Fanuilh Daniel Hood (classic literature books TXT) 📖

waiting for an answer, told the servant to double the breakfast. Liam smiled into his mug as the heavy man took the seat across from him.

The servant busied himself cutting · up bread and bacon and setting them to cook by the fire. The seated men sipped at their mugs for a moment. Liam let the spiked cider warm his hands and stomach, looking around the kitchen. It was messy, but well stocked, with bunches of herbs and vegetables hanging in no particular order from the rafters, pots and utensils scattered everywhere, mingled with half-eaten loaves and scraps of cheese and meat and dirty dishes. Reflecting on the Aedile, it did not surprise him, but it did not bother him either. The suggestion was not of filth, but of comfort and a relaxed attitude towards cleanliness. Liam liked it, in the way he liked Coeccias—with tolerance for obvious faults.

"I thought we were going to look for the bannaid."

"Truth, so we are. But we needs must be fed, eh? And the cider calls for tasting. It'd be blaspheming to offer good Uris an untested brew. It likes you?"

"Yes, very much. But why do you have to make a bigger batch?" Liam gestured at the large pot, obscured by the servant's back as he knelt before the fire, prodding the crackling bacon. "You have enough there to last a while."

Laughing, Coeccias said, "Enough? I'll swear there's little enough there for the first libation! Why, there'd be none left for the worshippers, if that was all I put up. Know you nothing about the uses of Uris-tide?"

The servant began laying out dishes on the table.

"No, in the Midlands we never made much of Uris. She was a city god to us, of little use to fanners and husbandmen. There are not many mechanics or apothecaries there."

"What of your vintners, tanners, smiths, armorers, tinkers? Have you no brewers or candlers in the Midlands? Y'are yourself a scholar, and from the Midlands. Uris is patron of all these—how can Midlanders ignore her?"

"I suppose the trades just seemed less important. We paid more attention to the harvest gods."

Coeccias snorted and frowned his way through the rest of his mug. Liam decided not to mention that there were hundreds of places that had never heard of Uris, and that credited her gifts of craft and trade to other gods.

The bacon and toast were ready, and the servant placed. them before them in silence, taking their mugs to refill them at the pot. Butter and salt were brought and Coeccias dug in, making huge sandwiches thick with butter. Liam, made hungry by the smell, copied him, and the kitchen was filled with the sound of their chewing.

The Aedile's frown deepened at each bite, and then broke out into a question.

"Truth, you know nothing of the rites of Uris-tide?"

"Very little," Liam admitted.

"And you a scholar," Coeccias marveled. "Well," he went on, carefully putting his third sandwich to one side, "the true rites are complex, and the sole sphere of the priests. Only the divines are allowed in the fane when they are performed, but there're numerous lesser rites for the common run of worshippers."

Solemnly, he described the lay rituals that led up to the actual day of Uris-tide. Daily processions through the streets began six days before, and every true worshipper was supposed to walk on at least one of the days. Some, the very devout, made more than one. Viyescu, the Aedile pointed out with no hint of sarcasm, walked every day, displaying an unparalleled devotion. Each day's procession was led by a progressively higher-ranked priest, and so more worshippers attended the later ones. The procession Liam had seen was one of the first, and consequently one of the smallest.

"Today's is the most important. I'll be marching, as the Duke's man, and the richest of Uris's images will go forth as well, gilt and jeweled. It was gifted the temple by the Duke himself, and cost a fortune. The Duke subscribes the old ways and worships right strongly."

Beginning at midaftemoon in the square at the heart of the city, the procession would go from there around most of Southwark, offering Uris's blessing to all and particularly to artisans and craftsmen. It would be led by the second most important priest in the local temple and include the highest of the city's officials and the richest of her artisans, as well as a large number of commoners. The last procession, scheduled for the next day, would be comprised only of clergy, led by the hierarch of the temple, and carry a very simple image of Uris, and ancient relic handed down from the earliest days of her worship. That night the secret ceremonies would begin in the temple, and the common worshippers would eat only the simplest of foods. Unleavened bread, sauceless meat, milk and water, to symbolize life before Uris gave her arts to the world.

"The cider is reserved for Uris-tide itself. It's a strange brew, liquor and cider and spices, but it goes well with the stuffs served. Look you, on that day, we eat fancifully, with sauces and pastries and dishes that are long in preparation and complex in design, like unto the arts Uris herself gave us, and we offer portions of all to her as grace. I'll bring the pot to my sister, and celebrate with her. She's a large get of children, and many others'll be there from her husband's family, so I needs must make a greater punch than this test here."

Coeccias stopped and picked up his sandwich again. He chewed absently, calculation in his eyes as he looked at Liam, who stared into the rich brown depths of his mug, wondering at his companion's obvious belief.

"Look you," the Aedile said at length, "would it like you t'attend the feast? At my sister's?"

Liam was surprised, but immediately interested. "I suppose, yes, that would be nice," he answered, trying to conceal the attractiveness of the idea.

"Come, come," Coeccias blurted impatiently, "Uris-tide is no