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“Fine, but don’t have him lie. Do you think he’ll tell the empress once he learns who is involved?”

Lady Alice put her hands on her hips. “I’m not sure.

He’ll have to decide which of his new masters is more important.

Just as long as he credits me with handling this delicate information.

You’ll have to speak with her too, just in case.

And be sure to let the empress know I should get the credit for finding out this plot.

But I’m sure Rupert will do as I ask. I think I know how best to handle him. Don’t you?”

Bronwyn wisely held her tongue. She felt rebellious—and slightly pained at the mention of Lady Alice knowing Rupert so well—but strangely enough, her thoughts drifted toward…

“I bet I know who’s got you staring dreamily like that. It’s that squire, Theobold. Sir Robert of Gloucester’s man.” Lady Alice smiled. “You have good taste, I grant you. He is handsome.”

Bronwyn looked away. “I don’t know what you mean. That’s not what I was thinking.”

“Sure, it wasn’t. Your cheeks just happened to turn pink at the mention of his name.

” Lady Alice patted a spot on the bed beside her.

“I know you too well, Bronwyn Blakenhale, and I can recognize when a man has caught a young woman’s eye.

Tell me, I want to know all. What has he said to you?

Has he paid court to you? Does he know you like him? ”

“I hardly know what that means,” Bronwyn said, sitting next to her.

“Ugh.” Lady Alice rolled her eyes and looked up at the four-poster bed canopy. “There is so much you need to learn about men.”

The next day was Shrove Tuesday, and that meant, for everyone, attending church. It also meant removing all edible delights and temptations, particularly of the food variety. No more sweet pies, meat haunch, or sweetened rolls. It was a time of contemplation and confessing one’s sins before Lent.

Empress Maud was especially religious, having a reputation of being a particularly devout Christian, and it became known to all that she was attending Mass that morning. Bronwyn laid down her paring knife from the apples she was carving and followed the other servants to Mass.

Together, they went to Gloucester Cathedral, which was an exceptionally grand building.

With soaring spires and great, glass windows that the morning light shone through, Bronwyn felt especially inspired.

Whilst not everyone had to confess their sins, it was encouraged, so Bronwyn stayed back to wait.

But the queue for confession was quite long, and after waiting for almost an hour, Bronwyn stretched and thought something very un-Christian before turning to leave.

She decided to return later. God would understand, she hoped.

As she passed by the nobles who waited their turn, Lady Alice coughed and dropped a handkerchief.

Bronwyn stooped to pick it up and hand it to her, when Lady Alice coughed again and murmured, “The guards Christopher Stockly and Adam Granger have agreed to free the prisoner tonight. At the feast. You might tell the empress if you get a chance. Traitors’ names have more weight than a rumor, and I don’t think our friend with two masters has done anything.

” She took the handkerchief and said, “Thank you, girl.”

Bronwyn’s heart sank. So now she knew which guards would help release Stephen.

This was going to happen. She wanted to speak with the empress somehow.

But then, to whom was she loyal, Stephen or Maud?

She wasn’t sure. A part of her wanted to walk away and never turn back, but the cathedral offered such peace, it would be nice to talk to someone about her inner dilemma.

Perhaps confession might work. As she hurried out of the cathedral, the queue of people from the castle and the city of Gloucester stretched out the door.

It was enormous. There was no way she’d be able to confess her sins today.

She’d come back tonight, perhaps, she decided.

The day was spent in using up the remaining eggs, cheese, butter, and dairy that was left.

Normal dairy foodstuffs were expressly forbidden once Lent began, and so it was a day of cooking and creating lots of dishes.

Pies were stuffed with capons; chickens were baked with golden-crusted pastry; meat pies and small rolls were cooked; great haunches of pig, beef and mutton were roasted and turned on the spit; and great jugs of ale were passed around.

Bronwyn liked her ale as much as the next person, but she knew the dangers of drinking too much.

Drinking water was unsafe, so she either drank milk or ale, usually.

Wine was reserved for finer folk, but the servants had nicked some of it before.

When she’d tasted the liquid, it had been unexpectedly sour and bitter and had left her with a mouthful of sediment.

She was not keen to try wine again and so watched herself as she took orders and baked dozens upon dozens of bread rolls.

The haunches of the roasting meats produced great vats of drippings for sauces and gravy, and this was collected beneath the spits with great trays.

This was one of those days where the castle kitchens smelled so wonderful, the air itself was perfumed with the interweaving scents of roasting meat, slowly roasting enough to make a person’s mouth water.

That early evening, she nipped outside to use the privy and thought it would be a good time to visit the cathedral again. She hurried outside and found the cathedral largely empty, but for a guard or two snoring against some of the pillars.

She nipped inside the confessional and sat down on the small, sturdy bench.

“Father?” the husky, feminine voice spoke.

Bronwyn knew that voice. “Empress?”

“Who are you?” the empress demanded. “How dare you interrupt my solitude? I’ll have your head for this.”

“Please, I meant no harm,” Bronwyn said. “I didn’t know you were here. I thought the priest was.”

“A likely story. Get out.” She uttered a noise of disgust. “Stupid guards. I bet they’re either gambling or asleep.”

Bronwyn rose, the seat creaking beneath her, then paused. This was the moment to speak, if ever there was one. “Your Grace, there is something you should know.” She told her of the plan to spring Stephen from prison.

The empress hissed. “You are the second person to tell me this. Your information is old, little baker. Sir Ranulf has already informed me of Stephen’s plan, and the plot to kill him on the main road. I know all about it.”

Bronwyn tensed. So she did know. And learned about it from Sir Ranulf, Rupert’s new master in the empress’s court.

Most likely Lady Alice had told Rupert of the plot, and he’d told Sir Baldwin, who had revealed the guards who had been bribed, in order to save Stephen’s life.

Lady Alice hadn’t listened to her, after all, and she’d made Rupert complicit in the lie.

Her shoulders slumped. And there had been no mention of Lady Alice.

Perhaps Rupert had done it to protect her, in case the plans went sour?

The empress said archly, “But how very good of you to tell me so yourself. Now I wonder if it is such common knowledge that even the cooks know of his plan.”

Bronwyn winced. “I’m sorry, I… No. I am sorry to have disturbed you, but I’m not sorry at all to tell you, even if you already knew. They plan to release him tonight.” She gave the traitorous guard’s name.

The empress laughed. “Let them try. They will see what happens when they try a plot under my nose.” The empress sniffed. “Now, for God’s sake, get out. Or I will see to it that you are scrubbing chamber pots for the rest of the year.”

Bronwyn left. When she quit the confessional, the two guards were awake and stood talking with a priest. They quickly cornered her.

“What were you doing there?” one asked.

“I…… got lost. I was looking for a priest when……”

“Off with you,” the other said.

Bronwyn fled.

The feast that evening was a grand affair. There was chaos, from what Bronwyn could see from sneaking away to peer into the main hall, but it was somehow organized chaos, like the flight and flurry of bees.

Pages scurried to and fro, bringing in jugs of ale, wine, and beer.

The long tables groaned under the weight of many serving platters of different types of roast meat, with dozens of Bronwyn’s rolls to dunk and mop up the drippings, sauce, and gravy from the wooden and stale bread trenchers.

The steam of the hot food mingled deliciously with the smokiness of the fire burning in the grand fireplace, and minstrels played and walked around the room, strumming guitars, playing lutes, and tossing balls.

First the meal, then dancing. It would be a great evening.

Bronwyn watched from the shadows and gave a quick sigh.

Just once, she wouldn’t mind dressing up as a maidservant again and mingling with the finely dressed people.

She might dance, laugh, and be jolly. But there was a lot of clean-up to do back in the kitchen, and she had hours left to go before she might return to the room where she slept with the other women servants.

But the music lightened her soul, and she crept away, humming offkey.

It wasn’t until she was sent to bring some food down to the prisoners that she wondered what had become of the plot to release the king.

She took platters of leftover meat and potage and with another pair of servants brought them all along with jugs of stale beer down circular, stone steps to the jail.

The air changed; it was cold and chilly. The walls had lost their warmth and bore traces of dankness, a wet, moldy chill that threatened to sink into one’s bones if left too long. Bronwyn followed the other servants down carefully, but they were stopped.

“What’s going on?” Bronwyn asked.

The guards were busy, walking up and down the corridor with the cells, barking orders and demands.

One of the cooks ahead of her said, “Oi, we’ve got food for the prisoners. What’s the problem?”

The guards faced them. “Get back to the kitchens,” said one, a tall, middle-aged man with an impressive mustache and bushy eyebrows. “Stephen has escaped.”