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In a cross voice Madouc called out: What are you gaping at, Sir Pom-Pom? Have
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you never seen a naked girl before?
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Never a naked princess, said Sir Pom-Pom with a grin.
That is sheer nonsense, said Madouc in disgust. We are much alike, all of
us. There is truly nothing noteworthy to see.
Still, I prefer it to looking at the back end of Juno.
Stare as you like, said Madouc. I cannot be bothered with your
foolishness.
It is not total foolishness, as you put it, said Sir Pom-Pom. I have a
sound and practical reason for making a close inspection.
What is that?
Should I return with the Holy Grail, my boon might entitle me to wed the
royal princess.
Therefore I thought it sensible to discover just what advantages such a choice
might entail. For a fact, I see nothing which arouses any great enthusiasm.
Madouc struggled for words. At last she said: Since you seem to be idle, I
suggest that you strike up a fire and boil us a soup for our noon meal.
Sir Pom-Pom drew his face back through the foliage. Madouc stepped from the
water, dressed and returned to the road. As the two sat in the shade of a
great elm tree, eating their soup, they observed the approach of three persons
on foot: a short plump man, a woman of similar proportions and an urchin,
undersized, pasty-gray of skin, seemingly all legs and head. As they drew
close, Madouc recognized the three clowns who had performed at the Abatty Dell
fair.
The three approached and halted. A very good day to you both, said the man,
who had a round face, coarse black hair, a little bulb of a nose and bright
protuberant black eyes.
I echo this sentiment, declared the woman, who like the man showed a round
flexible face, black hair, round black eyes and a pink stub of a nose.
Good day to you as well, said Madouc.
The man glanced into the pot where simmered the soup. May we sit here in the
shade and take a brief respite from our trudging?
The shade is free, said Sir Pom-Pom. Rest where you like.
Your words falls kindly on the ear! said the woman gratefully. The way is
long and I go with difficulty, and sometimes pain, by reason of my ailment.
The three settled cross-legged in the shade. Allow me to make introductions,
said the man. I am
Filemon, Master of Mirth. Here sits Dame Corcas, no less skilled in merry
antics. And here, small but doughty, is our little Mikelaus. He is not
altogether cheerful, and perhaps somewhat ill, since he has had no breakfast
today. Am I right, poor Mikelaus, sad little tyke that you are?
Arum. Boskatch. Gaspa confaga.
Sir Pom-Pom blinked. What did he say?
Filemon chuckled. Mikelaus has an odd way of speaking, which is not clear to
everyone.
Dame Corcas explained, with delicate precision: He inquired, quite clearly:
What is cooking in the pot?
It is our meal, said Sir Pom-Pom. I have boiled up a soup of ham, onions
and beans.
Mikelaus spoke again: Vogenard. Fistilla.
Filemon said reprovingly: Impossible, Mikelaus! It is not our food, no matter
how much you crave sustenance.
Dame Corcas said: Perhaps these kind folk might spare him just a taste, to
keep the spirit of
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Madouc said: I suppose that is possible. Sir Pom-Pom, serve a portion of soup
to the creature.
Sir Pom-Pom glumly did as bidden. Dame Corcas reached to take the bowl. I
must make sure that it is not too hot; other wise Mikelaus will burn himself.
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