"He will survive," sneered the jester, adding:
The dining hall of King Gwennon's log palace held several long tables placed end to end to form a lengthy banquet board. King Gwennon sat at the head, with Eudoric on his right and, flanking him, Father Mamert. Yolanda, resplendent in an emerald gown embroidered with threads of gold, and a golden diadem on her sorrel hair, sat on the other side of the king with the jester as her dinner partner.
The pagan priest proved a loquacious old party, who filled Eudoric's right ear with chatter: "... glad am I that the benighted fanatic, Grippo, be absent. He doth cast a pall upon the jolliest gathering. Why, at the Feast of Dis last year, he all but ruined the party by fussing over the beheading of Lord Brunec."
"Eh?" said Eudoric, suppressing a sneeze. He took a deep draft of perry, hoping that it would make him feel better. "What had this lord done?"
"He lost a bet."
"That seems an unduly severe penalty."
"Ah, but he had wagered his head with a rival chieftain, Lord Livertin—that red-haired cully ye see yonder near the foot of the table—and lost. He— Lord Bruce—claimed it was but in jest; but bad blood had arisin betwixt the twain. So Lord Livertin demanded satisfaction of the literal terms. Brunec appealed to the King, who referred the case to Master Corentin, who decided for Livertin. Brunec had the choice of submitting or being branded a poor sport, something an Armorian gentleman would liefer die than incur." The priest lowered his voice. " 'Tis whispered that Corentin owed Brunec money, but that is mere idle gossip. I myself never gossip," he added, folding his hands in a saintly pose; but at the same time he drooped one eyelid in a half-wink.
"And then?" said Eudoric.
"It was agreed that Livertin should collect his forfeit at the Feast of Dis. Brunec insisted that he be decollated in style. Clad in his finest, he lay upon his shield, borne on the shoulders of his slaves. Ever a true sportsman, Brunec hung his head off the end, to give his foe a fair cut. Livertin swung his two-handed claidheamh mor, and whop! twas over. To uphold the honor of Brunec's clan, his widow petitioned the King to be buried alive with her husband."
"And Bishop Grippo?"
"When Master Corentin caused the head to be placed on a dish to decorate the table for a feast, in honor of Brunec's sportsmanship, His so-called Holiness rose and denounced the proceeding as barbarous. Had he used such language before King Gwennon's sire, the late King Uriens, his own head had been added to the display ere he'd ceased his quacking. But some of your finical Franconian manners have begun to corrupt our simple, manly ways."
"I am not a Franconian," said Eudoric. "In my land, howsomever, such use of a person's sconce would be deemed in dubious taste."
"But to contemn the usages of another land, where one is but a tolerated guest, bespeaks even more abandoned taste. Now here is another tale, concerning the Lady Vivian—that busty woman in red yonder—and her pet boar ..."
Mamert rattled on throughout the repast. Eudoric wished he were alone to think things through; but he dared not rudely hush the garrulous priest, since Mamert was to preside over the second wedding ceremony. The priest might yet be needed as an ally, if Eudoric found himself unwittingly caught in the toils of some courtly intrigue. Knowing something of the ways of courts, Eudoric appreciated how easily a ruler's suspicions could cost a courtier his life. In any case he must tread warily with these people, who deemed a severed head a suitable table ornament.
On the other hand, from what he had seen of Yolanda's imperious temperament, he suspected that this wedding had been a disastrous idea. But how could he escape? He was already wed under Franconian law, and to try to pretend otherwise while traversing that powerful kingdom might land him in straits compared to which being devoured by Druzhok would seem a holiday. Another sneeze gave him an idea.
"Father Mamert," he said, "I am, as His Majesty warned me, coming down with a terrible cold in the head. I fear I may not be up to my marital duties tonight."
"Rubbish, my lad!" said the priest. "Ye'll rise to the occasion, or I'm a Triunitarian! Once the words have been said and laid is the bed, ye'll forget this trifling indisposition. Hush! Jurnach is about to recite a heroic lay in your honor."
The court bard stood up, twanged his harp, and launched into his eulogy. According to Jurnach, Eudoric had fought Druzhok with his spear until it broke; then with his sword until that, too, shattered on the monster's adamantine hide. Eudoric finally won the contest by wrestling Druzhok under water and breaking the monster's neck.
Since many of those present had a fair idea of what had actually happened, Eudoric expected them to burst into raucous laughter; but they solemnly took it all in. The thought crossed his mind to stand up and disclaim this farrago, but he dismissed the notion. If it was the Armorian custom to pretend to accept an extravaganza that made Eudoric out-hero Sigvard Dragonslayer, it would be imprudent to gainsay it.
Eudoric realized that he had drunk more perry than he had intended. Instead of clearing his wits, mazed by his gathering indisposition, it had further muddled them. He could not think clearly; in fact he could hardly think at all.
He felt that events were rushing him along towards some unknown disaster, as if a torrent were sweeping him to the brink of a waterfall. He should have taken a firmer stand about marrying Yolanda before he had a chance to know her. While he would doubtless enjoy initiating this statuesque beauty into the pleasures of carnal knowledge, and while being a royal in-law opened up vast commercial possibilities; still there was more to wedlock ...
The King stood up, wiped his mouth and beard, belched, and said: "We have finished. Ye may depart as ye list."
As King Gwennon waddled out, other diners rose at leisure. Eudoric felt a grasp on his arm and sensed that the jester was pulling him towards Yolanda. Father Mamert followed close behind. Without quite knowing how it came about, Eudoric found himself standing beside Yolanda before Father Mamert, who shot rapid questions at them. To all queries, the reply was a simple "Aye" in Armorian.
At last the priest intoned: "May the gods bless your marriage bed and all who repose thereon!" Then Eudoric, unsteady on his feet, was pulled and pushed out through the massive oaken door of the log palace. Two ladies of Gwennon's court, Eudoric noted, had laid hold of Yolanda's arms and led her, protesting, after him.
The two were propelled out into the torchlit courtyard, where most of the feasters were already gathered. To shouts of "Way for the bridal pair!" Eudoric and Yolanda were forced through the crowd to an open cleared space, wherein lay a large rustic bed spread with deerskins. Beside the bed stood a pair of bagpipers, one of whom gave a preliminary howl on his instrument.
"What—what's this?" mumbled Eudoric.
"The final rite!" cried Corentin, starting to unbutton Eudoric's jacket. When Mamert moved to unfasten Yolanda's emerald gown, she snatched the fabric together with one hand and slapped the priest's rumblings with the other, shrilling:
"What do you, old fool?"
"The divine pair curse you!" cried Eudoric, partly sobered. "What is this?"
"Why, the consummation!" said Coretin. "I told you. To render the marriage legal, ye and the wench must strip, mount the bed, and go to it, whilst the company dance about the couch and cheer you on! It were no marriage else."