There was much laughter and loud talking, and it all presented a wild and fascinating picture to Sir James Blake as he sat at the lower end of the table far below the salt that night, in his accustomed place as one of the latest neophytes in the noble ranks of the knighthood of Nimmr.
The encounter between himself and Malud was the subject of the moment and many were the compliments bestowed upon him and many the questions as to where and how he had acquired his strange technique of swordsmanship. Although they had seen him accomplish it, yet they still appeared to believe it inconceivable that a man might prevail without a buckler over one who carried this essential article of defense.
Prince Gobred and his family sat, with the higher nobles of Nimmr, at a table slightly raised above the rest of the board and running across its upper end, the whole forming a huge T. When he wished to speak to anyone farther down the table he resorted to the simple expedient of raising his voice, so that if several were so inclined at the same time the room became a bedlam for uproar and confusion.
And as Blake sat at the farthest end of the table it was necessary for one at Gobred’s end to scream to attract attention, though when it was discovered that it was the prince who was speaking the rest of the company usually lapsed into silence out of respect for him, unless they were too far gone in drink.
Shortly after the feasters were seated Gobred had arisen and lifted his goblet high in air, and silence had fallen upon the whole company as knights and ladies rose and faced their prince.
“Hal to our King!” cried Gobred. “Hal to our liege lord, Richard of England!”
And in a great chorus rose the answering “Hal!” as the company drank the health of Richard Coeur de Lion seven hundred and twenty-eight years after his death!
Then they drank the health of Gobred and of the Princess Brynilda, his wife, and of the Princess Guinalda, and each time a voice boomed from just below the dais of the prince: “Here I be looking at thee!” as Sir Richard with a proud smile displayed his newly acquired knowledge.
Again Prince Gobred arose. “Hal!” he cried, “to that worthy sir knight who hath most nobly and chivalrously acquitted himself in the lists this day! Hal to Sir James, Knight Templar and, now, Knight of Nimmr!”
Not even the name of Richard I of England had aroused the enthusiasm that followed the drinking to Sir James. The length of the long hall Blake’s eyes travelled straight to where Guinalda stood. He saw her drink to him and he saw that her eyes were regarding him, but the distance was too great and the light of the pitch torches and the oil cressets too dim for him to see whether her glance carried a message of friendship or dislike.
When the noise had partially subsided and the drinkers had retaken their seats Blake arose.
“Prince Gobred,” he called the length of the room, “knights and ladies of Nimmr, I give you another toast! To Sir Malud!”
For a moment there was silence, the silence of surprise, and then the company arose and drank the health of the absent Sir Malud.
“Thou are a strange sir knight, with strange words upon thy lips and strange ways, Sir James,” shouted Gobred, “but though thou callest a hal ‘a toast’ and thy friends be ‘old top’ and ‘kid,’ yet withal it seemeth that we understand thee and we would know more about thy country and the ways of the noble knights that do abide there.
“Tell us, are they all thus chivalrous and magnanimous to their fallen foes?”
“If they’re not they get the raspberry,” explained Blake.
“ ‘Get the raspberry’!” repeated Gobred. “ ’Tis some form of punishment, methinks.”
“You said it, Prince!”
“Of a surety I said it, Sir James!” snapped Gobred with asperity.
“I mean, Prince, that you hit the nail on the head—you guessed it the first time. You see the raspberry is about the only form of punishment that the Knights of the Squared Circle, or the Knights of the Diamond can understand.”
“ ‘Knights of the Squared Circle’! ‘Knights of the Diamond’! Those be knightly orders of which I wot not. Be they doughty knights?”
“Some of them are dotty, but a lot of them are regulars. Take Sir Dempsey, for instance, a knight of the Squared Circle. He showed ’em all he was a regular knight in defeat, which is much more difficult than being a regular knight in victory.”
“Be there other orders of knighthood these days?” demanded Gobred.
“We’re lousy with them!”
“What?” cried Gobred.
“We’re all knights these days,” explained Blake.
“All knights! Be there no serfs nor yeomen? ’Tis incredible!”
“Well, there are some yeomen in the navy, I think; but all the rest of us, pretty much, are knights. You see things have changed a lot since the days of Richard. The people have sort of overthrown the old order of things. They poked a lot of ridicule at knights and wanted to get rid of knighthood, and as soon as they had they all wanted to be knights themselves; so we have Knights Templar now and Knights of Pythias and Knights of Columbus and Knights of Labor and a lot more I can’t recall.”
“Methinks it must be a fine and noble world,” cried Gobred, “for what with so many noble sir knights it would seemeth that they must often contend, one against another—is that not true?”
“Well, they do scrap some,” Blake admitted.
XV
The Lonely Grave
Within the dark interior of the beyt Stimbol could see nothing. Just before him he heard a man breathing heavily as might one in a troubled sleep. The would-be murderer paused to steady his nerves. Then, on hands and knees, he crept
