So, Georgios still declaiming upon the shortcomings of his servant, they went back into the hall.  Here the conversation soon turned upon other matters, such as the differences between the creeds of the Greek and Latin churches—­a subject upon which he seemed to be an expert—­and the fear of the Christians in Cyprus lest Saladin should attempt to capture that island.

At length five o’clock came, and Georgios having first been taken to the lavatory—­it was but a stone trough—­to wash his hands, was led to the dinner, or rather to the supper-table, which stood upon a dais in front of the entrance to the solar.  Here places were laid for six—­Sir Andrew, his nephews, Rosamund, the chaplain, Matthew, who celebrated masses in the church and ate at the hall on feast-days, and the Cypriote merchant, Georgios himself.  Below the dais, and between it and the fire, was another table, at which were already gathered twelve guests, being the chief tenants of Sir Andrew and the reeves of his outlying lands.  On most days the servants of the house, with the huntsmen, swineherds, and others, sat at a third table beyond the fire.  But as nothing would stop these from growing drunken on the good ale at a feast, and though many ladies thought little of it, there was no sin that Rosamund hated so much as this, now their lord sent them to eat and drink at their ease in the barn which stood in the courtyard with its back to the moat.

When all had taken their seats, the chaplain said grace, and the meal began.  It was rude but very plentiful.  First, borne in by the cook on a wooden platter, came a great codfish, whereof he helped portions to each in turn, laying them on their “trenchers”—­that is, large slices of bread—­whence they ate them with the spoons that were given to each.  After the fish appeared the meats, of which there were many sorts, served on silver spits.  These included fowls, partridges, duck, and, chief of all, a great swan, that the tenants greeted by knocking their horn mugs upon the table; after which came the pastries, and with them nuts and apples.  For drink, ale was served at the lower table.  On the dais however, they drank some of the black wine which Wulf had bought—­that is, except Sir Andrew and Rosamund, the former because he dared not, and the latter because she had always hated any drink but water—­a dislike that came to her, doubtless, with her Eastern blood.

Thus they grew merry since their guest proved himself a cheerful fellow, who told them many stories of love and war, for he seemed to know much of loves, and to have been in sundry wars.  At these even Sir Andrew, forgetting his ailments and forebodings, laughed well, while Rosamund, looking more beautiful than ever in the gold-starred veil and the broidered tunic which the brethren had given her, listened to them, smiling somewhat absently.  At last the feast drew towards its end, when suddenly, as though struck by a sudden recollection, Georgios exclaimed: