Their final selection had been left, he knew, to a brewery which had experience in these matters. And the girls certainly looked like the pick of anybody's crop. Forrester beamed at them again, stood up in the palanquin and spread his arms wide.
Then he sprang. In a flying leap, he went high into the air and did a full somersault, landing on his toes on the stage, twenty-five feet away. The girls were kneeling in a circle around him.
"Come, my doves!" he bellowed. "Come, my pigeons!" His Godlike golden baritone carried for blocks.
He grabbed the two nearest girls by their hands and helped them to their feet. They blushed and lowered their eyes.
"Come, all of you!" Forrester shouted. "We are about to begin the revels!"
The girls rose and Forrester gestured them in closer. Then, surrounded by all seven, he threw back his head again.
"A revel to make history!" he roared. "A revel beyond the imagination of man! A revel fit for your God!"
The crowd cheered wildly. Forrester picked up one of the girls, tossed her into the air and caught her easily as she descended. He set her on her feet and put his hands solidly on his hips.
"My cup!" he shouted. "Fill you my cup!"
Behind the stage was a corps of Priests guarding a mountainous golden hogshead of wine, adjudged the finest wine produced during the year.