left for the village. His appointment was obviously pretty important if he’d got himself ready without any help from me!
I went to the kitchen to see how the food for the banquet was coming along. I arrived just in time to see Margaret scraping a pile of plucked crows (
eeww!
) and a mountainof cabbage (
yuck!
) into a large cauldron of water. Patchcoat was telling a joke to two large cabbages wearing crowns made from old parchment.
“Ced!” he grinned. “Say hello to Their Majesties. I’m just practising some warm-up gags for tonight.”
“Just as long as you don’t call them a pair of vegetables,” I laughed.
“’Ere, you seen Sir Percy, Master Cedric?” said Margaret, chopping a turnip in half with a single blow of her knife. “Where’s he been? It’s nearly lunchtime. His porridge is all cold and lumpy.”
“Even colder and lumpier than normal, you mean,” quipped Patchcoat. He ducked to avoid a large slice of turnip that Margaret hurled at him.
“Oi! Less o’ your cheek,” she snapped.
“I think he went out early,” I said. “He had something to do in the village.”
“Went out?” said Margaret, offended. “Without a bowl of my delicious porridge? That’s impossible!”
Patchcoat winked at me. Anyone who’dactually tasted Margaret’s porridge knew that it was
totally
possible.
“Oh, well, I may as well tidy the Great Hall while I’m waiting for him to come back,” I said.
“I’ll come with you,” said Patchcoat. “I need to work out where old Perkin can do his play.”
In the hall I pieced all the suits of armour together and hung
The Triumph of Sir Percy
back on the wall. Meanwhile, Patchcoat cleared a space at one end of the hall for the players. It was well past lunchtime by the time we’d finished, but Sir Percy still hadn’t returned.
After a late lunch of bread (stale) andcheese (mouldy) in the kitchen, I returned to the Great Hall to prepare the banqueting table for the evening. First I put out Sir Percy’s five remaining silver plates – one for each of our royal guests, one for Sir Percy, one for Sir Spencer and one for the Baron. Anyone else would have to make do with our usual plain old pewter.
Then I went back to the kitchen to get the cutlery, including some newfangled eating tools called “forks” that Sir Percy bought a couple of months back. (Waste of money if you ask me. Why bother with forks when you can spear your food on the end of your knife? They’ll never catch on.)
The kitchen was starting to fill up withsteam and the stink of boiling crow and cabbage.
Pooh!
Then I had an idea. All this steam provided the perfect chance to pep up Margaret’s foul-smelling stew…
While she wasn’t looking, I grabbed my sack of curry powder from behind the logpile. I quickly untied the sack and tiptoed up to the fireplace. Then, under the cover of the steam, I shook a bit of powder into the bubbling cauldron.
“Oi! Fingers out of my stew!” said Margaret. I was so startled that I jumped – promptly tipping most of the powder into the pot. Yikes! Oh well, it would
definitely
be tastier now. I hastily stuffed the almost-empty sack up my jerkin before turning round.
“Sorry, Margaret,” I said. “I couldn’t resist tasting it. It looks so delicious!”
Margaret smiled, then her face fell.
“Hold on,” she said suspiciously. “You’ve got something up your jerkin. You been nicking my turnips?”
ROOT-I-TOOT-I-TOOT!
Before I could reply, the sound of a trumpet drifted through the window.
“Whassat?” said Margaret.
There was another
ROOT-I-TOOT
, closer this time and accompanied by the pounding of hooves.
Margaret and I ran to the window to look. Riding into the castle courtyard was Baron Fitztightly, plus two junior heralds blowing trumpets.
“I’d better go and greet them,” I said. “I expect they’ve come to tell us when the king and queen are arriving.” It was only teatime and the royal couple weren’t due for another two
I went to the kitchen to see how the food for the banquet was coming along. I arrived just in time to see Margaret scraping a pile of plucked crows (
eeww!
) and a mountainof cabbage (
yuck!
) into a large cauldron of water. Patchcoat was telling a joke to two large cabbages wearing crowns made from old parchment.
“Ced!” he grinned. “Say hello to Their Majesties. I’m just practising some warm-up gags for tonight.”
“Just as long as you don’t call them a pair of vegetables,” I laughed.
“’Ere, you seen Sir Percy, Master Cedric?” said Margaret, chopping a turnip in half with a single blow of her knife. “Where’s he been? It’s nearly lunchtime. His porridge is all cold and lumpy.”
“Even colder and lumpier than normal, you mean,” quipped Patchcoat. He ducked to avoid a large slice of turnip that Margaret hurled at him.
“Oi! Less o’ your cheek,” she snapped.
“I think he went out early,” I said. “He had something to do in the village.”
“Went out?” said Margaret, offended. “Without a bowl of my delicious porridge? That’s impossible!”
Patchcoat winked at me. Anyone who’dactually tasted Margaret’s porridge knew that it was
totally
possible.
“Oh, well, I may as well tidy the Great Hall while I’m waiting for him to come back,” I said.
“I’ll come with you,” said Patchcoat. “I need to work out where old Perkin can do his play.”
In the hall I pieced all the suits of armour together and hung
The Triumph of Sir Percy
back on the wall. Meanwhile, Patchcoat cleared a space at one end of the hall for the players. It was well past lunchtime by the time we’d finished, but Sir Percy still hadn’t returned.
After a late lunch of bread (stale) andcheese (mouldy) in the kitchen, I returned to the Great Hall to prepare the banqueting table for the evening. First I put out Sir Percy’s five remaining silver plates – one for each of our royal guests, one for Sir Percy, one for Sir Spencer and one for the Baron. Anyone else would have to make do with our usual plain old pewter.
Then I went back to the kitchen to get the cutlery, including some newfangled eating tools called “forks” that Sir Percy bought a couple of months back. (Waste of money if you ask me. Why bother with forks when you can spear your food on the end of your knife? They’ll never catch on.)
The kitchen was starting to fill up withsteam and the stink of boiling crow and cabbage.
Pooh!
Then I had an idea. All this steam provided the perfect chance to pep up Margaret’s foul-smelling stew…
While she wasn’t looking, I grabbed my sack of curry powder from behind the logpile. I quickly untied the sack and tiptoed up to the fireplace. Then, under the cover of the steam, I shook a bit of powder into the bubbling cauldron.
“Oi! Fingers out of my stew!” said Margaret. I was so startled that I jumped – promptly tipping most of the powder into the pot. Yikes! Oh well, it would
definitely
be tastier now. I hastily stuffed the almost-empty sack up my jerkin before turning round.
“Sorry, Margaret,” I said. “I couldn’t resist tasting it. It looks so delicious!”
Margaret smiled, then her face fell.
“Hold on,” she said suspiciously. “You’ve got something up your jerkin. You been nicking my turnips?”
ROOT-I-TOOT-I-TOOT!
Before I could reply, the sound of a trumpet drifted through the window.
“Whassat?” said Margaret.
There was another
ROOT-I-TOOT
, closer this time and accompanied by the pounding of hooves.
Margaret and I ran to the window to look. Riding into the castle courtyard was Baron Fitztightly, plus two junior heralds blowing trumpets.
“I’d better go and greet them,” I said. “I expect they’ve come to tell us when the king and queen are arriving.” It was only teatime and the royal couple weren’t due for another two
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