"That's a secret," he said darkly. "Been handed down from generation to generation."
Merriwig could think of nothing better to say to this than "Ah!" He said it very impressively, and with a word of farewell returned to his camp.
He was in brilliant form over the wassail bowl that night as he drew a picture of his triumphant dissimulation. It is only fair to say that the King of Barodia was in brilliant form too. . . .
For several weeks after this the battle raged. Sometimes the whole Euralian army would line up outside its camp and call upon the Barodians to fight; at other times the Barodian army would form fours in full view of the Euralians in the hope of provoking a conflict. At intervals the two Chancellors would look up old spells, scour the country for wizards, or send each other insulting messages. At the end of a month it was difficult to say which side had obtained the advantage.
A little hill surmounted by a single tree lay half way between the two camps. Thither one fine morning came the two Kings and the two Chancellors on bloody business bent. (The phrase is Roger's.) Their object was nothing less than to arrange that personal fight between the two monarchs which was always a feature of Barodo-Euralian warfare. The two Kings having shaken hands, their Chancellors proceeded to settle the details.
"I suppose," said the Chancellor of Barodia, "that your Majesties will wish to fight with swords?"
"Certainly," said the King of Barodia promptly; so promptly that Merriwig felt certain that he had a Magic Sword too.
"Cloaks of Darkness are not allowed, of course," said the Chancellor of Euralia.
"Why, have you got one?" said each King quickly to the other.
Merriwig was the first to recover himself.