In dismay I watched as tables broke, mazers were dented, crockery smashed, and my ale and beer spilled over the rushes. Adam was trying to separate two men, one of whom was bleeding profusely from the nose, when another crept up behind, a stool raised above his head.
“Adam!” I shouted in warning. Adam ducked as the stool swept through the air, striking another man with a resounding crack, lifting him off his feet. Westel left my side and ran to Adam’s defense, but by then the fight was so thick, the roiling bodies so tight-knit, I couldn’t keep track. Above the din, the bell over the door clanged as men fled. Running past the windows, their shirts torn, their heads bare as they churned up mud with their heels. One paused to tear down the sign that was swinging wildly in the wind.
“Oy!” cried out Westel, his voice so loud I jumped. “Nay, you rogue,” he exclaimed and, before Adam could prevent him, tore off after the men.
“Westel! Leave it . . .” It was no use. He sprinted up the street.
“He’s a brave one, mistress,” said Awel, her eyes wide.
“Aye, or very foolish,” I said wryly.
There were still too many writhing, grunting bodies left inside. Fists connected, arms swung. Cheeks were torn, teeth lost, and bodies crumpled. Atop the last remaining table, the old man’s dog howled, scampering from side to side like a wounded squire at a joust. Slumped against the wall was the old man. I wondered if he was even alive.
Once the sheriff arrived, worse for drink himself, and ordered the watchmen haul away those offenders who refused to concede defeat, bellowing they be locked in the stocks to cool their tempers, the remainder understood it was over. Above the sheriff’s slurred threats and warnings, the men collected their coats and looked around in bewilderment at the remains of the Cathaline Alehouse. Subdued by the enormity of what they’d done, the sheriff asked for descriptions of those who’d bolted, strangers to Elmham Lenn who were already being blamed for starting what happened.
The shadows lengthened and the rain was falling steadily by the time the last man left, escorted by two of the watchmen, cross their afternoon was spoiled. They pulled him forward, uncaring that his coat slipped from his shoulder or that his cap came off and was trampled in the mud.
Picking up one of the stools, I sank onto it and stared at the room, the tin resting in my lap. Piles of rushes flecked with blood, shattered utensils, and pieces of what had once been benches, toppled tables, and too many pieces of broken jugs, tankards, and split mazers were scattered everywhere. The only things unaffected were the three barrels behind the serving table and the fireplace.
The sheriff, Sir Grantham, asked me questions and I know I answered, but I don’t remember what I said. In the midst of all this, Westel returned, his shirt torn, a bloody streak across the front, but he had our sign and held it aloft triumphantly. “I couldn’t let them steal that too, Mistress Sheldrake,” he said.
I shook my head wearily.
The sheriff fired questions at Westel; I didn’t hear his responses. My mind was too busy trying to work out how the fight started, whether I could have done anything to prevent it. Everything was such a blur. It was only as Sir Grantham was leaving, promising to return the following day after I’d rested, that I thought of Delyth and Awel and asked him to escort them home. I looked at their pale faces and their large, frightened eyes and wondered if they’d have the courage to return. Delighted he’d enjoy the company of two such pretty girls, Sir Grantham bade farewell with more goodwill than he arrived.
As the door closed, Tobias’s words rang in my ears. “Turning this house, our home into an alehouse that any knave can enter is something altogether different . . .” Just how different, I’d not known. Until today.
Before long, Saskia came and pressed a mazer of mulled wine in my hand. Grateful for its warmth, I sipped it slowly, smiling weakly as Blanche, Westel, and Adam, who held a wad of cloth over his left eye, gathered around me.
“Where are the twins?” I asked quietly.
“Iris and Louisa took them to the nursery the moment the fighting started. They’re fine,” said Saskia, gripping my shoulder. I reached up and closed my hand over hers.
“Thank you.”
Using a piece of tinder from the fire, Blanche went around and relit the candles. Their bright flames were at odds with the ruins.
The faces of my servants told me they were as dazed as I felt. Blanche had to touch everything, pick up a stool here, a crumpled tablecloth there. She found shards of pottery and glass and piled them neatly on a table, walked in circles pushing the rushes back down with her boots. We watched her in silence. Adam seemed resigned. Only Westel, his eyes neutral, dwelled upon me.
“Where’s Will?” I asked suddenly.
Blanche stopped and glared at the rushes, hands on hips, as if expecting him to rise from beneath them.
“I last saw him when he went to fetch the sheriff,” said Westel, scratching his head through his cap.
“He should be back well and truly by now.” Adam nodded at Westel. “Go and see if he’s in the kitchen.”
Westel darted off.
“This is a right mess, Mistress Anneke,” said Blanche, finding another shard of pottery.
“Nothing we can’t fix,” said Adam quickly, as if Blanche’s observation was somehow critical of me.
“Aye,” I agreed, “but should we?” Resting my elbows on my knees, I looked at Adam and Blanche. Neither answered. Saskia rubbed my back. They knew it was not their decision to make.
Westel reappeared. “He’s not there, Mistress Sheldrake. Nor’s he in our room, the solar, or the brewery.” He hesitated. “Do you want me to lock up the chickens and pigs? They’re still out.”
“Will wouldn’t overlook his duties,” said Adam, slapping his thighs and standing, raising his voice to be heard above the rain that was now coming down in torrents. He stared out into the sodden gloom. “Where’s that lad disappeared to?”
“Could he have stopped at another tavern on the way home?” asked Westel.
“He wouldn’t be foolish enough to give chase to those strangers, would he?” asked Saskia, giving Westel a pointed look.
“Nay,” I said quickly. “Please, God, nay.”
“Maybe he went to warn Master Proudfellow?” added Blanche hopefully.
“It’s possible, I suppose.” Adam sighed and reached for his cloak and hat. “I’ll go and find him. Westel, look to the animals.” He turned to me. “Mistress Anneke, if I may be so bold, I suggest you go to the twins and reassure yourself as to their well-being. I’ll return soon enough and we can discuss what we do about”—he shook his head as he studied the room—“this.”
Standing, I straightened my tunic. “As you say, Adam.”
“Don’t worry, mistress,” he added quietly. “We’ll sort this out.”
The bell above the alehouse door couldn’t be heard above the rain as Adam left. The wind was so strong, he was almost bent double as he passed the window. I shivered, whether in empathy or foreboding, I wasn’t sure. I ordered Saskia to take the tin to the office and Blanche to prepare hot water for Will and Adam for when they returned and to warm some drying sheets for Westel. I didn’t have to tell Saskia to heat some additional wine. We’d all be needing it before this night was over.