Cross of Vengeance Read Online Free PDF Page A

strong German accent.
    Father MacMahon looked at him suspiciously, but made no comment. Didn’t know English, thought Mara – and neither did Ardal O’Lochlainn, nor probably the other two clerics. The prioress lifted her hands to heaven and shook her head, muttering something about the wickedness of the world which misinterpreted God’s works.
    ‘But …’ began Cormac.
    At that moment, to Mara’s relief, Mór pushed open the door and staggered in. Though a large, fat woman, she was weighed down by the tray that she carried and was followed by two of her kitchen maids carrying other trays. Blad got up from his seat and bustled around with a flagon of wine, the kitchen lad with a pitcher of ale. Cormac immediately lost interest in the sale of indulgences and licked his lips. Art forgot his giggles and picked up his wooden spoon. Even the adults stopped talking and got out their knives from pockets and pouches and looked with interest at the food.
    Most meats and fish had been spit roasted, and were attractively laid out on iron skewers arranged on wooden trays with bunches of herbs and vegetables in between. There were partridges and quails, baked quinces, roast curlew, woodcock, all served with sauces of damsons in wine or hypocras, exquisitely spiced with nutmeg and cinnamon. Another tray held trout, salmon and small perch, with crabs and lobster, fresh from the nearby Atlantic Ocean, their scarlet and dull pink colours set off by the dark green of watercress and the small garlic-tasting cloves of
cainnenn
– a plant that Mara grew as much for its wonderful purple flowering heads in early summer as for its plentiful clove harvest in September. Slices of red-skinned apples formed a border on the tray and large leaves of cabbage, decorated with small heaps of glistening blackberries, were placed around and underneath the fish.
    Mara helped herself to a partridge and accepted a generous helping of the spiced hypocras. There was no doubt that either Blad or Mór was an expert in food preparation. The spicy wine sauce went so well with the bird. She was pleased to see that her boys were tucking in as if they had been deprived of all food for many hours. She sent her compliments to the cook and chewed happily on the slices of fresh white bread and a helping of damsons in wine. She would have liked to talk to Ardal about Rome – her father had brought back many stories of the wonderful buildings there. Ardal, however, was fully occupied with the two priests and their discussion about this Martin Luther so she turned her attention towards Hans Kaufmann. To her surprise he was flirting with the prioress, gallantly moving choice pieces from his to her plate and even, Mara overheard, admiring the sheen of her nails and dropping a quick kiss on the tips of the woman’s fingers.
    Mara concealed a smile. He was the sort of man who could have had any woman adoring him, but the shy, badly scarred younger sister was resolutely keeping her eyes fixed on her plate. The heavily built widow on Grace’s other side was also enjoying the German’s gallantries to her buxom person, though she did from time to time try to include Grace in the conversation. And after a few minutes of personal gratification the prioress also remembered her younger sister. Grace, however, would not respond and blushed fierily whenever the German tried to say something in his highly accented English. Mara began to feel a little sorry for the girl. Her elder sisters seemed to be making a determined effort to throw her into conversation with this rich German. Did they hope that he would offer marriage to her, wondered Mara? Otherwise, she would have thought that the prioress would be too pious to encourage an unmarried young girl to be on easy terms with a man who was no relation. Hans Kaufmann was the sort of man who would flirt with any woman, she decided, catching a rapid wink that he sent in the direction of Mór when the prioress was not looking.
    ‘The