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| Harbour at Bordeaux Édouard Manet, 1871 |
Lydia by now was a lengthy distance from her father, hunger pushing her gently home. With a quick glance she realised her father was deep in thought, as usual. He had fallen back completely oblivious to the traffic building up behind him. A small line of carts with produce for the port were now trying to make it down the gentle slope. Trying to make it to their destination before the sun went down. Transport drivers are the same regardless of which millenia and Robert received suggestions about how quickly he should be moving.
Grabbing his arm, Lydia directed Robert to the side of the boulevard and gave the first cart rider a wave to acknowledge his patience. The cart driver continued to give Robert suggestions about how quickly to walk on the boulevard..
“I didn’t know you had any Frankincense. Where did you receive it?”. Robert looked with a small smile on his face acknowledging Lydia’s observation. “What would you have prescribed for the old man?” Robert asked, now the Master not the father.
“Our spice remedy of course”. “Frankincense is much better”. “Well I know that”, Lydia gave a turse retort. “Where did you receive it?”, she asked again. No response was given, just the sound of the last of the carts heading to the port could be heard. You could see the masts of the English Mechant Cogs from the Boulevard. Bordeaux, was an economic powerhouse with it’s riverway harbour and nearby vineyards. Wine had been produced here since the Roman era and were now much loved in the wealthy homes of England.
“Where did you receive it?”. Still silence. “Father?”, she pressed. “Oh a long time ago” he finally replied. “That’s not what I asked you”. Lydia wanted to know how Robert had come to acquire the rare frankincense, Robert was saved from answering the question with their arrival at home. The traditional herringbone exterior that adorned the front the house donated Robert as a member of the merchant class. The manor houses of the elite vineyard owners were nowhere to be found in the bustling city of Bordeaux. They were located out of the city, away from the smells and the common folk.The manor house were less like a home and more like a village. Self sufficient estates divorced from the realities of city life. The Roman elites had lived this life and yet a thousand years after the fall of the western empire, this social premise showed little change.
The entry to Robert’s home consisted of a small room that protected the rest of the house from Bordeaux’s hot southerly summer winds and the snow and northerly wind of winter. Robert and Lydia were greeted by a servant who took their cloaks. “Father! Father! Father!”. A riot came towards the entrance. Twins, 5 years of age, red curly hair, bounced and jumped and clapped. Robert washed his hands thoroughly and did not stop his rather obsessive method of personal hygiene to entertain the riot. “Am I invisible to you little ones?”. The riot erupted again. “Lydia! Lydia! Lydia!”. This time the riot spread its circumference and little feet jumped in all directions. Up and down and around and around. Bouncing and hands clapping together , they danced round and around again. The riot was joined by yelping and barking with Nero, the black terrier, joining the dance.
Robert’s servant took his towel from him as he began to sit himself in the entry armchair. “You are looking a little old today Master”, Joseph said gently with a glint in his eye. “I maybe a half a century on this world boy, but I still have colour in my hair and unlike you I can grow a beard if I choose”. Joseph nodded his head and as he took away his Master’s chattels, he was gently reminded of his position in society. “Joseph. Do not allow our familiarity to compromise you in the company of those that may be more judgemental”. “Thank you Master”, Joseph stopped and faced Robert. “Your wisdom has shone through with care as it always does”. He turned and returned to his duties.
“Where is my family!” Robert bellowed. The riot responded and Robert was enveloped in bouncing and dancing and dogs and love. Standing at the door to the entrance, was Eleanor with a broad smile on her face. Her Norman ancestry was obvious. Tall with that slight red tinge to her hair were traits of her Norman, Viking heritage. “Albert!”. “Philipa!”. “Please clean yourselves for the evening meal”. “Mother!” Lydia managed to separate herself from the riot and embraced her mother. Looking up almost eye to eye with Eleanor, Lydia gave that little giggle that a 14 year old does. “You are so short mother”. Lydia then guided the riot towards the dining room.
Eleanor took Robert’s hands. He was still sitting in his armchair. “Welcome home my love. I do not want to concern you, but you are looking a little old today”. “Does no one show respect to the head of this household any longer?” Robert asserted in a mock outrage. “Happy birthday my Master and Husband”. “Thank you my wife”. Robert smiled and rose from his armchair. He took Eleanor’s arm and headed to the dining room. “How are your herbs?”. She inquired of her husband’s day. “If this incessant rain would stop, maybe they will stop rotting”. “Are you concerned?”. “Not yet”, Robert replied, “but let us discuss medicines at another time. I believe we have a birthday feast to enjoy”.
Chapter 4
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