“This man, then, Master Humphrey, a’ cometh into our kitchen and demands a pot of ale. So I fetched it to him and he paid me—”
“Was his money good?”
“Oh, aye, good money enough, I warrant him,” said Geoffrey Scales.
“I said naught to the contrary,” continued Peter. “But no sooner had he drunk than he fell to cursing me for a thief, and swore that I had served him with small beer, and with that he caught up the tankard and heaved it at me with such force that my jaw is well-nigh broken.”
“And didst serve him with small beer?”
“I serve him with small beer! Nay, Master Humphrey, bethink you. As if I did not know the difference betwixt small beer and good ale!”
“That thou dost not,” said the sailor. “Young sir, listen to me. I know thee not, and I fear thee not, and I know not why I should trouble to talk to thee. But thou seemest to be in authority.”
“’Tis Sir Thurstan’s nephew,” whispered the constable.
“What know I of Sir Thurstan? Young sir, I am a man of Cornwall, and my name it is Pharaoh Nanjulian. They know me in Marazion. I have been on a venture to the North Seas—plague take it, there is naught but ice and snow there, with white bears twenty feet long—”