“Ha, ha!” exclaimed his entertainer; “now, by my verity, I dreamed not thy father had been so gay in his young days. What! play the Lady Marie false! Come, come, it was ill done, ill done; she was a lady of most excellent carriage; it was ill done. But be not cast down.[Pg 124] The sin was not thine. Pledge me, noble Reginald. Thou standest in need of refreshment; for, in truth, thy look is weariness itself, and thou art as silent as the oaken board on which thou leanest. Come, come, the pigment is worth the tasting.”
Reginald blushed, and seemed doubting whether it were not well to make a precipitate retreat. The Lady Elfrida turned away her head, and let down her veil, with a gesture of affected horror at the indelicate sallies of her father. Nothing daunted, the old man continued his pertinacious system of annoyance, while the domestics applauded, by ill-repressed acclamations, the surprising jocularity of their lord.
“Thou art sparing of thy food, Sir Knight; but doubtless thou art used to other diet than this: the board of a Saxon thane hath but little to tempt the palate of the son of a Norman noble.”
“Thou wrongest thine own hospitality, noble thane,” replied the other, collecting his spirits, and making an effort to be polite. “Womanly indeed should I be, if I were not used to harder fare than this! My father, the forester—that is, I mean, my father, the baron.” And again Reginald looked confused, and paused, and was silent.
“Cheer thee, noble Reginald,” said his host; “thou art wearied with thy journey, and thy wits wander.” “Perchance,” said the fair Elfrida, “Sir Reginald hath lost them on the way!” The menials echoed applause, and Reginald looked yet more foolish than before. “Thou dost belie thy character strangely,” continued the old man; “fame hath told us that in the whole shire there is not a jollier boon companion nor a truer lover of the cup.” “It is true that Sir Reginald d’Arennes hath had that reputation,” replied the Norman, “and his best friends have judged that he would do well to put it away.” “By the holy Confessor,” cried Leofwyn, “not upon his wedding-day! Out upon the idea! What, ho! Osric, fill up for Sir Reginald. Pledge me, gallant Knight. The health of thy bride—of Elfrida!”
“I will do thee reason,” said Reginald, raising the cup to his lips; but, at the mention of the name of Elfrida, some of the vassals burst into such a clamorous fit of laughter that he set it down in astonishment.[Pg 125]
Leofwyn remarked his surprise, and endeavoured to dispel it. “Thou seest, good son, that there is a kind of pageant toward, at which these boors are marvellously pleased; but be not the less inclined to join in our banquet. We wait but for the arrival of my son Lothaire, and all disguise shall be stripped off.” “Disguise!” cried the guest, dropping the cup, and starting from his seat, “a murrain on the tell-tale! How didst thou learn——” “Nay, my son,” said the Saxon, as if endeavouring to retract an unguarded expression, “we are all somewhat disguised—in liquor.”
Reginald resumed his seat, and, in a short time, began to drink most valorously, as if striving to drown in the rich pigment some unpleasant suspicions. By degrees, his head, which was evidently weaker than the one fame had attributed to Reginald d’Arennes, began to be overpowered by the frequent potations which were forced upon him by his host; and while Leofwyn and his retainers, and even the modest Elfrida, were immensely amused by his awkward situation, the hapless bridegroom showed the effects of Saxon hospitality in rhapsodical and unintelligable exclamations.
“Of a truth, good thane, thy drink is marvellous good! marvellous good is thy drink! Better have not I tasted since we rifled old Ambrose, the hermit of Torney Low! Very rich was the old rogue: he had store of gold and of silver, and an admirable cellar withal. Right merry we were and jovial; and, for the hoary man, we made him sit by the board, and chaunt a merry stave. That did I; for truly my fellow thief had some quirks of conscience. Health to the old man! May his bags and his cellar be replenished before next Whitsuntide! What care I for abbot and friar, mitre and cowl! I roam through glade and greenwood, over hill, and rock, and stream, free as the hawk, free as the passing wind. Marry, I had forgot how I have linked myself to a wife! Kiss me, fair Elfrida! I love thee very much, Elfrida; but thou knowest, when war calleth us away, we soldiers leave ye like a whistle. How dost thou, old father-in-law, how dost thou? Of a verity, thy face is as black as a November cloud, and that spear by thy side is wondrous sharp: it is well I have a Milan[Pg 126] corselet. Mark ye my Milan corselet, father and bride? The zecchins that were paid for it! It hath not borne blow yet. Certainly I like not blows; but the lace of my helmet is snapped in twain. Thy son, most noble Leofwyn, could explain unto thee the manner of it. Surely it was a mighty blow, and a perilous, given with a strong arm and a right goodwill. Launcelot shook like an aspen leaf. Howbeit, noble Saxon, thy drink is marvellous good; it maketh a man valorous, and doth as it were put to flight the whimsies, and the visions, and the phantasies of the brain. Fill up, valiant Leofwyn! Plague on them that flinch! Mine harness is much soiled for a wedding garment, but I shall wear a new doublet to-morrow. A blight upon the brambles in the coppice! How now, good father-in-law, why dost thou not speak? Thy face is as round as the bowl, and as silent as the roasted crab that is floating within it. Fill up! Off with care! Shall I not be merry, when steel, and nobility, and a wife are put upon my shoulders?”
“My lord groweth complimentary,” said Elfrida, hardly able to speak for laughter. “I do feel afraid that the air of Kennet Hold, and the drink it affords, have somewhat unsettled his brains!”