encouraging word from Britomart, «Bravely done, oh, bravely!»
Hardimour came on again, swinging. Shea parried, lunged, missed again, but held his lunge and drilled the knight’s arm properly with a remise. The slim steel needle went through the muscles like butter. Britomart clapped her hands.
Shea withdrew his blade and recovered, keeping the epee flickering between them. «Had enough?» he asked.
«By Gods wounds, no!» gritted Hardimour. The sleeve of his shirt was turning dark red, and he was sweating, but he looked thoroughly grim. He swung the sword up in both hands, wincing slightly The epee flickered out and ripped his now dripping shirt-sleeve. He checked, and held his sword out in front of him, trying to imitate Shea’s fencing position. Shea tapped it ringingly a couple of times, gathered it up in a bind in octave, and lunged. Hardimour saved himself by stumbling backward. Shea followed him.
When he came up with a green water plant plastered on his forehead, Shea was kneeling at the edge.
Hardimour cried: «
Shea extended Chalmers’ staff. Hardimour caught it and pulled himself up. As he scrambled to his feet, he found that villainous epee blade flickering in his face.
«Give up?» demanded Shea.
Hardimour blinked, coughed up some more water, and sank to his knees. «I cry craven,» he said grudgingly. Then: «Curse it! In another bout I’ll beat you, Master Harold!»
«But I won this one,» said Shea. «After all, I didn’t want to sleep with the crickets, either.»
«Right glad am I that you shall not,» said Hardimour honestly, feeling of his arm. «What galls me is that twice I’ve been put to shame before all these noble lords and ladies of Castle Caultrock. And after all, I must stay without.»
Chalmers spoke up. «Hasn’t the castle some rule about admitting persons in distress?»
«I bethink me this is even the case. Sick or wounded knights may enter till they are well.»
«Well,» said Shea, «that arm won’t be well for a couple of months.»
«Perhaps you caught a cold from your ducking,» advised Chalmers.
«I thank you, reverend palmer. Perhaps I did.» Hardimour sneezed experimentally.
«Put more feeling into it,» said Shea.
Hardimour did so, adding a racking cough. «Ah me, I burn with ague!» he cried, winking. «Good people of the castle, throw me at least a cloak to wrap myself in, ere I perish! Oooo-ah!» He sank realistically to the ground. They got him up, and supported him, staggering, across the drawbridge. Britomart and Amoret followed, the former leading the three horses. This time the warder made no objection.
THREE
A trumpet blew three notes as they passed through the gate in the portcullis. The last note was sour. As the travellers entered a paved courtyard littered by heaps of dirty straw, they were surrounded by a swarm of little page boys in bright-coloured costumes. All were chattering, but they seemed to know what to do. They attached themselves two by two to each of the new arrivals and led them towards the door of a tall, greystone building that rose from the opposite side of the court.
Shea was taken in tow by a pair of youths who gazed at him admiringly. Each wore medieval hose, with one leg red and the other white. As he mounted a winding stair under their guidance, one of them piped: «Are you only a squire, sir?»
«
«Oh, thats all right,» said Shea. «Yes, I’m only a squire. Why?»
«Because you’re such a good swordsman, worshipful sir. Sir Hardimour is a right good knight.» He looked wistful. «Will you show me that trick of catching an enemy’s blade sometime, worshipful sir? I want to slay an enchanter.»
They had arrived at the entrance of a long, high room, with a huge four-poster bed in one corner. One of the pages ran ahead and, kneeling before a cross-legged chair, brushed it off for Shea to sit on. As he did so, the other reached around him and unbuckled his sword belt, while the first ran out of the room. A moment later he was back, carrying a big copper basin of steaming water, a towel over his arm.
Shea gathered he was expected to wash his hands. They needed it.
«In the name of Castle Caultrock,» said the little Bevis, «I crave your lordship’s pardon for not offering him a bath. But the hour of dinner is now so near —»
He was interrupted by a terrific blowing of trumpets, mostly out of tune and all playing different things, that might have heralded the arrival of the new year.
«The trumpets for dinner!» said the page who was wiping Shea’s hands for him, somewhat to his embarrassment. «Come.»
It had fallen dusk outside. The winding stair up which they had come was black as a boot. Shea was glad of the page’s guiding hand. The boy sure-footedly led the way to the bottom, across a little entry hall where a single torch hung in a wall bracket. He threw open a door, announcing in his thin voice, «Master Harold de Shea!»
The room beyond was large — at least fifty feet long and nearly as wide, wretchedly lighted — according to American standards — by alternate torches and tapers along the wall. Shea, who had recently been in the even dimmer illumination of Bonder Sverre’s house, found the light good enough to see that the place was filled with men and ladies, gabbing as they moved through an arch at the far end into the dining hall.
Chalmers was not to be seen. Britomart was visible a few feet away. She was the tallest person in the room with the exception of himself, and fully equal to his own five feet eleven.
He made his way towards her. «Well, Master Squire,» she greeted him unsmilingly, «it seems that since I have become your lady you are to take me to dinner. You may give the kiss of grace, but not liberties, you understand?» She pushed her cheek towards him, and since he was apparently expected to do so, he kissed it. That was easy enough. With a little make-up she might have been drawn by George Petty.
Preceded by the little Bevis they entered into the tall dining hall. They were led to the raised central part of the U-shaped table. Shea was glad to see that Chalmers had already been seated, two places away from him. The intervening space was already occupied by the cameolike Amoret. To the evident discomfort of Chalmers, she was pouring the tale of her woes into his ear with machine-gun speed.
«— and, oh, the tortures that foul fiend Busyrane put me to!» she was saying. «With foul shows and fantastic images on the walls of the cell where I was held. Now he’d declare how my own Scudamour was unfaithful to me; now offer me great price for my virtue —»
«How many times a day did he demand it?» inquired a knight beyond, leaning down the table.
«Never less than six,» said Amoret, «and oft as many as twenty. When I refused — as ever I must — the thing’s past understanding —»
Shea heard Chalmers murmur: «What, never? No never. What, never —»
The knight said: «Sir Scudamour may well take pride in such a wife, gentle lady, who has borne so much for his sake.»
«What else could she do?» asked Britomart coldly.
Shea spoke up: «I could think of one or two things.»
The Petty girl turned on him, blue eyes flashing. «Master Squire, your insinuations are vile, and unworthy the honour of knighthood! Had you made them beyond that gate, I would prove them soon your body, with spear and sword.»
She was, he observed with some astonishment, genuinely angry. «Sorry; I was joking,» he offered.
