Jud raised his spear diagonally across his chest as a salute, and replied: “A change of plans, excellency. Upon reaching the river, I decided that it would be wiser not to return to Vairkingi by that route.”
“Really meaning,” Arkilu interposed, with, a laugh, “that you found it impossible to throw a bridge across at that point.”
“Why do you always doubt the reasons for my actions?” Jud asked in an aggrieved tone.
“You wrong me,” she replied, “I never doubt your reasons. Your reasons are always of the best. What I doubt is your excuses.”
“Enough, enough!” the king shouted. “For I wish to discuss more immediate matters than nice distinctions of language. Jud’s reasons or excuses, or whatever, are good enough for me. Jud, I wish to inform you that my daughter has recently captured a strange furless being, whom it is my pleasure to turn over to you. I have not yet seen this oddity—”
“Father, please!” Arkilu begged, but at this juncture, Myles, exasperated by Theoph’s remarks, parted the tent curtains and stepped out.
“Look well, oh, king!” he shouted. “Here stands Myles Cabot, the Minorian, beast from another world, freak of nature, sickly cripple, common soldier, and all that. Look well, O king!”
“A bit loud mouthed, I should say,” Theoph the Grim sniffed, not one whit abashed.
“Watch him crumple at the presence of a real man,” added Jud the Excuse-Maker.
Suiting the action to the word, the latter stepped over to Myles and suddenly slapped him on the face.