The door of the hall was closed when the king entered from his own chambers and took his place, so that the cold, and the draughts, which might eddy the smoke of fire and torches about the guests too much, was kept out.  But it was closed against weather only, for any man might crave admittance to the king’s ball at the great feast, whether as wayfarer or messenger or suppliant, so that he had good reason for asking hospitality.  Several men had come in thus as the feast went on, but none heeded the little bustle their coming made, nor so much as turned to see where they were set at the lower tables, except myself and perhaps Owen.  There was merriment enough in the hall, and room and plenty for all comers, even as Ina loved to have it.

Now there is no need to tell aught of that feast, until the meat was done and the tables were cleared for the most pleasant part of the evening, when the servants, whether men or women, sat down at their tables also, and the harp went round, with the cups, and men sang in turn or told tales, each as he was best able to amuse the rest.  There was a little bustle while this clearance went on, and men changed their seats to be nearer friends and the like, for the careful state of the beginning of the feast was over in some degree; but at last all was ready, and the great door, which had been open for a few minutes as the servants took out into the courtyard the great cauldrons and spits, was closed, and then there fell a silence, for we waited for a custom of the king’s.

Here at Ina’s court we kept up the old custom of drinking the first cup with all solemnity, and making some vows thereover.  This cup was, of course, to be drunk by the host, and after him by any whom he would name, or would take a vow on him.  In the old heathen days this cup was called the “Bragi bowl,” and the vows were made in the names of the Asir, and mostly ended in fighting before the year was over.  We kept the old name yet, but now the vows were made in the name of all the Saints, and if Ina or any other made one it was sure to be of such sort that it would lead to some worthy deed before long, wrought in all Christian wise.  Maybe the last of the old pattern of vow was made when Kentwine our king swore to clear the Welsh from the Parrett River to the sea, and did it.

So when the time came we sat waiting, each with his horn or cup before him, brimming with ale or cider or mead, as he chose, and men turned in their seats that they might see the pleasant little ceremony at the high place the better.  As for me, I just turned in my bench end so that my feet were clear of the table, on which my arm and cup rested, and faced right down the hall, with, of course, no one at all between me and the steps of the high place.  For now all had taken their seats except one cup bearer, who waited at the lowest step with the king’s golden cup in one hand, and in the other a silver flagon of good Welsh wine to fill it withal.  One would say that this was but a matter of chance, but as it happened presently it was well that I moved.