“Just a quick word, Bronaa,” Hearrd said, as he walked straight into the Roaring Dragon, one arm supportively around Agnes.
“Mama isn’t here at the moment,” the brown-haired girl replied. She was somewhat taken aback by this interruption of her thoughts.
“That’s alright,” Heard continued, as he helped the frail woman to a seat in the far corner of the room, near the newly lit fire. “I know you and she will be busy with folk coming in from the bad weather and all, but I don’t want Agnes left alone, out on the edge of Bancross, at the moment.”
The woman smiled up at the strongly built smith, who had taken to her almost as if she were his own grandmama. “This is kindly done, but I don’t want to be any bother now.”
Hearrd clasped her tiny bird-boned hands in his. “You are never a bother, old mother. I have coin to pay, and this is only to see you warm and fed until the storm has passed.”
“Well actually we have three traders in the barn…. “ Bronaa hugged her broom momentarily, “I mean, it wouldn’t be fitting to have Mother Agnes stay there at the moment.”
The old woman sighed, but bobbed her head and smiled with understanding as she prepared to rise to her feet.
“But you can have my bed here for a few days,” the girl continued with a small smile of her own. Her thoughts were a whirl. She wouldn't give up her cosy bed for just anyone, but this was Agnes! This was the woman instrumental in softening her mama’s heart. Besides, she herself had been offered a bed in need by Ethel not that long ago.
Agnes looked up at her, pale blue eyes crinkling at the edges with appreciation, while the smith stepped towards her, clasping her shoulders with his large, strong hands, and drawing her into a hug.
Bronaa felt momentarily smothered, she wasn’t used to any affection from so large a person. She clung to the broom to stop herself from breaking, and then heard the handle snap.
“Oh, oh my!”
Hearrd took a quick step back, his eyes widening apologetically.
“I am so sorry. Here!” He reached into his belt pouch and drew out a few coins.”Let me pay for that, and for the board and food. Sometimes I forget how small many others are.”
At that moment Seldis arrived, pushing through the main door, with one of the men from the Brewery in tow.
Bronaa bit at her lip, and wished a little less than politely for some peace. That was all she had wanted while her mother was out at Northgyth’s. Some peace and silent sweeping of the floor of the Inn to gather up and put aside memories she did not want. Her present pile of dust and sorrows was only two feet from the door of the Dragon. Now the Brewery man walked right through it in his blindness, while carrying a small keg on his shoulder. The pile so thoughtfully built was scattered again.
“Want this behind the bar or in the cellar, missy?” he said to her as he headed to the bar.
“The bar will do,” Bronaa replied a touch curtly.
“Mistress Hild has ordered four kegs of Bold. I thought to deliver them now before we are all shut inside for a few days. I will just put them all in the corner here.”
Without further ado, the Brewery man continued traipsing from his hand pulled cart, through Bronaa’s dust, and to the side of the bar. He whistled a little as he went.
Seldis pushed back her hood and removed her woolen gloves. She only lived in the small house at the top of the hill, but she looked quite weather beaten already. “I will go start tonight's dinner then, Bronaa. Salted boar pottage I think your mama wanted. I will see what else we have as well.” The cook headed behind the bar to the living quarters, removing her plain cloak as she went.”Oh, and we do have a new broom, just by the pantry if you want to use it.”
Bronaa stepped back as the Brewery man walked close past her on what should have been his final trip to the door. He stopped and turned to her.
“I have a few things here I have no need for. I was wondering if Mistress Hildfrith may want them? I will bring them in as well. They are just getting in the way in the brewery. Dust gatherers. Two oak chairs and an old spittoon. I’ll put them beside the casks.”
‘And we are a fit place to dump your old belongings?’ Bronaa thought a touch uncharitably. ‘Maybe the man was just trying to help? He was always a very matter-of-fact person, not that she had spoken with him often.”
With that she turned to see two smiling faces. Both Hearrd and Agnes looked sympathetically at her.
“I will be going,” Hearrd said gently. “The forge is so busy I cannot be away for long. But know I will make good for anything Agnes wants. Ethel sends her greetings and says maybe she can meet up after the bad weather has passed?”
With a grin of resignation, Bronaa bobbed her head to the smith, and moved to help Agnes to her feet and back through to the living quarters and the stairs.
“You are a good girl, Bronaa,” Hearrd called back as he left. “May you be well rewarded for your kindness.”
With a repressed chuckle at the thought she was kind, Bronaa led Agnes to her room and pushed open the door.
“There you go. The bed is comfy and warm. I shall sleep on blankets on the floor, see,” she pointed to a pile of four folded blankets on the solitary piece of furniture beyond the bed. ”Since I knocked myself unconscious on the floor awhile back, mama always makes sure I have an abundance of blankets.”
The girl found herself giggling softly.
“I shall be no bother, dear.” Agnes said.
“You are no bother, mother Agnes” Bronaa replied. She gently squeezed the old woman’s hands, before turning for the door.
“New broom, eh. Remember the saying,”
“I shall,” Bronaa replied, as she closed the door behind her.
‘A new broom sweeps clean,” she thought, as she descended the stairs.
Taking up the unused birch handled broom by the pantry, Bronaa nodded pleasantly to Seldis in passing.
“Mama has gone to get more eggs, but she has been gone quite some time.”
“It’s fine. I’ll have some bread baking soon. Our visitors may have to make do with porridge and toasted honey bread for now. I will take some upstairs to our special guest as soon as it’s ready.” Seldis winked, with a look that also suggested she was pleased with Bronaa’s actions.
Now to finish the sweeping out of the main room.
But as she passed the new kegs and ‘gifts’, the girl thought she would first take a look.
Right enough there were two very dirty chairs. She dusted them a little with the edge of her apron. They were oak right enough. She sat on one and moved about. Though she was light of weight, it felt sturdy enough to take most full grown men.
Then she turned to what looked like some iron bowl. A spittoon eh? Well that could surely be found a space.
Yet for all of its heavy appearance, the bowl was surprisingly light in her hands she found. In her hand, for she could hold it in one.
Sitting back on one of the chairs, Bronaa placed the bowl on her lap and ran a hand over it. Some of the dirt came off. She could also feel there was some sort of engraving around the edge.
Taking the corner of her apron again, the girl began rubbing at a small section of the dirt, to find a dull grey layer underneath. She rubbed a bit more, then a bit more again. There was a faint glimmer.
‘Silver?’ she whispered. ‘It was made of silver?’
There was something about the bowl she rather liked. Cleaned up, it would look very pretty, she suspected. Her mind was made up in an instant, that she would ask her mama if she could have it, rather than place it in the corner for the men to cough and spit in.
It deserved better. It deserved someone to care about it like she did.
Placing her discovery aside, she took up the new broom and looked at her scattered pile, now trod between where she had sat and the door.
‘Remember the saying? Aye, but there was more than one. There was also ‘a new broom should sweep something good inside, before sweeping out the bad.”
With another chuckle, for her mood was unexplainably light, she picked up ‘her’ bowl and carried it to and through the door of the Roaring Dragon. She placed it on the ground outside, then swept it in. Laughing loudly, Bronaa wished Ethel was there to join the silliness.
For the first time since she had been kidnapped, she felt a small, bubbling sense of joy.
