It has been a good many weeks since I first I arrived in the land of Albion, during the 25th year of their reckoning. I have been a citizen of their land and a member of their realm and they have been most welcoming to me in this country that is so unlike my own. I have accomplished already a great deal of the learning which first spurred me to set sail from Al-Andalus to the fabled lands of the north, and I suspect I will continue to do still much more.
There had been of late an invitation extended to me to attend the Winter Feast, which I accepted with much delight, whereupon the realm made merry in a warm hall lit by candles whilst the bitter cold winds blew without. The feast was announced by Rhys ap Pedr, who was the herald throughout and announced the entertainments and the courses alike. Lord James of Carlyle, the Lord Albion, ruler of the realm, sat upon the High Table, and alongside him his honoured guests, whilst perpendicular to him were set out two longer tables. I took my place on one, and the other, opposite to mine, was almost all of it occupied by the household of Sir Alastair, the Master-at-Arms, and his good wife Lady Magdelene, the household being all of their kin, their kith and their squires and any others they desired for with them to sit.
There was merriment in plenty and entertainment of diurse kinds, sweet singing and an elaborate play-act which followed the narrative of a mythology that I am told derives from still further north than even Albion. There were storytellers, who delivered their tales by many means, some whilst reclining, relying upon the cleverness of their words and the colour of their wit to grip their attendees, while others stalked around in betwixt the tables, their voices booming out their marvellous tales to the delight of all. Others still chose to sing their stories, even calling upon members of their audience to walk up and play the roles of knights and dragons. And all the while as we were served the plentiful food in many courses did the players play, with flute or stringed instruments or drums, and oft did laughter rise up from now this side of the table and now that side.
As for the food itself, it was most delightful indeed. Of drink I was well content with water alone, though there were also a great many beverages brewed with al-kuhool , as indeed was some of the food, though the good Mistress Lettice Saunders did kindly do her utmost to accommodate me in this regard. The spectacle of the pig's head, paraded across the tables, was impressive to behold even if I did not partake of its flesh (Lettice provided me instead with what I was told was a qunfod, though I soon enough learned that it was not an actual hedgehog but instead a dish that had been most cleverly crafted to appear as though it were one).
There were many quaint customs, of which I shall now relate a few. To show pleasure and approval, the feast-guests made a great clamour in any which way they could, slamming down their hands or fists on the table, or else their cups, or even beating their eating-spoons against their plates. The Master-at-Arms' cane was of greater use here than at any other time in the evening.
Most curious were the oranges, which were pierced throughout with horns of qurunfol- that is, cloves. Their purpose is as follows: a gentleman presents one such orange to a lady, who then removes a single clove and eats it, and offers an embrace or even a kiss, though it might be merely of the hand. She is then herself lumbered with the contraption, at which point she must herself find a gentleman to present with it, and so the cycle goes on. In the course of the evening I remembered how strong and numbing was the taste of cloves, as did I swiftly recall the painful results of leaving it for too long on a certain spot within one's mouth. I also cannot help but wonder if there is some element of mischievous malintention in combining opportunities for osculation with the application of an agent which numbs all sensation in the mouth- that question, remains open.
Then there was the matter of the love-notes, which I am told was thoroughly- and highly amusingly- derailed upon this particular feast, with the overwhelming majority of such notes addressed in jest to the Lord Albion - with some of a touching nature, but most dealing with the kind of touching that lies firmly outside of nature. There were, though, notes addressed to people other than the Lord Albion; those remained private for there would have been decidedly less amusement, or at least a good deal more embarrassment, in having those read out to all and sundry. The method of their delivery was such that they are handed in the first instance to another feast-guest, with his delivery of them assuring (in theory) the anonymity of the sender; I was myself handed one such note, which I took duly to a Sir Finn, sat with the household of Sir Alastair. He appeared in more parts gladdened than perturbed, which I imagine is all that one can hope for in such circumstances as these.
There was also dancing which I refrained from joining in with until I was encouraged in the slightest of manners by my table-mate, Mistress Alice, which evidently was all that it took to get me off and onto the middle of the hall. It was then a line dance wherein we held hands in a circle and stepped this way and then that, switching places now and then, all the while Robert MacIain played his flute to great effect. The dance preceding this one seemed considerably more intricate, with the dancers moving in paired pairs. It was as entertaining then to watch them as they struggled and stumbled, as it was to watch them move when they had better mastered the motions of the jig.
The Order of the Scarlet Wyrm were present in force, though in this particular feast there was no great call for their services, excepting the deterrent nature of the blades that hung by their sides, and one unfortunate incident involving a guest being chased out of the hall with candles, which tale I shall relate shortly. I have been told, however, stories of previous feasts whereupon their services were called upon for the scattering of would-be trouble-makers. This, as I picture it, was done with thorough efficiency.
Indeed, that Order took up two new members once we turned to courtly business, as did the Order of the Whyte Sparrow. This was followed by much congratulatory hugging, of the kind that needed no cloves nor oranges to initiate (though it sometimes still resulted in equal levels of discomfort). Mistress Aethelwyf spake the squire's oath to Lady Magdelene, kneeling before her, and thus became her squire, once Lady Magdelene had too said her part. At this point, or at least shortly after it, Master Arthur took a suit to Mistress Josephine, accusing her of witchcraft for that she saw in one object aught which others perceived not (a wooden cup was taken up for visual demonstration of this principle). For his suit he called up myself and Master Reid, who went forth to speak alongside him. Others came up in defence of the accused, and there was much back and forth on the matter of perception, a discourse which took a startlingly philosophical nature (though the Lord Albion looked the verray opposite of startled throughout these proceedings).
One of these defenders was a Mistress Alexandra, who herself professed to also seeing more in the cup that was being brandished as an example- presumably in order to make some point about how such is common to all of us, but I only saw fit that she be herself accused of being a witch, a reasonable conclusion that I am quite certain anyone else would have reached. She reacted to this by handing me the cup and launching on an extended speech wherein she claimed this simple wooden chalice to represent such notions as friendship and the like. I could not help but feel that she was invoking Aflatun somewhat, but given the treatment that Suqrat had been given in the earlier narrative of the siege of Troy, I thought it best not to bring up such a name. With much back and forth, of the kind that I have learned sets our good Lord Albion sighing and reclining his head wearily, the matter was settled by Master Arthur's unfortunate accusation that her witchcraft made Mistress Josephine no lady- which was in itself an insult not to be suffered.
All said and done, he ended up being beaten around the side of the head with a wooden chopping board. Myself and Master Reid stepped discreetly to the side and would have no doubt been beginning a lengthy programme of dissociation with our good friend Arthur, had the court not then been dissolved.
There was however, time enough for one last incident, with the hapless David of the Patches implying that the Albion's verdict rendered him also privy to the realm of witchcraft- or so I had assumed he meant to suggest, for needless to say the Order of the Scarlet Wyrm were upon him before he could finish his sentence, and appeared very eager indeed to fulfil the Albion's command of "burn him" with the candles they brandished as they chased the unfortunate fellow from the hall, to the merriment and table-clanging of all gathered. From the lack of anguished screams following, I can only presume that he escaped with hide intact (or else was de-hided at a good distance from the hall, which would paint the Scarlet Wyrm in a very considerate light indeed, having no wish to upset the palate of the good guests by subjecting them to the soul-rending cries of the slowly-burning).
In summary, this most entertaining of feasts, so unlike any that I have known in Qurtuba or indeed anywhere else in Al-Andalus , has been the highlight thus far of my time in this friendly but frozen land, where I fear I might have lost my initial goal of being an observer and instead became a full participant- but I am none the worse for it. Already we look forward to the next such banquet, upon the arrival of spring, should this long winter come and pass with God sparing us all in general- and in particular those of us more accustomed to somewhat milder climes.
Ibn Ayyub al Qurtubi, the Year 25 by the Reckoning of Albion