Hild was thinking hard.
It was not as if she didn’t have enough to do with trying to make her supplies last out. Or with talking to folk in the village about dropping in for a drink and some of her ‘special’ onion and bean pottage. It was never as popular as her mutton stew for some reason, but she had to make the meat last.
Then there had been a week of rain, that had heralded the colder weather and caused carts to have their wheels stuck in muddy ruts. Some of those carts should have been bringing her casks of ‘Middlemead Cheer’, to replace dwindling stock of her ‘Strutting Rohir’ and ‘Bancross Bold'. A young lad had ridden over from said Middlemead to explain. The cart could just not get out of the village until the rains lessened. What help was that to her?
And then it seemed some of the extra grain and vegetable supplies Averel Thane had ordered in from Aldburg had gone missing!
‘Missing, my foot!’ the Tavern Keep thought. ‘Someone has waylaid them, or more likely a band of brigands had caused them to disappear. “Into their own mouths, most likely,” she said out loud.
Seldis looked over at her from the far side of the kitchen, where the cook was stoking the oven fire, ready to start baking.
Waving a hand, it was after all, nothing much, everything going wrong or missing, Hild retreated to the just re-stoked fire pit in the main room.
Of course that room was still rather smokey. But then Hild felt like hiding away that day so the state of the room was fine.
So much to do! For she had recently begun to think that, rather than relying on others, she should take up brewing herself! It was a respectable trade for a woman, and a Tavern Keep at that. Maybe not quite as respectable as spinning and weaving, but it had its merits.
‘They will always want a good brew’ she said to herself..again. ‘At this rate all I will have left to sell is ‘Old Saddle.’
Hild snorted at that thought, and took a seat. She would have a word with Captain Denholm. That was usually the best way to get things done in Bancross she considered. Much as she enjoyed the company of Averel Thane, when she could get it, Denholm was the one to get matters seen to. And she had been planning on visiting him very soon about helping at the garrison anyway. One way or another, she would stand with the others in the village.
Chuckling at the thought of herself in a shieldwall, armed with her best frying pan, she came to her senses as her daughter entered the room, stretching and yawning.
“A late night dear?” Hild turned to give Bronna her attention.
“I cleaned up the last of the dishes and then told the account of Mahari and the Wainriders to Toothless. It’s not all good tales from the past you know, mama. Our people suffered a lot.”
‘Our people will suffer in other ways if food and beer do not get through,’ she thought to herself. But she said nothing aloud out of respect for her people’s history. She may not be learned, but she had listened to the Bard’s tales many times. She knew well that Wainriders were bad news.
“Have you heard anything about Brynleigh, Mama?” Bronaa’s unexpected question shook Hild from her reverie.
“What’s that?”
“About the Stable Mistress, Brynleigh. It seems she has not been seen by anyone here for over a week now. Ethel and I are a bit worried about her.”
Hild paused a moment, casting back in her thoughts for any mention, any gossip that had come to her ears.
She shook her head. “I have heard naught, dear. Over a week you say? That is rather a long time to be away without leaving a message. Perhaps she has just gone into Edoras?”
“Her horse is still here. He grows increasingly restless by the day. Something is wrong. At least, well, we both think it odd.” Bronaa was awake now, and she looked around at the state of the main room. “Here, I will unlock the door and get some fresh air in, so we can see better. But about Brynleigh. I am hoping she hasn’t had an accident or something. Ethel was going to ask her papa about it last night. I will walk up to Gamferth’s place once we have finished here, and see if he knows anything. He is a good friend of hers.”
Hild scratched her head a moment. Folk didn’t just disappear. They got lost, or had accidents, or were …kidnapped. And the Stable Mistress had always struck her as a sensible sort.
“I am going to try and see Captain Denholm after our early chores. I will mention it to him. He knows a lot of what goes on.”
“Denholm?” Bronaa was taking a few deep breaths of fresh air, then she shivered and hurriedly shut the door again. “I will get dressed then take breakfast over to our guests,” she said, nodding towards the barn. “But why are you seeing the Captain?”
“Because our food and beer are missing,” Hild replied with a wink.
But again in her imagination, Hild the ‘Brave’ was standing in a Shieldwall, armed with a frying pan. And if anything untoward had happened to Brynleigh, she would be using it.
