ate in the same room there was a distance between the lord and his followers. However, she was not at the castle. She had grown used to supping with the servants, but fervently hoped that she would not be seated next to their guest. The less she had to do with him the better. He had a way of looking at her that made her stomach clench and might make it impossible for her to eat her meal.
However, Aunt Minnie had other ideas and she directed the stranger to take the seat of honour, next to her husband and therefore on Babette’s right hand. He politely stood until she sat, pulling out her stool so that she could take her place. Only her aunt and uncle had chairs with backs, another thing that had taken some getting used to when she first came here. At the castle she had a chair of her own, with a straight plain back and two arms to place her elbows. In her bedchamber, her chair had cushions she had embroidered herself, but her father would have thought it too soft to use at table, for one sat up straight to eat and did not slouch.
Babette saw the stranger frown as he realised that she had a stool, as of course he did since there were no other chairs. Perhaps he was not used to using them and felt discomfort in the arrangement?
Her uncle said grace as usual. Aunt Minnie rose after grace had been said and fetched the large tureen of stew from the side table, which she ladled into earthenware dishes for the men, before serving Babette, her daughter and herself. Babette offered bread to everyone, and Maria poured ale into mugs. Sir Matthew seldom had wine at table, for it was mostly sour and needed to be sweetened with honey, unless they were fortunate to have French wine, which tasted smoother. Good wine was expensive and saved for times of celebration and the family drank Aunt Minnie’s homebrewed ale. This evening, though, a rough red wine was offered to their guest, and Sir Matthew drank wine himself, though both Babette and her aunt preferred the weak ale they normally drank.
As she retook her seat, Captain Colby stood once more, insisting on placing her chair for her. Babette’s cheeks flushed; he was their guest and should not wait on her, but as she looked at her uncle she saw approval in his eyes. Feeling the flutter in her lower stomach, Babette murmured her thanks, but avoided the soldier’s eyes.
Taking her seat once more, Babette looked down at her trencher. She was very conscious of the man sitting beside her and noticed that he merely sipped his wine and then reached for the glass of fresh spring water that one of the women had placed for him. They were fortunate in having such pure water from their own spring. In towns and cities, Babette had heard it was dangerous to drink the water, for it was often contaminated, but theirs was pure and sweet and she saw the appreciation in the way their guest drank deeply of his.
‘You do not drink wine, mistress?’ he asked as he saw her sip her ale and then the water.
‘I prefer a sweeter variety than my uncle’s cellar can provide, sir.’
He nodded, and she thought that perhaps he felt the same, though would not say. ‘Your aunt’s home brew is most pleasant to the taste.’
‘Yes, sir. Like the water it has been cooled, for Aunt Minnie considers it more palatable thus.’
Again he nodded, as if agreeing. She knew that her aunt kept a good table and no one could object to the food, but her uncle was careful with his silver and would not pay the high price many wine merchants asked for the sweet French wines.
‘Did you have a good day, sir?’ she asked out of a need to make conversation. He turned his sombre gaze on her, and she felt her throat catch under his dark scrutiny.
‘We made some purchases, but hardly enough for our needs. We require much more flour and certainly more pigs and cattle, but your uncle’s friends had little to spare. We were not offered one horse.’
‘Perhaps in a few weeks when the harvest is gathered there will be more, sir. I fear there are few spare horses—but perhaps later this year if the travelling people bring their horses to the fair. Sometimes they have pure Arab bloodstock, but whether they would part with them is uncertain.’
‘Yes. I believe the fairs would be the best source in normal times, but the travelling folk are avoiding the fairs now that the country is at war, I think.’ He looked grim. ‘It was my hope and that of some others that we might retain the goodwill of the landowners and farmers by buying produce, but if we are offered so little...’
Babette felt a tingle of alarm as he left the rest unsaid. She had heard that in some parts marauding soldiers had stolen cattle and grain, burning what still stood in the fields as a punishment to those who resisted. But the tales were vague and it had not happened here as yet.
‘If Parliament is for the right of the people, how can you justify taking what people have toiled all year to produce without payment?’
‘That is precisely my argument, mistress,’ he replied and smiled at her in a way that had her tingling right down to her toes. ‘An army must be fed and there are those who say we must take what we need if we cannot persuade. However, for myself I shall also give payment where payment is due.’
Babette could not fault his reasoning, though she knew that most of the small farmers who helped her uncle to gather his harvest, and whom Sir Matthew helped in return, would produce only enough to feed themselves and their people throughout the year. The large landowners might have surplus corn, but hardly anyone had much to spare. Perhaps if the trees were laden with apples they might take some baskets to market, but as far as the grain, cows and pigs were concerned they raised only enough for their own needs. In times when the harvest was generally poor there was often not enough to go round and the poorest families might go hungry through the winter.
Sir Matthew had a large flock of geese, also several ducks and chickens. He did sometimes give a goose to a neighbour at Christmas and sometimes at that time of year he killed perhaps ten of his flock and took them to the market, but even if the rebels took the whole flock it would hardly be enough to feed the number of men she’d heard had rushed to join the Parliament’s army.
‘Some of our men have gone home to harvest their fields,’ Captain Colby was speaking to Sir Matthew now, leaving Babette to her thoughts. ‘It is necessary work, for if the wheat and oats were left to rot in the fields their families might starve, but it does not please Cromwell.’
‘Is Cromwell not a farmer himself?’
‘Aye, he is that, but he will not release the men who follow him this year and insists the women and old men, children and the infirm must gather in the harvest.’
‘His attitude must be much resented?’ Babette suggested.
He turned to look at her, his quiet grey eyes thoughtful. ‘Perhaps by some, but he is admired and respected, some say loved, by the army. He speaks of more discipline needed amongst the ranks and of turning his men into battle-ready troops rather than a disorganised rabble.’
‘I do not know the man,’ Sir Matthew said. ‘I believe he lives in Cambridgeshire? Here in Sussex his name has reached us, though as yet we have seen little of your fellow officers, Colby.’
‘Do you intend to stay long, sir?’ Babette asked when her uncle had turned to speak to Jonas.
‘A few more days. I should like at least two cartloads of grain and another six or more cattle to send back to the quartermaster before I move on to the next location. Since your uncle has kindly offered us a place to sleep, we have decided to make our headquarters here while we see what is on offer to us.’
A few more days... she thought.
Babette nodded, but made no reply.
