The good monk Tobias returned with the brawn of the village to escort errant knight to Hall. Lord and Lady Beasley quelled mob with word and glance that they might treat the beknighted Irishman with fine courtesy. This walk in the fog to their Lord's half-timbered home was a journey of merriment for the poorest of villager to richest. Three silvers mark would bring food to the tables of all for full three week's tide.
Shoeless, the Scottish knight walked most slow and cared not whether reward be found or not. He cared only that his feet didst hurt, his Philomena was engaged, and that he must leave this place within hour and her safely in his grasp. Thus, grateful was he to see she dragged her feet and, as the fog roiled, found her near at hand. With neither armor nor horse twould be foolish to attempt abduction but his yearning was strong to do so.
He watched her small form in kirtle and smock with hair in cloud about her modest face. He knew no words to speak so was glad for her conversation, "How comest you to the shrine?"
"Och," he laughed low that none but she might hear, "We followed upon the strand but heard you not. Blindly, we moved in fog and fell upon the high road. We walked a-pace until we reached trees’ edge. Knowing we had missed our mark, I begged to turn. But Brother Tobias, being a righteous man, mindful of shrine nearby, beseeched that we stop for prayer. There we came upon the foreign man unawares."
Philomena looked upon him in wonder. With realization he bethought himself. He had spoke too much. He had made himself look the lost fool. With regret, he felt the bane of his words.
Thus it was that he was near startled when she spoke her thoughts. "The blessings of Mary and the Saints upon us. They did direct your steps and brought great good fortune to Warborough." Her low voice dropped e'en lower that he hardly could make out the words, "A whisper to you, kind knight. My father feels you a hero to save the town. My mother looks upon you as possible suitor for my dear sister. For your good town's salvation, I beg you to leave afore the cock crows."
He considered his words most careful, "Och, I am no hero for this town nor suitor for your sister. But if good deed may bring help for either, you may have my strong right arm." He looked down upon her to see effect of his words upon her. He gripped his halberd at base and near thorn to prevent stray hand from removing sparkling dew that coated her untamed curls.
She peered into the fog as if she heard him not. When she placed her lithe white hand upon her locks to brush away the offending dew, his step faltered. She turned in distress and, looking into his eyes this once, spoke, "I thank you your strong right arm." She curtsied and moved away. He followed wishing to pledge his strong left arm, his good right eye, his bewitched heart, whatever part that she might have need of.
The travelers stood upon the banks of the river preparing to make ford. Most glad were all, save one. Stanley, the lumber man, liked not the task set him. He was to lead the merry group upon the path through dense forest to the Hospital of Balsall. Would that he were with his comrades who now mocked and chided as they crossed the river without him. They went to chop wood and he to cater to the liege lord's brood, a passel of strangers, and a bevy of servants. But his lord did order, so he stood awaiting these final preparations with ill good humour.
Lord Beasley of Warborough went from pilgrim to pilgrim offering last advice, "Pam, my dear dove, fly quickly to Balsall and back. My ki-wren sing for your good sister to give her cheer. Andrew, I spare you gladly for this task, keep your sisters well. Roger Roy, tis honor indeed that drives you forth."
He moved on to the two men a-horse, "Brother Tobias, may your time at Balsall be short, may your return journey to Warborough be quick. James, son of Halpert, keep your weapons about you, the forest is full of bandits. Hooded men stalk the groves for easy plunderings, let them not find them this day.
Next he went to his townspeople who would follow on foot, "Kenric, stay near my daughters and keep protection. Bring honor unto the town of Warborough and shoe many a horse for the lists. Pledge 1/10th your earnings to the Temple in our name. Goodman Stanley, lead them safely, to and fro, and watch most careful the chest of our reward."
Finally, he addressed the Irish knight, "Good Ryan of the noble line of Howard, may fortune serve you well in the tournament and, for your sake, I pray that your first challenger be not yon Scottish knight or Nuneaton's issue." The Irish knight made scoffing look upon this good advice and kept sharp tongue about the strength of men in poor armor. His armor, as all could see, did gleam and showed well his prowess.
Whilst the Lord of Warborough bid fare-the-well, his wife went about her duties, ordering servants and giving last minute instruction. "Kellieth watch Aethelinda's cloak. It has loose brooch. Anne, your maiden is wont to sleep uncomfortable. Make Philomena's bed with lavender neath her pillow to aid sweet dreams."
To Phyllida, the cook, she kindly spoke, "The dried fruit we send is low, hunt you for mint upon the road to add. Look you near brooks and ponds. Robert, keep your wife safe, for we wouldst have our good cook back for Eastertide to dress the hares. Andrew, my darling, protect your sisters and make prayer at Balsall for those who have fallen this long year.
With nod of farewell, the Monk Tobias and his Man at Arms, Halpert, kicked their steeds’ sides to ford the Avon. Behind them those a-foot gingerly crossed from rock to rock balancing parcels and pots upon their heads. Last to cross was the Irish Knight himself. When last he had crossed the Avon, he had plashed across with no knowledge of fording. Now he watched and, with awkward pace, attempted the rocks. His greaves were sore wet before yonder bank was broached.
Halpert looked back and waved at thirty-odd villagers who hoped for so much from this small journey. They minded him of that dark morn when he'd left Aberfoyle and turned to see scarce ten villagers stand on the Green to wave him good fortune. His countenance fell upon the memory until he heard the Ki-wren begin to sing at her sister's request:
In England the garden of beauty is kept
By a dragon of prudery plac'd within call;
But so oft this unamiable dragon has slept,
That the garden's but carelessly watched after all.
Oh! they want the wild sweet briary fence,
Which round the flow'rs of Erin dwells,
Which warms the touch, while winning the sense,
Nor charms us least when it most repels.
Then remember where ever your goblet is crown'd,
Tho' this world whether eastward or westward you roam,
When a cup to the smile of dear woman goes round,
Oh! remember the smile which adorns her at home.
The Scottish knight dismounted once sight of the village was lost by a sharp bend in road. James stood by side of road to watch the band pass by. When all were safely on, he turned to copse at side of road and said, “You may safe out, Bratton.”
Out tumbled old man Bratton who first had greeted the Scotsmen upon their entering Warborough. He looked fit and ready for travel. He carried with him leather bag. “Greetings, knight, I thought I might follow safe with group to the fair.”
The Scotsman looked with suspicious glance, “Why then were you not amongst the train upon the river’s banks?”
Bratton smiled down road toward the village, “The Lord mislikes whoring, swindling, and pernicious activity of all kind. Better I be found missing in the fields then stopped ere journey begins.” With a wink, the old man sped to catch the stragglers up road.
As the knight mounted steed once more, he said in voice loud and dreadful, “No boy who wishes to be squire of mine sneaks off without leave to his mother.” Upon riding some small distance, James looked back to see the discouraged figure of young Harold kicking stones upon the path as he walked, head down in shame, back to his own village. The knight full smiled and set his horse a-gallop. Halpert would not be slowed, his fortune was well. He was on road to Balsall with the fairest daughter of Warborough and he knew not why.
Day progressed and the ladies took to hunting for herbs along roadside that they might sell at faire. He made fast upon his saddle the ladies' net pouches laden with feverfew and comfrey. He took opportunity to speak with the fair Philomena as she handed him full pound of dandelion. "My lady, I have been wondering upon thy name. It is most peculiar strange."
Philomena did blush at his words and looked aside, "Tis not. I being born in the late morn, my father tells, a nightingale sang upon my birth. A good omen, says he, and for it I was named. I have not the voice as Aethelinda and Andrew do for I am Philomene not Nightingale." Here she laughed at her own jest.
James looked upon her in consternation, "Och, this answers me not. How does a nightingale turn into a Philomena? Is this some common jest that I know not?" James watched Roy of Nuneaton tossing fallen twigs for entertainment that his hounds may catch. The Scotsman kept close eye as he stepped closer to the English lass to hear her words.
Philomena turned and smiled, "Oh...have you not the story of Philomene the Nightingale in the wilds of the Highlands?"
The Scottish knight spoke softly that none else might hear, "Nae, my lady, we are without such. Lessen the weariness of the road and tell me the tale of Philomene who be or be not the Nightingale. And if you prove so bold, I shall tell you the tale of James the Mighty Reever, for whom I am named."
