Laws in Conflict by Cora Harrison

person. ‘Of course, like myself, he had a string of girls in his first marriage. You should have seen him when the little fellow was born. You won’t believe this, but he was crying with joy!’
    Valentine had secured a table by the time they arrived. To Mara’s surprise the tables were not inside the pie shop, but arranged around several charcoal braziers in a small, walled yard beside the shop. Their table was in a prime position with its back to one brazier and another straight in front of them. Large square blocks of limestone were heating under each brazier and serving boys, their hands well protected with wads of sacking, placed them at the feet of the customers. The walls were high enough to keep in the heat and the starry sky above made a magnificent ceiling.
    Valentine was not alone. Beside him was Walter; a rather silent Walter who was drinking heavily, slopping wine from a jug into a large goblet. There were two empty wine jugs already on the table and Mara saw his mother’s eyes go straight to them while she embraced her son with a fierce hug.
    He smiled at that and was not too drunk to rise politely and greet Mara, but he was unsteady on his feet.
    ‘You need something to eat,’ said Margaret, sending an apprehensive glance towards the street. ‘Don’t let your father see you like that.’
    ‘I’ve ordered two pies,’ said Valentine reassuringly. He sniffed at the almost emptied jug. ‘Portuguese wine!’ he exclaimed. ‘You’ll have a sore head in the morning, young man, if you drink any more of this stuff,’ he said warningly. ‘That’s six times stronger than ordinary wine!’
    ‘I’m not a child,’ said Walter angrily. ‘As for my father; I don’t care that much for him.’ He snapped his fingers contemptuously in the air and then hiccupped abruptly.
    ‘Here comes the pie,’ said Margaret, gazing anxiously at her beloved boy.
    Easy to see what had happened, thought Mara. The older and more experienced Carlos had probably got tired of the threesome – perhaps taunted young Walter – and then if Catarina had laughed, well, that would have been enough for a sensitive boy. He would have taken himself off and sought comfort in wine. Mara wished that her scholars had been with her. Fachtnan would have been good with Walter – although they were much of an age, Fachtnan was mature and sensitive in his dealings with the young.
    ‘Oh, what a lovely pie!’ she exclaimed aloud when the food arrived. Walter would be better without the attention of three adults focused on him so Mara spent the next few minutes admiring the pie and asking for details of its filling.
    It was a large, round pie, placed on an even larger round plate. The swirling patterns of the plate – Spanish, guessed Mara – were echoed in the curved slices of apple and pear which crowned the pie, radiating out from the centre until they touched the crisp, golden pastry shell. Valentine cut it into large slices and ladled one carefully on to Mara’s plate. She tasted it appreciatively.
    ‘Delicious,’ she said. ‘What on earth is in it? There are so many flavours.’
    ‘Goods from all over the world,’ said Valentine gaily, while Margaret popped a square from her own slice into Walter’s mouth. ‘There’s cheese from the town of Brie in France, oranges from Spain and wine from Portugal, saffron and ginger from the east, pheasant from England.’ He spun out the list of ingredients to an almost impossible length, while Margaret tried to feed a bit more pie into Walter and Mara savoured the rounded full-bodied taste from the jug of wine that Valentine had ordered.
    ‘And salt from Valentine Blake,’ said Margaret, but at that moment, Walter snatched the jug of strong Portuguese wine from the table, upended it over his mouth, put it back and staggered off.
    ‘Oh dear, oh dear, I do hope that James will not see him like that,’ said Margaret with a sigh.
    ‘Leave him alone,’ said Valentine. ‘Enjoy your pie