John Powys - The Brazen Head

The Tartar giant saw in a moment how completely his attempt to establish a happy understanding between these two women was doomed to absolute failure. But it was too late to retreat now; and so he blundered on.

“Pardon my intrusion, my lady, but this is an old friend of mine who comes from that so much fought-over strip of land between the Tigris and the Euphrates, where so many of your own renowned ancestors won their glory. I have already told my friend here many of those heroic stories that your revered children love to relate. Your son Tilton, for instance, has often told us about that amazing encounter between your great-grandfather, Sir Stephen Dormaquil, and that monstrous Tartar with three arms who fought with six sharp-pointed elephants’ tusks, one in each of his six hands; and who, after being chopped into sixteen pieces by your noble ancestor, was carried off to the top of Mount Carmel by eagles, and there was so completely disposed of that not a bone of his own nor the splinter of his ivory weapons was ever seen again. My friend here, my Lady, has thought of nothing else, since I told her about Sir Stephen and the other Dormaquils, and she begged me to bring her here just to see, if only for a moment, the living descendant of such heroic people.”

Peleg was so pleased with the whole situation, so proud of himself in Ghosta’s presence for his tactful speech, and so proud of himself in Lady Val’s presence for making it so easy for Ghosta to keep a discreet silence, that Sir Mort would have thought him pathetically childish not to have detected what was going on, all the while he was speaking, between the two women.

But then Sir Mort knew the mother of his three children better than the wisest of his henchmen could possibly know the lady of his house. Besides, Peleg was not only a foreigner and an oriental; he was also a giant, and looking down upon that pair of feminine brows and eyebrows, each of them quivering with implacable hostility, he was so impervious to the wordless, and you might almost say to the mindless, aura of antagonism, automatically generated between them, that he stept backwards as if to avoid a blow at the tone in Lady Val’s voice as she remarked to Ghosta:

“You want employment here, I take it? Are you prepared to do any kind of work? Or do you want something special? We’ve no opening just now for a new hand indoors, but it’s quite possible, if you apply to our bailiff, Master Randolph Sygerius, that he’ll be able to find you work in the garden. We depend a lot on green food and we gather it all the year round; so if you—”

“I happen to be quite satisfied with what I’m doing in the Convent just at present, Lady, I thank you. Indeed so far I’ve never been driven to work out-of-doors, but if ever—”

“Where, if I may enquire,” interrupted Lady Val, her voice growing shrill, “were you brought up? My family here have given work I know, in past times, to black females. In fact if I remember correctly, my grandfather’s bailiff employed a family of Ethiopians. Of course this particular family may have been the slaves of some trader who died over here when he was selling leopards’ skins; but if you wait in the scullery till after dinner, you’ll be able, or Peleg here will be able on your behalf, to catch Master Randy, our present bailiff. Do you help, may I ask, in the Convent latrine? I remember there was—”

“My lady, my lady—” broke in Peleg at this point. “My friend here is a learned Jewess, who has worked with Doctors and with Rabbis of our ancient faith, copying, for instance, with pencils and brushes certain faded pages in the Hebrew scriptures. And so, no doubt, though the Convent kitchen must already have come to depend on her delicate touch with their food, we can hardly expect—”

“Be quiet, Peleg!” almost screamed Lady Val. “Since you brought this woman here to stare at me with her bold, black, impertinent eyes, perhaps you’ll tell me whether she wants to be allowed to prepare for me some of those Jewish spells with her pencils and her brushes, such as I can use on my enemies in this place? If so, you can tell her that, though she may have bewitched you and some of those simple nuns, who in such things are no wiser than children, I won’t have her bewitching me or my young daughter! But take her into the scullery, Peleg, and find a corner there for her till after dinner and then take her back to the convent. I don’t want any Jewish sorceress in my house or garden or kitchen! And what’s more—” This was added, when, without any other retort, Ghosta had wrapt her mantle more tightly round her shoulders and pulled her hood more closely round her face and had turned her dark eyes with a mute interrogation towards Peleg—“And what’s more,” announced Lady Val, “I shall have to have a very serious talk with Sir Mort about this whole subject of your making friends with women of this kind. But let that go now.”

This “let that go” was uttered in the confident tone of a person for whom victory in a battle implies the power to be generous.

“You must tell Cook, Peleg,” she went on, “to give your friend what supper she has time to scrape together while she’s dishing up dinner. I can see she hasn’t been taught in her childhood, and hasn’t had an opportunity to learn since, how a well-brought-up maiden, of any race in the world, behaves when she enters anyone’s house; but I’m sure she didn’t mean to be rude, just standing there and staring. I don’t know anything about Pharisees and Sadducees, and not much about Solomon and the Queen of Sheba; but I do know that because Queen Jezabel worshipped idols, she was thrown out of a window to be eaten by dogs. So you can, both of you, see that I am not quite ignorant of the Hebrew scriptures—”

With the sort of inclination of a half-veiled head that the mighty Sisera might have received in the entrance to the tent of Heber the Kenite, Ghosta turned away, and, followed submissively by Peleg, began to move off, not, however, towards the kitchen, but towards the door by which they entered.

They hadn’t gone many paces, however, towards this door, when they were met by an extremely youthful personage, tricked out in the very latest armorial fashion for budding warriors, and before they could stand aside to let him pass, Lady Val was greeting him, and he was greeting Peleg and gazing respectfully and admiringly at Ghosta.

“Why, if it isn’t our dear Sir William!” cried Lady Val — delighted, so Ghosta’s giant lover told himself, at so good an excuse for smoothing over the biting sting of Ghosta’s dignity under her crude abuse. “How nice you look, my darling boy, in that breast-plate and that scarf and that belt! Where is Raymond de Laon? Oh, of course I know! You men mustn’t give each other away! He’s with Lil-Umbra, of course. Oh yes! This is a great friend of our Peleg! I’ve just been discussing with him what place we can find for her in our little barony. Why, how very nicely you did that, my dear boy!”

This final remark was involuntarily drawn from the lady by the really perfect alacrity with which the slender little Sir William, after skipping up to her side, knelt down on one knee and kissed the knuckles of the hand she held out to him.

It was clear to Peleg, as she began talking rapidly to the young newly-made knight, and after every sentence shot a quick glance in their direction to see if they were still there, that her desire to have this lad to herself was intense. “She’s wishing that her Tilton and her John were more like this elegant young man,” the Tartar told himself. And then he thought: “I know Ghosta wants me to go off with her and that we ought to go; but I would like to see how this little elf-knight wins favour before we leave them!”

Young William Bancor of Gone was certainly what the doting old King Henry had called him at first sight — the liveliest and sprightliest little “Knave of Hearts” in the whole kingdom. His self-confidence and aplomb and his humorous enjoyment of his own attractive presence gave a zest to every moment which anyone spent in his company. Everybody could see at a glance how conceited he was. But he had no pride at all; and was prepared to throw his whole body, soul, and spirit into showing off before the poorest and meanest beggar he met. He “made love,” so to speak, to every man, woman, and child, who crossed his path.