She put the Queen in the captain’s pavilion, on his feather bed, and she was waiting when the Queen’s woman—the tall blonde—came out of the pavilion with an armload of smelly linen.

“I have a bed for ye, if you’ll sleep. Give all that to one of my drudges. Come.” Sukey walked off towards the cook fires.

The same men—and a few women—who had bitched about fighting and riding all day were now sitting at fires drinking wine and re-telling it all. A dozen knights of the Order were listening to Ser Michael’s account of the ambush. Two nuns were brushing out Sister Amicia’s hair.

Prior Wishart, who Sukey knew from two days in camp, was deep in conversation with the captain, who gave her the “not now” sign. So she pushed past, Blanche at her heels, and took her around the fire that had become the hub of conversation—and thus, no work could be done—to the main fire line. There, despite the hour, twenty women and a few men were heating water, cooking, washing…

“Anne Banks! Get your nose out of his business and come over here,” Sukey yelled. A young woman who had been kissing a young man came, in a sulky, put-upon way.

“Annie’s a scullery and she’ll do as she’s told most o’ the time,” Sukey said. “Annie, this is Blanche, the Queen’s—friend. She has a mort of linen needs cleaning.”

Anne was prone to be difficult. Blanche knew her kind well enough. She smiled and kissed the younger woman’s cheek. “For the baby, Miss Anne. I don’t expect you to do my things.” She laughed. “Except I don’t have any things.”

Annie nodded. “For the baby?” She took the whole armload without demur. “For—the King?” she said.

“His shit is just as shitty as any other baby’s,” Sukey noted. “Anne Banks, if you lie down with that boy and get a baby in you, you’ll end a common harlot.”

“Which they gets paid a damn sight better than sculleries. An’ the work is restful,” Annie said in a tone aimed to infuriate her officer.

Sukey smacked the girl with her open hand. “Don’t be a fool,” she said. “You want to hear about being a whore, talk to Sauce. I’m sorry, Lady Blanche.”

“I’m no lady,” Blanche said. “They just call me that.”

Sukey was now clutching Anne to her chest. “I’m sorry, Annie. But you ain’t got a mama to teach you, so all you get is me.”

“You hit me!” Anne wailed.

Sukey winked at Blanche. Over Anne’s head, she said, “You and I are of a size. Want some clothes?”

Blanche contemplated refusal, but it seemed stupid. “Yes,” she said. “I can’t pay.”