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had fallen most uncharacteristically silent. He looked down at her and saw that she was looking dejected. “Oh, I didn’t mean to be unkind,” he said. “I was trying to think and you kept interrupting me.”
    Pippa immediately beamed up at him. “I know I talk too much, everyone says so. But there's always so much to say. Don’t you find?”
    Robin shook his head. “Not really.”
    Guinevere walking just behind the children overheard this exchange. She glanced involuntarily at her companion whose expression was once again warm and amused, the laugh lines deeply etched around his eyes.
    “Was that little maid born talking?” he inquired, laughter lurking in the deep melodious voice.
    “She was certainly born smiling,” Guinevere responded, unable to help a flicker of answering amusement. “She has the sunniest temper.”
    An elderly man dressed in the furred gown that denoted his scholar's status, the lappets of his black cap tied firmly beneath his pointed chin, hurried up behind them. “Oh, dear, oh, dear, I so much wanted to be among the first to congratulate Pen, but Master Grice detained me in the chapel over the construction of some devotional text and now I find I’m almost the last,” he muttered. “I wouldn’t have the dear child think I was neglectful.”
    “I’m sure she doesn’t, Magister Howard,” Guinevere said. “Lord Hugh, allow me to present Magister Howard. He is the girls’ tutor. But he was also my own.” Her eyes flashed as she met his gaze. “I imagine you will wish to talk with him in the course of your …” She hesitated, frowning, as if searching for the right word. “Your …”
    “My investigations,” Hugh supplied blandly. “I think that's the word you’re looking for, Lady Guinevere.” He gave a friendly nod to the elderly man.
    “Oh, my goodness!” the magister said. “What could you be investigating, sir?”
    “ ’Tis not a matter to be discussed during a celebration,” Hugh said as blandly as before, standing aside to allow Guinevere to precede him into the house. He followed her into the banqueting hall through the opening in the carved screen that separated the hall from the passageway.
    The long table on the dais in the hall was spread with a shimmering white damask cloth in honor of the occasion.
    Above in the minstrels’ gallery musicians were playing a cheerful air and pages stood behind the chairs of family and guests with white napkins and flagons of wine to fill the goblets that this evening graced the table instead of the usual horn cups.
    Servers ran from the kitchens with steaming platters of roasted meats and a cook stood at the carving table to one side of the hall. As he sliced the boar onto a platter held by a server, the rich juices were captured in the grooved runnel around the table and tipped into a bowl.
    A large silver saltcellar stood in the center of the table that ran the length of the hall below the dais and members of the household took their accustomed places at the board, those of lower status sitting below the salt.
    Guinevere moved to the center of the high table and invited Lord Hugh to the seat at her right.
    Pen, as the older child of the house, was about to take her place on her mother's left when she realized that she could then have only one person to sit on her other side.
    Pippa would expect to sit there. She always did, and on a birthday it was a particularly important place. Pen looked at her sister. Then she looked at Robin. She knew she could not choose Robin over her sister, even though it was her birthday. Pippa would be utterly miserable, and she wouldn’t understand either.
    “Robin, pray sit on my left,” Guinevere said with instant comprehension. “Pen, you won’t mind giving up your place to our honored guest, I know. You may sit beside Robin, and Pippa will sit on your other side.”
    It was an arrangement that solved Pen's dilemma and would not incidentally serve to separate both Hugh and Robin from