There was a word too, woven into the tapestry’s leafy border. The word had letters from my name: two little N’s and between them was a curved line with a dot next to it like a tree leaning over one apple. Under the apple tree was a little gallows. Under the second N was a little worm. Would the word help unravel the riddle? It doesn’t seem very secret to have a word in plain sight. Then again, I don’t know what reading’s like. Mayhap it’s a very rare word or a word only some folk can read.

I think about what I’ve got from the tapestry, and I know what I need. It’s waiting for me at home. I go to wrap my shawl around me, but it’s not there. I took it off in the Country Mouse’s room. I chide myself for forgetting. At least it’s near him, I can’t help thinking.

Passing through the town square I come upon a newspanto touting the upcoming revels to mark the end of the Norman emissary’s visit. A feast in the field beyond the castle. The crowd’s larger than usual, packed with folk already come to town for the festivities. It’s just a few days away. I used to love feast days, not that everyday folk were invited. It was only highborn folk, but older girls and boys could get work scrubbing pots or carrying dishes to and fro. There were lots of scraps to eat.

Cakes and comfits, I think. Roast potatoes. My belly rumbles. Mayhap it’s thinking on the feast, or that I’ve become accustomed to regular feedings, but I’m dreadfully hungry.

I walk on into Northside smelling the stink get stronger and stronger until I reach Dungsbrook. Almost home. My belly rumbles again. Rich gravy atop a chop.

A laugh barks out of me with the horridness of my own thought. A chop is for betrayal. How could I wish for such a thing?

I turn onto my lane. There are two messengers outside my door. ‘Was a fire in the castle,’ the first announces. He’s got the Queen’s badge on his arm. He must have been sent before they discovered I was already at the castle.

The second boy straightens up. ‘Fever at the jail.’

I try not to be grateful.

It’s the same jail cell where I waited what seems a life ago for a sentence that didn’t come. Or, rather, came different. Ten prisoners and two turnkeys have been buried in a common grave. Six Simple Eatings are laid out in the cell. The families who brought them remain outside on the road where the air passes freely and no infection is like to touch them.