Therefore, Wulf could find pleasure even in an errand to Southminster to buy wine, of which, in truth, he would have been glad to drink deeply, if only to drown his thoughts awhile.
So away he rode up Steeple Hill with the Prior, laughing as he used to do before Rosamund led him to gather flowers at St.
Peter's-on-the-Wall.
Asking where the foreign merchant dwelt who had wine to sell, they were directed to an inn near the minster.

Here in a back room they found a short, stout man, wearing a red cloth cap, who was seated on a pillow between two kegs.

In front of him stood a number of folk, gentry and others, who bargained with him for his wine and the silks and embroideries that he had to sell, giving the latter to be handled and samples of the drink to all who asked for them.
"Clean cups," he said, speaking in bad French, to the drawer who stood beside him.

"Clean cups, for here come a holy man and a gallant knight who wish to taste my liquor.

Nay, fellow, fill them up, for the top of Mount Trooidos in winter is not so cold as this cursed place, to say nothing of its damp, which is that of a dungeon," and he shivered, drawing his costly shawl closer round him.
"Sir Abbot, which will you taste first--the red wine or the yellow?
The red is the stronger but the yellow is the more costly and a drink for saints in Paradise and abbots upon earth.