Free Something Red by Douglas Nicholas Page A

as each family turned in at its own dooryard.
    Now Hob hastened toward the inn, his arm stretched behind him: the ox, usually so eager to reach the comforts of a stable, had decided to assert some small degree of independence, or perhaps just cross-grainedness, by refusing to be hurried. Hob noticed that the ground had been cleared of trees and high bushes for a score of yards around the walls. Someone had taken care not to leave cover for bandits approaching with stealth. And now, as he came near, Hob realized that what he had taken for the side of the house was a log wall about six feet high, and that it ran all the way around the compound, with gates set in it and another set of gates in the true wall behind. Between the two sets of walls was a narrow alley about ten feet wide. Hob had never seen a similar arrangement.
    He led the ox through the outer gate and then the wide inner gatebeside the main building, gates that led into a capacious courtyard. And now, pushing through the pilgrims who were milling about the courtyard and straggling into the inn itself through the inside door, here came the host to greet Molly, his face alight with much the same expression as Brother Wulfstan’s had had.
    “God and Mary with ye, Mistress Molly,” said the innkeeper, coming up to the wagon and taking Molly’s outstretched hand in both of his. “Welcome to my house. Which it’s a merry night we see, whensoever ye come to us; we will have music!” And dropping his voice: “And the fill of the house of these fat-purse pilgrims ye’ve brought us, God be praised, else yon Jack would beggar me at table, him and his hunger, pack o’ wolves ’ud be kinder to my larder. Left us barren he did, Egypt after t’ locust ye might say, t’year before last.” But he was beaming at her, and even Hob could tell his words were meant to have no sting, and he still clung to her hand, and gazed on her. Molly was a friend to him, but beyond that, Molly, stout and well-proportioned Molly, grandmother or no, was good to look upon, and Osbert was no child himself.
    A few months’ faring with Molly’s troupe had taught Hob that she was never asked for payment for their lodging. If anything, she would come away with some fee or reward, in coin or in kind, for the music they made or the healing she performed. Sometimes gifts were pressed upon her just for her advice, or her mediation in some village quarrel, for everyone trusted her. She was wealthy not only in their equipage and the little purses of silver and gold stored here and there within the wagons, but in the web of friends and patrons she retained, scattered along the roads of England, and one of these was Osbert of Osbert’s Inn.
    “A blessing on your house and all within,” said Molly. “It is my delight entirely to enter here.”
    Osbert atte Well was a large bald man inclined, as is the way with innkeepers, to portliness. A sand-colored beard worn in the old style framed an expression that managed to be both calm and wary, as if heexpected some type of misbehavior from his guests, but knew himself equal to quelling it when it arose. From the outsize leather belt about his waist dangled a mostly clean linen cloth, somewhat stained at the bottom where he wiped his hands.
    In keeping the peace in his house he was aided by three stalwart and jovial sons and a few housecarls. Forwin and Ernald resembled their father somewhat: fair-haired and great of body. But the third son, Matthew, favored Osbert’s late wife, as did Osbert’s handsome twin daughters, Parnell and Margery: all three were short, dark, lean.
    F ORWIN AND M ATTHEW came up with a couple of housecarls to help the little caravan settle in. The two brothers were polite and even deferential to Molly and Nemain; Jack was greeted boisterously, with raucous jests about “oor Hercules, sithee,” and much slapping of his back—the young men were plainly admirers. Hob was introduced, and Molly and Osbert wandered off toward the