Claudia demurred a moment.
“Is it lawful,” quoth she, “to possess one’s self of food and raiment in a strange and empty house?”
“Nonsense,” said the cellaress with a sniff.
“But, Malt, I never stole a crust in my life.”
“Better learn the craft, then. King David stole the shewbread.”
“It was given him of the priests.”
“Tut, sister, then are we wiser than David; we can thieve with our own hands. I say this house is God-sent for our need. May I stifle if I err.”
“Malt is right,” said Igraine, laughing; “let us deprive the barbarians of a pie or a crucifix.”
“Aye,” chimed Malt, “want makes thieving honest. Jubilate Deo. I’m for the pantry.”
A colonnade enclosed the peristylum on every quarter. Beneath the shadows cast by the architrave and roof, showed the portals of the various chambers. Igraine led the way. The first room that they essayed appeared to have been a sleeping apartment, for there were beds in it, the bedding lying disordered and fallen upon the floor as though there had been a struggle, or a sudden wild flight. It was a woman’s chamber, judging by its mirror of steel, and the articles that were scattered on floor and table. The next room proved to be a species of parlour or living-room. A meal had been spread upon the table, and left untouched. Platter and drinking cups were there, a dish of cakes, a joint on a great charger, bread, olives, fruit, and wine. Armour hung on the walls, with mirrors of steel, and paintings upon panels of wood.