (if not alluring) to the modern reader. Fourteenth century people had a taste for “sour” the way modern westerners have a taste for “sweet.” Their favorite dishes often involved vinegar—even meat marinated in vinegar, which is probably the origin of the old German standby “sauerbratten.” And, contrary to our current thinking about food, the more a food was processed (converted into a “made” dish), the more healthful and desirable it was considered to be. Thus, fruits were thoroughly cooked whenever possible and meats might be boiled, pounded, fried, and then spiced and sauced heavily before serving. “Mystery meat” was a highly desirable thing!
Another major challenge in developing scrumptious menus for this book was the difference in foods available then and now. A cook in a wealthy medieval household had a tremendous range of foods and spices available, and readily made use of items we westerners consider delicacies: patés of goose liver, oysters and exotic seafood, almonds, capons, suckling pigs, etc. On the other hand, many of the foods we take very much for granted were totally unknown to them. Imagine trying to concoct savory meals without potatoes, yams, vanilla, sugar, corn of all kinds, chocolate, coffee, tea, citrus fruits, and tomatoes! Cow’s milk, cream, and butter were used sparingly, and the fat of medieval times was almost exclusively pork lard … preferred by medieval diners one thousand to one over butter!
Also … if a heroine going from “cook” to “lady” seems unlikely, be aware that fine cooks were highly prized and often jealously guarded in the medieval world. Cooking for a great house required the skill and organizational ability of a general on campaign, and a lot more tact and diplomacy. Cooks, after all, occupied positions of great trust; they held the health, safety, and all-important reputations of their masters in their hands.
Hospitality, in an era where inns were unknown, was serious business. Nobles who could not or would not spread a proper table for guests were considered miserly. Then, as now, the good opinion of others was often the difference between living in safety and having to take up arms to defend one’s self and one’s household. As the reputation and fortunes of a lord increased, so did the rewards and honors due his cook. There are numerous stories of cooks being granted lands and incomes of their own and, on occasion, a title.
Rest assured that the details of Julia’s kitchen (borrowed from the magnificent kitchen of the abbey of Glastonbury, England) are quite authentic, and the methods and equipment described are accurate. The attitudes toward food and the conflict of the devotees of pigs and dogs in gathering truffles are also well recorded in history.
If you are interested in further research on medieval cuisine, I suggest Bridget Henisch’s imminently readable book
Fast and Feast
and the more scholarly
Food and Eating in Medieval Europe,
by Martha Carlin and Joel T. Rosenthal. For actual recipes, I recommend
The Medieval Kitchen
by Odile Redon, Francoise Sabban, and Silvano Serventi;
Pleyn Delit, Medieval Cookery for Modern Cooks
by Constance B. Hieatt, Brenda Hosington, and Sharon Butler; and
Early French Cookery
by D. Eleanor Scully and Terence Scully.
Finally, it has long been my opinion that a great deal of conflict in the world could be resolved if the hostile parties would just sit down together at a kitchen table over a top-notch rissole … or a blintze, a baklava, a crepe, a cannoli, a torte, a bit of frybread, a pudding, or a piece of pie … and
talk.