Free A Play of Dux Moraud by Margaret Frazer

talk last night in the tavern today ate with firm heed to his meal and little to the two young people beside him. At the other end of the table Will had it somewhat better. He could have been as odd-man-out as Father Morice, but young Harry Wyot was much in talk with Lady Benedicta, serving her from the dishes set between them and sharing a goblet, so that serving his wife and sharing a goblet with her fell to Will. Being so young, he had to stand to slice the meat and lift it onto her plate and spoon the vegetables and sauces that went with it, all of it better than the plainer stuff served along the lower tables. He did his duty with steady solemnity and in return Mistress Wyot received his courtesy with solemn courtesy of her own and talked with him when she might have ignored him or scorned him for no more than a half-grown boy.
    Joliffe found himself liking the boy for his effort and the woman for her kindness, but it was still Lady Benedicta’s loveliness and Mariena’s beauty that most often drew his eyes, so that only gradually did he become aware of someone’s eyes on him. Set at the bottom of the hall, the players and the household folk at the facing table were served by lesser servants whose duty was to get the food on the tables with no bother of ceremony about it. That suited Joliffe well enough, but he finally began to note that the woman serving them tended to linger a little longer over the business than necessary; and when she asked him if she should bring more bread and he looked full at her, he found her fullness of breast leaning toward him more than need be, delaying the lift of his eyes to her face. That did not repel him either. In fact, her smile was very welcoming and he swallowed before saying he needed no more bread. “Thank you anyway,” he added.
    “You’ve but to ask for what you want,” she said, still smiling as she straightened and headed away with a pleasant swing to her hips.
    Down the table, Ellis snorted on a badly smothered laugh. Rose preferred to pretend she had seen nothing but did it in a silence that told what she was thinking. Piers, typically, was more interested in his food, but Gil was leaned forward to stare along the table at Joliffe in open-eyed wonder. Joliffe kept his dignity, refusing to know about anything but the food in front of him until Basset hastily put down his spoon and began to rise to his feet.
    Looking up then, Joliffe found one of the servants from the hall’s upper end was standing across the table, holding out a small pewter dish with a fine, thick slice of chicken breast in a white sauce on it. “From Sir Edmund,” the man announced for the hall to hear. “In token of his pleasure at your presence and that of your company, with thanks to his right well-honored lord, Lord Lovell.”
    He set the plate down in front of Basset, and as the rest of the players rose to their feet, Basset bowed toward the high table and said in a carrying voice, “My thanks and that of my company to Sir Edmund, with our hope that we may please him tonight at supper with a play.”
    Sir Edmund lifted a hand and bent his head in acceptance. Basset and all the players bowed to him in return and sat again and the meal went on. Sir Edmund might be only a knight but he knew high manners and the grace of ceremony. Their stay here was looking better at every turn.
    At the meal’s end, while the rest of the players returned to the cartshed, Basset lingered to talk with Master Henney about their supper being had early, so they would be ready to perform during supper or at supper’s end, whichever Sir Edmund preferred. Happily, there was no need for them to rehearse tonight’s play. All of them but Gil could probably have done it sleeping, and a few moments of work showed him how to do what little he would do at the end. That left them an easy time then for Rose to get out the garments for The Steward and the Devil and the rest of them to talk a little about what else they would