Who owns the night?

Once again, this is a difficult entry to write. I've been living in the real, tangible world for so long (and "real" and "tangible" take on new meanings when you spend the evening singing songs over a half-pint in a candle-lit tavern rather than watching re-runs on television) that despite my previous experience^{1, 2} with the fey folk, I am having some difficulty incorporating the latest developments into my understanding of the world.

As part of the terms of my employment I am allowed to sleep on the premises, in Master Garrett's workshop on a small straw pallet over the lumber store and it was only days after starting here that I was awoken by a brilliant light shining into the lumber store. Of course, I thought I had overslept and was about to hear the Master's opinion of my work ethic, so as quickly as I could, I scrambled into doublet and hose but halfway down the ladder the light shifted and disappeared as if someone had passed by with a brilliant lantern. Of course, in the year of our Lord 1583 electric light is unknown, so I was puzzled and alarmed. I shinned back up the ladder and into my sleeping loft where I tried several times to strike a light with tinder and flint in hope of lighting a candle, but achieving flame from flint sparks is a tricky business at the best of times, and something I have never mastered.

Perhaps because of my nocturnal surprise I woke earlier than usual, and remembering what happened before I fell back asleep, I was out into the workshop as soon as possible to check that all was in order; none of the tools or workpieces were disturbed, and nothing taken, so after a breakfast of honeycakes and hazelnuts I stepped outside to look around the shop. What I found was three indentations pressed into the dirt almost four inches making a triangular pattern, and this in soil packed hard enough that even wagon wheels scarcely mark the surface unless there has been a good rain first.

Peter, the apprentice was the first to arrive for work and after taking a brief look at the impressions, crossed himself and looked at me: "Mark my words, this will not sit well with Master Garrett!".

Sure enough when Master Garrett arrived he gazed at the marks for a few minutes. "Have either of you stepped inside the triangle?"

Once he had satisfied himself that neither of us had done more than look from a safe distance, he ordered me to ask whether Doctor Dee would examine the site, and gave me directions to the Doctor's house. The door was answered by the Doctor's manservant who sent me back bearing the message that the Doctor was with a gentleman but would attend Master Garrett in the
first hour after noon.

After that, work in the shop proceeded with an uneasy quietness making the morning seem longer than ever, but as promised Doctor Dee arrived, with another professional-looking man, both of them wearing their black doctoral robes, and close-fitting black caps. The Doctor was immediately recognizable by his long, neatly brushed pointy beard and took Master Garrett first to examine the marks. After a while, Peter and I made excuses to step outside the workshop and Doctor Dee requested a pitcher of water.

Watching the Doctor pour a little water onto the ground between marks was one of the most surprising things I have ever seen: the water sat, forming a small puddle. A little more water a short way outside the pattern was quickly absorbed, making sticky mud of the dry soil. Without being able to stay and learn more I was dismissed inside, and a few minutes later was
joined once more by Peter but it was not until Master White, miller, came to arrange the fitting of new axles to one of his carts that Master Garrett joined us once more.

This song didn't make it into the printed archive until the eighteenth century, but I couldn't resist the temptation to slip it in here!

References

1. Beltane Fire


2. Away with the Fairies

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written content of this work is licensed under a Creative
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Resting in Romford

(Monday, February 21st, 1600)
"Over here! I've settled with the innkeeper so we're good for a couple of days, which should be long enough. Now, let me introduce you to Master Tom Slye; this is the fellow who is playing the pipe and tabor for Master Kemp on his journey." It's nice to be back in the warmth of an inn. Before you got here, Tom was telling me how within a quarter-mile of the town, a gentleman on horseback offered Will to ride the little distance remaining while Tom had to make his own way on foot, in the frosty moonlight. At least Master Kemp was kind enough to stand him a hot pie when he arrived at the Red Lion (later renamed the Golden Lion ). Nobody seems to know where Master Kemp is right now. My guess is he's probably flaked out on a lumpy bed somewhere in the inn, and I think he deserves his rest: according to Tom, most of the Londoners who followed him as far as Mile End expected him to give up his jig before he ever reached Mile End, or at least stop there for cakes and cream (which is what most of the spectators did after braving the cold). Before you got here Tom was explaining to me the peculiar fingerings for his pipe which is played with only three fingers, the pinkie supporting it, yet it can play through more than an octave. His other hand is free to beat the small tabor which hangs from his pipe arm when he plays. The pipe is surprisingly long, longer than a tenor recorder, but not particularly demanding of breath, which makes it an ideal instrument for someone walking and playing. Since supper time is still a little while off, and I have a penny in my purse, I think it not unreasonable to ask Master Slye if he would entertain us with a jig, and for my pennyworth we have the Fox and Geese: a traditional Morris tune, and one that he has already played several times on the journey.

X:123
T:Fox and Geese
M:6/8
L:1/8
R:jig
Z:Brian Martin Winterbourn Downs Morris (rcvd Jan 2003)
K:G
G2d dcB | A2B c3 | BAG GAB | A2G FED | G2d dcB | A2B c3 | BAG c2B | AGF G3 ::
F2G AFD | F2G ABc | d2B d2B | dBG dBG | F2G AFD | F2G ABc | dBG c2B | AGF G3 :|

Of course, like most musicians, one tune leads to another, and by the time our host comes to ask what fare we might choose for supper, Tom has played more than a handful of dances and other tunes to the delight of the guests who have danced merrily. In the opinion of the innkeeper, Tom has earned his supper, and chooses from the meals offered by the kitchen tonight a coney with a pudding boiled in his belly, a little better than his usual fare, I think. To boyle a Cony with a Pudding in his Belly. Take your Cony and fley him, & leave on the eares and wash it faire, and take grated Bread, sweete Suet minced fiine, corance and some fine hearbs, Peneriall; winter savery; percely, Spinage or beets, sweet margeram, and chop your hearbs fine, and season it with Cloves, Mace and Sugar, a little creame and salt and yolks of Egs, and Dates minst fine. Then mingle all your stuf togither, and put it in your Rabets belly and sowe it up with a thred, for the broth take mutton broth when it is boyled a little, and put it in a pot wheras your Rabet may lye long waies in it, and let your broth boile or ever you put it in, then put in Gooceberies or els Grapes, corance and sweet Butter, Vergious, Salt, grated bread and Sugar a little, and when it is boyled, lay it in a dish with Sops. And so serve it in.

References

Pipe and Tabor A book of Cookrye

Kemp's Jig on Google Maps

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