Adventure of Robert de Fiennes 1

The Armagnac groom leads Robert and his horse along a rutted lane toward a nearby village still held by French authority. The priory and its guarded survivors recede behind them.

The an Armagnac groom is a young adult man with a narrow build, wind-reddened cheeks, and sandy hair beneath a wool cap. He takes the reins carefully whenever Robert’s injured leg falters.

The tavern is a low timbered house with shuttered windows and a sagging sign. Inside, its inhabitants fall quiet as the an Armagnac groom brings Robert through the door.

The keeper, with a lined face and a dark apron, an elderly woman with a sturdy frame, iron-gray hair, and a brown wool dress, measures them before setting a small pot near the hearth. A loaf rests beneath a cloth.

Robert sinks onto a stool at an empty table with a long, exhausted sigh. He sets his bascinet before him, its battered metal dull beneath the hearth’s glow.

He runs one hand through his matted hair, lowering his head for a moment as the tavern’s quiet slowly resumes around him.

The elderly keeper carries the small pot from the hearth and places it before Robert, then sets down the loaf and a wooden bowl. Steam gathers beneath his lowered face.

The an Armagnac groom turns toward the rear passage. For the first time since the priory, Robert is seated beneath a roof, with food before him and no order demanded at once.

Robert unfastens his hourglass gauntlets and lays them beside the battered bascinet. He tears a thick piece from the keeper’s loaf, the crust cracking softly in the quiet room.

With the bread in his bare hand, he dips it into the wooden bowl and scoops up the hot broth, bringing the soaked piece quickly to his mouth.

His hurried grip slips against the bowl’s rim. Hot broth spills over his fingers, reddening them, but the bread reaches his mouth and the meal continues.

Robert tears another piece and uses it to gather the remaining broth, eating with the blunt efficiency of a man whose hunger has outlasted courtesy.

Afternoon light breaks through the shutters and open door in pale strips across the tavern floor. Robert wipes the last broth from his fingers and addresses the keeper and groom.

The elderly keeper sets a clay cup and a small jug beside Robert, then brings a second cup for the groom. The room’s quiet grows companionable rather than watchful.

Robert drinks the ale, then accepts the wine in measured cups. Warmth replaces the meal’s urgency as the groom settles nearby, and the prepared room waits beyond the rear passage.

The hours loosen into evening. Robert drinks sparingly at the rear table while the keeper serves villagers, and the Armagnac groom watches the door beside the hearth.

As sunset dims the shutters, the tavern fills with farmers and craftsmen, mostly middle-aged men and women in coarse earth-toned tunics and aprons, their weathered faces and sturdy builds marked by village work. A fiddler, a young adult woman with a slim build, brown braid, freckled face, and russet dress, starts a quick tune starts a quick tune; cups rise, feet stamp, and a narrow space becomes a dance floor.

Robert’s armor draws glances and murmurs. Near his table, a dice board changes hands, and one careless throw leaves a small pile of coins claimed by a laughing villager, a broad-shouldered young adult man with sandy hair, a round face, and a green wool vest over a cream shirt,.

The failed throw turns curiosity toward Robert rather than away. Several villagers now study his face and battered gear openly, while the winner gathers the coins and makes room on the bench.

Music swells, but the rear table no longer offers anonymity. The keeper places Robert’s cup nearer the wall, giving him shelter from the dancers as the room settles around his revealed presence.

Robert waves the Armagnac groom over and begins working at the fastenings. The groom kneels beside him as music and village talk continue around the rear table.

Together they remove the greaves and sabatons, then the cuisses, breastplate, vambraces, and remaining pieces. A tight strap bites into Robert’s shoulder, leaving a dark welt as the armor comes free.

The groom carries each piece beneath the table and returns for the mail and padded layers. At last Robert sits in his red hosen and white tunic, wholly freed from the suit.

Robert’s bare feet rest on the tavern floor while the discarded armor lies in an orderly heap. His shoulder throbs beneath the tunic, but his body can finally rest.

The cup remains beside Robert’s discarded gauntlets, with the last red wine glinting within it. Around him, laborers laugh, dice clatter, and the fiddler drives the dancers faster.

Robert reaches across the crowded table, takes the clay cup, and swigs down the remaining wine in one hard swallow. Its heat spreads through his empty stomach.

He lowers the empty cup among the coins and dice. The wine does not mend his battered body, but it blunts the sharper aches enough for the tavern’s warmth to reach him.

A laughing laborer slaps the dice board, while two village women, young adult women with sturdy builds, weathered faces, braided brown hair, and coarse ochre and blue dresses, beckon the groom toward the dance. The room offers noise, company, wagers, and drink, with no summons demanding Robert’s departure.

Robert reaches toward the dice table and places a small silver coin beside the laughing villager’s winnings. The laughing villager eyes him, then allows the coin to pass without protest.

Robert places the denier into the groom’s hand. The gesture draws notice from the nearest tables, making his generosity, and his purse, public before the village.

The groom bows awkwardly, then lets the two village women lead him toward the dancing. Their laughter folds him into the turning figures as the fiddler quickens the tune.

Robert’s silver has won the groom’s grateful company for the dancers, but it has also marked him as a nobleman willing to spend before strangers. The dice players watch more keenly.

Robert gathers the armor from beneath the table, lifting the breastplate and mail with both arms. The weight pulls sharply at his welted shoulder.

He carries the pieces through the rear passage, his stiff knee faltering once beneath the burden. A hot ache spreads from shoulder to neck, but he keeps moving.

In the small room, Robert sets the armor beside the cot in an orderly heap. One buckle strikes the floor and bends, leaving the harness less secure than before.

Robert returns to the tavern without the armor weighing on him. His knee remains stiff, and each step is deliberate, but his hands are free and his room is secured.

Robert settles into the chair and lets its wooden back bear him. With his injured knee eased and his shoulder unburdened, he watches the tavern without needing to move.

The dice players bend over their board, calling wagers and disputing throws. Silver and copper pass between rough fingers while the keeper keeps one watchful eye upon the table.

Near the hearth, the fiddler’s quick tune carries the dancers through turning steps. The two young women in ochre and blue dresses laugh with the an Armagnac groom as he follows their lead.

Robert’s practiced attention separates the room’s ordinary cheer from its sharper edges: the dice players are eager for company, the villagers curious about his rank, and no hand yet reaches toward his purse.

The keeper leaves him undisturbed. Warm firelight, music, wagers, and the easy presence of the local women fill Robert’s view while the tavern carries on around him.