So the time for us to feast came round once more, and the realm gathered again in the great hall to welcome spring, with the self same revelry and conviviality in whose embrace was spent the Winter Feast some months past now. And though I have already penned report of the majority of customs and traditions that seemed then so peculiar to me- and which now feel so familiar that with the coming of this second feast I was very much looking forward to witnessing them once more- there remains nevertheless much more and new to report on from this latest banquet, and so this to the best of my ability I will relay unto whomsoever my readers might (or might not) be.
I have been now some good time in the land of Albion, and like to think myself much better accustomed to its customs and to its attitudes attuned. Or so I did think, that is, until I found out what had been decreed as the theme for this feast, and it was what I can only describe a parade of stitched and stylised phallic ornaments, made to resemble various shapes of creatures and vegetables, sewn onto where the phallus-proper is to be found on a person- or indeed, where it might have been found, for in equal number were entrants in this bizarre competition female as they were male.
Corsetry was also judged, for both genders, though that I understood well enough- only evidently, none of the members of the realm had the heart to explain to me beforehand what that second element, concerning these elaborate cod-pieces, actually was, and so I was forced to sit at my place on the table and hide as best I could my mounting astonishment at the sights I saw before me- a ghastly parade of all manner of shapes, elephants and dragons, even parsnips, and peacocks (a literal association I would have chosen to avoid, personally). Nor, to my horror, did they content themselves with being judged at length- and, critically, at a distance- but rather their peculiarly proud owners wound their way around our tables, displaying their creations by performing what I can only describe as a series of thrusts in our general directions. If nothing else, I am glad that I was feeling too poorly by then to have been drinking when that started taking place, else a mighty mess was like to have been produced.
That this eventuality did not emerge by no means precluded us from producing a great mess indeed, however. This then was the second major theme of the feast, which I partook in and greatly enjoyed- certainly to a far greater degree than the first aforementioned and never again to be mentioned method of merry-making. This to which I allude was nothing less than a series of cunningly crafted siege engines, but made to miniature sizes by the most crafty Bledri ap Iwan , such that they were distributed across the tables, and we were provided all with chopped up turnips as ammunition, and much thorough fun was had, though these contraptions, trebuchets and some catapults were difficult to work. We struggled, Mistresses Alice and Laura, Master Oliver and myself, to have ours do anything more than clear the table with its projectile, but others across the table from us had startling success in not only propelling far enough to reach the Albion's High Table but in fact hit him directly on more than one occasion- even before everyone had descended into merely throwing the bits of turnip manually.
The Albion's own High Table had, however, had the crowning glory of these machines, named hammer of the gods ( which if one excuses the misproportioned faiths found in these lands, is a fine name indeed). It was many times the size of the other engines, and fired mightily across the entire length of the hall. Bledri ap Iwan, resultant of the resounding success of these creations, and by whose hands so much merriment had been had, was named Master Engineer of the Realm,
The self-same matter of the war-machines also formed a major part of the court business that followed, for in their excitement some feast-guests had rather carried themselves away and in their mischief-making made major mischief upon the devices themselves, wrecking at least two of them by the last counting that I was aware of. And for so lovingly crafted that these were, the Master Engineer was much distressed at this and demanded trial. Two were named guilty, and the matter was nearly neatly resolved by a simple application of the Breadboard of Remonstrance, except that one of them, Sir Finn, insisted upon trial by combat. Swords were reached for all round, until the more sensible of those present, recognising the havoc that would thence have ensued, insisted that if combat were to be had, it would be with nothing more than wooden spoons.
These were held in the mouth and the realm named as champion a bird- namely Ieuan ap Arthur's much-loved mischievous parrot , whose adroitness with said wooden spoon was nothing short of awe-inspiring . Both participants then took turns to strike once at the other, and would not stop until one yielded or the other. The procedure as a whole reminded me of that described in certain texts from the far North, beyond even Albion, whereby a duel would resemble this but with swords proper, and participants would take turns striking at the shield of the other (oft held by a third party for each participant). Whether this practice is a related (albeit comically reduced) one, or merely resembles it by chance, I had not the chance to ascertain amidst the chaos.
And, as I do not doubt will gladden the Emir back in al-Qurtuba, I did also remember to carry out my duty as Emissary to the land of Albion this feast and presented the lord Albion with a sample of our beloved black brew. In truth I did not know what response to expect of him, for to those unaccustomed to it the drink can carry something of a kick, but he took it well and, upon my insisting that it is customary to finish it all in a single swig (which it is not), and that we would take great offense at a person failing to do so (we would not), the good Albion did with a mighty swig drain the cup. He asked me for the name by which we called this brew and I (not untruthfully) said Qahwa , which name he at least undertook a brave attempt to repeat accurately. He thanked me and bade me bring more for all the guests to enjoy next time, apparently blissfully unaware of the economic and logistical reality of the Qahwa bean, but I did not think it pertinent to advise him on that particular topic, and so resumed my seat.
The food was most excellent, as it had been before, with the good Mistress Clara and Master Hieronymus preparing delightful dish after the other; by far the most acclaim was taken by the dajaaj bil-arnabit- the chicken and cauliflower- which as I can personally attest to, was a most delectable dish indeed. So too was the Spinach, even if it was far worse received despite being delightfully spiced in a way that my own Mediterranean sensibilities much agreed with, sprinkled with cardamom and cinnamon and much else. To the good cooks must much acclaim go and so it did, as with feasts before.
And as with before, there was much clanging of fists and tankards on tables to show approval, and, as before, there was much for which to show approval, between songs and recitals and play-acts, which pleasingly seem to become increasingly ridiculous in each iteration. That it this time featured not one but two bearded men dressed as women (admittedly one far starkly more bearded than the other) might be some indication that this is considered more humorous than much else in this land- and so indeed it was, such is the infectious revelry of feasting.
There were inductions into orders, and most strikingly the re-introduction of an order that had long been defunct, that of the Green Peacock, though to avoid confusion (and presumably promote alliteration), it was reborn as the Order of the Purple Peacock, and many joined it at its re-inception. As for the Green Parrot itself, humorously considered not an Order but a Disorder, two were given out, for unintentional ejaculations of an amusingly inappropriate nature (which slip-ups I dearly hope I remain innocent of).
And so the ceremony was closed by the present Lord Albion, James of Carlyle, on a mournful note, taking into consideration his imminent relinquishing of the position and possible departure from this land. Even speaking as an outsider who has spent time in the company of these good people it is clear that he has made a most excellent leader indeed and that, should he leave this land behind, will be muchly missed by many and more.
And so ended the Spring Feast, though unfortunately it has not magically made it actually spring yet, as I had been hoping might perhaps be the custom of the land. Mayhap by the time of the next gathering of the populace in summer it will finally have become spring, if that is not my overly-optimistic Andalusian voice speaking on my behalf.