Inside the hall all is color and noise. The fire at the center has constructed over it two great spits, turned by damp-shirted boys who labor diligently to ensure the even cooking of the pair of pigs that will feed us all today. For a victory in battle a steer might have been slaughtered, but however festive this event, it is still midwinter, with harsh months ahead, and a few promises do not warrant the same jubilation as a triumph gained by bloody fighting. Nonetheless, many here will be more than satisfied to eat good meat for once. The women have turned out in their finest clothes, with all manner of baubles and geegaws pressed into service to dress up a tired kirtle or pinafore. The men have scrubbed themselves to a ruddy shine and all wear anything that might be classed as a weapon. For whose benefit this mummer’s attempt at a show of might is made I am not clear. Their own, I must assume. A top table has been set, with chairs and places ready for our noble family when they see fit to arrive. Down the side of the hall are benches and low tables for the lesser mortals to sit at and take their food and drink. At the far end of the hall is space for the musicians and dancing that will come later. Children dart excitedly between the adults, and there is an air of cheerful expectancy and general goodwill. I am courteously greeted and acknowledged by those who see me. They do not count me friend, for they are too afraid of what I am and what I do. Rather, they see me as a useful asset; one who might divine disaster, so allowing it to be avoided. They know I travel to places they cannot, and that frightens them. Yet at the same time they are pleased to have me act on their behalf, to risk my soul, my safety, for their protection. Do they believe I care for them, as their milksop priest would have them believe he does? He readily professes God’s love for them and his own as if they were the same. He entreats them to love one another, to forgive their enemies. I was taught to use my skills against anyone who would declare himself enemy. Forgiveness is for mothers of small children, for wronged wives to give and petty thieves to receive. It is not for rulers or warriors. I do not love mankind. I cannot view the herd as any more than that. I keep my love for those deserving of it, and they are few enough.