The Incorporated Knight (23 page)

             
"Setting aside questions of whose faith be true," said Corentin, "there stands your man: Bishop Grippo." Corentin indicated the mitre-crowned cleric.

             
"I insist that he perform the ceremony," said Yolanda.

             
"To make all secure, ye twain shall carry out the service in both forms; our Armorian way first—"

             
"We shall not!" exclaimed Yolanda. "The Triunitarian form must precede that of your primitive paganism."

             
The jester sighed. "Such a hubbub over mere mummery! How about you, Sir Eudoric? To what faith adhere ye in the Empire?"

             
"We Locanians subscribe to the cult of the Divine Pair—"

             
"That vile heresy!" growled the bishop. "As bad as the detestable monotheism of the Pathenians, which is but one step from atheism. Meseems the stake and faggot—"

             
"That will do, Your Holiness so-called!" barked the jester. "Ye are suffered to move amongst us to preach your creed, but not to contemn or molest the beliefs of others."

             
"Which will lead you all to eternal torment," grumbled the bishop, "from which horrid fate it is my duty to seek to save you."

             
"As I was saying," continued Eudoric, "I concern myself not with such matters. If you learned theologians differ so about the nature of the divine, who am I, a mere layman, to choose sides? So any ceremony will suffice me."

             
Yolanda spoke: "I, at least, insist that the bishop's ritual precede the heathen one. Since I hold the highest rank here, save for His Majesty, my wish shall prevail!"

             
The jester shrugged. Eudoric murmured: "As you wish, my dear."

             
"Then let us to it," said Corentin. "The feast were not ready till sundown. Join hands, ye twain!"

             
Eudoric gave a hearty sneeze. Yolanda said: "I
freeze in this wisp of damp gauze.
I
demand to be properly clad!"

             
"Time enough for that after the bishop hath twaddled his trumpery. He hath his vespers to perform. Go on, join hands! Anon, Father Mamert shall be your attestant."

             
The bishop, with a sour look at the jester, took a stately stance before Eudoric and Yolanda and rattled through his marriage service, ending: "I now declare that ye be husband and wife be patient with each other's faults may the Three True Gods guide you if they do ye will not submit to that heathen rite they plan for you." Bishop Grippo turned and strode briskly away.

             
"Lady Grania!" called the jester. "Lead Princess Yolanda forth and clothe her as befits a noble bride."

             
Eudoric sneezed again. King Gwennon said: "Sir Eudoric, ye should also get yourself into dry footgear. We have already warned you against the wetting of your feet!
"

             
"
He will survive," sneered the jester, adding:

"The hero so brave

Dares monster and wave

His beautiful princess from doom to save;

But after the fight

The fortuneless wight

Is felled by a cold on his nuptial night!"

-

             
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."

             
"I will not!" screamed Yolanda. "Never have I heard of such a barbarous usage!"