2.

 

 

 

MADOUC AND TRAVANTE WRAPPED THE GOLDEN VESSEL in the purple silk cloth and slung it over Sir Pom-pom’s sturdy shoulders. With no more ado, they circled Madling Meadow and set off up Wamble Way.

On this pleasant afternoon there were comings and goings along the road. The three had traveled only a mile when from far ahead sounded the shrilling of fairy trumpets, growing ever louder and more brilliant. Down the road came dashing a cavalcade of six fairy riders, wearing costumes of black silk and helmets of complex design. They rode black chargers of a strange sort: deep-chested, running low to the ground on taloned legs, their heads like black sheep skulls with flaring green eyes. Pell-mell the six fairy knights rode past, hunching low, black capes flapping, pale faces sardonic. The pounding of flailing feet receded; the shrilling of horns faded in the distance; the three wayfarers resumed their journey to the north.

Travante stopped short, then ran to peer into the forest. After a moment he turned away, shaking his head. “Sometimes I think it follows me, close at hand, whether from loneliness or a necessity which I cannot understand. Often I think I glimpse it, but when I go to look, it is gone.”

Madouc peered into the forest. “I could keep a better watch if I knew what to look for.”

“It is now a bit soiled, and somewhat tatterdemalion,” said Travante. “Still, all taken with all, I would find it useful and a fine thing to own.”

“We will keep a sharp lookout,” said Madouc, and added pensively: “I hope that I do not lose my youth in the same way.”

Travante shook his head. “Never! You are far more responsible than I was at your age.”

Madouc gave a sad laugh. “That is not my reputation! I also worry about Sir Pom-pom; he is heavier of mood than a boy his age should be. Perhaps it comes of working too long in the stables.”

“So it may be!” said Travante. “The future will surely be full of surprises. Who knows what we might find should Throop throw open his great coffer?”

“Hardly likely! Even though Sir Pom-pom brings a fine host gift.”

“My gift is less ostentatious in its value, though Twisk insisted that it is quite suitable.”

“Mine is little better,” said Madouc. She pointed to Sir Pom-pom, twenty yards ahead. “Notice how alert Sir Pom-pom has become! What could have aroused his interest?”

The object in question came into view: a sylph of superlative beauty riding sidewise on a white unicorn, one knee folded, one slim leg negligently dangling. She wore only the golden strands of her long hair, and guided the unicorn by little tugs on its mane. The two made a striking picture, and Sir Pom-pom, for one, was favorably impressed.

The sylph halted her white steed, and inspected the three travellers with wide-eyed curiosity. “I bid you good afternoon,” she said. “Where are you bound?”

“We are vagabonds, and each of us follows a dream,” said Travante. “At the moment our quests take us toward Castle Doldil.”

The sylph smiled a soft smile. “What you find may not be what you seek.”

“We will carefully exchange courtesies with Sir Throop,” said Travante. “Each of us brings a valuable host gift, and we expect a jovial welcome.”

The sylph gave her head a dubious shake. “I have heard wails, groans, screams and plaintive moans from Castle Doldil, but never yet a jovial call.”

“Sir Throop’s nature is perhaps over-serious,” said Travante.

“Sir Throop’s nature is grim and his hospitality is precarious. Still, you undoubtedly know your own affairs best. Now I must ride on. The banquet starts when the fireflies come out, and I would not be late for the merriment.” She twitched at the unicorn’s mane.

“One moment!” cried Sir Pom-pom. “Must you go so soon?”

The sylph tugged at the mane; the unicorn bowed its head and pawed at the ground. “What is your need?”

Madouc spoke. “It is no great matter. Sir Pom-pom admires the play of light in your long golden hair.”

Sir Pom-pom compressed his lips. “I might trade Holy Grail and all to ride with you to Thripsey Shee.”

Madouc spoke curtly: “Control your admiration, Sir Pom-pom! This lady has better things to think about than your cold hands groping at her chest all the way to Madling Meadow.”

The sylph broke into a happy laugh. “I must hurry! Goodbye, good-bye! For I know I shall never see you again!” She twitched at the white mane, and the unicorn paced off down Wamble Way.

“Come, Sir Pom-pom!” said Madouc. “You need not stare quite so earnestly down the road.”

Travante said gravely: “Sir Pom-pom is admiring the unicorn’s fine white tail.”

“Hmf,” said Madouc.

Sir Pom-pom explained his interest. “I only wondered how she keeps warm when the breeze blows cold and damp!”

“For a fact,” said Travante, “I wondered much the same.”

“I looked closely,” said Sir Pom-pom. “I saw no trace of goose pimples.”

“The topic lacks interest,” said Madouc. “Shall we proceed?”

The three continued up Wamble Way. When the sun dropped behind the trees, Madouc selected an open area a few yards away from the road, placed down the pink and white kerchief and at the call of ‘Aroisus’ raised the pink-and-white-striped pavilion.

The three entered to discover, as before, three soft beds, a table laden with fine food, four bronze pedestals supporting four lamps. They dined at leisure, but somberly, with the thoughts of each fixed upon Castle Doldil and the ogre Throop’s uncertain hospitality; and when they took to their beds, none slept easily.

In the morning the adventurers arose, took breakfast, struck the pavilion and set off to the north, presently arriving at Idilra Crossroads. To the right Munkins Road led eastward, at last to a junction with Icnield Way. To the left Munkins Road plunged ever deeper into the Forest of Tantrevalles.

The three travellers paused a few moments by Idilra Post, then, since there was no help for it, they turned to the left and with fatalistic steps set off along Munkins Road.

Halfway through the morning the three arrived at a clearing of goodly dimension, with a river running to one side. Beside the river stood the lowering mass of Castle Doldil. They stopped to survey the gray stone keep and the sward in front where so many brave knights had come to grief. Madouc looked from Sir Pom-pom to Travante. “Remember! Take nothing except that which is given! Throop will use all manner of wiles and we must be on the alert ten times over! Are we ready?”

“I am ready,” said Travante.

“I have come this far,” said Sir Pom-pom in a hollow voice. “I would not turn back now.”

The three left the shelter of the forest and approached on the castle. At once the portcullis rattled up and two squat knights in black armour, with visors closed on their helmets and lances at the ready, galloped from the castle yard. They rode four-legged griffins with black-green scales; squat heads, half dragon, half wasp, and iron spikes in the place of winglets.

One of the knights cried out in a roaring voice: “What insolent folly brings trespassers to these private lands? We give you challenge; no excuse will be heard! Which of you will dare to do us combat?”

“None of us,” said Madouc. “We are innocent wanderers and we wish to pay our respects to the famous Sir Throop of the Three Heads.”

“That is all very well, but what do you bring with you, either for Sir Throop’s profit or his amusement?”

“In the main, the vivacity of our conversation and the pleasure of our company.”

“That is not very much.”

“We also carry gifts for Sir Throop. Admittedly they are enriched more by our kind intentions than by their intrinsic worth.”

“The gifts, from your description, would seem to be mean and niggardly.”

“Even so, we want nothing in return.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

The goblin knights conferred in low mutters for a moment, then the foremost said: “We have decided that you are no more than starveling rogues. We are often obliged to protect good Sir Throop from such as you. Prepare yourselves for combat! Who will joust the first course with us?”

“Not I,” said Madouc. “I carry no lance.”

“Not I,” said Sir Pom-pom. “I ride no horse.”

“Not I,” said Travante. “I lack armour, helmet and shield.”

“Then we will exchange strong strokes of the sword, until one party or the other has been chopped into bits.”

“Have you not noticed,” asked Travante, “we carry no swords?”

“As you prefer! We shall strike at each other with cudgels until blood and brains spatter this green meadow.”

Madouc, losing patience, directed the Impspring Tinkle-toe toward the first knight’s fearsome mount. It gave a vibrant scream, leapt high, then, plunging and bucking, bounded this way and that, and at last fell into the river, where the knight, weighted down by his armour, sank quickly and was seen no more. The second knight raised a ferocious battle yell and lunged forward, lance leveled. Madouc directed the spell against the second griffin, which jumped and tossed with even greater agility, so that the goblin knight was pitched high in the air, to fall on his head and lie still.

“Now then,” said Madouc. “Let us try our luck with Sir Throop’s hospitality.”

The three passed under the open portcullis, into an ill-smelling courtyard, with a row of parapets fifty feet above. On a tall door of iron-bound timber hung a massive knocker in the shape of a hell hound’s head. Exerting all his strength Sir Pom-pom lifted the knocker and let it fall.

A moment passed. Over the parapets leaned a great torso and three peering heads. The middle head called out in a rasping voice: “Who performs this ruthless noise, which has disturbed my rest? Did not my minions give warning that at this time I take my comfort?”

Madouc responded as courteously as her quavering voice allowed. “They saw us, Sir Throop, and ran away in terror.”

“That is extraordinary conduct! What sort of persons are you?”

“Innocent travelers, no more,” said Travante. “Since we were passing, we thought it proper to pay our respects. Should you see fit to offer us hospitality, we bring host gifts, as is the custom in these parts.”

Pism, the head to the left, uttered a curse: “Busta batasta! I keep but a single servant: my seneschal Naupt. He is old and frail; you must cause him no exasperation, nor put burdens upon his tired old shoulders! Nor may you pilfer my valuable goods, at risk of my extreme displeasure!”

“Have no fear on that score!” declared Travante. “We are as honest as the day is long!”

“That is good to hear! See that your performance goes hand in hand with your boast.”

The heads drew back from the parapet. A moment later a great booming voice was raised in harsh command: “Naupt, where are you! Ah, you torpid old viper, where do you hide? Show yourself on the instant or prepare for a purple beating!”

“I am here!” cried a voice. “Ready as always to serve!”

“Bah batasta! Open the portal, admit the guests who wait without! Then go dig turnips for the great black kettle.”

“Shall I also cut leeks, Your Honour?”

“Cut leeks by the score; they will make a tasty relish for the soup! First, admit the guests.”

A moment later the tall portal swung ajar, with a creaking and groaning of the hinges. In the opening stood Naupt the seneschal: a creature mingled of troll, human man, and perhaps wefkin. In stature he exceeded Sir Pom-pom by an inch, though his corpulent torso surpassed that of Sir Pom-pom by double. Gray fustian breeches clung tight to his thin legs and knobby knees; a tight gray jacket dealt with his thin arms and sharp elbows in the same fashion. A few damp black locks hung over his forehead; round black eyes bulged to either side of a long twisted nose. His mouth was a gray rosebud over a tiny pointed chin, with heavy soft jowls sagging to either side.

“Enter,” said Naupt. “What names shall I announce to Sir Throop?”

“I am the Princess Madouc. This is Sir Pom-pom of Castle Haidion, or at least its back-buildings; and this is Travante the Sage.”

“Very good, Your Honours! Come this way, if you will! Walk with delicate feet, that you do not unduly abrade the stone paving.”

Naupt, running on tip-toe at a half-trot, led the three down a dark high-ceilinged corridor smelling sour-sweet of decay. Moisture oozed from cracks in the stone; tufts of gray fungus grew where the detritus of ages had settled into cracks.

The corridor turned, the floor humped and settled; the corridor twisted again and opened into an enormous hall so high that the ceiling was lost in shadows. A balcony across the back wall supported a row of cages, now untenanted; along the walls hung a hundred shields, emblazoned with as many different emblems. Above each shield, a human skull wearing a knight’s steel helmet looked from empty eye sockets across the hall.

Throop’s furniture was crude, sparse and none too clean. A table of massive oak timbers stood in front of the fireplace, where burned a fire of eight logs. The table was flanked by a dozen chairs and another, three times ordinary size, at the head.

Naupt led the three into the center of the hall, then, hopping about on his thin legs, signaled the group to a halt. “I will announce your arrival to Sir Throop. You are the Princess Madouc, you are Sir Pom-pom and you are Travante the Sage; am I correct?”

“You are almost correct,” said Madouc. “That is Travante the Sage, and I am the Princess Madouc!”

“Ah! All is now explained! I will call Sir Throop; then I must make ready for Throop’s evening meal. You may wait here. See that you take nothing that does not belong to you.”

“Naturally not!” said Travante. “I am beginning to resent these imputations!”

“No matter, no matter. When the time comes you can never say that you were not warned.” Naupt scurried away on his thin little legs.

“The hall is cold,” grumbled Sir Pom-pom. “Let us go stand by the fire.”

“By no means!” cried Madouc. “Do you wish to become soup for Throop’s supper? The logs which nourish the fire are not our property; we must avoid putting the warmth to our personal use.”

“It is a most delicate situation,” growled Sir Pom-pom. “I wonder that we dare breathe the air.”

“That we may do, since the air is all-encompassing and not the property of Throop.”

“That is good news.” Sir Pom-pom turned his head. “I hear steps approaching. Throop is on his way.”

Throop entered the hall. He lumbered five long paces forward and inspected his guests with the full attention of his three heads. Throop was large and bulky, standing ten feet in height, with the chest of a bull, great round arms and gnarled legs, each as thick as the trunk of a tree. The heads were round, heavy at the cheek-bone, with round white-gray eyes, snub noses, and purple heavy-lipped mouths. Each head wore a cocked hat of a different color: Pism’s hat was green; Pasm’s liver-colored; Posm’s, a jaunty mustard-ocher.

The three heads completed their survey. Pasm, at the center, spoke: “What is your purpose here, occupying space and taking shelter inside my castle Doldil?”

“We came to pay our respects, in the fashion dictated by courtesy,” said Madouc. “Your invitation to enter gave us no choice but to occupy space and take shelter.”

“Bah batasta! That is a glib response. Why do you stand there like sticks?”

“We are anxious not to impose upon your good nature. Hence we await exact instructions.”

Throop marched to the head of the table and seated himself in the great chair. “You may join me at the table.”

“Are we to sit on the chairs, Sir Throop, without regard for the wear we might cause?”

“Bah! You must be careful! The chairs are valuable antiques!”

“In that case, concern for you and your property would argue that we should stand.”

“You may sit.”

“In the warmth of the fire or otherwise?”

“As you choose.”

Madouc thought to detect a crafty ambiguity in the statement. She asked: “Without indebtedness or penalty?”

All of Throop’s heads scowled together. “In your case I will make an exception and levy no charge for either fireheat or firelight.”

“Thank you, Sir Throop.” The three carefully seated themselves, and watched Throop in respectful silence.

Posm asked: “Are you hungry?”

“Not particularly,” said Madouc. “Since we are casual guests, we are anxious not to consume food you might have reserved for yourself, or Naupt.”

“You are gentility personified! Still, we shall see.” Pism twisted his burly neck and called past Pasm’s ear: “Naupt! Bring fruit! Let it be generous in scope!”

Naupt approached the table bearing a pewter tray piled high with mellow pears, peaches, cherries, grapes and plums. He offered the tray first to Throop. “I will eat a pear,” said Pism. “For me, a dozen of those luscious cherries,” said Pasm. “Today I will devour a plum or two,” said Posm.

Naupt offered the tray to Madouc, who gave a smiling refusal. “Thank you, but good manners force us to decline, since we have nothing to give in return.”

Posm, grinning widely, said: “Each of you may taste one grape, free of obligation.”

Madouc shook her head. “We might inadvertently break off the stem, or swallow a seed, and thus exceed the value of your gift, to our embarrassment.”

Pism scowled. “Your manners are very good, but somewhat tiresome, since they delay our own meal.”

Posm said: “All this to the side, was there not some talk of host gifts?”

“True!” said Madouc. “As you can see, we are modest folk, and our host gifts, while of no large market value, come feelingly from the heart.”

Travante said: “Such gifts, after all, are the best! They deserve a deeper regard than presentations of jewels or vials of rare perfume.”

“Batasta,” said Pism. “Each has its place in the scheme of things. What, then, do you bring for our pleasure?”

“All in good time,” said Madouc. “At the moment I thirst, and I wish to drink.”

“That can quickly be arranged!” declared Pism in great good humor. “Posm, am I correct in this remark?”

“The sooner the better,” said Posm. “The day draws on and we have not yet started the kettle.”

Pasm called: “Naupt, remove the fruit; bring goblets on the run, that we may drink!”

Naupt scuttled off with the fruit and returned with a tray of goblets, which he placed around the table. Madouc spoke politely to Throop: “These goblets are of good quality! Do you offer us their use freely and without obligation on our part?”

“We are not impractical theorists!” declared Pasm bluffly. “In order to drink, one needs a proper receptacle, similar in shape to a goblet. Otherwise, the liquid, when poured, falls to the floor!”

“In short, you may use these goblets without charge,” stated Pism.

“Naupt, bring the elderberry wine!” called Posm. “We wish to slake our thirsts!”

Madouc said: “As we drink, you may also consider the guest gifts which it is incumbent upon you to offer in return. By the rules of gentility, such guest gifts should be of value equal to that of the host gift.”

Pasm roared: “What foolish talk is this?”

Pism spoke with more restraint, and went so far as to wink at his brothers. “There is no harm in such a discussion. Never forget our usual habit!”

“True!” said Posm with a chuckle. “Naupt, have you prepared sufficient onions for the soup?”

“Yes, Your Honour.”

“Put them aside for the moment; there will be a short delay and the onions should not overcook.”

“Just so, Your Honour.”

“You may pour the elderberry wine which our guests have demanded for the slaking of their thirsts.”

“By no means!” said Madouc. “We would never think to impose upon your generosity! Sir Pom-pom, set out your golden vessel. I will drink mead.”

Sir Pom-pom arranged the vessel and from the first spout poured mead for Madouc.

Travante said: “I believe that I will drink good red wine today.”

Sir Pom-pom poured full Travante’s goblet from the appropriate spout. “As for myself, I will drink some fine cracking ale!”

From the last spout Sir Pom-pom poured foaming ale into his own goblet.

Throop’s three heads watched the operation in wonder, then all muttered into each other’s ears. Pasm said aloud: “That is an excellent vessel!”

“So it is!” said Sir Pom-pom. “And while we are on the subject, what do you know of the ‘Holy Grail’?”

All three heads instantly bent forward to stare at Sir Pom-pom. “What is this?” demanded Pism. “Did you put a question?”

“No!” cried Madouc. “Of course not! Never! Not by so much as a breath! Nor an iota! You mis-heard Sir Pom-pom! He said that better than all else he enjoyed his ale!”

“Hmf. Too bad!” said Pasm.

“Information is valuable,” said Posm. “We hold it dear!”

Pism said: “Since you have been allowed free and liberal use of the goblets, perhaps you would allow us to taste the product of that remarkable vessel!”

“Certainly!” said Madouc. “It is only good manners! How do your tastes incline?”

“I will drink mead,” said Pism.

“I will drink wine,” said Pasm.

“I will taste that smashing ale,” said Posm.

Naupt brought goblets which Sir Pom-pom filled from the vessel. Naupt then served to each of the heads its specified tipple.

“Excellent!” declared Pism.

“Tasty and of high quality!” said Pasm.

“Batasta!” cried Posm. “I have not tasted such ale for many a year!”

Madouc said: “Perhaps we should now offer our host gifts. Then you may offer your guest gifts in return and we will resume our journey.”

“Bah batasta!” growled Pasm. “This talk of guest gifts scratches harshly on my ear.”

Pism once again winked a great white eye. “Have you forgotten our little joke?”

Posm said: “No matter! We must not cause our guests to wonder. Princess Madouc, so tender and sweet! What of your host gift?”

“My offering is valuable; it is recent news of your beloved brother, the ogre Higlauf! Last month he defeated a troop of sixteen strong knights under the Cliffs of Kholensk. The king of Muscovy intends to reward him with a carriage drawn by six white bears, with a flanking escort of twelve Persian peacocks. Higlauf wears a new cloak of red-fox fur and tall fur hats on all his heads. He is well, save for a fistula on his middle neck; his leg is also a trifle sore from the bite of a mad dog. He sends his fraternal regards and invites your visit to his castle at High Tromsk on the Udovna River. And this news, which I hope will bring you joy, is my host gift.”

All three heads blinked and sniffed in disparagement. “Ah, bah,” said Posm. “The gift is of little value. I do not care a fig whether Higlauf’s leg hurts or not, nor do I envy him his bears.”

“I have done my best,” said Madouc. “What of my guest gift?”

“It shall be an item of equal worth, and not an owl’s whisker more.”

“As you like. You might give me news of my friend Sir Pellinore of Aquitaine, who passed this way some years ago.”

“Sir Pellinore of Aquitaine?” The three heads ruminated, and consulted among themselves. “Pism, do you recall Sir Pellinore?”

“I am confusing him with Sir Priddelot, from Lombardy, who was so very tough. Posm, what of you?”

“I do not place the name. What were his arms?”

“Three red roses on a blue field.”

“I recall neither the name nor the arms. Many if not most, or even all, of the visitors to Castle Doldil lack all morality, and think either to steal or commit acts of treachery. These criminals are one and all punished and boiled into a nourishing soup, which is, in most cases, the most notable achievement of their otherwise futile lives. Their arms hang along the walls. Look, freely and without obligation: do you see the three red roses of your friend Sir Pellinore?”

“No,” said Madouc. “Nothing of the sort is evident.”

Posm called: “Naupt, where are you?”

“Here, Your Honour!”

“Look into the great register! Discover if we have entertained a certain ‘Sir Pellinore of Aquitaine’.”

Naupt hopped from the hall, returning a few moments later. “No such name is listed, either in the index, or in the memoranda of recipes. Sir Pellinore is not known to us.”

“Then that is the answer I must give, and it fully discharges the requirement. Now then, Travante the Sage: what have you brought as host gift?”

“It is an article of enormous value if used correctly; indeed, I have given my whole life to its acquisition! Sir Throop, for my host gift, I present you with my hard-won senility, my old age and the veneration which is its due. It is truly a valuable gift.”

Throop’s three heads grimaced, and the great arms pulled at the three beards, one after the other. Posm said: “How can you freely bestow a gift so valuable?”

“I do so out of regard for you, my host, in the hope that it brings you the same profit it has brought me. As for my guest gift, you can restore to me the callow and insipid condition of youth, since I lost my own somewhere along the way. If by chance my lost youth is stored in one of your attics, I will once again take it in charge, and it will serve well enough.”

Pism called out: “Naupt, hither!”

“Yes, Your Honour?”

“You heard Travante’s requirements; do we keep anything of that description stored among the castle lumber?”

“I am certain not, sir.”

Throop turned his three heads back upon Travante. “In that case, you must keep your gift of senility, since I can make no responsive guest gift, and that shall be an end to the transaction. Now then, Sir Pom-pom: what have you to offer?”

“In truth, I have nothing whatever, save only my golden vessel.”

Posm said quickly: “You need not apologize; that should be adequate.”

“I agree,” said Pasm. “It is a gift of great utility, unlike the more abstract gifts of the Princess Madouc and Travante the Sage.”

“There is a single difficulty,” said Sir Pom-pom. “I would no longer have a utensil from which to drink. If you were able to provide me a suitable replacement—just some ordinary or even antique chalice, of two handles, and I would prefer a blue color—then I might well use the vessel as a host gift.”

Pism called: “Naupt? Where do you keep yourself? Are you asleep by the stove? You must do better in the future or it shall be the worse for you!”

“As always, I do my best, Your Honour!”

“Attend me! Sir Pom-pom needs a utensil from which to drink. Provide him with an article to his taste.”

“Very good, Your Honour! Sir Pom-pom, what are your needs?”

“Oh, just some rough old chalice, of two handles, pale blue in color.”

“I will inspect the closet, and perhaps I can discover a vessel to your taste.”

Naupt ran off and presently returned with a number of cups, mugs and a chalice or two. None suited Sir Pom-pom. Some were too wide, others too narrow; some too heavy, others an unsuitable color. Naupt ran back and forth until the table was covered with drinking utensils.

Throop became testy. Posm acted as spokesman. “Surely, Sir Pom-pom, among this assortment is a vessel to meet your needs.”

“Not really. This one is too big. This one is too squat. This one is bedizened with unsuitable decorations.”

“Batasta, but you are fastidious in your drinking! We have no others to show you.”

“I might even accept something in the Irish style,” suggested Sir Pom-pom.

“Ah,” cried Naupt. “Remember that strange old chalice we took long ago from the Irish monk? Perhaps that might be in Sir Pom-pom’s style!”

“Just conceivably,” said Sir Pom-pom. “Fetch it here and let me see it.”

“I wonder where I stored the old piece,” mused Naupt. “I believe it is in the cupboard beside the entrance to the dungeons.”

Naupt ran off, to return with a dusty old double-handled cup, of fair size, pale blue in color.

Madouc noticed that the rim was marred by a small chipped place, and that it otherwise resembled the drawing she had seen in the library at Haidion. She said: “If I were you, Sir Pom-pom, I would accept this old cup and not dither any longer, even though it is old and chipped, and of no value whatever.”

Sir Pom-pom took the chalice in trembling hands. “I suppose it will serve me well enough.”

“Good,” said Pasm. “This affair of gifts and giving is now at an end, and we must take up other matters.”

Posm called to Naupt: “Have you prepared a bill of damages?”

“Not yet, Your Honour!”

“You must include charges for the time we have wasted with the Princess Madouc and Travante the Sage. Sir Pom-pom brought an article of value; both Madouc and Travante tried to befuddle us with talk and nonsense! They must pay the penalty for their deceit!”

Posm said: “Put the onions into the pot and prepare the kitchen for our work.”

Madouc licked her lips nervously, and spoke in a faltering voice: “You cannot be planning what I suspect you are planning!”

“Hah batasta!” declared Pism. “Your suspicions may not fall short of the truth!”

“But we are your guests!”

“And no less savory for all of that, especially with our special seasoning, of ramp and horseradish.”

Pasm said: “Before we proceed with our work, perhaps we should enjoy a draught or two from our golden vessel of plenty.”

“A good idea,” said Posm.

Sir Pom-pom rose to his feet. “I will demonstrate the best method of pouring. Naupt, bring tankards of large size! Pism, Pasm and Posm wish to drink deep of the stuff they love the best!”

“Just so,” said Pasm. “Naupt, bring out the great pewter tankards, that we may enjoy our draughts!”

“Yes, Your Honour.”

Sir Pom-pom busied himself at the golden vessel. “What then will each drink?”

Pism said: “I will take mead, in plenitude!”

Pasm said: “As before, I will drink red wine, in copious flow!”

Posm said: “I crave more of that walloping ale, and let it not all be foam in the tankard!”

Sir Pom-pom poured from the three spouts, and Naupt carried the tankards to Throop of the Three Heads. “I bid you, raise your tankards high and drink deep! An amplitude remains in the vessel.”

“Ha hah batasta!” cried Pasm. “One and all: drink deep!”

Throop’s two hands raised the three tankards, and poured the contents down the throats of Pism, Pasm and Posm all together.

Three seconds passed. Pism’s great round face turned bright red and his eyes bulged three inches from his head, while his teeth clattered to the floor. Pasm’s countenance seemed to vibrate and turn upside-down. Posm’s face became as black as coal and red flames darted from his eyes. Throop rose to his feet, to stand swaying. Within his great belly sounded first a rumble, then a muffled explosion and Throop fell over backward, in a tumble of unrelated parts. Travante stepped forward and taking up Throop’s massive sword, hacked the three heads free of the body. “Naupt, where are you?”

“Here, sir!”

“Take up these three heads and throw them into the fire, at this instant, that they may be destroyed.”

“As you say, sir!” Naupt carried the heads to the fireplace and thrust them into the heart of the flames. “Watch to make sure that they are utterly consumed!” said Travante. “Now then: are prisoners pent in the dungeons?”

“No, Your Lordship! Throop ate them all, every one!”

“In that case there is nothing to delay our going.”

“To the contrary,” said Madouc in a faint voice. “Sir Pom-pom, you evidently pushed the onyx bead, not once but twice?”

“Not twice,” said Sir Pom-pom. “I pushed it a full five times, and once more for good measure. I notice that the vessel has collapsed into corroded fragments.”

“It has served its purpose well,” said Madouc. “Naupt, we spare you your horrid little life, but you must alter your ways!”

“With pleasure and gratitude, Your Ladyship!”

“Henceforth you must devote your time to good works and a kindly hospitality toward wayfarers!”

“Just so! How glorious to be free of my thralldom!”

“Nothing more detains us,” said Madouc. “Sir Pom-pom has found the object of his quest; I have learned that Sir Pellinore exists elsewhere; Travante is assured that his lost youth is not immured among the oddments and forgotten curios of Castle Doldil.”

“It is something, but not much,” sighed Travante. “I must continue my search elsewhere.”

“Come!” said Madouc. “On this instant let us depart! I am sickened by the air!”