Immobilised by surprise and fright, Magrit gawped open-mouthed at the king.
‘Go for it.’ El gave Magrit a hard prod to get her moving. She bounced forward and skidded to a halt.
‘I … forgive me, sire. I have no instrument with me.’
‘You may borrow a lute from the court musicians.’
The king snapped his fingers at a motley group hanging around at the entrance to the hall. Obediently, a minstrel stepped forward, bowed deeply, and handed his lute to the king. As servants began to serve spiced wine and sweet honey wafers, Magrit hurried to the king’s side and shyly accepted the instrument from him. With head bowed, her whole being concentrated on the music she was about to play, she gently and reverently fingered the strings.
‘I hope she’s not going to launch into a Mass or anything,’ El w
