A Play of Piety by Margaret Frazer Read Free Book Online Page A

and refreshment of soul.”
    “Ah. And Mistress Cisily Thorncoffyn is taking advantage of that provision.”
    “She is.”
    “With her dogs.”
    “With her dogs.”
    “Her very many dogs,” he ventured.
    “Her very many dogs,” Rose grimly agreed.
    “For how long?”
    “For as long as she wants. She’s been here a week. From what Sister Ursula says, we can expect her to stay until at least Michaelmas. This is a yearly thing. Here we are.”
    Where they were was the orchard’s edge and the deep-worn cart track that ran along it, bounded on the other side by a high hedge with a field beyond it. Drawn up on the track’s grassy verge and partly under the trees was the players’ familiar cart, its weather-daunted red and yellow painted canvas tilt muted among the leaf-shadows. His heart’s lift at seeing it again surprised Joliffe as he held back from patting its wooden side like he might have patted a familiar horse as he and Rose circled it to where a firepit had been dug into the turf. Setting on the grass the bundle she had carried, Rose said, “If you’ll open the cart and get out the kitchen box, I’ll bring up the fire.”
    From there, no more time than yesterday might have passed since they last made camp together. While she lifted off the turfs that had banked the fire through the day, Joliffe untied the rear flaps of the cart and retied them out of the way, pulled out the wooden kitchen box and took it to the firepit where Rose was now carefully feeding dry twigs into the lingering coals to rouse them to a proper fire.
    “More wood?” Joliffe asked.
    “Whatever you can gather,” Rose said with a nod around at the trees.
    All the near deadwood had been gleaned already. He had to go fairly far among the trees to find enough, bringing it back to Rose in small batches as she built up the fire, then gathering more until there was a small stack waiting to see them through the evening and maybe start tomorrow’s fire. By then Rose had the tripod standing over the flames and a pot set on the tripod and had opened the bundle she had brought from the kitchen to reveal two large, round bread loaves, a fat wedge of yellow cheese, several small onions still with their long green leaves, and a cloth bag that likely had the peas Sister Letice had mentioned.
    “I take my daily wage in food,” Rose said, seeing him look at all of that.
    “They pay well.”
    “Sister Letice adds what she calls ‘alms’ to what I earn. Thus the peas.” She prodded the bag. It gave a dry rattle. “Last year’s but still a kind gift.”
    “Water?” Joliffe asked, because that would be needed to cook the peas.
    “Under the front of the cart. Piers fetched a full bucket this morning.”
    “From where?”
    “There’s a well in the rear-yard beyond the laundry,” Rose answered.
    “You’re sure he went that far?” Joliffe asked, bringing the bucket.
    “I’m sure,” Rose said, soft laughter at him behind the words. “Nor it isn’t that far.” She nodded sideways. “We’re nearly at the corner of the orchard, with the garden just beyond it and then the rear-yard.”
    “No one’s troubled the cart?” Joliffe asked. That was always a worry, there being no way to secure the cart beyond tying closed the flaps at front and back, so that usually one or another of the company was left to guard it, which was not possible here.
    “None. With hayward and reeve and bailiff all prowling to be sure everyone is where they’re supposed to be and working hard at the harvest, anyone troubling things here would likely be easily found out.”
    Having poured sufficient water into the pot for her, he sat down on his heels out of her way while she busied herself with stirring the peas into it and asked, his voice very low, “The money? Still safe?”
    Her voice equally low, she answered, not pausing in her work, “Still safe.”
    Years ago a secret place had been made in the cart for the keeping of the scant coins the company had