Chapter 3

Avalene de Forshay was in a foul mood. She was the kind of woman who expected others to perform their duties as well as she performed her own, and she thrived on order and routine. In a castle the size of Coleway there would always be unexpected problems, but she had learned to calmly work through them, one at a time, and soon everything would run smoothly again. Having three cooks, a pantler, and a baker fall ill on the same day qualified as the unexpected. To compound her problems, this was a feast day and the steward took great delight in reporting all manner of woes. One in particular had set her teeth on edge.

"The minstrels have arrived but they are not the troupe from Chester you requested," John had told her that morning as he brushed nonexistent wrinkles from his sleeve. At the same time, he had made little effort to hide a sly smile. "They are the troupe from Blackthorne you dismissed during the last Hocktide feast. I cannot imagine why they would come back to Coleway, especially after the scolding you gave them last year. If I recall correctly, you called them a third-rate troupe of drunkards. Such a shame. Lady Margaret made particular mention that she was looking forward to hearing the Chester minstrels perform. 'Tis too late to send for the Chester troupe, of course, but perhaps the Blackthorne troupe's skills have improved since we saw them last. Shall I quarter them in the great hall?"

Under the circumstances, Avalene had little choice but to grit her teeth and nod. Aside from his relation to the lord of Coleway Castle, there was little to recommend John to his post as steward. He had but one brilliant ability, and that was to make himself look better in the eyes of Lord Brunor and Lady Margaret by making everyone else around him look worse. There was little doubt that he was behind the mix-up with the minstrels. He delighted in anything that would give him reason to point out some failing or flaw in Avalene to her aunt and uncle. If he could not find a genuine flaw, he manipulated the circumstances to create one.

It was little comfort that she was rarely his only victim. John routinely tormented those who were directly accountable to Lord Brunor and Lady Margaret, and made specific targets of anyone who appeared to be gaining special favor with the lord and lady of Coleway Castle.

Even more infuriating, no one had ever been able to catch him in an outright lie or deceit. Complaints about him were invariably rebuffed with one of his pitying looks, as he claimed that attacks upon his honor were festered by jealousy and his accuser's inability to live up to the high standards and expectations set by their illustrious master and mistress. All of this nonsense was carefully calculated to be spoken within earshot of said master and mistress.

Aye, John knew every trick to ingratiate himself with the lord and lady of the castle and, to Avalene's great disgust, her aunt and uncle vainly lapped up his false charm like cream. Things would be very different in her own household, she vowed, as she took a deliberate route from the kitchens to the great hall.

The main course had just been sent out to the hall to be served, and she had stayed in the kitchens to make certain the final course would follow at an appropriate interval. With the most pressing crises taken care of in the kitchens, it was time to see if there were any disasters lurking in the great hall.

"Oh, good Lord."

The first thing she saw was a flaming torch fly through the air and land on one of the long dining tables that were set up on all four sides of the hall. Fortunately, nothing caught fire before the hapless juggler retrieved the torch, but everyone in his immediate vicinity looked nervous when he resumed the entertainment. Unfortunately, his was not the only blunder. Indeed, the entire troupe showed more ineptitude than talent and her hopes that they had improved in the past year faded fast.

There were almost a score of performers clustered together in groups and partnered according to their particular entertainment. To one side of the hall, four musicians provided a cacophony of discordant sounds from a psaltery, flute, and drums, while a buxom young woman sang loud and off-key about spring tulips. Near the high table where the lord and lady of Coleway were seated, half a dozen young men were attempting to form a human arch in which three men stood shoulder-to-shoulder to form the bottom row, two men would then stand on their shoulders, and then one would stand at the very top. The arch collapsed just as the men on the second row were in place, and she couldn't decide if it was determination or a complete disregard for their lack of talent that made them try the maneuver again with no more success. Three jesters moved around the long tables of diners to make fun of themselves and members of the audience in ways that should make the audience laugh. The looks on the faces around the jesters ranged from somber to annoyed.

She quickly glanced away from the jesters toward the group that worried her most. Four jugglers stood in the middle of the hall, paired together and facing each other to toss pairs of flaming torches back and forth. Already the hall smelled strongly of burnt rushes, and she carefully examined the floor for any telltale wisps of smoke. It was only a matter of time before a true disaster struck. Unfortunately, the strike came sooner than she anticipated and it came from behind her.

One moment she was debating the best way to apologize to her aunt and uncle for allowing this farce to take place. The next moment something struck her squarely in the back and propelled her forward. A boy's voice cried out in surprise as the pressure on her back pushed her to the floor, then she felt a body and something else fall on top of her, pressing her face into the rushes.

Nearly two hundred people were seated in the great hall for this feast. A hushed silence fell across the crowd, so sudden and so complete that Avalene was certain she could have heard a pin drop. She blinked twice from the shock of finding herself in such an undignified position, and then quickly pushed herself up until her weight rested on her knees. There were streaks of something wet and greasy on her skirts and a young page named Cedric suddenly appeared before her.

"My lady, are you hurt?"

She glanced over her shoulder and saw an empty tray with a small roasted piglet on the floor beside it, the roast looking as if it had lain down in the rushes for a nap. The grease from the piglet was the source of the streaks on her gown and the now-distinct smell of roasted meat. Her gaze moved back to Cedric and she stared dumbly at his offered hand.

"I was watching the jugglers," Cedric said in a shaky voice. "I—I did not see you until it was too late. 'Tis my fault you fell. Are you hurt anywhere?"

She did a brief inventory. Everything seemed fine. "Nay, Cedric, nothing is injured but my pride."

Cedric held out his hand and helped Avalene to her feet. The conversations began again as if they had never been interrupted. Unfortunately, the performers went back to work as well.

"Pick up this mess and take it back to the kitchens," she told him. "Have one of the scullions wash off the piglet and it should be fine to serve again."

"Aye, my lady." Cedric bowed low, and then went about cleaning up the mess.

"Avalene!"

She turned to see Lady Margaret waving her forward, summoning her to pay attendance. Avalene sighed and prepared for the long walk to the head table.

Lady Margaret looked her best tonight in a deep blue gown that matched the color of her eyes. A crown-shaped barbette made of stiff white linen and topped with a short row of tightly bunched lace ruffles gave her a regal air. Its matching snood covered blond hair that now showed telltale streaks of gray, and the cloth wound tightly beneath her jaw effectively covered a chin that was beginning to sag. Avalene favored her aunt's coloring, although her own hair was more gold than flaxen and her eyes a much deeper shade of blue. Their features were dissimilar as well. Avalene towered a good head taller than her tiny aunt, and, according to Margaret, her feet were too large for a true lady, which likely contributed to her clumsiness. And there was no competition when it came to their faces. Margaret was considered one of the great beauties of her age. Avalene, on her best day, might be called pretty.

Her spirits sank lower when she realized Margaret was listening intently to something her husband and the steward were saying, and then Lord Brunor made a gesture in her general direction.

Lord Brunor was much closer in looks to his steward. Both men were of medium height with brown hair and hazel-colored eyes. Both had builds that were neither lean nor fat, but neither were they flabby nor muscular. "Nondescript" was the best way to describe their physical appearances. Only their positions of power at Coleway and their appreciation for fine clothing set them apart from more common men.

That, and Lord Brunor's failing eyesight, the result of an unfortunate accident at a tourney a few years ago. At his insistence, members of his household were only allowed to wear clothing of a certain color. Lady Margaret wore blue, his children wore yellow, other children of rank wore orange, John and Avalene wore red, knights and ladies of rank wore green, and so it went throughout the keep from the highest born to the lowest. Soldiers wore white tunics with gray pants. Servants wore their regular homespun clothing in shades of brown and gray, their position at the castle distinguished by the color of their head covering or hose or tunic or apron.

Many had initially balked at the change, Avalene most of all, as she had no wish to wear such a flamboyant color each day of her life. Eventually she had become accustomed to the new attire and even came to appreciate its unintended consequences. There were hundreds of people within the walls of the castle and the colors certainly made identification of a person and their duties a simple matter from almost any distance. Then there was a certain artistic touch to gatherings such as today's feast when the hall turned into an enormous palette of neatly grouped colors. However, the splash of red seated next to Lord Brunor put a considerable damper on her enjoyment of the scene.

"Where have you been?" Lady Margaret demanded. Her hand swept out to indicate the table and everything upon it. "The fish is salty, the beef is tough, and the bread is hard as a rock. You must speak with the cooks immediately."

Did her aunt truly think she'd been shirking her duties all this time? Leave it to John to give them that impression when she was not here to defend herself. "I just came from the kitchens, my lady. Remember, I told you that many of the kitchen staff were abed with bad stomachs?"

"Aye, but you told me about these illnesses early this morn. Surely you could have found servants to replace them who would not try to poison us." She nodded her head in the steward's direction. "There are just as many ill servants on John's staff, and yet the hall looks wonderful. Except for that awful Blackthorne troupe, but it is my understanding that you are also responsible for their offensive performances. Do have them stop before someone gets hurt or before I am driven mad by that horrible woman's shrieking. What she is subjecting us to is not called ‘singing.'"

"I sent for the Chester troupe," Avalene insisted. Her gaze narrowed on John, but he pointedly ignored her and continued his conversation with Lord Brunor. "There was no reason for me to think—"

"Do not try to blame others for your mistakes," Margaret interrupted, her voice maddeningly calm and collected. "Learn to accept your shortcomings and work harder to improve them, and then perhaps you will not disappoint us so often. I shudder to think what shame you will bring upon your family if you marry into an illustrious family such as the Segraves. They are sure to think you were raised by wolves. Just look at your gown. A lady does not appear among her people wearing her dinner in her lap." She held up one hand when Avalene started to object. "Nay, do not try to make more excuses about how you soiled your gown. Really, Avalene, I begin to lose faith that you will ever be ready to become chatelaine of a great estate. I have told your father time and again that you have too much wild Welsh blood in you and we would all be better served if you would marry one of Lord Brunor's knights and remain at Coleway. At least we know what sort of trouble you would cause here."

Avalene felt her blood run cold. Life at Coleway was far from unbearable, but it would fast become so if she had to spend a lifetime running her aunt's household. She had always known her fostering at Coleway would come to an end when she married. She would be free of John's constant mischief, Lady Margaret's unending lectures, and Lord Brunor's whims that always resulted in more work for her. This was not the first she had heard of some scheme to keep her trapped at Coleway, and she could not help but wonder if John had a hand in it. His pranks had taken a vicious edge of late.

"My marriage to Faulke Segrave will be of far greater benefit to my father than marriage to one of your knights," she said. "Your concern is misplaced, my lady. You have taught me all I need to know to run an estate of any size. I shall make Faulke Segrave a very fine wife and my family will benefit greatly from the connection."

"Ah, well, we shall see what your father has to say on the subject." Lady Margaret waved away Avalene's concerns as if her entire future were some trivial matter. "I cannot tolerate any more of this sad excuse for entertainment or the shabbiness of your appearance. Perform your duties as I have asked before you return to the table to take your meal."

For the second time that day, Avalene gritted her teeth to trap angry words behind them. She bowed her head and sank into a low curtsy, and then turned and walked away with as much dignity as she could muster.

"You there," she called out to one of the tumblers. "Which one is your leader?"

He jerked his thumb toward one of the flamethrowers.

"Marvelous," she breathed. She took great care to approach the man in an obvious way, and then she waved one hand until he realized she wished to speak with him. Finally, his torches were secured and no longer flying through the air. "My lady bids your troupe cease the performances and take your leave of Coleway immediately."

His face, already red from the exertions of his performance, darkened a shade. "Our pay—"

She cut him off before he could start making demands. "There will be no coin. No matter what you have been told, you were not the troupe we sent for nor expected. The lord and lady are sorely disappointed and are not consoled by your performances. You have not earned your keep. However, I will have sacks of food sent to the gates that will be sufficient to feed your people at least this day and the next one as well. The guards will be told that you are not to receive the food until the last man has passed through the gates, and then the gates will be barred against you. Regardless of any summons you might receive in the future, know that it was not sent from anyone in a position of authority at this castle. Do not return here again."

Without waiting for a response or argument, she turned on her heel and headed toward the table occupied by a group of men wearing cream-colored tunics and brown hose. There was plenty of food to supply the troupe with the meals, as she had already accounted for the extra mouths to be fed until the troupe was originally due to take their leave. Holding their food until they reached the gate made it unlikely they would argue over payment and risk losing their meals as well. One problem solved.

"William, my apologies for interrupting your meal," she said to the oldest of the four men. "This troupe's minstrels have offended Lady Margaret's sensibilities and she feels the far superior skills of our own minstrels are her only remedy."

William had already pushed away from the table and the others were joining him. "Say no more, my lady. We shall be happy to oblige."

Avalene gave him a smile of gratitude, and then turned toward the kitchens. Two problems solved.

The kitchens were only slightly less chaotic than when last she left them, but she was glad to see that Maude, the sick head cook's wife, looked more comfortable in her temporary role as leader of this bedraggled band of servants. She watched Maude give firm direction to both the experienced kitchen workers as well as to those recruited to fill in for the day, and all hurried to carry out the orders.

"You see?" Avalene asked, as she gave Maude an approving nod. "I knew that anyone who produced twelve well-mannered and hardworking children would have no trouble at all with a staff this size."

"Well, it helps that six of the kitchen staff are my own," the heavyset woman admitted with a blush, "but you are very kind to think so highly of my skills, Lady Avalene."

Four of Maude's sons and two daughters were apprenticing under her husband, and Maude herself had first met her husband when she worked in the kitchens. It had not been a stretch for Avalene to know Maude would prove valuable here. "I have one more task I must assign. Lady Margaret bid me to dismiss the Blackthorne troupe and send them from the castle. They will not receive any coin, but I have promised to provide two sacks with enough provisions to feed their score of performers for two days." She then gave the woman her instructions for the gates.

Maude gave a brisk nod. "The provisions and your orders will be at the gates within the hour, my lady. Have no worries on that matter."

She patted Maude's shoulder. "I knew I could count on you. Have you received any word about your husband?"

"Aye, my Sally has been playing nursemaid and she says he and the others are all on the mend. Even if they are still too ill to work on the morrow we shall have fewer worries. We can serve much simpler fare after a feast day, thank the Lord."

"Aye, thank the Lord," Avalene echoed, with a heartfelt sigh. She plucked at her greasy skirts. "I must change my gown before I can return to the hall, but I will try to visit again when the feast ends to see if you need anything."

"Do not worry on my account," Maude insisted. "The hour grows late already and I doubt you have managed to find a moment to even feed yourself this day. Take the time you would spend here and do something indulgent, my lady. We shall be fine on our own."

"You shall spoil me," Avalene teased, but she felt confident enough in Maude's competence to appreciate those few extra moments she would now have to herself at the end of the day. "Send word if any problems should arise."

"Aye, my lady."

Three problems solved.

Avalene left the kitchens with a lighter spring to her step. She started up the stairs that led to the gallery, a covered wooden walkway that encircled the second story of the great hall. Here there were doorways cut into the stone walls of the hall that led to the towers. They were the only entrances to the towers, deliberately made this high so the wooden stairs could be quickly torn down to leave women and children safely above the fray. If attackers ever made it this far into the keep, they would have to work even harder to reach those who had retreated to the towers. The walkway had never been used for that purpose in Avalene's memory. These days the gallery was primarily a passageway to the towers, and even then, most people walked their route as quickly as possible while saying a few prayers.

There was a constant dampness in the great hall that torches and a single fireplace could not chase away, and Avalene had noticed the wood of the gallery was starting to rot and weaken in places. Just last month she had urged Lady Margaret and Lord Brunor to have the gallery refurbished or replaced, but John had assured them that one of the carpenters had assured him that the wood was still sound and such repairs would be wasteful.

She studied the wear patterns on the steps and mentally shook her head. Somewhere in Coleway an innocent carpenter would be punished when there was an inevitable accident on the gallery. If there was any justice, the accident would involve John.

She made her way safely across two sides of the gallery and was just steps away from the doorway that led to her tower chamber when a noise rose above the din of the crowd and stopped her in her tracks. It was not the noise of creaking wood that she always expected, but the equally familiar sound of the chamberlain's iron-tipped staff as it struck the hall's flagstones in three measured beats. Everyone immediately fell silent and Avalene edged her way closer to the railing.

"My lord and lady," the chamberlain announced in his most important voice, "a messenger from Baron Weston has arrived and humbly begs your audience."

A messenger from her father! Avalene's gaze went to Lord Brunor, who made an impatient gesture indicating that he agreed to the audience. It occurred to her that she had almost failed to witness the messenger's arrival. Whatever news this man had, the most important of it would be revealed in the next few moments.

She glanced down at her gown and was suddenly thankful Lady Margaret had sent her from the great hall. She could all too easily imagine the lectures from Lady Margaret if her father's messenger had seen her wearing a soiled gown at a feast. Worse, he would likely report her slovenly condition to her father. Perhaps she could rush to her chamber, change her gown, and return before the man was admitted to the hall and began to deliver his message. The idea was quickly dismissed. There would be time after she heard the message to change her clothing.

Despite her unease on the rickety gallery, she reasoned the floor was likely stronger by the railing, where boards that had started to bow in the middle of the gallery were more firmly attached to the frame of the structure. The boards definitely made fewer creaking noises there. She inched her way forward until she was directly above the head table. She was unable to see her aunt and uncle who were seated beneath this section of the gallery, but here she would have a good view of the man who spoke to them.

A trick of the vaulted ceilings also made the gallery an excellent place to eavesdrop on almost any conversation that took place at the head table and she intended to listen to every word. She had scarcely settled into a more comfortable position behind the tapestry when the chamberlain rapped his staff three more times. Every gaze turned toward the chamberlain and the massive doors that led to the great hall. His voice boomed out over the crowd one more time.

"Sir Percival of Weston!"