The marvellous land of Snergs
kitchen, was a self-respecting place, clean and well kept, and a nice
change from the beast of a tower they had spent the night in.
BREAKFAST
Sir Percival was given a stool at one of the tables and Sylvia was put
at the other--to serve the food, as she was the only lady present. The
ham and eggs were perfect, and they had in addition buttered toast and
a pot of damson preserve which the jester said they really must taste
as he had made it himself. Tiger had a large plateful of everything and
was busily engaged in putting his shape as it should be. (It may be
noticed that almost all the news I have to give of this little dog is
of the rotundity or otherwise of his stomach.)
“Tell me,” said Sir Percival at length, coming to business, “to whom
does this castle belong?”
“It belongs to my master,” replied the jester. “One Gunthorn, a fierce
and rather unscrupulous baron who is something of a scourge to the
countryside. I am his privy jester--Baldry is my name--and I ought to
know. Many knights have come here, striving to joust with him--but they
have all gone, alas!”
“Oh! Where did they go to?”
“Not far, sir knight. There is a graveyard some furlong or so beyond
these walls, and there they lie at peace, to each his little headstone.
Will you pass your plate for another morsel of ham and some extra egg?”
“No, thank you,” answered Sir Percival. “I seem to have lost my
appetite. And where is the baron Gunthorn at this moment?”
“Why, sir knight, he may be many, many long leagues from here, and----”
“If I can change my mind,” interrupted Sir Percival cheerfully, “I
think I could eat another rasher.”
“And on the other hand,” continued Baldry, passing up the plate, “he
may come home at any moment. He went off this morning to look for a
wandering knight he had heard about, taking with him his men-at-arms
and his cook and household varlets, as is his quaint custom. He left me
in charge of his stronghold, knowing that no man dare set foot within
these walls, so famed is he for ruthlessness. He has another quaint
custom of sneaking in by the postern gate, so that he may observe if
all is kept well in his household when he is away. But you do not eat,
sir knight.”
Sir Percival pushed away his plate and thought deeply. “And what will
he do if he finds you entertaining guests during his absence?”
“Good sir,” said Baldry earnestly, “I prithee talk of cheerful things
while we may. Were he to--but pardon me a moment, _did_ I hear sounds?”
A TERRIBLE MOMENT
He sprang to his feet and stood an instant anxiously listening. Then he
bounded over to a door in the corner of the kitchen, flung it open, and
disappeared up a spiral stone staircase.
A moment later they heard the distant clanking of mail and a harsh
roaring voice raised in anger. The sounds came nearer and nearer and
they heard mighty feet descending the stone stairs. Gorbo snatched
up his bow and pushed the children towards the door. Sir Percival was
struggling to get his helmet on, and making heavy weather of it.
“Good, my lord,” they heard the voice of Baldry saying, “if you will
but listen to reason----”
“Reason me no reason,” interrupted the roaring voice. “If I find
unbidden guests in my kitchen I’ll first flay them and afterwards slay
them----”
The door was flung open and Baldry appeared alone, sweetly smiling and
smiting together two pot-lids to imitate the tread of mailed feet.
“Be seated, I pray you,” he said with a ringing laugh. “Now was not
this a pretty jest?”
“Ay, a right joyous jape,” said Sir Percival, pulling his helmet
off with violence and displaying a pale and angry face. “Thou art
altogether a choice merry varlet. Though how you manage to go on day by
day without getting slain passes my understanding.”
MORE TROUBLE
“Look!” exclaimed Baldry, suddenly pointing through the open doorway.
They could see across the courtyard to the door in the outer wall, and
this having been left open showed a perspective of white road leading
through the woods. And not so very far along the road horsemen could be
seen coming up.
“Now this is no jest at all,” continued Baldry, “for here comes the
ruthless baron. Let us all go far away and quickly.”
“I’m on,” said Gorbo, grabbing Sylvia’s hand. “But what do _you_ want
to go for if you belong to the place?”
“Alas! I never saw or heard of the place before this morning,” said
Baldry sadly. “I was a-tramping the high road, when by ill-chance I
saw that door open and nobody about, and I had just gone in and helped
myself to a snack when up comes this valiant knight, thundering at the
door and blowing the horn--But all is well!” he cried joyfully, leaping
into the air. “He will protect us! Come along, little ones, and let’s
find a nice spot to see from. Now for the shock of steeds! Now for
splintering of lances! Oh, this is heavenly!”
“Well, I don’t know so much about that,” said Sir Percival
disagreeably. He had now managed to get his helmet fixed on and was
leading his horse through the door in the outer wall. “You see I don’t
want to take an unfair advantage of this Gunthorn. He is tired from his
journey, belike, and there is no honour in conquering a man who is not
fresh and lively. Nay, that were a coward’s deed!” He blundered about,
trying to mount his horse.
“But, sir knight,” pleaded Baldry piteously, throwing himself in front
of him, “why spoil the fun? Here is my dear friend Gorbo, who would
love to see a jousting. And these little ones, too, see their eager
faces! Come, sir, here hangs the horn. One blast and Gunthorn will come
spurring up to give you your heart’s desire!”
“I know my job better than you,” said Sir Percival coldly. “Stand
aside, fellow, you will not induce me to take advantage of a weary
man--And _now_ you’ve done it!” he wailed, for Baldry had jumped for
the horn and let out a blast that made the echoes ring.
A moment later they saw a man detach himself from the little group of
approaching horsemen and speed towards them, handling the longest kind
of lance in a manner that bespoke both strength and dexterity. Sir
Percival muttered something that sounded like an oath (though I hope it
was not) and by a desperate effort managed to get into the saddle. He
went in a bumping and jangling gallop in one direction under the trees,
and Gorbo and Baldry and Sylvia and Joe and the puppy went swiftly in
the opposite direction.
THE SORROWS OF BALDRY
They heard distant shouts, as of annoyed people, which naturally
encouraged them to keep up a good speed. Gorbo and Baldry helped the
children along with great leaps and bounds, and they were soon deep
in the silent woods, far from risk of pursuit. There they rested on a
mossy bank and took things easily for a time.
“That was a jolly breakfast, you know,” said Baldry, to start the talk
well.
“Yes, it was,” agreed Gorbo. “But what will this Gunthorn person say
when he finds out about your making so free with the place?”
“I don’t know. And another strange thing about it is I don’t care. And
his name’s not Gunthorn--at least I don’t suppose it is. You see I just
made it up suddenly.”
“It’s quite a good name for a pretence baron,” said Sylvia.
“Yes, isn’t it?” Baldry was highly pleased at this remark. “It sounds
so ruthless. I’m rather good at making up things.”
“I’m glad of that,” Gorbo said, “because perhaps you can make up some
way of getting out of this mess. Do you know the way to get across the
river?”
“No, I don’t. And I don’t know anybody who knows. And I don’t know
anybody who knows anybody who knows. I wish I did, because I’d like to
go with you and see Life. It’s very dull in these parts; the people
have no sense of humour. And that makes it so difficult for me,” he
added sadly. “I’m always misunderstood.”
“Never mind, poor thing,” said Sylvia, who had taken a great liking to
him.
“The hollow world,” continued Baldry, with a suspicion of tears in
his eyes, “believes a jester’s job to be all jollity; but little do
they think that there may be an aching heart beneath what I must term
superficial gaiety.”
Sylvia stroked his hand soothingly.
“But on the other hand,” he went on in a brighter tone, “there may not
be. There isn’t in my case at any rate; though I have had a peck of
trouble lately. You see, only yesterday I was the King’s High Jester,
and now I am wandering the earth with only three friends to love me.
Four to be exact, because I include this little dog.”
“Did you get turned out?” asked Joe.
“No, not exactly; I ran too fast for that. And yet,” he went on, with a
return to melancholy musing, “it was a quaint conceit, one that might
have pleased. Who would have thought that the King was so obtuse. But
that is the worst of tyrants, you never know how they’ll take things.”
“Tell us about it,” said Gorbo, “then you’ll feel better.”
“Well, it was merely a little idea of mine to brighten up Court life,
which has a tendency to become dull and stuffy sometimes. You see it is
the King’s custom to walk alone through the streets on the day before
his birthday so as to show himself to his subjects, and to show that
he is willing to unbend from State ceremonial, and so forth. It also
serves to brisken their memories with regard to presents.”
“What does he do?” asked Sylvia.
“He just walks along, wearing a crown and in his best robes. And he
speaks to people here and there--in a dignified way, of course--and he
pats children on the head and asks their mothers how old they are, and
if they had mumps--and all that sort of thing.”
“He seems quite a nice king,” Sylvia observed.
“You wait,” said Baldry, with dark meaning. “It’s only once a year
that he bothers about mumps. Well, to go on with my unhappy story, I
thought out a scheme for making the whole affair brighter. Though I
am young and thin and have no hair to my chin, and though the King is
middle-aged and fat and has a flowing beard, I so padded myself up with
straw and so painted and behorsehaired myself that when I appeared in
the public ways, clad in furred and tinselled robes and wearing a brass
crown, there were none that did not take the jester for the king.”
“I say, this sounds rather good!” Gorbo exclaimed.
“Oh, it was very good. But listen. In lieu of the customary stately
strut of His Majesty, I proceeded in a lively dance, which I have
invented myself and which I have named ‘The fawn at play.’ There is in
it a great deal of fanciful gesture and nimble leg work. In my right
hand I bore a six-hooped pot; my left hand held my robe on high to
give free play for my gambols. And thus, with shrill whoops of joy, I
pranced among the amazed citizens.”
“Did they laugh?” asked Joe.
“Some few of the keener spirits did; but the general expression was of
stolid wonder. I redoubled my efforts. Suddenly, on the completion of
a series of backward somersaults, I found myself face to face with the
King himself. There was that in his countenance that caused me to turn
and flee, but I tripped over my robe and fell. In another instant I was
seized by the guards and hurried to a dungeon.”
“What beasts!” exclaimed Sylvia.
“Yes, Sylvia, that’s what they were. And when my gossip, the jailer,
told me that the King was frothing at the mouth and had sent for his
High Executioner, it seemed to me a choice moment to leave his service
if it could be done. My prison was in a tower which had, by great good
luck, a drain-pipe outside the window, so I washed off all traces of
my kingly colour and slipped down. I reached the ground without other
mishap than a rasping of my knees and knuckles and fled afar. Better to
roam the cold world than to await the vengeance of a tyrant. So here I