December 23
A Medieval Christmas in London
Thank you to Toni Mount, historian and author of the Sebastian Foxley medieval murder mystery series, for sharing this extract with us today. It's from The Colour of Betrayal, the fourth book in the series, which was published in October 2017.
Seb was singing a carol and Jack joined in as they knocked at first upon Stephen Appleyard’s door, then on Dame Ellen Langton’s. Emily’s father and younger brother, John, were waiting, ready cloaked, as was Dame Ellen. The elderly woman had been the brothers’ landlady at one time and now Jude had moved back to their previous lodgings. The good dame was also Emily’s employer as a silkwoman. Jude was ready too, wearing his best doublet and favoured red boots, wanting to impress Rose, of course. John Appleyard was pushing a handcart laden with an extra board and trestle, two benches and a couple of stools, needed to seat so many diners. Dame Ellen added a selection of cushions, so all could be comfortable, a pristine tablecloth and spare napkins and a covered dish of her famous almond wafers. Jude’s contribution was a large bunch of mistletoe – Seb had no doubt of his brother’s reason for bringing that – and a jug of Gascon wine.
The beggar, known as Old Symkyn, was waiting for them as they turned into Paternoster Row. In return for Seb’s invitation to join in the feast, the old man had been busy, gathering nature’s bounty from the hedgerows to make ivy garlands for the women to wear over their caps or veils and sprigs of holly for the men to sport in their hats.
In the Foxley house, the doors from the parlour and the workshop, on either side of the passage from the front door to the kitchen, had been propped open. Work desks had been moved aside so that the trestles and boards could be set up in line, extending from the parlour, across the passage, into the workshop. Such a board, spread with snowy linen, was worthy of any grand manor, Seb thought, watching proudly as Emily, Rose and Nessie carried platters, dishes and bowls from the kitchen.
‘Leave a place for the two large chargers,’ Emily told Nessie as the wench set down a tray of roasted pigeons on the side board in the parlour to await carving. ‘Wash your hands everyone and take a seat, if you will.’
They queued at the laver bowl to rinse their hands in warm rosewater, then Tom directed everyone to their place at table, as determined by Mistress Em who’d spent hours deciding not only who should take precedence but who would wish to be close to whom. Old Symkyn posed a problem. He was roughly the age of Dame Ellen – which should give him high status – but as a lowly beggar, he ought to be seated in humble wise, with young Jack. In truth, Emily wished Seb hadn’t invited the old man but Christmas meant charity to all, so she’d said naught of it, just thought of it as her Christian duty and smiled as Symkyn crowned her cap with a circlet of ivy. At least he looked as though he’d washed at the conduit and didn’t smell too bad in cold weather.
Tom and Nessie were to act as servitors, so they sat in the midst of the board where it crossed the passage, on the side closest to the kitchen so they could easily fetch and carry. Dame Ellen was seated at the head of the table in the parlour, which was warmed by the fire, with her son Dick, his wife Bella Bowen and little Janie. The elderly woman didn’t see her granddaughter very often and there would be much to say about the little maid’s growth and progress. Seb sat at the far end of the table, in the workshop. Here there were only two brazier baskets so Emily had sat the hardier folk there: her father and brother opposite Jude and Rose. Symkyn and Jack sat opposite Tom and Nessie, their backs to the front door. If there was a draught, those two could best withstand it, she decided. Emily had positioned herself just within the parlour, next to Tom, such that she could make a hasty dash to the kitchen, if needs be.
Seb began the meal with a prayer of thanks for good food and good company then Dick Langton and Jude were tasked with carving the roasted geese at either end of the board. Fine white bread, a stuffing of sage and onion and a sharp gooseberry sauce accompanied the birds. Then pigeons, a leek pottage with savoury dumplings and apple fritters. Finally, to Jack’s delight, came a huge Christmas Pie, shaped like a cradle, complete with a Christ Child, moulded from salt-crust pastry and gilded with gold leaf. The babe seemed quite lifelike, betraying Master Seb’s artist’s handiwork. As promised, when the lid of the pie was lifted off and the steaming contents spooned out, Jack was given the first helping and told to make a wish. It was fortunate, from Jack’s point of view, that the Langtons’ little maid had fallen asleep, sucking on an apple fritter and there was no one to contest his position as the youngest at table.
‘I wish...’ he began, taking his spoon to the glorious mixture of chopped meats, spices, dried apricocks, currants, dates, suet and sugar but a chorus from the grown-ups reminded him that the wish had to remain a secret. ‘Oh, well, I won’t tells yer then wot I wished fer, will I?’
Having received his helping, Jude stood up.
‘I know I’m not the youngest here by a long way,’ he said. ‘Even so, I have a wish to make and this one cannot be kept secret.’ He took a spoonful of the pie filling, chewed and swallowed. ‘My wish is to make Rose my wife, if she will have me?’
A few gasps of surprise were all that broke the silence. Seb’s mind was racing: Jude – a confirmed bachelor, if ever there was one, who said marriage was not for him – had known Rose for a matter of weeks, barely a month. All eyes turned to the young woman in question as she sat, looking stunned, wide-eyed and extraordinarily pretty.
‘I understand,’ Jude said, ‘You need time to think upon the matter.’ He sat down heavily, perhaps embarrassed that Rose hadn’t cried out in great delight and accepted his proposal on the instant.
Rose stood then, also with her spoon full of meats and fruits.
‘I need no time, Jude Foxley. I know my answer – knew it the first time I saw you.’ She ate her mouthful slowly while everyone, especially Jude, held their breath. ‘I wish, wholeheartedly, that you should be my husband.’
Everyone clapped and cheered and wassailed Jude and Rose with cups of spiced ale and mulled Gascon wine. Jude produced a little silken pouch from his purse. It contained a dainty gold ring, set with a stone of lapis lazuli.
‘I pray that it fits,’ he said. ‘If it does, shall we declare ourselves betrothed here and now?’
‘Why not? All our friends are present.’ Rose held out her hand and Jude slipped the ring on. It fitted perfectly.
‘In which case I, Jude Foxley, shall take thee, the beautiful Rose Glover, to be my lawful spouse in the New Year, as soon as be convenient for us both.’ He grinned widely and made to kiss her but she put her hand over his mouth to prevent it.
‘Wait. You be too eager.’ She cleared her throat. ‘I, Rose Glover, shall likewise take thee, my beloved Jude Foxley, to be my husband whenever ’tis fitting. This I vow with all my heart. Now. You may kiss me.’ She held her cheek towards him but Jude took her head in his hands and turned it towards him, so that he could plant a lusty, smacking kiss on her ruby lips. This time, he had no need of mistletoe.
The afternoon passed in merriment and jollity. Jude played the pipes, Stephen Appleyard had brought his hurdy-gurdy and they all joined in singing and dancing. Admittedly, Seb was far more able to sing than dance – having never learned the latter because of his poorly leg – but Rose brooked no refusal when they came to a dance where, in a change of places, the woman asked the menfolk to dance. Seb found himself cavorting down the passage, through the kitchen and out into the yard beyond, as Rose taught him the steps. He would never be a fine dancer but he found he enjoyed the experience beyond measure.
Toni Mount earned her research Masters degree from the University of Kent in 2009 through study of a medieval medical manuscript held at the Wellcome Library in London. Recently she also completed a Diploma in Literature and Creative Writing with the Open University.
Toni has published many non-fiction books, as well as Sebastian Foxley Medieval Murder Mysyery Series, “The Colour of…” books.
Toni regularly speaks at venues throughout the UK and is the author of several online courses available at www.medievalcourses.com.
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