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He held her gaze a moment. Then he swept up the cards. “Attley, do you have your deck?” he asked.

His friend reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a well-worn set of cards. Roland took them and spread them across the table top. “Are you familiar with these?” he asked quirking a brow.

Fen looked. “No,” she said. These were crudely drawn, yellowing cards that curled at the corner. “What are they - professions? Guilds?” she guessed spying was what looked like a blacksmith with his anvil, and there was a miller with his grindstone.

“It’s called Livelihood,” said Sir James. “It’s what all the hawkers and stable-hands play.”

“What’s interesting is that the lowest suit wins out,” enthused Sir Edward. “So, a fishmonger trumps a baron, and a beggar trumps a king. D’you see?”

“I do,” said Fen. “So, it’s like the Lord of Misrule. When everything is upside down?”

“Exactly,” said Roland who was now dealing the cards. To her gratification, he was dealing her a hand.

Sir James poured them all more ale and Fen settled back into her seat and examined her cards. “What trumps a cleric?” she asked with interest. The other three sat still a moment.

“Errrr…” said Sir James turning red.

Roland turned a card to show her a bare-breasted woman. He cleared his throat. “A nursing mother,” he said shortly.

Sir Edward had a coughing fit.

“I see,” said Fen. Though she couldn’t see why they were acting so skittish about it.

**

A gust of laughter surprised Oswald as he paused on the threshold, before shutting the door behind him. Roland had better not have bought some tavern wench back to their rooms, he thought grimly as he made out female laughter above the male.

“Serves you right, Attley!”

He recognized his brother’s voice. Then, with a start, his wife’s.

“And you thought I would be a hindrance,” she said smugly. “But we have won the last three hands since we partnered up, have we not?”

Oswald walked through and found a card game in full swing.

“Vawdrey!” he was hailed enthusiastically by Sir Edward Bevan.

“Pull up a chair!” encouraged Sir James Attley.

Fenella beamed at him, while Roland looked defiant. Which was nothing new.

“What have we here?” he asked casually, while unbuttoning his cuffs.

Meldon was piling logs on a roaring fire and Bors was lay on his back on the hearth rug, snoring.

“We’re playing cards, my lord,” said Fenella. “Have you ever played Livelihood?”

He paused. “Livelihood. Not for a long time.”

“Not since you were a soldier?” asked Roland provokingly.

“A soldier trumps a knight,” said Fen holding up a finger and looking pleased with herself.

“And a nursing mother trumps a cleric,” stressed Sir Edward hastily.

Oswald gave him a hard look and the younger man flushed. “How long have you been playing?” he asked, noticing the amount of empty flagons lying around the table.

“All afternoon they been at it,” said Meldon waspishly, as he rose to his feet from before the fire, dusting his knees.