“What do you think? I bet you don’t get views like this back at the abbey!” Thierry grinned at the sullen monk standing beside him. Brother Gilbert shot a sour glance in his direction for a moment before staring back out over the rolling landscape.
“It’s fine.”
“Just fine?! You can see for miles here! You can see all the way out to the ocean!” Thierry gestured wildly at the view. Privately, Brother Gilbert had to admit that the view was incredible. He could indeed see for miles–something he hadn’t been able to do ten months ago. The green hills rolled with verdant grass. The sky was cerulean and only contained a few clouds. Miles and miles away there was a sparkling sliver of ocean. Below them a bustling town thrived with life. Immediately below them was a treacherously deep ditch that would be the death of you if you fell.
Brother Gilbert contemplated throwing himself in.
As if he sensed Brother Gilbert’s thoughts, the knight, Thierry, gently put his hand on the monk’s arm.
“Don’t touch me.” Brother Gilbert pulled away violently in the opposite direction. Theirry grabbed his habit before he fell off the wall walk and plummeted into the keep.
Better than the ditch, Theirry thought cheekily. He’d seen knights who fell off the wall walk. If you were lucky, you’d break an arm. If you were very lucky, you’d fall onto that pile of hay over yonder. If you weren’t lucky at all, you’d crack your skull open. Theirry wanted to avoid all of that.
“Careful! We wouldn’t want you getting hurt.”
Brother Gilbert nodded wearily.
“Perhaps we should go down to the bailey, eh? Smells like Matilda is cooking something good.”
Brother Gilbert pulled his cowl over his face.
“Come now,” Thierry said jovially, “Don’t hide that pretty face!”
“My face is not pretty!”
“Right, right,” Thierry put his hands up in submission, “Your handsome face.”
The monk looked away. Thierry frowned. While he certainly hated the idea of submitting to a monk, the man was his lord’s cousin and he was assigned to be his companion during his stay. Thierry thrived off of success. He’d do what he could to make the poor bastard comfortable.
“We should go down to the bailey,” Theirry said in a gentler tone. Brother Gilbert nodded.
“You first,” Thierry gestured to the staircase, watching the monk carefully descend it in case he tried anything funny. Luckily for all of them, he did not.
The knight and the monk walked down to the floor of the tower and then down the longer, but slightly less steep stone staircase to the bailey. Thierry kept to Brother Gilbert’s right so the monk would not be tempted to throw himself off that staircase too. He didn’t. It was just as well. As steep as the drop was off the staircase, it probably wouldn’t kill him. At least not right away. A slow infection from whatever injuries a person sustained from such a fall would be the cause of death. Or perhaps the agony of all the stinging nettles surrounding the staircase. Thierry wasn’t entirely sure if falling in a patch of stinging nettles would kill a man, but he certainly did not want to find out himself. Either way, the plants were an added defence in case (and God forbid!) the castle was ever attacked and invaded.
“Well,” the knight said, once they were safely on the grass, “Shall we see what Matilda is making?”
Gilbert shrugged and allowed himself to be escorted through the hustle and bustle of the bailey, through the daily life and activities of all sorts of God’s creatures. Most residents of the castle were human, but an elf, a faun, and two werewolves lived and worked among them as well. A few hobs scurried around, darting in and out of feet like rats. Two brownies glared at the hobs as they nibbled on scraps of leather by the glover’s tent. The hobs ignored them. The old human glover sighed when he saw the brownies and called to his pretty young wife for a bowl of cream.
Once at the kitchen, Thierry guided Brother Gilbert up to the open door. A fat red faced woman in an apron and an equally red dress was inside, ordering all the kitchen boys about. They snivelled in fear as she shouted at one boy for burning the pottage. (The one job she deemed him competent enough to do properly. Sadly, it appeared she was mistaken about that.) Thierry waited until Matilda was done shouting at the boy before strolling in.
“Matilda! My good woman!”
She turned just as she was about to beat the boy with a wooden spoon. The boy, seeing his chance while distracted, scurried away.
“Sir Thierry!” A big smile broke out on her face. Thierry walked over, with his arms out.
“How is the prettiest woman in Nottess?”
Matilda laughed and rested her flour covered hand on her ample bosom. “Oh, enough with your fine flattery, Sir Thierry!”
“It is not fine flattery! It is but the truth. You truly are the finest woman here.”
Matilda’s red face grew redder. Her grin did not die. “How can I help you today?”
“I am here with Lord Eustace’s cousin, Brother Gilbert,” Thierry gestured to the monk, who pulled his cowl further over his face. “He’s new to the castle and I want to get him something good to eat.”
Matilda’s grin grew wider. “Well! You’ve come to the right place! I have a few fresh meat pies I can give you. They’re a bit hot, but they’ll fill you right up.”
“Thank you, my good woman. You never disappoint!”
Matilda handed Thierry two meat pies and sent them on their way. Brother Gilbert took his pie. It was hotter than he expected it to be. He wrapped it in his sleeve as Thierry took him to a few wooden boxes near the centre of the bailey. Brother Gilbert sat down delicately. He flinched as a bird swooped overhead. Thierry sat next to him.
“Shall we tuck in?” Thierry asked.
“We need to pray first.” Brother Gilbert put the pie on his lap. With shaking hands, he crossed himself and began to pray out loud. “O Powerful and Merciful Lord, bless the food we are about to eat. We are thy most humble servants. And–and strengthen and confirm me, O Lord, by Thy Cross, on the rock of faith, that my mind be not shaken by the attacks of the enemy. For Thou alone art holy. Amen.”
Brother Gilbert’s voice trembled on those last words. Thierry crossed himself as Brother Gilbert did so. Thierry almost wanted to ask him why the sudden change of direction in the prayer, but thought better of it. They bit into the meat pies. The crusts were perfectly flaky and the meat savoury. Thierry could tell Matilda had used a hint of saffron as well as cinnamon and ginger. Perhaps even some pepper too.
“How do you like it?” Thierry asked.
“It’s flavorful,” Brother Gilbert chewed thoughtfully. “I haven’t ever had food taste like this. Not since I became a monk.”
“I’ve been told that you haven’t left the abbey in quite some time,” Thierry commented as he bit into his meat pie. “Wanna go see the town? There’s plenty of sinful fun there!”
Suddenly Brother Gilbert shifted uncomfortably and his face grew dark. “I must go back to my chambers.”
“What? Already? I haven’t even taken you to the tavern yet! They have the best ale in Devonshire, I can promise you that!”
“I really must.”
“Come on!” Thierry gestured in the direction of the town. “The ale will put a smile on that handsome sour face of yours.”
Thierry had thought Brother Gilbert’s face couldn’t grow any darker and more sullen. He was wrong. The monk leaned in close to the knight and muttered, “You will take me back to my chambers before I bleed through my rag.”
“Oh.”
Brother Gilbert straightened.
“Aye, er, yes. Er, we will do that then. Do you need help getting up?”
“No.” The monk stood. After handing the rest of the pie to a hob, he began to walk in the direction of the lord’s residence. Thierry followed after. Perhaps watching him will be more difficult than I thought.