dripped fat from his poised right hand, he would turn to the monk
beside. The victim would open his mouth until his jaws were at full
stretch, and the packet would be stuffed into it by his considerate
neighbour. The morsel was, of course, as large as a human gape could
possibly accommodate, and in order to engulf it the victim had to risk
death by asphyxiation.
The rules of the game seemed to be that he was not allowed to use his
hands to get it into his own mouth, neither should he dribble down the
front of his robe, nor splutter gravy over those seated near to him. His
contortions, together with his gulping and choking and gasping for air,
were the source of uncontrollable hilarity. When at last he succeeded in
getting it down, a brass bowl of katikala was held to his lips as a
reward. He was expected to send the contents in the same direction as
the parcel of injera.
Jali Hora, by now warmed with tej and kadkala, lurched to his feet. In
his right hand he held aloft a streaming parcel of injera. As he began
an unsteady progress across the chamber, with his shiny crown awry, they
did not at first realize his intentions. The entire company'watched him
with interest.
Then suddenly Royan stiffened and whispered with horror, 'No! Please,
no. Save me, Nicky. Don't let this happen to me.'
'This is the price you pay for being the leading lady,' he told her.
Jali Hora was making his rather erratic way towards where she sat. The
gravy from the morsel he carried for her was trickling down his forearm
and dripping from his elbow.
The band standing along the side wall struck up a lively air. As the
abbot came to a halt in front of Royan, rocking on his suspension like
an ancien ' carriage, they fiddled and fifed and the drummers broke out
in a frenzy.
The abbot presented his gift, and with one last despairing glance at
Nicholas Royan faced the inevitable. She closed her eyes and opened her
mouth.
To roars of encouragement and the urgings of LIFE and drum, she
struggled and chewed. Her face turned rosy and her eyes watered. At one
point Nicholas thought she would admit defeat and spit it out on to the
reed-covered have to floor. But slowly and courageously, a bit at a
time, she forced it down and then fell back exhausted.
Her audience, clapping and hooting loved every moment of it. The abbot
sank stiffly to his knees in front of her and embraced her, almost
losing his crown in the ess. Then without relinquishing his embrace proc
he made himself a place beside her.
'It looks as though you have made another conquest,' Nicholas told her
dryly. 'I think he will be on your lap at moment, if you don't duck and
run.' any Royan reacted swiftly. She reached across and grabbed a bottle
of kadkala, and a bowl which she filled to the brim.
'Drink it up, Pops!' she told him, and held the bowl to his lips. Jab
Hora accepted the challenge, but he had to release her to drink from her
hand.
Suddenly Royan started so violently that she spilled what was left in
