Philomena kept her glance from the high table. If she were to look, she was more likely than not to catch the eye of the rogue Roy. His face was already flushed with drink and he had called for a second trencher before Philomena had half-spooned her porridge and verjuice. She wished not to watch his gluttony. When Phillida came to pour more mead, Philomena whispered “Do you water down the men’s beer?”

Phillida nodded so that her wimple shook, “Aye. My dear Robert has watch over the tap and sends his boys to carry water for boiling. We are scarce low on honey.”

Philomena frowned and whispered further, “Pour my sisters and I no more, is there any of the almond milk left?”

Phillida shook her head and looking across at the ladies’ low table said, “Widow Bantrey and Goody Martin drink the last. The almond paste is used up. Dare I use the goats’ milk?”

“Nay,” Philomena replied, “Tis Lent and a sin. We shall have to go without. Tomorrow morn when the men return from Nuneaton perchance they’ll lug barrels…if the merchants of Nuneaton are not greedy.”

Phillida gave her mistress a despairing look and left to give orders to the serving wenches. Philomena watched her go and wondered if she should bring out her Father’s bottles of wine that he had gotten in trade at Coventry Market three years gone by. But he had promised they were for Aubert’s marriage feast, so she foreswore and spoke not.

“Pam, look you,” gentle Ermengarde whispered, “Roy makes eyes at you and Mother sees. Smile and be gracious or a beating you shall have.”

Philomena looked upon the high table and was glad to see Anne busy pouring and serving the men. Anne did block her view of Roy, so Philomena smiled prettily. Her mother, who had turned to rebuke, was pleased with her eldest and returned to chatting with Aethelinda about the knight and their plans for the morrow. “The men will be a hunting for the lost knight of Balsall. I thinks we need protection as we ladies gather herbs. Our supply has grown low over winter-tide and must be restocked forthwith. The brave knight shall surely offer services. Mind you stay near him and sing often songs of spring. I dare any man not to be enchanted.”

Aethel's heart was too full of the moment to consider the morrow, “But what of this night, dear Mother? What song shall I sing? Would I sing ‘The Oak and the Ash’ or ‘The Trooper and the Maid’? Which should he like best?”

Her mother’s judgment was swift, “Neither. Those are songs of love and you must first have his interest else he thinks you a hussy. No. Follow your good sister’s example and present yourself humble. You would do well to watch Philomena with her Roy.”

Philomena blushed and looked down at her long fingers. She wished she were in the Widow Dobbie’s cottage once more with shuttle and loom far from this false praise. She knew that if she too were Aethelinda and James, son of Halpert, were the prize, she would be hard pressed to keep her love checked. She glanced once more at Roy and saw him leering at poor Anne.

“Then should I sing a song of chivalry? Or the sea? Scotland is surrounded by sea, mayhaps he lives in a coastal town,” Aethel would not think long on following her sister’s example it seemed.

Lady Beasley considered, “I have better idea. His father did die ere he came on quest and he with no time to grieve. It would show great honor to sing a dirge in memory.”

At these conniving words, Philomena looked away in distaste. To honor a man’s grief so that he would look upon one fondly as possible bride did make the bile rise. Her heart was sad and she knew not how her sweet mother, a kind and God-fearing woman, could be so ruthless in the pursuit of love.

Philomena’s thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Kellieth. She carried two trenchers from the high table. Both bread bowls were half filled with potage. Kellieth leaned down and whispered, “The young foreign knight has eaten halfwise his trencher. Should I give to the dogs or no?”

With a smile, Philomena shook her head and said, “No, you clumsy girl. That is a knight of great strength. He has traveled further than any man in this hall. Indeed, you heard tell, did he not fight griffin and snake? Take his trencher to Goody Brookes’ cottage. His strength may pass to her and make her well.”  Kellieth did nod and passed down the tables where she served the beggar Bratton before she left with the knight’s trencher.

 Philomena turned her attention to the high table. She gave necessary smile to Roy who belched and jostled Andrew. They were a pair and shouldst be happy brothers-in-law. Next she looked upon her father who spoke with great enthusiasm to the quiet monk at his side. Philomena was glad her father had found such an amiable audience. Next she looked upon the knight and her heart did hurt because he was blocked by Anne. She cursed herself for earlier rejoicing in Anne’s aid in deceiving her mother for now she felt the reward of such low tricks.

Philomena felt a hand upon her sleeve and looked to Winifred who whispered, “Pam, will you tell a story this night? Will you tell the story of the Robin and the Princess?”

Pam made no answer for now before her stood Anne herself holding another trencher from high table. “Mistress, by the grace of God, I hold the meal just now finished by the blessed holy man who visits us this day. He has signed the cross o’er it before he ate. What would you?”

Philomena considered this prized trencher. Finally, she spoke, “It is an offering to God. Go and place it in the Shrine’s cleft and pray to St. Dubricius.” With shining eyes and face aglow, Anne left the hall.

 A shout broke out. “Here now, here now! My horn is empty, my goblet dry! Bring me beer! Bring me wine! My thirst is intense!” Philomena turned to see her Roy making a fuss. She was about to stand and go to him, when Margery ran to serve him mead from the Ladies’ pitcher. She was not fast enough to suit him for as she poured, he threw his half-eaten trencher at her. Philomena and all the ladies did gasp to see the much-needed stew wasted as it spilled down poor Margery’s apron.

But then a much worse event occurred. The bread in which the soup had been resting bounced amongst Lord Beasely’s hounds and they did scuffle and fight to grab. When the bread was wolved down, they turned upon poor Margery. The beasts leapt upon her to rend her clothes for the fish and stew upon it.

Before any could think, the brave Scottish knight climbed upon the table and grabbed Margery to drag her up on table with him. He kicked at the snarling dogs who jumped at him as he held poor Margery aloft. Lord Beasley and Aubert assisted him in bringing Margery down to the bench. Aubert carried the trembling girl out to the cook fires while the hunters, led by Darral of Coventry, beat back the dogs and pushed them from the hall.

Trembling herself, Philomena sat down and prayed to God that Margery would be well. She offered small wish to the fairies that Roy might choke upon a fish’s bone. She looked again upon the knight who now spoke with her father and thought him the kindest of men and the bravest.

Philomena could hear the distress of the townsfolk and worried that they might turn angry. Her father was of clear foresight and spoke to his vassals before the mumblings could turn more sinister. “Good people of Warborough,” he said in his deep baritone, “The dogs are unhappy. I hear tell that song alone can soothe the heart of any beast. Hear you, bring the musicians and my dear Ki-wren.”

A sigh of relief escaped Philomena’s lips and she smiled to hear her townspeople clap and whistle.  She watched with pleasure as Andy called for his tabor while Darral brought out his gemshorn and Kenric, his bladder pipe. Then she felt the eyes of the tables upon her as they searched her mother’s left side for the spot in which Aethelinda usually sat. She blushed and gazed down at her hands in embarrassment.

Aethelinda stood and strode with head held high to the men’s table. With a calmness that Philomena envied, Aethel looked upon the knight and her father. She spoke in her performing voice, “I know not songs of Scotland nor songs of Scottish knights cept those fallen in battle before the brave English….” Philomena shook her head at her sister’s silly words. She was not surprised that the men of the low tables did yell and whoop. Her heedless sister continued on, "But I have heard tell that the good knight's father has this last year died and so I will sing a dirge to honor him."

            The townspeople had expected a love song or battle hymn and so were displeased. They clapped most politely out of kindness and respect for their liege lord. Philomena tried to control her expression that they know not how little she liked the choosing of the song. Meanwhile her father sat beaming at his beloved Ki-wren. His happiness alone atoned for Lady Beasley’s strategies.

           With the beat of the tabor and the blowing of the pipes, Aethel did begin:

As I walked forth one summer's day,
To view the meadows green and gay
A pleasant bower I espied
Standing fast by the river side,
And in't a man I heard cry:
Alas! alas! there's none e'er lived as I.

Then round the meadow did he walk,
Catching each flower by the stalk
Such flow'rs as in the meadow grew,
The Dead Man's Thumb, an herb all blue;
And as he pull'd them still cried he:
Alas! alas! there's none e'er lived as I.

The flowers of the sweetest scents
He bound about with knotty bents;
And as he bound them up in bands
He wept, he sigh'd, he wrung his hands;
Alas! alas! alas! cried he,
Alas! alas! there's none e'er lived as I.

When he had fill'd his arms full
Of such green things as he could cull,
The green things served him for his bed,
The flow'rs were the pillows for his head;
Then down he laid him, ne'er more did speak;
Alas! alas! with life his heart did stop.          

            While her sister sang, Philomena thought of all those who had died in her short life. Most grievous was the poor Priest who had tried to save the relics from the Church as they burned. He had been a good man and trustworthy. She had gone to him for counsel many a-time. She wished he had died as luckily as the man in the song with flowers about his head and not amongst the flames of the Devil himself.

        When Aethelinda finished her song, Philomena saw many of her friends wept at the lower tables and she wiped her own eyes with the chemise's sleeve. She then looked to James, son of Halpert, to hear his response. He stood, fair tall, and bowed. 

        The knight looked about him as if discomforted and said, "God save you, my lady. It is kind of you to sing for my dear da. I am much honored but I would more honored be if you sang us a cheerful song to praise the good lumbermen who have brought wealth to your town this day."  Philomena felt a patter in her stomach at these well-chosen words. She knew he had spoken well for the men at the lower tables cheered his speech even though he was from foreign soil.

       Her sister, Aethelinda, looked upset at these words and turned to Lord Beasley for comfort. But comfort he gave not. He stood and, smiling, raised his hands to hush the crowd. "Indeed, this is no time for mourning. Warborough has seen its first mass in many a moon, and a holy man has prayed at the shrine of Saint Dubricius once more. Let us lift our eyes in prayer for this good day and bring out the Widow Twopenny's Damson plums!" At her father’s words, Philomena heard her mother gasp with fury. What she had bargained would well show her daughter’s talents had been dismissed out of hand.

             All bent their heads and looked to John Trout, the eldest man in the village. His teeth were long gone, the poor man, so Philomena pretended not to see the porridge he spittled out. She could not make out his words but she had oft heard him pray so that she prayed along easily.

            Once all was still and Kellieth brought out the Damson plums, her father spoke again. "Now Stanley of the lumber men, what say you? What song would it please you to hear from my dear Ki-wren?"

           The lumber man stood full tall and looked with bored eyes upon Aethelinda. Philomena wrung her hands under the trestle table. She knew Stanley held grudge again’ her sister for mocking his chapped hands. "My liege lord, I like song fair well, but I prefer good story that I can retell in the long nights of the forest. I would ask a story from your daughter Philomena. I would ask the story of the woodsman and the Goblin."

            With red cheeks, Philomena looked down into her lap as the low tables cheered. Upon her skirt’s knee, she saw Hilde’s beaming face and took courage.

            Lady Beasley elbowed her eldest daughter and when Philomena looked up she saw her father's frown. He did say, "Very well. Philomena go down to low tables and tell the story. Meanwhile, Andrew play you the song of Brian Boru's March while Aethelinda eats of her plums."

            Winifred leaped up at his words and ran to find a spot amongst the straw, but Philomena paused. Why would her father not let her tell the story at the high tables? As she picked up Hilde, she considered the meaning. But she could see no reason, so with heavy feet she moved towards the River Doors to face the tapestries of her making.