His head felt as if it were splitting apart as Philippe slowly opened his eyes, he grimaced in pain as he tried to lift his head up but the pain shot across the back of his head and groaning he let his head rest back on the soft pillow. Frowning, Philippe realised that this was not his bed, the sheets were soft cotton and silk and this was a four poster bed, his bed was small and having two people in it was crowded.
Panic took hold of Philippe as his memories came back to him, he remembered vividly of being hit in the back of the head and being pushed inside a carriage, he also remembered a cat and a man who disappeared in thin air. Sybil leaving him for Charles also came back in a haze and the faint memory of standing over the bridge came back to Philippe. It was the memory of the man who disappeared that made Philippe panic, wildly he turned his head left and right making sure that the man wasn’t in the room with him. But there was no sign of the man and Philippe warily started to relax.
The thick blue curtains lifted as a soft breeze glided underneath it, through the gaps of the curtains Philippe knew that it was late morning, probably ten or eleven and just as he managed that thought his stomach rumbled loudly. Philippe put his hands on his stomach, trying to will itself to stop being so loud, he still had no idea where he was or who brought him here and Philippe would rather not have attention be brought to him. Licking his lips Philippe then began to realise that his mouth was dry and his throat felt as if sand had blew into it. On the opposite side of the bed was a table, with a huge platter of food, steam still rose from it and Philippe recognised the hearty smell of lamb and the sweetness of wine and fruit.
Wearing nothing but his undergarments Philippe got out of bed and walked to the table, the world swayed a little but Philippe only had to touch something solid for the world to level back to its rightful place. He sat down at the table looking at the food that was laid out before him: pink roast lamb with gravy, roasted potatoes, carrots, fresh bread with butter, grapes, apples and a jug full of red wine.
Wiping his hands on the sides of his undergarments Philippe quickly took the fork and knife and started to eat, filling his plate with everything but with more lamb than anything else. He drank as well, taking a few sips here and there just to help the food get down his throat quicker, he hadn’t realised how hungry he was until he remembered that he had not eaten anything since he found out he was becoming a lawyer. As he ate Philippe looked around the room taking in the details such as the wardrobe that sat across from the bed was made from good wood and held patterns of peacocks and pheasants on it. He also noticed that the floor was a light stone, the same as the walls which held paintings and tapestries that looked centuries old. Everything about the room seemed to be made for a wealthy lord or a distant relative of royalty.
Questions of who had brought him here bubbled inside of Philippe. He wondered if the man with the carriage owned this house or if he were just a servant running for an errand. He didn’t think the servant idea was particularly good but he heard from some people that some lords took care of their servants rather well in some parts of the country.
Taking the jug Philippe was about to pour another glass of wine when he realised, with a surprise glance at the jug, that it was empty and there was nothing, left but a few drops of wine. He looked at the platter before him, a couple of potatoes and carrots remained, with a few of the grapes and because he only ate one apple there were three still stacked upon each other. He frowned at the platter and then to his own stomach surprised and confused as to why he ate that much anyway, he was sure that he hadn’t eaten for just a day, but eating the whole platter suggested to him that he hadn’t eaten in two or three days.
Shaking his head at the silliness of his own head Philippe walked to the wardrobe, his clothes were hanging from it, newly cleaned, dry and he noticed that his coat had been sewed again at the shoulders. Philippe took no time in pulling on his pants, his white sleeved shirt and he was just about to put on his coat when a knock came from the door.