A woman dressed in a tight-fitting but smudged bliaut nearly runs out from the tap room holding a large wooden mug full of frothing dark beer. She slows as she approaches Duke Arnold's table, tucks a stray curl behind her ear, and sets the mug in front of Arnold. She smiles at him and glances quickly at his reports.

Ah, I see you read! Can't imagine looking at hen scratches like that and making sense of them.