Philippa Gregory - Changeling

Dinner was unbearably awkward. The girls came downstairs in high spirits, their hair in damp plaits, clean linen and clean clothes making them feel festive, as if for a party. They were met by two subdued men. Brother Peter disapproved of the four of them dining together at all, and Luca could think of nothing but the stolen glimpse of the two girls in the firelight, with their hair down like mermaids.

He choked out a greeting to Isolde and bowed in silence to Ishraq, then rounded on Freize at the door, who was fetching ale and pouring wine. ‘Glasses! The ladies should have glasses.’

‘They’re on the table as any fool can see,’ Freize replied stolidly. He did not look at Ishraq but he rubbed his shoulder as if feeling a painful bruise.

Ishraq smiled at him without a moment’s embarrassment. ‘Have you hurt yourself, Freize?’ she asked sweetly.

The look he shot at her would have filled any other girl with remorse. ‘I was kicked by a donkey,’ he said. ‘Stubborn and stupid is the donkey, and it does not know what is best for it.’

‘Better leave it alone then,’ she suggested.

‘I shall do so,’ Freize said heavily. ‘Nobody tells Freize anything a second time. Especially if it comes with violence.’

‘You were warned,’ she said flatly.

‘I thought it might shy,’ he said. ‘This stupid donkey. I thought it might resist at first. I wouldn’t have been surprised by a coy little nip by way of rebuke and encouragement, all at once. What I didn’t expect was for it to kick out like a damn mule.’

‘Well, you know now,’ replied Ishraq calmly.

He bowed, the very picture of offended dignity. ‘I know now,’ he agreed.

‘What is this all about?’ Isolde suddenly asked.

‘You would have to ask the lady,’ Freize said, with much emphasis on the noun.

Isolde raised an eyebrow at Ishraq, who simply slid her eyes away, indicating silence, and no more was said between the two girls.

‘Are we to wait all night for dinner?’ Luca demanded, and then suddenly thought he had spoken too loudly and, in any case, sounded like a spoiled brat. ‘I mean: is it ready, Freize?’

‘Bringing it in at once, my lord,’ Freize said with injured dignity, and went to the top of the stairs and ordered that dinner be served, by the simple technique of hollering for the cook.

The two girls did most of the talking at dinner, speaking of the shepherd boy, his mother, and the prettiness of their little farm. Brother Peter said little, silent in his disapproval, and Luca tried to make casual and nonchalant remarks but kept tripping himself up as he thought of the dark gold of Isolde’s wet hair, and the warm gleam of her wet skin.

‘Forgive me,’ he suddenly said. ‘I am quite distracted this evening.’

‘Has something happened?’ Isolde asked. Brother Peter fixed him with a long slow stare.

‘No. I had a dream, that was all, and it left my mind filled with pictures, you know how it does? When you can’t stop thinking about something.’

‘What was the dream?’ Ishraq asked.

At once Luca flushed red. ‘I can hardly remember it. I can only see the pictures.’

‘Of what?’

‘I can’t remember them, either,’ Luca stammered. He glanced at Isolde. ‘You will think me a fool.’

She smiled politely and shook her head.

‘Sugared plums,’ Freize remarked, bringing them suddenly to the table. ‘Great deal of fuss about these in the kitchen. And every child in the village waiting at the back door for any that you leave.’

‘I’m afraid we cause a great deal of trouble,’ Isolde remarked.

‘Normally a party with ladies would go on to a bigger town,’ Brother Peter pointed out. ‘That’s why you should be with a larger group of travellers who have ladies with them already.’

‘As soon as we meet up with such a group we’ll join them,’ Isolde promised. ‘I know we are trespassing on your kindness by travelling with you.’

‘And how would you manage for money?’ Brother Peter asked unkindly.

‘Actually, I have some jewels to sell,’ Isolde said.

‘And they have the horses,’ Freize volunteered from the door. ‘Four good horses to sell whenever they need them.’

‘They hardly own them,’ Brother Peter objected.

‘Well, I’m sure you didn’t steal them from the brigands, and the little lord would never steal, and I don’t touch stolen horseflesh, so they must be the property of the ladies and theirs to sell,’ Freize said stoutly.

Both girls laughed. ‘That’s kind of you,’ Isolde said. ‘But perhaps we should share them with you.’

‘Brother Peter can’t take stolen goods,’ Freize said. ‘And he can’t take the fee for showing the werewolf, either, as it’s against his conscience.’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ Peter exclaimed impatiently and Luca looked up, as if hearing the conversation for the first time.

‘Freize, you can keep the money for showing the werewolf but don’t charge the people any more. It will only cause bad feeling in the village and we have to have their consent and good will for the inquiry. And of course the ladies should have the horses.’

‘Then we are well provided for,’ Isolde said with a smile to Brother Peter and a warm glance to Luca. ‘And I thank you all.’

‘Thank you, Freize,’ Ishraq said quietly. ‘For the horses came to your whistle and followed you.’

Freize rubbed his shoulder as if he was in severe pain, and turned his head away from her, and said nothing.

They all went to bed early. The inn had only a few candles and the girls took one to light themselves to bed. When they had banked in the fire in their bedroom and blown out the light, Ishraq swung open the shutter and looked down into the bear pit below the window.

In the warm glow of the yellow near-full moon she could make out the shape of Freize, sitting on the bear-pit wall, his legs dangling inside the arena, a fistful of chop bones from dinner in his hand.

‘Come on,’ she heard him whisper. ‘You know you like chop bones, you must like them even more than bread and jam. I saved a little of the fat for you, it’s still warm and crispy. Come on now.’

Like a shadow, the beast wormed its way towards him and halted in the centre of the arena, sitting on its back legs like a dog, facing him, its chest pale in the moonlight, its mane falling back from its face. It waited, its eyes on Freize, watching the chops in his hand, but not daring to come any closer.

Freize dropped one just below his feet, then tossed one a little further away, and then one further than that, and sat rock-still as the beast squirmed to the farthest bone. Ishraq could hear it lick, and then the crunching of the bone as it ate. It paused, licked its lips and then looked longingly at the next bone on the earthen floor of the bear pit.

Unable to resist the scent, it came a little closer, and took up the second bone. ‘There you go,’ Freize said reassuringly. ‘No harm done and you get your dinner. Now, what about this last one?’

The last one was almost under his dangling bare feet. ‘Come on,’ Freize said, urging the beast to trust him. ‘Come on now, what d’you say? What d’you say?’

The beast crept the last few feet to the last bone, gobbled it down and retreated, but only a little way. It looked at Freize, and the man, unafraid, looked back at the beast. ‘What d’you say?’ Freize asked again. ‘D’you like a lamb chop? What d’you say, little beast?’