gulf. Around the Prince, the hall was a whirlpool of conversation. I noticed the fat man whose room I'd invaded earlier sat close by him, head thrown back in paroxysms of laughter. All of the men were equally overweight and jolly, while their women were dusky and soft-spoken. Their garments were lavish, not quite to the point of extravagance. They wore jewellery, but slyly, so that the nod of a head or wave of a hand revealed some gem that spat back the red-tinged light.
On the other side of the chasm there was us. We looked comically plain in our simple clothes. Estrada had opted for a light linen dress that would have been elegant in other circumstances, but seemed merely rustic in the vicinity of so much wealth. The silence was molten and close, like a burning hot summer's day. I felt sure that at any moment Moaradrid would kick over the table and plunge his knife into someone's chest. The more I imagined it, the more I thought it might be a relief.
When the first serving girl began to bring out food, I nearly leaped to my feet and hugged her. Her appearance didn't so much break the tension as divert it, but at least we could pretend we'd been waiting to start eating rather than for violence to erupt. The procession of bowls and platters reminded me of a bucket chain at a fire, and soon the tables were groaning beneath their weight.
Grateful for a subject that might not provoke bloodshed, I asked Estrada, 'Is this really all for tonight?'
She looked surprised. 'Damasco, this is only the entree.'
Alvantes, seeing my astonishment, said, 'What's wrong, Damasco? Confused by the thought of food you don't have to steal?'
'At least I wasn't invited to keep the rabble in order,' I muttered, and then — realising I'd just insulted Moaradrid, not to say myself — I bowed my head over my plate and pretended it was absorbing all my attention. It wasn't such a pretence; nor was Alvantes's comment so wide of the mark. After my miserable existence of the last few weeks, it was hard to believe the variety and quantity of food within my reach. Partly to divert attention from my misjudged comment and partly from genuine curiosity, I pointed to one plate and asked Estrada, 'What's that?'
'It's spiced fish eggs, Damasco.'
'Ugh. How about those?'
'I think they're stuffed dormice.'
'Really? And this?'
'Damasco,' she said, 'if I spend the night giving you a tour of our meal, when do you expect me to actually eat any of it?'
Quieted again, I glanced once more around the table. I wasn't the only one wary of our host's beneficence. Moaradrid was eating sparely, touching no dish that one or other of his bodyguards hadn't tasted first. His paranoia was probably healthy for a man in his circumstances, but I was under no such compunction. Anyone who wanted me dead would hardly go to the trouble of poisoning me. I settled for sampling a little of everything within reach, until my plate threatened to overflow. I plunged my spoon into the teetering mass, just as a reedy voice from the far end of the table called, 'Now that our new guests are settled, perhaps it's time we discussed this nonsense of a war?'
It was fortunate I wasn't eating; I'd certainly have choked. I could hear Estrada spluttering beside me.
'They tell me it's all to do with some stone. Surely that can't be true? Moaradrid, Lady Estrada, my dear friends, please don't tell me you're harbouring animosities over something as silly as a missing pebble?'
I wanted to crawl out of my skin. Since that didn't seem realistic, I settled on scrunching as low into my cushions as I could. I dared a glance at Saltlick to see how he'd reacted to this mention of the giant-stone. The answer was not at all. He either hadn't understood or wasn't listening, because his attention was focused entirely on the heaped bowl of vegetables before him.
Neither Moaradrid nor Estrada had shown any inclination to address the Prince's question. He went on, with mock exasperation, 'Can't one of you at least tell me how this foolishness started?'
'The details are irrelevant,' said Moaradrid. His voice was perfectly toneless. 'That thief stole what was mine.'
'But really, can it be worth getting so upset about?'
If I hadn't already felt sure that my worst fears were valid, the titters rising from Panchetto's end of the table confirmed it. The Prince's regular guests were lapping up this goading of the visiting savage.
I was more surprised that Moaradrid seemed to be just about keeping his cool. 'Perhaps not, Highness. Yet there's such a thing as honour. It would be better for everyone if what was stolen is returned.'
'You stole it in the first place.' I couldn't help myself. As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wanted nothing but to take them back. Since I couldn't, I kept going. 'I'm not saying I have it, but if I did, maybe I'd just be returning it to where it belonged.'
'There, the thief is an altruist,' cried Panchetto. 'What do you think of that, friend Moaradrid?'
'I think that this childishness bores me.'
A deep hush fell over the table. Whether the comment was aimed at me or the Prince, it was blatant enough to silence even Panchetto.
The servants, misinterpreting the unnatural quiet or the fact no one except Saltlick was eating, began clearing away the tableware. As before, their intervention defused a little of the tension — and as before, I knew it could only be a brief reprieve.
The Prince took up another subject, pointedly aiming his remarks at those closest to him. Moaradrid sat very still, with his eyes almost closed and his hands laid flat before him, as if meditating. I could hear his breathing, each exhale sharp as a knife thrust. Glancing aside, I noticed Estrada look anxiously to Alvantes, as if to ask, ' How far will this go?'
Well, that was easy. Panchetto wouldn't stop baiting Moaradrid, and Moaradrid wouldn't sit quietly and take it forever.
I couldn't wait any longer.
'They're taking our dinner away,' I moaned, as though the serving girl who'd just appeared to remove the bowl in front of me were tearing the food from my very mouth. 'Hey, what's that? I didn't get to try any.' I grabbed for some strips of meat on the edge of Estrada's plate and my wrist struck her glass, splashing its contents over the table.
'Damn it! Don't worry, I'll get you another.'
I snatched up the goblet and chased after the nearest serving girl. Half a dozen semi-clothed beauties were tasked solely with keeping everyone's glasses filled from the amphorae they cradled. I pushed the refilled glass before Estrada, who thanked me with a glare.
The servants worked with brutal efficiency. Hardly a minute had passed before the barely-touched first course had vanished. Close on its heels came the centrepiece of the banquet: a colossal boar, reeking of hot fat, paprika and sweet wine. There followed bowls of rice, some spiced, some mixed with pickled fruit or titbits of seafood; platters laden with every conceivable vegetable prepared in every imaginable manner; and countless pastries, breads and sweetmeats. I wanted to condemn the waste and gluttony-but, sitting in the midst of it, I simply couldn't. I could only be awed, and wonder how I'd ever return to a life of poverty.
Educated by my earlier failure and a growling stomach, I settled for a dripping hunk of meat and some fried rice and tucked in. This was sure to be the grandest meal of my life, and I wanted to try at least a little of it before the Prince resumed his unconventional entertainments.
My wolfish eating might normally have drawn comment, but that night I'd have probably had to tip the plate over my head. Everyone not in conversation with the Prince was staring at Saltlick, who at that moment was half way through a tureen of vegetables that would have served half a dozen people. He'd been eating steadily since the first dish had been set down, and showed no sign of slowing. There was something awful and fascinating in the way he crammed handfuls into his maw, like watching a forest fire laying bare vast tracts of wilderness. Many of the Prince's guests, and especially the ladies for some reason, were so enraptured that they were ignoring their own appetites altogether.
The Prince must have considered Saltlick sufficient amusement, because he continued to keep his conversation amongst the chosen few around him. At first I was glad of an interval, but as the quiet wore on the tension grew, until even the effort of chewing ground on my nerves. My stomach began to ache and grumble. I wished the bottle in my pocket really did contain medicine.
I pushed my plate aside and leaned away. Others around the table were making similar motions — reclining,
