A heavenly bean stew flavored with bits of chicken and sausage and a lot of garlic.

Excerpt…

England, summer, 1326

They crossed the river Seine at Tancarville and followed it down to its mouth, where the town of Harfleur presented a bustling picture of energy and industry. “They’re starting a merchants’ association here,” Tiphaine said, returning to the inn where they had procured rooms for the night. “Perhaps Wu Company should make ourselves known to them.”

“Perhaps,” Jaufre said, looking at Alaric, just entering the common room. The Templar had been dispatched to find them passage across the Channel, and from the sour expression on his face he had not been successful. He sat down and called for a pitcher of wine but it was seen that he drank abstemiously, at least for him, and ate heartily of bread and cheese and a heavenly bean stew flavored with bits of chicken and sausage and a lot of garlic.

The inn was close to the waterfront and catered to a clientele of merchants, traders and ship’s captains. The conversation was certainly animated but it never got too loud, bargaining for freight and rates was conducted briskly and professionally. Like the city itself, the inn appeared to exist to do business.

Alaric pushed back his plate and refilled his cup. “I have not found us a ship,” he said. “It appears that Edward’s wife is cuckolding him with one of his lords, and she has betrothed their son to the daughter of Hainault. She’s brought him over to meet the girl. A smart man’s money is on Isabella’s primary purpose being to use the daughter’s dowry to finance a rebellion against him.” He saw blank looks surrounding him. “Edward, king of England. Isabella, his wife. Edward, their son. Hainault, one of the Low Countries everyone is always fighting over. And I’m sure,” he said, staring glumly into his wine, “that ineffectual bastard Charles probably has an incompetent hand in this somewhere.” He saw their looks again. “Charles IV, king of France.”

“You speak of these great people with great familiarity,” Firas said.

Alaric snorted. “I do, don’t I.”


Dana sez–

I’ve lived all my life in Alaska. When I was born in the territory in 1952, the state had a population of 189,000. Today, we’ve got 730,000+. It’s an enormous area with a relatively small population, which means Alaskans are usually on a first name basis with everyone from their senators and representatives (local and federal, and no, I’m not kidding) to their local volcanologist (also not a joke).

In this scene Alaric is showing how well he knows TPTB of his era. This is of course in part because he fought for them and with them. It is also because there were many fewer people in Europe at that time and it’ll be more than 100 years before Gutenberg invents his printing press. Word of mouth was all they had, and people, residents and transients alike, especially traders, would be vitally interested in current affairs of the nearest court.

It was really fun to distill the doings at the French court into a couple of paragraphs, from the viewpoint of one of the people who understood all too well the motives of the people involved.

And that dish I described is, was, and always will be what I think should be the French national dish: cassoulet.

Chatter Silk and Song

Dana View All →

Author and founder of Storyknife.org.

2 Comments Leave a comment

  1. I love cassoulet! I make it sometimes full-throttle, or sometimes vegan with plant-based chicken, or with cod, because I love cod

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