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?»
«Shh!» said the other. «Have you no manners, Bevis? The lord hasn’t spoken.»
«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.
«Chastity, sir, is no subject for jest!» she snapped.
Before the conversation could be carried further, Shea jumped at another tremendous blast of trumpets. A file of pages pranced in with silver plates. Shea noted, there was only one plate for him and Britomart together. Looking down the table, he saw that each pair, knight and lady, had been similarly served. This was apparently one of the implications of being a knight’s «lady». Shea would have liked to inquire whether there were any others; but in. view of Britomart’s rebuff at his mild joke at Amoret, he didn’t quite dare.
* * *
The trumpets blew again, this time to usher in a file of serving men bearing trays of food. That set before Shea and Britomart was a huge pastry, elaborately made in the form of a potbellied medieval ship, upon which the page Bevis fell with a carving knife. As he worked at it, Chalmers leaned around Amoret’s back, and touching Shea’s sleeve, remarked: «Everything’s going according to plan.»
«How do you mean?»
«The logical equations. I looked at them in my room. They puzzled me a bit, at first, but I checked them against that key I made up, and everything fitted into place.»
«Then you can really work magic?»
«I’m pretty sure. I tried a little enchantment on a cat that was strolling around. Worked a spell on some feathers and gave it wings.» He chuckled. «I daresay there will be some astonishment among the birds in the forest tonight. It flew out the window.»
Shea felt a nudge at his other side, and turned to face Britomart. «Will my lord, as is his right, help himself first?» she said. She indicated the plate. Her expression plainly said she hoped any man who helped himself before her would choke on what he got. Shea surveyed her for a second.
«Not at all,» he answered. «You go first. After all, you’re a better knight than I am. You pitched Hardimour down with a spear. If you hadn’t softened him up, I couldn’t have done a thing.»
Her smile told him he had gauged her psychology correctly. «Grace,» said she. She plunged her hand into the pile of meat that had come our of the pastry ship, put a good-sized lump into her mouth. Shea followed her example. He nearly jumped out of his chair, and snatched for the wine cup in front of him.
The meat tasted like nothing on earth. It was heavily salted, and sweet, and almost all other flavours were drowned in a terrific taste of cloves. Two big tears of agony came into Shea’s eyes as he took a long pull at the wine cup.
The wine reeked of cinnamon. The rears ran down his cheek.
«Ah, good Squire Harold,» came Amoret’s voice, «I don’t wonder that you weep at the tale of the agonies through which I have passed. Was ever faithful lady so foully put upon?»
«For my part,» said the knight farther down the table, «I think this Busyrane is a vile, caitiff rogue, and willingly would I take the adventure of putting an end to him.»
Britomart gave a hard little laugh. «You won’t find that so easy, Sir Erivan. Firstly, you shall know that Busyrane dwells in the woods where the Losels breed, those most hideous creatures that are half-human in form, yet eat of human flesh. They are ill to overcome. Secondly, this Busyrane conceals his castle by arts magical, so it is hard to find. And thirdly, having found it and Busyrane himself, he is a very stout and powerful fighter, whom few can match. In all Faerie, I know of only two that might overthrow him.»