Childhood sweethearts rekindle their love.
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Beatrice leaned back in the high wooden chair, pleasantly full from the feast she and her two guests had just devoured. The goose had been delicious, set off superbly by a redcurrant jelly, and the venison pie… well, it was seldom that even the widow of a moderately prosperous wine merchant could afford such a meat.
It was the Feast of the Epiphany, the twelfth day of Christmas, in the year of our Lord 1102. All of Gloucester lay quiet this cold January evening, muffled by the blanket of fresh snow. Everyone with family to be with was safe indoors, enjoying a hearty meal and swapping gifts in remembrance of those brought by the Magi to the infant Jesus. And for the first time since her husband had died so prematurely, Beatrice had guests of her own to celebrate with: her brother Robert and her second cousin Stephen, returned at last from the Crusade.
The scent of spices wafted under Beatrice’s nostrils, making her smile. Her brother had brought back a packet of something he called cinnamon, which he had purchased in Damascus and given to her on Christmas Day. Cecily, her servant, had used it to top the pastries which had rounded off the meal, and the rich smell still hung in the air, adding a hint of eastern mystery to the humble plaster-walled chamber.
Robert was lolled back in his chair, now, a half-drained beaker of Gascony red wine in front of him, snoring under the weight of the meal he had consumed. He’d always been a glutton, at least on feast days, Beatrice recalled. She smiled, remembering how Stephen had had to rouse the hung-over Robert from his bed on the day they left for the Crusade. How she’d worried about them both throughout the years that had followed. But now, thanks be to God, the two of them were back, safe and well.
“Good cheer to you, Mistress Vintner.” Beatrice was jogged out of her reverie by Stephen’s toast, as he raised his beaker and drained the last of his wine. “And thank you for inviting me over for this superb meal.”
“You are always welcome here, my dear cousin,” she replied, most genuinely. “How could I let a childhood friend spend this feast day alone?”
Stephen’s parents had passed away whilst he was abroad serving in the Crusade as a sergeant in the retinue of the younger brother of the Earl of Gloucester.
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