air of mock dismay, but moved up on the long bench to make room for her beside him.
She propped her elbow on the table and, resting her chin on her palm, regarded him solemnly. “What were you talking about?”
“Nothing for your ears, little maid,” Greene said.
“But it looked very important,” she insisted.
“Aye, that it was,” he agreed placidly, taking a long draught from his drinking horn. He winked at the sergeant-at-arms who grinned broadly. Pippa was a universal favorite. However, she couldn’t be a party to their earlier discussion. Their talk had been all of Lord Hugh of Beaucaire and his men. The sergeant-at-arms had been in the court when Hugh of Beaucaire had announced his mission, and Greene had been witness to the initial encounter in the forest during the hunt. While no one knew exactly what was in the wind, it was clear to the senior members of Lady Mallory's household that there was trouble abrewing. And no one liked the idea of an armed bivouac beyond the gates.
“Were you talking about the hunt?” Pippa persisted.
“Aye,” Greene agreed. “That we were.”
“Did the boar really charge Pen's pony? Did she scream? I expect she did. Was that why her arrow missed?”
Robin, alone on the dais, was beginning to feel self-conscious and rather wishing that he hadn’t driven Pippa away when a bustle from the hallway beyond the door in the wooden screen and the accompanying blast of a ceremonial trumpet interrupted the dancing. A procession of torchbearers entered the hall; in their midst walked the cook bearing a great square cake, its surface lavishly decorated with a complete replica of Mallory Hall, its gardensand gatehouse, even the topiary gardens. A miniature pony with a tiny figure representing Pen was riding over the packhorse bridge with the river flowing green and brown beneath.
Pen, flushed with pleasure, abandoned her partner and ran up to the table, Magister Howard wheezing in her wake. “Oh, Master Gilbert, how beautiful!” she breathed as the cook carefully placed the cake in front of her place. “Oh, I can’t possibly cut it. We can’t
eat
it.”
“Of course we can, Pen!” Pippa declared, bobbing up beside her. “What a waste it would be if we didn’t. Is it marchpane, Master Gilbert? I do so love marchpane.”
“As we all know to our cost,” Guinevere said with a half smile. “Master Gilbert, you are a true artist.”
The cook beamed his pleasure and handed a knife to Pen. “Just cut it straight down the middle, Lady Pen, and I’ll do the rest.”
“You have to make a wish … make a wish!” Pippa cried, bouncing on her tiptoes to watch the magic moment. “You must wish for something wonderful … oh, why don’t you wish for a new pony, or … or that your hair will go curly … or that next hunt you’ll shoot a boar … or …”
“I can make my own wish, thank you,” Pen said.
“You have to close your eyes and wish really really hard,” Pippa advised, not in the least put out. She fixed her sister with an anxiously critical stare to make sure that she followed instructions to the letter.
A deep rumble of laughter came from Hugh, and Guinevere could feel his shoulders shake as he stood beside her. Pen glanced quickly at Robin who said, pointing, “If you cut straight from here, you won’t spoil any of the decorations.”
Pen nodded and took up the knife. She placed it carefully on the cake. Closing her eyes tightly she cut down.
“What did you wish … what did you wish, Pen?”
“I can’t tell you that, it won’t come true,” Pen told her little sister. She shot Robin a sideways glance and he smiled at her.
“Well, I hope it was something really splendid,” Pippa declared. “Such a cake deserves a really special wish, doesn’t it, Mama?”
“Indeed it does,” Guinevere said. “But you, my child, will have one very small piece. You may have one of these marchpane trees, but that's all for today.”
She nodded at Master
She propped her elbow on the table and, resting her chin on her palm, regarded him solemnly. “What were you talking about?”
“Nothing for your ears, little maid,” Greene said.
“But it looked very important,” she insisted.
“Aye, that it was,” he agreed placidly, taking a long draught from his drinking horn. He winked at the sergeant-at-arms who grinned broadly. Pippa was a universal favorite. However, she couldn’t be a party to their earlier discussion. Their talk had been all of Lord Hugh of Beaucaire and his men. The sergeant-at-arms had been in the court when Hugh of Beaucaire had announced his mission, and Greene had been witness to the initial encounter in the forest during the hunt. While no one knew exactly what was in the wind, it was clear to the senior members of Lady Mallory's household that there was trouble abrewing. And no one liked the idea of an armed bivouac beyond the gates.
“Were you talking about the hunt?” Pippa persisted.
“Aye,” Greene agreed. “That we were.”
“Did the boar really charge Pen's pony? Did she scream? I expect she did. Was that why her arrow missed?”
Robin, alone on the dais, was beginning to feel self-conscious and rather wishing that he hadn’t driven Pippa away when a bustle from the hallway beyond the door in the wooden screen and the accompanying blast of a ceremonial trumpet interrupted the dancing. A procession of torchbearers entered the hall; in their midst walked the cook bearing a great square cake, its surface lavishly decorated with a complete replica of Mallory Hall, its gardensand gatehouse, even the topiary gardens. A miniature pony with a tiny figure representing Pen was riding over the packhorse bridge with the river flowing green and brown beneath.
Pen, flushed with pleasure, abandoned her partner and ran up to the table, Magister Howard wheezing in her wake. “Oh, Master Gilbert, how beautiful!” she breathed as the cook carefully placed the cake in front of her place. “Oh, I can’t possibly cut it. We can’t
eat
it.”
“Of course we can, Pen!” Pippa declared, bobbing up beside her. “What a waste it would be if we didn’t. Is it marchpane, Master Gilbert? I do so love marchpane.”
“As we all know to our cost,” Guinevere said with a half smile. “Master Gilbert, you are a true artist.”
The cook beamed his pleasure and handed a knife to Pen. “Just cut it straight down the middle, Lady Pen, and I’ll do the rest.”
“You have to make a wish … make a wish!” Pippa cried, bouncing on her tiptoes to watch the magic moment. “You must wish for something wonderful … oh, why don’t you wish for a new pony, or … or that your hair will go curly … or that next hunt you’ll shoot a boar … or …”
“I can make my own wish, thank you,” Pen said.
“You have to close your eyes and wish really really hard,” Pippa advised, not in the least put out. She fixed her sister with an anxiously critical stare to make sure that she followed instructions to the letter.
A deep rumble of laughter came from Hugh, and Guinevere could feel his shoulders shake as he stood beside her. Pen glanced quickly at Robin who said, pointing, “If you cut straight from here, you won’t spoil any of the decorations.”
Pen nodded and took up the knife. She placed it carefully on the cake. Closing her eyes tightly she cut down.
“What did you wish … what did you wish, Pen?”
“I can’t tell you that, it won’t come true,” Pen told her little sister. She shot Robin a sideways glance and he smiled at her.
“Well, I hope it was something really splendid,” Pippa declared. “Such a cake deserves a really special wish, doesn’t it, Mama?”
“Indeed it does,” Guinevere said. “But you, my child, will have one very small piece. You may have one of these marchpane trees, but that's all for today.”
She nodded at Master
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