Lions of the Grail by Tim Hodkinson

Author:Tim Hodkinson [Hodkinson, Tim]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781801105460
Publisher: Head of Zeus

31

As Savage finished washing, Henry de Thrapston arrived at the castle bath house. He had brought some clothes for Savage to wear to the feast.

‘My wife assumed you would not have brought any clothes suitable for a banquet,’ de Thrapston said, ‘so I’ve brought you some more stylish items to choose from. We can’t have you coming tonight dressed like you’re going hunting.’

‘I’m not wearing any of those silly short tunics or pointy shoes,’ Savage said with a grunt, surveying the clothes before him with obvious suspicion.

Reluctantly he selected the longest green velvet tunic that de Thrapston had brought and grey woollen leggings. All of the shoes were simply too ridiculous for him to wear and he pulled his deerskin boots back on. Once he was dressed, de Thrapston accompanied him to the great hall for the banquet.

A transformation had occurred since Savage’s visit the day before. As soon as the wooden doors were opened, the hall exhaled a breath of warm air. Charcoal blazed in the wide-chimneyed hearth in the west wall and in a brazier in the centre of the hall. Cressets and waxen torches were placed in the wall brackets, while the walls themselves were hung with glorious tapestries that came from as far afield as Toulouse and Turkestan. Glittering with the brilliance of their embroidery, these seemed to be alive with the scenes of knights and ladies, hunting and jousting depicted on them. Servants had erected trestle tables: a long one across the top of the hall for the most important guests and one down each side for the rest of the feasters. A rich silk canopy wafted above the top table. All three tables were covered with clean, white cloth and silver salt cellars, spoons and overlays sat on top of them.

Savage was impressed, and said so.

‘Really.’ De Thrapston shook his head. ‘A few years away and you forget that Ireland is as civilised as anywhere else. Now,’ he continued in a more serious tone, ‘the earl has asked me to apologise to you, but your arrival was somewhat unannounced and the invitations for this banquet were made some time ago. I’m afraid that there isn’t enough room for you at the top table. To make room for you someone else would have to be moved, which would cause all sorts of offence – you know how petty people can be. I’m sure you understand.’

Savage understood perfectly. Messenger of the king he may be, but here in Ulster he was still Richard Savage, son of a poor knight from the lough shore and therefore not fit to sit at the top table with the lords and ladies.

‘Still, I must introduce you, you know?’ de Thrapston continued, bustling Savage towards the top table.

Sumptuously clad barons and ladies, the cream of Ulster society, were settled at the tables chattering noisily while scarcely heeded musicians played in the background. Henry de Thrapston led Savage from one end of the top table to the other, introducing him to each of the nobles in turn.

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