The Meal

A particularly well-dressed nun was the first of the pilgrims to capture my attention. The woman turned out, in fact, to be a Prioress and Madame Eglantine held a high position within her convent. She was fastidious to a fault, a gentle soul if ever I met one.

“I cannot bear to see any living thing in pain,” she stated, and I believed her. “A mouse caught in a trap brings tears to my eyes.” Curiously, she had a small dog with her in attendance which is strictly forbidden within church statutes. I wondered if there were any other rules she flaunted. During the conversations, she dropped snippets of French, a fact she seemed very proud of, although I’d warrant by her accent that she’d never set foot in the country! Her table manners, however, were impeccable, not one crumb dropped nor one sauce dripped. The only break from this etiquette was to select the more tasty morsels and feed them to her little dog under the table. She was traveling with a young priest by the name of John. He was a chatty and lively fellow although the prioress did seem unduly put out when he shared his attention with others around the table. Again, I wondered about flaunting of church rules!

Then came the miller. A mountain of a man, all hair and bluster, by the name of Robin. He reminded me of an unkempt bull. A man who seemed to enjoy life to its utmost and he spent the day spouting scurrilous stories and boasting of how he would steal wheat from his competitors. The prioress seemed most unimpressed on both accounts.

Not all of the company were quite so gregarious. I tried to engage a young man from Oxford in meaningful conversation, but I had more chance of obtaining blood from the proverbial stone. ‘Clerk’ he gave as his profession and he studied the art of logic, beyond this, the man remained a mystery, other than what I observed myself. The man picked at his food with long, bony fingers. That, coupled with his threadbare clothes, led me to deduce a frugal existence. I suspected all of his wages were ploughed back into his love of learning. He excused himself early in the evening and I’m sure when he drifted off to sleep, he dreamt of great philosophers and enormous libraries of precious books.

Seated beside this learned man was a monk, though it would have been difficult to tell given his garb and demeanour. The sleeves of his habit were lined with squirrel fur, now dripping with fats and sauces from the table, and upon his feet sat boots of soft and supple leather. When I inquired as to the trappings of his profession, he snorted and gave a hearty laugh. “I don’t give a plucked hen for all that nonsense. To truly honour the father, one must live life to its fullest, as He intended. Eat, drink. Be merry.” As he laughed, his rotundness quivered. At least, this man lived as he spoke, befitting or not.

At the neighbouring table sat a manciple whose job entailed buying provisions for lawyers up in London. A smug little man who revelled in his ability to outsmart the lawyers. “I may not be a learned man… but I can still hoodwink those so-superior lawyers. They think they’re so clever, looking down their nose as the menial help but I have them wrapped around my finger. It’s so simple, I just tell them I spend more than I do and keep the rest.” He jangled his pockets for emphasis.

And what of the ample woman whom Harry plonked me down next to? Well, she spilled from the bench we sat on, ample hips, bosom and the most flamboyant clothes I may have ever laid witness to. I swear her headscarf alone must have weighed more than my coat. She introduced herself as the wife of Bath, and she plainly found herself quite the wit as she roared with laughter after all of her own jokes. “I love a good pilgrimage, I do. Why, I’ve even been known to pick up a husband that way before now, although I’ve had rather more men than that!” She winked at me with a salacious grin. If I’d have had anywhere else to move to, I would have done so. I gleaned from later conversations that she was, in fact, quite the businesswoman in Bath – a clothmaker. Given her current disposition, I believe it would be a fair assessment to say that she was equally as skilled in the game of love.

Next in line came a friar. An unenviable job if ever there was one. Begging and preaching for a living, listening to folks’ confessions, and then forgiving them their sins – a rare undertaking indeed and, it would seem, much in need of on this particular trip. Apparently, the man was a ready forgiver, providing he, himself, was provided for in the process. I don’t think I have ever met a man more blessed in the skill of oratory. A silver tongue which could talk an old woman out of her last penny. He knew every tavern in every town and appeared on the best of terms with many a barmaid. Not too keen on beggars or lepers though.

Opposite the Wife of Bath sat a reeve. The man was a carpenter by trade as well as a land-manager for a well-to-do Lord. A very self-satisfied man, claiming to know every trick in the book. Astute and wary. He kept all at the table at arm’s length and flicked his beady eyes around frequently as if anyone might try to pick his pocket should he become inattentive for the briefest of moments.

The franklin cut an interesting figure. He was fond of good food and fine wine, and not just for his own consumption. On the subject of the meal we were enjoying, he flung his arms wide and declared, “Ah, but it snows food and drink in my house.” I had it on good authority from another in our gathering that whilst he appeared good-natured and generous, if the food was not up to scratch, the cook was for it! The man held many titles – landowner, member of Parliament and a Magistrate, but these all seemed to be a means to an end – that end being good-living. At least this evening he was in good company.

Whilst there were many more pilgrims in my company, I could not pay attention to them all. As evening drew in, the heat and stuffiness of the inn took a toll. As I stumbled off to bed, leaving the greater number of the group still in raucousness, I realised, with luck, one or two of this strangest of groups may give me an idea for a story or two.