The meal was nigh finished, when all eyes were turned towards the
entrance. A little blackamoor page came waddling in. He made no sign nor
obeisance, but took his station, without speaking, behind his master's
chair.
"Why, how now, my trusty squire?" said the disguised monarch; "thou wast
not bidden to this feast."
The dwarf cast a scowling glance at the master of the house, and he
replied, while a hideous grin dilated his thick stubborn features--
"This be goodly wassail, methinks. I am weary of lurching and
torchlight."
"Tempest," said the king, "I would crave grace for this follower of
mine. He is somewhat fearsome and forbidding, but of an unwearied
fidelity."
"Troth," said Tempest, still wishful to maintain the king's incognito,
"the Turks having now taken Byzantium, the great bulwark of Christendom,
I did fear me that the first of the tribe from that great army of
locusts had descended upon us."
"Fear not," said the unfortunate monarch, with a smile; "this poor
innocent will do no ill. His mistress brought him for me a present from
her father's court; and, to say the truth, he has been a great solace in
my trouble.
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