hospital as well,” he said and turned to dig around in a large wooden box behind him.
Taking in a deep breath, she savored the mixed scents of sharp and sweet. Only the Master of Creation could create such wondrous plants with so many uses: dying cloth, curing disease, and flavoring food. Everything had a purpose, even if it had yet to be discovered. God wasted nothing, or so she was convinced. And this merchant bought his treasures from lands so distant that they seemed mythical. He had many tales to tell of the origins of his wares, and Gytha was always eager to hear them, even if she did not really believe there were two-headed men or
those with faces in their stomachs.
The extra time she spent with the spice merchant was hardly idle amusement. Prioress Eleanor required her charges to obey the Rule banning red meat but encouraged Sister Matilda to exercise her cooking magic with vegetables, fruit, and fish. What Gytha brought back from market days delighted the nun in charge of the kitchen as well as the religious. Obedience to the Rule did not mean denial of all culinary pleasure, and Gytha was happy to contribute to that joy.
She leaned forward. What did he have to show her now? Gytha almost forgot her sadness as she waited to see what the man would pull from the divided box.
Having found what he wanted, the spice merchant returned to the stall front and carefully opened his hand. His smile was as bright as that of a boy offering his mother a colorful flower. “This is saffron,” he said in a voice soft with wonder.
Gytha looked closer at the reddish-gold threads resting in his palm.
“A miracle of God’s creation,” he said, “just arrived from a land beyond Outremer. The man who sold it to me said that it was prized by Moses when he lived in Pharaoh’s court. Wise
physicians claim it heals wounds, cures confused thoughts, and counters black bile.”
“A miracle indeed if it does all that,” she replied, but her jest was lightly spoken. Had she not dealt with this merchant long enough to know his honesty, she would have mocked him for thinking her so easily deceived and walked away.
As if reading her mind, he grinned. “All that might interest Sister Anne, but Sister Matilda would enjoy the flavor it adds to her cooking. And I can attest to its value in food for I have eaten a fish stew with saffron added.”
Would it please Ralf? Gytha felt her face turn hot. “Fish? Indeed!” She bent quickly over his hand again to hide her blush. “I cannot describe the flavor, but I closed my eyes and won- dered if the fish was still swimming in the sea. It is like nothing else I have tasted. And all it requires is a pinch of these threads,
left for a day in wine, to add to a soup.” “And what is the price of this wonder?”
The merchant quickly looked around, and then bent to pick up a small jar that was meant to hold the more fragile spices. “It must be kept dry or it loses its power,” he said, dropping the amount held in his hand into the container and sealing it shut. “Speak of no one about this, Mistress Gytha, for the item is costly, but I gift this small sample to the priory for the good of my soul.”
She carefully nestled the jar into her basket. “As our prioress has said, the gift given unobserved shines more brightly in God’s eyes than one presented with trumpet and cymbals.” She gave him a studied look. “And only she shall know of your generosity. But our lady will not let a good man suffer for his charity and shall order more from you if it delights as you have suggested and our funds permit. Please whisper the cost in my ear.”
He bent over and mumbled a figure.
Gytha swallowed a gasp but willed herself to nod with solemn dignity.
Thanking the merchant again for his gift, and promising to return the container the following week, she checked to make
sure the item was safely balanced. Without looking up, she stepped away from the stall.
“Watch where you are
Taking in a deep breath, she savored the mixed scents of sharp and sweet. Only the Master of Creation could create such wondrous plants with so many uses: dying cloth, curing disease, and flavoring food. Everything had a purpose, even if it had yet to be discovered. God wasted nothing, or so she was convinced. And this merchant bought his treasures from lands so distant that they seemed mythical. He had many tales to tell of the origins of his wares, and Gytha was always eager to hear them, even if she did not really believe there were two-headed men or
those with faces in their stomachs.
The extra time she spent with the spice merchant was hardly idle amusement. Prioress Eleanor required her charges to obey the Rule banning red meat but encouraged Sister Matilda to exercise her cooking magic with vegetables, fruit, and fish. What Gytha brought back from market days delighted the nun in charge of the kitchen as well as the religious. Obedience to the Rule did not mean denial of all culinary pleasure, and Gytha was happy to contribute to that joy.
She leaned forward. What did he have to show her now? Gytha almost forgot her sadness as she waited to see what the man would pull from the divided box.
Having found what he wanted, the spice merchant returned to the stall front and carefully opened his hand. His smile was as bright as that of a boy offering his mother a colorful flower. “This is saffron,” he said in a voice soft with wonder.
Gytha looked closer at the reddish-gold threads resting in his palm.
“A miracle of God’s creation,” he said, “just arrived from a land beyond Outremer. The man who sold it to me said that it was prized by Moses when he lived in Pharaoh’s court. Wise
physicians claim it heals wounds, cures confused thoughts, and counters black bile.”
“A miracle indeed if it does all that,” she replied, but her jest was lightly spoken. Had she not dealt with this merchant long enough to know his honesty, she would have mocked him for thinking her so easily deceived and walked away.
As if reading her mind, he grinned. “All that might interest Sister Anne, but Sister Matilda would enjoy the flavor it adds to her cooking. And I can attest to its value in food for I have eaten a fish stew with saffron added.”
Would it please Ralf? Gytha felt her face turn hot. “Fish? Indeed!” She bent quickly over his hand again to hide her blush. “I cannot describe the flavor, but I closed my eyes and won- dered if the fish was still swimming in the sea. It is like nothing else I have tasted. And all it requires is a pinch of these threads,
left for a day in wine, to add to a soup.” “And what is the price of this wonder?”
The merchant quickly looked around, and then bent to pick up a small jar that was meant to hold the more fragile spices. “It must be kept dry or it loses its power,” he said, dropping the amount held in his hand into the container and sealing it shut. “Speak of no one about this, Mistress Gytha, for the item is costly, but I gift this small sample to the priory for the good of my soul.”
She carefully nestled the jar into her basket. “As our prioress has said, the gift given unobserved shines more brightly in God’s eyes than one presented with trumpet and cymbals.” She gave him a studied look. “And only she shall know of your generosity. But our lady will not let a good man suffer for his charity and shall order more from you if it delights as you have suggested and our funds permit. Please whisper the cost in my ear.”
He bent over and mumbled a figure.
Gytha swallowed a gasp but willed herself to nod with solemn dignity.
Thanking the merchant again for his gift, and promising to return the container the following week, she checked to make
sure the item was safely balanced. Without looking up, she stepped away from the stall.
“Watch where you are
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