A Tale of Two Castles

Goodman Twah and Goodwife Celeste moved between me and His Lordship. I went to her side. Why? Because I liked her, because I felt safe in her presence, because I could see the count from here, because I distrusted her. I distrusted them all, but she was the only one I could approach.

She must have sensed me, for she put her arm around my shoulder without looking down. Her hand tapped out a light rhythm. Mother used to mark nursery rhymes for me just this way, with a soft hand on my head or my belly.

Sir Misyur spoke into His Lordship’s ear.

“Thank you all for coming,” Count Jonty Um boomed. He made an awkward try at a joke. “I cannot gather myself, so there could have been no gathering without you.”

“La! You are witty.”

A few people laughed politely.

“Where is the humor?” King Grenville said from the dais. “Renn and I were already here. He could have gathered us.”

Goodwife Celeste’s hand stilled on my shoulder.

Sir Misyur cleared his throat, and a dozen men and women ran into the hall from the inner ward and began to juggle oranges. I had seen juggling with wooden balls, never with oranges. Would they be eaten later or discarded?

“Elodie, how nice to see you,” Goodwife Celeste said. “Have you become ennobled since yesterday? Are you Duchess Elodie now?”

I shook my head, embarrassed. “I am to be cupbearer to Count Jonty Um, Princess Renn, and the king.”

“Cupbearer? Almost as much an advance as ennoblement. Congratulations! And you have changed masters from a dragon to . . .” I watched her swallow an ogre and replace it with “His Lordship.”

“You are resplendent, mistress. Have you been ennobled?”

She looked down at her cloak. “Borrowed finery. My daughter married well.” She indicated a youngish woman a little distance away, a woman of Goodwife Celeste’s height and girth.

The daughter’s cloak was faded and without fur. She must have lent the best to her mother. The daughter might have married well, but not well enough for two splendid cloaks.

The midafternoon castle bell tolled. The jugglers bowed or curtsied and ran out, leaving behind a faint smell of oranges. A servant, the ewerer, stood with a pitcher in front of the carved wooden screen that shielded the door to the kitchen. Another servant held a basin.

Princess Renn took His Lordship’s hand, having to reach up, as a child must to hold the hand of its father. He smiled at her, a smile that seemed dutiful. They made their way to the ewerer, he shortening his stride, she lengthening hers. When they reached him, she held out her hands and scrubbed them as the ewerer poured. The water flowed over her hands and into the waiting basin.

His Lordship washed next and playfully sprinkled water on Nesspa’s snout. Princess Renn sprinkled water on the count. His face reddened.

“La! You are so serious!”

The guests formed a line to wash their hands. I tagged along uncertainly and stood at the end. A cupbearer should have clean hands, no?

His Lordship proceeded to the dais with the princess and Nesspa. Each guest washed in turn, many setting down a cat to do so. When the basin filled, a servant emerged from behind the screen to replace it. Likewise, when the ewer spilled its last drops, a servant arrived with a full one.

Would the king be the only diner with dirty hands? Was he permitted, because he was king?

No. Another ewerer and another basin carrier went to him.

“Ah,” he said, sounding pleased. “I regret putting you to extra trouble.”

After washing, the guests took their seats. Each seemed to know his or her place. Master Thiel, holding Pardine, sat a few guests away from his brothers and their wives, all of them near the lowly end of the table, far below the salt. He began instantly to converse with the young woman on his right.

Goodwife Celeste, her goodman, and their daughter and son-in-law were situated in the middle of the table, even with the salt.

Fourteen people filled the high table benches: Sir Misyur, the princess’s maid, and the most richly dressed and bejeweled of the guests. I identified the lord mayor of Two Castles by the brass chain of office slung across his chest. The mayor and one of the women each held a cat.

Was I supposed to begin cupbearing now or wait for some signal? The ewerer and basin holder left, and I felt alone and exposed. Several yards away, Cellarer Bwat hovered over a table laden with bottles and jugs. I wished he would say what to do, but he just stared pointedly at me, his face purple again.

He must mean I should go. I ran to stand between the king and Princess Renn.

Servants rushed in bearing steaming platters. Some deposited the platters on the tables and hurried back to the kitchen. Others positioned themselves behind the guests’ benches at the lower table. Three stood to my right and three to my left behind the benches on the dais, my fellow cupbearers, I supposed.

None of them did anything except join Cellarer Bwat in staring at me. I looked down to see if I’d torn my apron.

Princess Renn said, “La! Ehlodie, now you must pour the wine.”

“Jonty Um,” King Grenville said, “you chose an idiot to pour for us. Though I taught her myself this morning, she learned nothing.”

“She will do, Your Majesty,” the count said.

“She is not from Two Castles,” Princess Renn said by way of excusing me.

My face burning, I reached between her and His Lordship for the wine bottle, which I uncorked in the fashion I’d learned. I passed the bottle under the king’s long nose and the ogre’s big freckled one, and poured.





Chapter Twenty-Two

Once begun, I poured well enough. Better than well enough, since the king paid no attention to me. While pouring, I observed for my masteress—and fretted for myself about my coming mansioning.