[CHAPTER XXV]
OF THE END OF THE RED TAVERN AND ITS FITTING EPITAPH
A score of times during the next morning Sir Richard berated the sun for a laggard orb. When he was not stationed in front of his narrow window gazing out upon the reddening sky, the filmy rags of undulating mist floating above the moor, and the round summits of the downs blushing rosily above them, he would be polishing up his gear and industriously brushing the kinks out of his horse-hair plume. In lieu of a Venetian glass, he trimmed his beard to a proper point by reflecting his image against his glittering breast-plate, which he hung from a nail in the wall beside the window.
Zenas was but just kindling a fire when Sir Richard came down into the main room, the while the hunchback was cursing roundly at Harold for refusing to bring in more logs. It was their habit to begin quibbling the moment they clapt eyes upon each other. Being in the merriest of tempers, the young knight soon contrived to straighten out their quarrel, posting the foot-boy, happily whistling, in quest of an armload of wood. He even succeeded in enticing somewhat of a grin into the sullen visage of the crook-back.
"An thou canst keep me in this gallant humor, sire," said he, "thou mayst buy me a garb of motley and call me thy fool. See! this twisted, gnarled form ... these masque-like features ... and the yellow fang-teeth, all loose and tottering.... By'r Lady! sire, they were a right famous complement of the cap and bells, quoth 'a."
"An I am king, good, my Zenas," said Sir Richard, "why, thou shalt even play the fool."
"An thou be ever a king ... with a proper throne," said he, grinning and rubbing his hands together, "then I am a fool. These be parlous undertakings, sire ... parlous, deadly undertakings. An I mistake not, there'll be a pretty row of poled heads on London Bridge to mark the end."
The young knight had it on his tongue to tell him that there'd be no heads lopped off on his behalf, but he thought better of it and remained silent.
"And the appetite ... the appetite, prithee," Zenas went on croaking, as Sir Richard sat beside the loaded table, idly dreaming. "'Tis a right savory pasty, this," said he, cutting through its brown covering.