King Merse did not leave things to chance. He sent Snergs ahead in pairs, as is advocated by militarists, and the main body came behind. The scouts reported that the castle, though prosperous-looking, did not appear to be a scene of activity. With the exception of smoke coming from what they thought (and hoped) was a kitchen chimney, there was no sign of life about it.
The Dutchmen re-primed their muskets and the Snergs got their bows ready, and all approached and halted by the door in the outer wall; then King Merse ordered his trumpeter to blow the horn which hung outside.
I may mention that it had been decided that, to save time and provisions, the country should be treated as an enemy country until the contrary was proved.
The trumpeter blew (not inaptly) the Snerg equivalent of “Come to the cookhouse door,” and after a brief interval a face appeared looking down at them from the wall. It was a fat, pompous face, to which all hands took an instinctive, but perhaps slightly unreasonable, dislike.
“What want ye, my masters?” said the face, looking contemptuously at them.
“It would take too long to tell all we want,” replied King Merse, “but just at this moment we want to come in and eat. We will tell you the rest later.”
“And that may not be,” said the man, “for my lord is away and he has given me strict orders to admit no one except on business.”
“But eating is right good business,” replied the King. “Come, good fellow, do not keep us waiting.”
“I fear you will have to eat elsewhere,” the man said. “This castle seems to be getting too popular with vagrants. But two days agone some scurril knaves came in my temporary absence and ate a few scores of eggs and a ham and left me to wash up after them. Be advised, therefore, and go before I become an angered.”
King Merse, who was not the sort to waste time in unprofitable chat, turned to his men.
“Burst me open this door,” he said.
“Nay, if you be so hardy in your ways,” cried the man with a sudden change of tone, “I’ll even open to you. But I warn you that my lord is terrible in his wrath.”
The door opened and there appeared before them a stout person, wearing a long gown and a chain and carrying a wand of office, who was evidently the steward of the castle. “Ay, terrible,” he went on. “If he comes back and finds you here—oh, well, if you won’t listen, you won’t.” He concluded on a peevish note, for the King and Vanderdecken were going ahead of their men towards the wide stone steps that led to the main door of the building, which stood open.
Within they found a commodious hall furnished with long tables and benches, and with a raised dais at the end on which was a table of superior finish and several carved arm-chairs.
“And now, good fellow,” said the King, after removing his steel headpiece and seating himself at his ease, “to whom does this castle belong?”
“To the famed Sir Bevis, Lord of the King’s marches,” replied the steward, who had followed him in and who now seemed to think this a case for discretion. “He guards the land against chance attack from the fierce and cruel Snergs, who live on the other side of the deep river. And now I must ask who you are and why----”
“And now tell me if you have seen two children wandering in these parts, or if you have heard of two children wandering here. They should be with a man of about my size.”
“I have seen no dwarf—I mean, no gentleman of your size. But I have seen two children this very morning.”
“Where?” demanded the King, starting up.
“In the woods, gathering berries. But perchance it were an error to call them children, for the youngest is sixteen and a stout varlet for his age, and the other is some two years older and has a slight beard. They are the sons of my gossip Hugh, the miller, and idle vagabonds both as I have often said to Hugh and advised him to try what rods will do, for if a child----”
“Forget them,” interrupted the King, seating himself again. “Now, good fellow, tell me where your ruler lives, and how far it is from here.”
“His Majesty, King Kul lives (as all men should know) at Banrive, which is a day’s march from here. And now I must insist----”
“Then we will rest here to-night and leave on that day’s march by dawn to-morrow. In the meantime we would eat.”
“Nay, fair sir, that I cannot allow. If my lord----”
“We will need,” said the King, “some good meaty matter (such as pork) as a groundwork. And as beans go well with pork let there be beans also.”
“And some beer,” suggested Vanderdecken.
“And some beer of course. So see to it, for we would eat quickly, and rest. And talking of rest, where is your lord’s bedchamber?”
“It is here,” said the steward, opening a door and displaying a large room with two canopied beds in it. “But I fear I cannot allow you to use my lord’s best beds, for if----”
“You take that one,” said the King to Vanderdecken, pointing to the largest bed. “It looks very comfortable.”
“No,” replied Vanderdecken politely, “you take it.”
“I should really like you to have it,” said the King.
“Let’s flip for it,” suggested Vanderdecken, producing a piece of eight. “Sudden death.”
“Heads!” said the King.
“Tails,” said Vanderdecken, displaying the coin. “Sorry, old chap.” He got into bed (with his sea-boots on) to see how it felt. “Very nice. We’ll have a good sleep to-night anyhow.”
They went back to their men and directed proceedings. Some men went out to fetch straw to sleep on, others went to the kitchen and instructed by Vanderdecken’s cook (whose soup was the cause of all these adventures) prepared some choice food (he was very good at sea-pie), and drew off many gallons of strong beer to wash it down. The steward followed them about with a pen and ink-horn and a piece of parchment, entering against each item taken what he conceived to be the highest tavern rates. A faithful fellow, but something of an ass.
When the meal was over sentries were posted on the walls and the others lay down on the straw. The King and Vanderdecken retired to their beds after giving orders that they were to be roused an hour before the dawn.
“I say, this is comfort,” said Vanderdecken, plumping up a feather pillow. “By the way, let’s hope we find those youngsters pretty soon.”
“Yes,” agreed the King. “Because if we don’t, we’ll be forced to introduce battle, murder and sudden death into these parts, and I want to avoid that if I can.”