CHAPTER 25The feast was magnificent, the company jollier than any since the old Count had died. Young Baldwin, Count in his father’s stead, beamed upon us all with condescension and complaisance. He was making a point. And of course, he was not the first man to believe that a bigger and better banquet made him a bigger and better man than his father.
“I can’t make up my mind,” said the man beside me, “whether we are celebrating the Count’s new cook or the final capitulation of the Zealanders.”
Since the words appeared to be directed at me, I turned my head to regard the speaker. I saw a handsome, well-made man, fit and strong, in his thirties perhaps, with short, dark hair just fading to iron grey at the temples. He was looking at me, faintly smiling.
I said, “Certainly both are notable
