“And of his trusty fat man,” said our mistress; “although that fat man is so foolish as a dish of butter.”
“Touching my emoluments,” said Sir Richard Pendragon, eating his meat almost as grossly as he did in the inn; “touching my emoluments, countess, madam, and ladyship, it has entered my mind that it would accord with my merit if in addition to my other honours I received the more signal one of mastership of your ladyship’s treasury.”
“Peace, Sirrah Red Dragon,” said his mistress sternly; “and do you endeavour to eat your roast pig like a Christian gentleman. Endeavour, sirrah, to imitate the courteous delicacy in his feeding of the worshipful Count of Nullepart. But peace, I say, for I would engage the officers of my household upon a great affair. This castle is in peril. I do fear that the rude Castilian and all his men will soon be knocking on the gate. Would you have me dig pits and lay snares, Sirrah Red Dragon, for you are our man of war? We have but three hundred men-at-arms, and our villainous cousin will reckon his host by the thousand.”
“By my hand,” said the Englishman, “this is a kettle of fish.”
He fell again into the habit of stroking his chin, and it was remarkable to notice how a certain licence that was formerly to be seen in his demeanour was suddenly found in it no more. “I am fain to observe, madam,” said he with his new gravity, that seemed to have worked a miracle within him, “that here is a pretty work to be done.”
“Done it shall be, Sirrah Red Dragon,” said the Countess Sylvia. “If we spend every drop of our blood and that of every liege that is pledged to our service, the Castilian shall not enter here; do you mark me, sirrah!”
“We must address ourselves,” said the Englishman, “to providing this garrison with arms and ordnance, sack and sugar, for I am sore to believe we shall have to stand a siege. Madam, we must look to our provision without delay, if we are to throw the gauntlet down.”
“It shall be done, sirrah; this Castilian shall have a welcome. How long, bethink you, sirrah, can we hold this place with our three hundred men-at-arms?”
“Two years, madam, with sufficient munitions of war. But these are to obtain.”
“To-morrow,” said the Countess Sylvia, who, considering that she knew no more of the world than her convent had taught her, showed a great talent for affairs, “the hinds shall drive in the cattle from our outlying farms; and arms and every sort of munition shall be purchased so long as our treasury can provide them.”