Brewsters - The Medieval Women who made Ale.

 

Brewsters – The Medieval Women who made Ale.

 

 

“Brewster” used to mean a female brewer of ale. In the early 1300s brewsters were common. As water was rarely safe to drink, ale, created by a barley or oat mash, boiling water, yeast and herbs, was a staple. Everyone, men, women and children, drank it. Larger medieval houses made their own, so in 1333 Elizabeth de Burgh, Lady Clare, brewed 8 quarters each week, around 60 gallons of ale. Since a household of 5 might drink 1 ¼ gallons a day, this output needed to be ongoing, especially as ale soured quickly, within a few days. The plus side was that once made, ale was quickly ready to drink, within a day.

Brewing of ale was done at home, using everyday tools – a large tub, a brush, a ladle, forks. Women did it in tandem with other household tasks. Any excess a brewster might sell to her neighbours. Locals would be alerted that ale was available by the sign of a branch or bush pinned over the household door. Neighbour sold to neighbour and customers brought their own pails to collect the fresh ale. Another way womenfolk were employed were as Tipplers, who carried the freshly brewed ale in vessels on their backs to various household clients. Overall it was a small-scale business, with modest profits. Married women, widows and unmarried spinsters all brewed and it was a means of independence. In 1379, in Howden, 9 single women supported themselves by brewing. In Norwich, women of the chief families all brewed ale and sold it to their friends.

Barley water could be made by boiling a small quantity of fresh barley in a volume of water and then the liquid strained off. Herbs used in the ale included briar, rosemary, coltsfoot and balm. Water from different wells produced different flavours of ale. “Dredge”, a mix of oats and barley, was in as common use in the production of ale as it was of bread.

Ale was sweeter in taste than beer, since the hops in beer preserve the drink for longer but also make it more bitter.  Modern beers in the “Gruit” style, where hops are not used and herbs are used as flavouring, give an idea what such ales tasted like. An ale called “Mycria”, flavoured with sweet gale, used to be produced by Hanlons in Devon.

Hops, introduced from Europe, was used to brew beer. Beer lasts longer than ale and so can be transported greater distances and made in larger batches. After the Black Death, beer began to be drunk and produced in England as well as ale, though female brewers were gradually pushed out of the trade by men, who had greater access to capital. The Brewers’ Guild was closed to women. The laws favoured men over women in brewing, although women often had more practical experience. Brewsters began to be seen as sinful, wanton and unclean. In 1413 brewster Christine Colmere in Canterbury lost her trade when Simon Daniel falsely told her neighbours that she was leprous.

See “Ale, Beer and Brewsters In England” by Judith Bennett for more details.

 

For myself, I am sorry the more bitter beer took over from ale, and sorry that women were thrust out of a business where they had thrived for many years. One day, I may write a story where a brewster is my heroine, but in the meantime, if you are interested in learning a bit about medieval feasts, medieval sweets, cooks and menus, please see my novel “The Master Cook and the Maiden” and my novella, “Amice and the Mercenary.” Both are published by Prairie Rose Publications and both are free to read with Kindle Unlimited.

The Master Cook and the Maiden.

Amice and the Mercenary

Lindsay Townsend 

Medieval Sweets and a summer treat. Pears in Syrup

Photo from Medieval Cookery page: http://medievalcookery.com/recipes/peeres.html

Every now and again I have a go at a recipe from the ancient or medieval worlds, officially for research purposes but mostly through a mixture of curiosity and greed. Since I now own a copy of Constance Hieatt's delectable book of authentic medieval recipes, Pleyn Delit, this time it was one of those deceptively simple but spicy, wine-warm sweets which the fourteenth and fifteenth century loved.

The recipe calls for 1 kilo/2 lb of pears, 500ml red wine, 1 tbsp. red wine vinegar, 125 gm sugar, 1tsp. cinnamon and 1/4tsp. ground ginger, plus an optional 6-8 whole cloves and a pinch of saffron. There are several methods of cooking this fifteenth-century delicacy in Prof. Hieatt's book (recipe 113: Wardonys in Syryp), and medieval cooks would have used pots over an open fire, but I like to keep it simple, so used a casserole and a fan oven.

Parboil the pears in water for a few minutes, then peel and quarter them and lay them in the casserole. Add the cinnamon and sugar to the wine in a saucepan and heat it through until the sugar has dissolved, then strain (if necessary) and pour the mixture over the pears. Cover the casserole and leave it in the oven for about an hour at around 250C (180C in a fan oven worked fine). Remove the casserole and add the wine vinegar, cloves and saffron. If necessary, remove some of the liquid and boil it for a few minutes to reduce it, which will slightly thicken and sweeten the syrup. Put the casserole back in the oven and give it another 15 minutes or so. 'Look that it be sharp and sweet (poinaunt an dowcet)', the recipe says. Cool, serve and eat.

For more detail, more cooking methods and a mass of other recipes, see Pleyn Delit. The medieval English cook may well have used Warden pears, grown at the Cistercian abbey of Old Warden in Bedfordshire, and the abbey's coat of arms shows three of them. A similar dish, 'peres en confyt', includes mulberries for darkness and appears in the fourteenth-century cookbook, Forme of Cury.

I write about more medieval sweets and sweet-making in my novella, Amice and the Mercenary. My heroine, Amice, is a mistress of sugar and spices and as such, partly as a result of her skills, is drawn into a dangerous intrigue at the royal court of the English King Edward the Third.

You can read more about Amice and my other black heroines in my free Medieval Black Heroines Free Sampler of Excerpts, posted here

Lindsay Townsend

#NewRelease -- TO LOVE A KNIGHT by Lindsay Townsend

MISTRESS ANGEL—Isabella has been promised as a pawn to stop a blood feud from the time she was a child, but now her husband is dead, and she is at the mercy of his cruel family. When her young son, Matthew, is ripped from her arms and hidden away, she vows to do whatever it takes to save him—even though it might cost her everything. Stephen Fletcher, a handsome armorer, assures her that he will help her regain Matthew. Neither Isabella nor Stephen had thought to ever love again, but Fate has other plans for them...and by a chance meeting, their destinies are changed forever.

AMICE AND THE MERCENARY—Beautiful Amice, a spice seller, vows to avenge her brother’s death on a Crusades battlefield, while at the same time, trying to survive the English king’s court. When she meets charming Henry Swynford, she is reluctant to give her heart away until she can determine whose side he’s on in the deadly game of court intrigue—one false step could mean her life. Though Henry has secrets, Amice begins to trust him. Can their happiness last, or will their enemies tear them apart? What price revenge against true love?

EXCERPT from MISTRESS ANGEL

I must do this, for Matthew.

Not in so extreme a way, her mind scolded, but it was as if her body no longer obeyed her reason. Stephen's smile was a welcome and in truth what time had she? In another moment he would be gone, passed, and her family would blame her. If she did not do this now they might never allow her to see her son.

It was the work of a single step and then done. As she forced her stiffened limbs to stir, Isabella glimpsed the rich tapestries, captured in France and hung from the first floors as trophies. She saw the shields, taken from the battlefield of Poitiers and ranged along the street in a triumphant display, glinting back at her. She thought of Matthew in his brave blue coat and fell out of the cage, a desperate launch, wondering if the cobbles would hurt.

Catch me, please catch me.

In a slow fall, slow as a snail, she saw Stephen's smile falter, heard Amice's desperate, “Issa!” and then she was floating, down and down.

Catch me, please catch me.

This collection is now available at Amazon in a boxed set (free if you have Kindle Unlimited) and trade paperback.

BUY LINKS 

      

#New Release. 'Amice and the Mercenary' - Sequel to 'Mistress Angel' by Lindsay Townsend. #Giveaway!

Amice is a mistress of sugar and spices but is she always mistress of her heart?

England in the summer of 1357 is a nervous, triumphant place. The English king holds the King of France hostage—but there are plots afoot to see this French monarch assassinated. Duke Henry begs beautiful Amice, the spice seller, for her help to counter and reveal such plots. Amice is an expert in the secrets of spices and poisons. She agrees to help for her own personal reason—revenge. 

But Amice must work in the glittering, dangerous world of the royal court, snubbed and mocked for her own dark-skinned beauty, until she is rescued by the notorious mercenary, Harry Swynford—charming, charismatic, and lethal.

In the shifting alliances of the court, which side is Harry Swynford on? In this world of poison among the feasts, can Amice stop an assassin in time? Harry has his own games to play, and although she is powerfully attracted to him, Amice is wary. Lives—including her own—are at stake.

Can their happiness last, or will their enemies tear them apart? What price revenge against true love?.

Prairie Rose Publications.

Excerpt

Chapter 1

Summer, Kent, 1357

 “I need your help,” Duke Henry said. “I need your help to guard the king of France.”

Amice said nothing. She and the duke sat together at her best friend’s wedding, drinking French wine and watching the other guests dance. Throughout the simple country marriage feast, Duke Henry had spoken of the great golden beauty of the bride Isabella, of the good fortune of Stephen, the bridegroom, and of the mild summer weather—all safe, conventional subjects. His leaning toward her now and speaking of the guardianship of kings was unexpected. She raised her dark eyebrows.

Duke Henry lowered his voice still further. “I need someone with a knowledge of plants, medicines and spices, like yourself, a woman with a knowledge of sugar. The reward for such an undertaking will be generous, very generous.”

Listening, Amice was in no haste to commit herself. To a less powerful man than the duke she might have said, “What is the captured French king to me? Why should I care to watch over him against an assassin?” Instead, she asked, “You fear an attack against this mighty hostage? You fear he might sicken or even die and you will be blamed because he is in your charge?”

“I do,” the duke answered, frowning over his wine. “This is an angry time, a time of war and trouble.”

And knights and nobles live for such times. Again, Amice remained silent.

After a sigh, the duke continued. “There are many who might wish to strike against my royal captive. Perhaps an angry Englishman, who believes all Frenchmen are the spawn of the devil.”

“Or Charles of Navarre,” Amice remarked. “He does not lack ambition.”

“True, ‘tis true,” the duke grunted. “It may even be one of the French King’s subjects, one who does not wish to pay his ransom.”

“And you believe I can help. Why? I am no warrior.”

“But you know poisons,” the duke countered.

“As do your food tasters,” Amice answered. “Or you could have the king drink from a cup made from the horn of a unicorn to neutralize the poison.”

“I will do both,” Duke Henry agreed. “But I need still more.”

“I do not blend in,” Amice said, interested to see how Duke Henry responded to that truth. Her parents had been Londoners like herself, but her grandparents were African. She was as dark as Saint Maurice. Even at home, people stared at her in the street.

“That is all to the good,” the duke said quickly. “Tall and handsome, striking as you are, you will attract notice.” He smiled, a look of surprising sweetness. “They will see your beauty and naught else. You will be stationed close to the serving tables, if it please you.”

“To watch for a poisoner? That will be a large undertaking.”

Duke Henry sighed. “I know it will be difficult, Amice, but if you are willing to pretend to work there, you would be another pair of eyes. You have expertise my servants do not have. King Jean—King John in the English way—has a particular liking for almond dragees and anise in confit at the end of every meal.”

Sweets, spiced and difficult to create. Their taste would mask much, including poison. “I can make those.” And watch perhaps as other sweets are made.

“Stephen told me that was likely. That you are a superb cook of sweets. Is it true that your mother trained in Italy and learned all the secrets of sugar?”

“She lived there for a time, yes.” Amice replied. Isabella has been bragging on my behalf to Stephen. And what else has Isabella’s new husband told the duke? “Does the French king not have his own people watching him? His own food-tasters?”

“Of course. King John has many tasters. But still it would be embarrassing if they detected poison, especially in a dish or a confit made solely for the king.”

“I see.” How strange. This king is his captive yet the duke still wishes to be regarded as a perfect host.

Duke Henry glanced away to the dancers again. “I trust my own tasters, of course, but not all of them have your skill and knowledge, especially with spices and sugar.”

Very prettily put, but Amice realized then that the duke did not entirely trust all those within his household. She decided to be blunt. “I will not work in the main kitchen.”

Duke Henry flushed to the roots of his fair hair and looked horrified at the idea. “A young woman such as yourself amidst those raging fires and sweating, half-naked scullions? Indeed, I would not ask that of you. No women work in my kitchens. Women do not work in kitchens. You will be in the still room, with my wife Isabel and her ladies.”

Amice wondered why he felt it needful to stress this. In great houses, castles and palaces, the cooks were all men. If I venture anywhere where food is prepared I shall stand out. But then I do already. “Your wife agrees to this?”

Now Duke Henry looked surprised. “Of course.”

“Shall I wear your livery?”

Duke Henry shook his head. “You are elegant enough already.”

Amice inclined her head at the compliment, glad to hide her eyes as she thought furiously. If I agree to this and I am mostly in the still room , does it mean he suspects a woman? Has there already been trouble? “And for other kinds of assassins?” she prompted.

“King John has Sir Gilles in his household, a most capable warrior, and Harry Swynford, Gilles’s captain.” Duke Henry sniffed. “Swynford is your true mercenary. He is English, but he fights for any side that pays him. Sir Gilles rates him highly.”

Amice was glad that her coloring did not betray her feelings, although she felt as if an arrow had pierced her. “Sir Gilles of Picardy?” She spoke with seeming unconcern. “I had heard he was dead, cut down in a skirmish in Normandy.” Her beloved older brother Nigel had told her this on his death-bed and she had believed him. Why should I not, when Sir Gilles was the one who gave Nigel his death-blow?

But now Duke Henry shook his head. “Sir Gilles is very much alive.”

“What kind of man is he? Tall, dark, fair?”

“The report is that he is a good man to have your back in a fight….” came back the frustrating answer.

“Truly?” I know that to be wrong, thought Amice grimly, recalling what her brother had said.

“….The fellow has a massive bushy beard, very black. Once seen, never forgotten. Do you know him?”

“Not at all,” Amice replied at once. “The man is a stranger to me.” And beards, however big and bushy can be shaved off, so I still have no real notion of what Sir Gilles looks like. That however, could wait for the moment. “When do you wish me to start?”

“Soon,” Duke Henry said, with another heavy sigh. “As soon as you can.”

“I will see my Isabella and her Stephen on their honeymoon, and then I will come,” Amice promised, her heart beating furiously. Nigel had been so certain that the Frenchman had not survived, that he had seen the man cut down. To cross the path of this Sir Gilles now, she would close up her London spice shop and live at the duke’s palace of the Savoy for as long as it took. This English mercenary, this Harry Swynford, he will not stop me in my quest. For all he has done, Sir Gilles deserves to die. He will do so at my hand. The French king I will watch, too, but only for the chance of revenging myself on that French knight. Let my golden Isabella be settled and happy and then I shall begin.

On Amazon Amazon UK Nook Kobo Smashwords and more


Now read about Amice as a character in Mistress Angel.

Lindsay Townsend




Be sure to leave a comment for Lindsay to be entered in a drawing for a free ecopy of AMICE AND THE MERCENARY!

NEW RELEASE! MISTRESS ANGEL BY LINDSAY TOWNSEND!

Prairie Rose Publications announces a brand new release today from Lindsay Townsend! This is a wonderful medieval novella, available on Kindle for only $1.99

Once a child-bride, married with the intent to stop a blood-feud between rich and ambitious families in fourteenth century London, Isabella is now a young widow, a medieval Cinderella, tormented and blamed.

Seeking always to escape her grim destiny, she can do nothing but endure. But when her beloved son, Matthew, is torn away from her care, spirited somewhere into the country by her malicious in-laws, Isabella stoic endurance turns to desperation. To save her son she will do anything, risk anything—even if it means she must lose the love of her life, the handsome, brave armorer Stephen Fletcher.

But Stephen is determined to help her. Though he’d thought to never love again, he has no choice when his Mistress Angel enters his life—and changes their destinies forever.

Snap up this wonderful medieval tale, and look for the accompanying story, AMICE AND THE MERCENARY, coming in February!

Here's an excerpt from MISTRESS ANGEL:

Somewhere, please all the saints, somewhere in that glittering retinue was surely Stephen Fletcher.

Please, Holy Mother, let him be here with his prince and lord, please, for the sake of my son.

She swung round in her cage, clasping one of the gilded wooden bars for support, giving Amice a quick smile to show she was safe and tipping another golden hailstorm of posies over the closing nobility. Pretending an imperiousness she was far from feeling, she lowered her head slowly, as if the retinues clustered in the street beneath her were as insignificant as bugs.

He's here! At once her breathing quickened as her body jolted. The gilded cage shook around her, as if caught in a sudden storm.

“He is here?” Forgetting her fear of heights, Amice leaned right out of the window. Isabella caught her back.

“Stephen is the tall, well-made man on the gray horse, just behind that fat knight of the garter,” she said, the admission huge in her mouth as if she was chewing on pebbles.

“Saffron and pepper, he is handsome! A man to dream of when he is not busy in your bed.”

“Amice!”

“Hush, Isabella, I speak my mind. Yes, your man is very fine, shapely and fine. Does he smell of mint? I wager he does. Not very colorful in his dress, though you can ginger him up, and my, his horse is old…”

Isabella did not hear the rest of her friend's pithy remarks. Looking down she was lost, her mind a whirlpool of thoughts and impressions as the rest of the street vanished to her. She had forgotten how magnetic his eyes were, with their soft tones of green and hard notes of gray, and how aquiline his nose. He was watching her, indulgence sparkling in his tanned, craggy face and tugging at the corners of his singer's mouth, as if he knew very well what she was about and did not care. Even in the earliest days of her marriage Richard had never stared at her like this, as if he kissed her with his eyes.

He had caught one of her flowers, she realized as he held it aloft, showing it to her before tucking it away into one of his big, black, serviceable leather gloves.

“Fine as my best black pepper,” Amice was concluding, while Isabella struggled to hold onto herself, not abandon her sense utterly. Remember Sir William's threats and the danger to Matthew. She lifted her hand away from the edge of the cage and waved to the tall, strong figure below. Stephen is surely my lord, my kind and noble lord, and I am forced to beguile him. Shame engulfed her in a scalding tide.

I must do this, for Matthew.

Not in so extreme a way, her mind scolded, but it was as if her body no longer obeyed her reason. Stephen's smile was a welcome and in truth what time had she? In another moment he would be gone, passed, and her family would blame her. If she did not do this now they might never allow her to see her son.

It was the work of a single step and then done. As she forced her stiffened limbs to stir, Isabella glimpsed the rich tapestries, captured in France and hung from the first floors as trophies. She saw the shields, taken from the battlefield of Poitiers and ranged along the street in a triumphant display, glinting back at her. She thought of Matthew in his brave blue coat and fell out of the cage, a desperate launch, wondering if the cobbles would hurt.

Catch me, please catch me.

In a slow fall, slow as a snail, she saw Stephen's smile falter, heard Amice's desperate, “Issa!” and then she was floating, down and down.

Catch me, please catch me.


Here are the buy links for MISTRESS ANGEL, a medieval read you will NOT want to miss!
http://www.amazon.com/Mistress-Angel-Lindsay-Townsend-ebook/dp/B019AT3NAA/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1452627981&sr=8-2&keywords=Mistress+Angel