Tremulously, Philomena looked in the window slit. Her father had forbidden her and her sisters entry but, emboldened by the pilgrims’ quiet demeanor, she and her terrified sister, Winifred, had snuck up upon the building. The girls were supposed to be in hiding behind the hayrack with their other sisters until the soldier had moved on. Too many times, a horsed knight had abducted unsuspecting women while their men, powerless, looked on. After ravishing them deep in Arden Forest, the knights would abandon the damaged women to whatever fate they may find. Many a child of the village bore an aquiline nose or a high brow. There were blessings for having the Knights Templar so close. They protected, aye. But it would do well for any maiden to run at the sound of a horse’s hoofs.

Philomena could not make out the features of the two strangers. The room was pressing dark for one and for two they faced away from her. She tapped her toe impatiently. She was daring much, standing here amongst the young boys and servants. Philomena kept one eye on her father and one on the knight. The knight, as tall as Kenric the blacksmith, wore armor unlike any of those of the Knights Templar. Perchance he had come from London-town on business from the King. Perchance he had brought a Priest and the necessary funds for the rebuilding of the Church! Her eyes lit up at the thought. If he were indeed here in answer to her father’s message, sent these many months ago, then her ill-fated betrothal would be as necessary as snowfall in June!

She could not hear the curate’s words but she had no difficulty distinguishing her father’s, “Perthshire! You are far from home! Far indeed!” Philomena’s knowledge of geography was scanty, what need she know more than the local hills and dales? But this sounded like very good tidings indeed. Far from home! Why mayhaps Perthshire was the county in which London lay. She looked with wonder at these men from the court of the King. They were nobly built and… the knight had turned while she was daydreaming and glanced in her eyes. He had glanced in her eyes! A knight of the King had glanced her way! She could barely breathe for the honor bestowed upon her. As she cowered beneath the window, she thought how she would tell Goody Perkins and Meldred of this next time she dined at the Earl of Nuneaton’s table!

A realization hit her. The table was not yet set for the midday meal! She turned quickly to her sister and ordered, “Win, go at once to Phyllida! Tell her we have guests for the noon-meal. The freshest fish. Go now!”

Winifred looked up at her older sister rebelliously, “I want to hear what is said, Pam! I…”

Philomena pushed her towards the cook fires, “Go. Do you wish to dishonor our family before a Knight of the King?”

Winifred sucked in her breath in wonder and lifted her skirts to run the short distance to the roasting pit.

Philomena turned back to spy further on the possible rescuer of her family’s honor and good fortune. His back was to her and he would not sit although his companion did. The holy man was reclined in the seat of honor on her father’s right side. The knight stood at angle from the table. Philomena grumbled to herself and raised her skirts to run around the building so that she might have a better vantage point.

There were more people on this side of the building as it faced the main road. Villagers, men and women, shoved for a view at every eyeslit. Breathlessly, she pushed a servant out of the way and took his spot.

As she looked in the window, she saw that the Knight was looking directly at her. She blushed and ducked her head. Timidly, she moved to the next window where two of her youngest brothers were taking turns watching the ceremony. She pushed them aside and slowly peered through.

He was still looking at her! Horrified, she drew back and accidentally shoved her youngest brother, Aldwin, into the dirt.
            “What did you do that for,” he wailed.

Philomena scolded him, “Shush! Do you want father to hear? Go to the stream and wash yourself. You are as dirty as a louse. You look as if you have been clawing through the pig’s hole.”

Harold, her third youngest brother, watched Aldwin run off but stayed next to his sister. “Pam,” he said, “They have strange horses. Look you, the horses are very hairy.”

Philomena looked towards the horses at which he pointed. “Yes,” she agreed, “That’s because they are horses from far away. They are special horses. Raised on iced cakes and wedding pies.” Harold drew in his breath and exhaled slowly.

“Do you think the Knight may need a squire?” Harold was fond of cakes and pies. Surely they would feed their squire as well as they did their horses.

Philomena looked slyly down at her naïve brother. “Look through the window and tell me if the Knight glances this way! If you do this for me, I will tell father that you desire to be a squire.”

With that promise, the young boy quickly pulled himself up to the window’s ledge. “Aye,” he whispered, “But now he looks away. He is listening to Father. Father is telling them about the Church.”

Philomena’s heart fluttered. The Church! They had come about the Church! Carefully she looked through the window making sure that only her eyes cleared the ledge. She had to hear what they said. Her wedding night fast approached and here was salvation from the brutish hands of Lord Nuneaton’s bastard son.

He was looking at her father. With the sunlight behind him, she saw that he was not as fearsome as she had first thought. The helm covered the pate of his head and much of his forehead so she could not make out as much as she would like. What struck her strongest was that his armor was in need of polishing. He must have been traveling for days and days, she realized. She leaned her head further into the window to see better. That’s when his eyes glanced her way again. She was quick to duck her head.

“Harold,” she whispered, “go to Kenric and ask in our father’s name for the loan of his polish, cloths, and grease.”

Harold looked at her questioningly.

She smiled, “A good squire polishes his master’s armor for battle, does he not? Do you not wish to impress yonder Knight with your abilities?”

With pride, Harold turned and raced off in the direction of the smithy. Philomena licked her lips and with regret realized she had not put on either powder or scent that morning. She did not think Roy of Nuneaton would visit until mid-evening and so she had dressed and coifed simply.  She looked down at her dirt-splattered gown. She had chastised Aldwin, but she had more need of the river than he.

On light feet, she ran to the pool behind the oak grove. She would wash and prepare as well she could for the mid-evening meal. In her heart she sang the praises of the young King’s Knight and the King’s Priest who had come to rebuild the Church. Hopefully, carpenters and masons followed with carts full of iron tools and glass for staining.

As she bathed, she daydreamed about what it would be like to be a lady of the court. She thought it might be like Heaven, much singing and little labor. It would be like Church during the feasts. Or like when the Troupes of Morris Men came to Coventry Cathedral in the early fall for Market Day. It would be like her Birthing Day, but every day! Wine at super, fruit fresh from the tree, the finest, softest cloth, and jewels as big as her fist. She wondered if the Knight was carrying presents from the King to give to the daughter of the town’s Lord. She wondered if he was wedded or betrothed. She wondered if he thought her pretty.

Her favorite sister, Ermengarde, found her as she was drying. She bore good tidings, “Sister, Father has asked the two strangers to stay. And they have agreed! The monk has agreed this e’en to give penance, absolutions, and Communion at the site of the burnt Church. Father wishes all of us to dress in our finest for the service! Mother says I may wear ribbons in my hair!”

Philomena could not help giggling. Rarely was Emmie allowed to wear ribbons for she had a tendency to lose them. This was turning into a most glorious day. “But where shall we dress? The men take up our home!”

 Ermengarde grabbed her sister’s hands and twirled with her in a dance. “She says we should meet her at the Widow Derbie’s home. She has had the servants move our trunks. Oh! And Pam! They complimented your tapestry for its artistry! Hal says Father was besot with pride!”

Philomena hands flew to her red cheeks, “Did Father tell them that I stitched it? Which of the tapestries? The garden? The tree of life? The coat of arms?”

“I do not know,” Ermengarde said, “Hal was called away to rub down the horses. You should see the horses! They are so strange. Like no horses I have ever seen.”

Philomena raced after her sister. She hoped it was the tree of life that he admired. That was the one where she had added her own vision of fruits and nuts. They were the fruits of Heaven, she told any who questioned her. Most scoffed, like that glorified farmer, Roy of Nuneaton, but her sister understood…and maybe this Knight would also.