said, peering into the pot that she was stirring again, “And now there’s you, and I’m going to lie down for a time before Ellis and the others come.” She handed him the spoon. “Tend the pot. If supper burns, you’ll go hungry and no one will be glad you’re here.”
Pretending injured dignity, Joliffe said, “I think I can stir a pot of pease pottage to everyone’s satisfaction.”
“Um,” said Rose, admitting to nothing except her doubt, and went away with one of the cushions to an apple tree’s deepest shade.
Chapter 5
H aving taken off her headkerchief, folded it, and carefully set it aside, Rose lay down with a self-betraying sigh of weariness and, by her breathing, was very soon asleep, her head on the cushion and one arm over her eyes, her other resting across her waist. Joliffe settled himself beside the fire with his back to her for what little privacy that gave.
The orchard was in early evening quiet, warm with the day’s gathered heat, no slightest breeze stirring among the trees, the shadows thickening toward darkness as, somewhere beyond sight, the sun must be nearly set. Unseen birds were twittering as they settled for their night, and Joliffe was contented to be alone in the peacefulness for a time, to catch his thoughts up. The long day had gone ways that, looking ahead to it, he would never have thought it would. Not that any of them were bad in themselves. He wanted more time to talk with Basset to judge for himself how he did, that was certain, but if Basset had been helped as much as he and Rose said he had been, surely he could be helped the rest of the way.
Surely.
Except Joliffe knew there was no “surely” about anything in the world except death. Even taxes could be out run if you weren’t tied down to place and property or were poor enough. Until lately the players had managed all three of those and avoided death into the bargain. Thus far, thus good, he thought. Nor was Basset going to die of the arthritics. But if he did not heal more than he was at present, the company was finished.
Joliffe circled that thought, unable to keep away from it. In a company like theirs, everyone had their share of work and everyone had to do it or the whole fell to pieces. Along with his skill in directing their plays and the parts he took in them, Basset’s sharp choosing where they would go and what they would play had kept the company going through the worst times. As much as the company needed his wits, though, they also needed his body upright and performing. True, until Gil joined them two years ago they had done with one less player—had done so again these past months with Joliffe gone, their plays changed back to how they had been before Gil joined them and parts been shifted around. Without Basset, there would be another shifting of parts, and any plays they could no longer do could be dropped. That was straightforward enough, but it still left the plain problem of travel. Their cart was loaded right to the edge of what Tisbe could draw. If Basset was going to have to ride from here onward, they would either have to abandon some of the things by which they made their living or go to the cost of changing their cart to a two-horse draw and getting another horse. Leaving behind any of the hard-bought necessities of their trade was hardly to be thought on, while the laughable part of it was that, with their wealthy bishop now in some sort—for the use he hoped to make of them—secretly their patron behind the front of Lord Lovell, there was surely money to be had to keep their company together and going onward. The trouble there was that if their company became so openly prosperous beyond the ordinary, would questions be asked about their prosperity? That would not be to the good. Their value to the bishop lay in no one thinking twice about them being other than they were.
Joliffe, having been sitting with the long-handled spoon idle in his hands, remembered to stir the pottage
Pretending injured dignity, Joliffe said, “I think I can stir a pot of pease pottage to everyone’s satisfaction.”
“Um,” said Rose, admitting to nothing except her doubt, and went away with one of the cushions to an apple tree’s deepest shade.
Chapter 5
H aving taken off her headkerchief, folded it, and carefully set it aside, Rose lay down with a self-betraying sigh of weariness and, by her breathing, was very soon asleep, her head on the cushion and one arm over her eyes, her other resting across her waist. Joliffe settled himself beside the fire with his back to her for what little privacy that gave.
The orchard was in early evening quiet, warm with the day’s gathered heat, no slightest breeze stirring among the trees, the shadows thickening toward darkness as, somewhere beyond sight, the sun must be nearly set. Unseen birds were twittering as they settled for their night, and Joliffe was contented to be alone in the peacefulness for a time, to catch his thoughts up. The long day had gone ways that, looking ahead to it, he would never have thought it would. Not that any of them were bad in themselves. He wanted more time to talk with Basset to judge for himself how he did, that was certain, but if Basset had been helped as much as he and Rose said he had been, surely he could be helped the rest of the way.
Surely.
Except Joliffe knew there was no “surely” about anything in the world except death. Even taxes could be out run if you weren’t tied down to place and property or were poor enough. Until lately the players had managed all three of those and avoided death into the bargain. Thus far, thus good, he thought. Nor was Basset going to die of the arthritics. But if he did not heal more than he was at present, the company was finished.
Joliffe circled that thought, unable to keep away from it. In a company like theirs, everyone had their share of work and everyone had to do it or the whole fell to pieces. Along with his skill in directing their plays and the parts he took in them, Basset’s sharp choosing where they would go and what they would play had kept the company going through the worst times. As much as the company needed his wits, though, they also needed his body upright and performing. True, until Gil joined them two years ago they had done with one less player—had done so again these past months with Joliffe gone, their plays changed back to how they had been before Gil joined them and parts been shifted around. Without Basset, there would be another shifting of parts, and any plays they could no longer do could be dropped. That was straightforward enough, but it still left the plain problem of travel. Their cart was loaded right to the edge of what Tisbe could draw. If Basset was going to have to ride from here onward, they would either have to abandon some of the things by which they made their living or go to the cost of changing their cart to a two-horse draw and getting another horse. Leaving behind any of the hard-bought necessities of their trade was hardly to be thought on, while the laughable part of it was that, with their wealthy bishop now in some sort—for the use he hoped to make of them—secretly their patron behind the front of Lord Lovell, there was surely money to be had to keep their company together and going onward. The trouble there was that if their company became so openly prosperous beyond the ordinary, would questions be asked about their prosperity? That would not be to the good. Their value to the bishop lay in no one thinking twice about them being other than they were.
Joliffe, having been sitting with the long-handled spoon idle in his hands, remembered to stir the pottage
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