“He lives, and no bones are broken,” said the prince, looking up after a few minutes; “here, some of you, go fetch hot water and pour it on him; then rub him dry; cover him up and let him rest. He has only been stunned. And let us have something to eat, Arkal. We are ravenous as wolves, having had scarce a bite since morning.”
“You come in good time,” replied the captain. “Our evening meal is just ready.”
“Come along, then, let us to work. You will join us, Beniah, and tell me the object of your mission while we eat.”
The men of old may not have been epicures, but there can be no question that they were tremendous eaters. No doubt, living as they did, constantly in fresh air, having no house drains or gas, and being blessed with superabundant exercise, their appetites were keen and their capacities great. For at least ten minutes after the evening meal began, Bladud, Arkal, Dromas, little Maikar, and the Hebrew, were as dumb and as busy as Brownie. They spake not a single word—except that once the prince took a turkey drumstick from between his teeth to look up and repeat, “All well at home, you say?” To which Beniah, checking the course of a great wooden spoon to his lips, replied, “All well.”
There was roast venison at that feast, and roast turkey and roast hare, and plover and ducks of various kinds, all roasted, and nothing whatever boiled, except some sorts of green vegetables, the names of which have, unfortunately, not been handed down to us, though we have the strongest ground for believing that they were boiled in earthenware pots—for, in recent excavations in Bath, vessels of that description have been found among the traces of the most ancient civilisation.
“Now,” said the prince, wiping his mouth with a bunch of grass when he came to the first pause, “what may be the nature of your mission, Beniah?”
“Let me ask, first,” replied the Hebrew, also wiping his mouth with a similar pocket handkerchief, “have you found the lad Cormac yet?”
“No,” answered the prince, gloomily, and with a slightly surprised look, for the expression of Beniah’s countenance puzzled him. “Why do you ask?”
“Because that bears somewhat on my mission. I have to deliver a message from your father, the king. He bids me say that you are to return home immediately.”
“Never!” cried Bladud, with that Medo-Persic decision of tone and manner, which implies highly probable and early surrender, “never! until I find the boy—dead or alive.”