both hands and hurried away; he left the cauldron projecting somewhat into the room, between Hob and the nursing mother. It simmered quietly, shedding a perfume of pea and lentil and mutton fat. Hob, cranking the symphonia vigorously, began to eye the cauldron,and despite his recent meal began to wonder if he might induce Osbert’s servers to give him a small bowl.
The young mother’s eyelids were drooping. The baby’s mouth slipped off the nipple and the little creature began sliding off her lap, across her thigh, toward the cauldron. Hob had just time enough to realize the danger, and to begin to rise to his feet, when here came Margery from behind Hob’s bench. She deftly snatched up the baby. The mother roused with a start. Margery put the baby on its mother’s shoulder, took the woman’s shawl and wrapped it as a sling about the baby, tied a careful knot, kissed the woman on the cheek, and was away down the room.
Scarcely four breaths had elapsed. Hob resettled himself. A kind of exalted admiration filled him. Nemain, clapping, swiveled toward him, so that the reports loudened in his ear and returned him to himself. He set his fingers to the keys and tried to find his place in the gallop of the dance again, but he no longer cared whether Nemain teased him or not. He played, but he looked out over the room, watching to see Margery pass by.
A FTER THEY HAD PLAYED several dances, everyone sprawled at ease on the benches, breathing hard and calling for Parnell or Margery to hasten before they perished of thirst. Osbert beamed at the procession of bumpers that streamed from the pantry to the great room, and made sure Molly’s party never went dry. Molly quaffed off another pint of barley beer, and sent Hob out to the big wagon to fetch in the ring-and-stick.
Hob returned with a short ashwood pole and a weight. This was a crude ring of iron that had been weighed at ten pounds, and Molly handed it around to be hefted, announcing that she would match whatever they cared to wager that they could lift it as Jack did. Some of the young men from the village tossed it from hand to hand, teasing and daring one another, boasting. Molly had not been here in three years,and some of these young men had been striplings at that time. The older men warned that it was less simple than it appeared, but in their new strength all the farm lads wanted to try. Forwin and Matthew were placing bets on their hero Jack and grinning behind callused hands.
As with innkeepers all along the pilgrimage routes, Osbert was beginning to take on some of the functions of a banker: translating foreign coin into local produce, holding objects against a traveler’s return, and the like. Here he marked the value of small coins the villagers wished to wager against their tally sticks, and when they lost, as was usual, he paid Molly in coin and collected in produce or labor from the local folk through the year, with a small increase for his service.
There was a short length of thong tied to the iron ring, the free end of the thong ending in a loop. Jack now laid the ash pole, an inch in diameter and three and a half feet in length, across the table. About a half inch from one end was a shallow notch cut in the wood, and about a half foot from the other end was a scorch mark.
When all had examined the iron ring to their satisfaction, Jack put his hand on the pole, on the six inches between the end and the burn mark, and Molly slipped the loop of the thong about the pole’s other end, so that it settled into the notch. The iron ring now hung down on one side of the table and Jack stood at the other side, the end of the pole in his right hand.
There was a pause, then Jack’s forearm muscles rippled up in a low swell, his breath hissed through his teeth, and the pole lifted slowly and smoothly, parallel with the tabletop, six inches. Jack held it there while one might count slowly to six, then lowered it steadily.
Molly held the end of the pole at the
The young mother’s eyelids were drooping. The baby’s mouth slipped off the nipple and the little creature began sliding off her lap, across her thigh, toward the cauldron. Hob had just time enough to realize the danger, and to begin to rise to his feet, when here came Margery from behind Hob’s bench. She deftly snatched up the baby. The mother roused with a start. Margery put the baby on its mother’s shoulder, took the woman’s shawl and wrapped it as a sling about the baby, tied a careful knot, kissed the woman on the cheek, and was away down the room.
Scarcely four breaths had elapsed. Hob resettled himself. A kind of exalted admiration filled him. Nemain, clapping, swiveled toward him, so that the reports loudened in his ear and returned him to himself. He set his fingers to the keys and tried to find his place in the gallop of the dance again, but he no longer cared whether Nemain teased him or not. He played, but he looked out over the room, watching to see Margery pass by.
A FTER THEY HAD PLAYED several dances, everyone sprawled at ease on the benches, breathing hard and calling for Parnell or Margery to hasten before they perished of thirst. Osbert beamed at the procession of bumpers that streamed from the pantry to the great room, and made sure Molly’s party never went dry. Molly quaffed off another pint of barley beer, and sent Hob out to the big wagon to fetch in the ring-and-stick.
Hob returned with a short ashwood pole and a weight. This was a crude ring of iron that had been weighed at ten pounds, and Molly handed it around to be hefted, announcing that she would match whatever they cared to wager that they could lift it as Jack did. Some of the young men from the village tossed it from hand to hand, teasing and daring one another, boasting. Molly had not been here in three years,and some of these young men had been striplings at that time. The older men warned that it was less simple than it appeared, but in their new strength all the farm lads wanted to try. Forwin and Matthew were placing bets on their hero Jack and grinning behind callused hands.
As with innkeepers all along the pilgrimage routes, Osbert was beginning to take on some of the functions of a banker: translating foreign coin into local produce, holding objects against a traveler’s return, and the like. Here he marked the value of small coins the villagers wished to wager against their tally sticks, and when they lost, as was usual, he paid Molly in coin and collected in produce or labor from the local folk through the year, with a small increase for his service.
There was a short length of thong tied to the iron ring, the free end of the thong ending in a loop. Jack now laid the ash pole, an inch in diameter and three and a half feet in length, across the table. About a half inch from one end was a shallow notch cut in the wood, and about a half foot from the other end was a scorch mark.
When all had examined the iron ring to their satisfaction, Jack put his hand on the pole, on the six inches between the end and the burn mark, and Molly slipped the loop of the thong about the pole’s other end, so that it settled into the notch. The iron ring now hung down on one side of the table and Jack stood at the other side, the end of the pole in his right hand.
There was a pause, then Jack’s forearm muscles rippled up in a low swell, his breath hissed through his teeth, and the pole lifted slowly and smoothly, parallel with the tabletop, six inches. Jack held it there while one might count slowly to six, then lowered it steadily.
Molly held the end of the pole at the
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