Halt considered the idea. Tennyson had never realised that on the first occasion when 'Ferris' had challenged and defied him, he was actually facing Halt, disguised as his twin brother. And on other occasions when he had seen the Ranger, his features had been obscured by the deep cowl he wore.
'Not a bad idea, Horace,' he said. 'Tennyson deals in hocus-pocus and trickery. If we serve up some of the same, it might throw him off balance. And he might just be surprised into some sort of damning admission.'
He fingered his beard, which had grown back in the weeks that had passed since Horace had shaved it to resemble his twin's.
'Pity,' he said. 'I was just getting used to having my beard back in its usual condition.'
'Scruffy,' Will said, before he could stop himself. Halt turned a withering gaze on him.
'I prefer to think "luxuriant",' he said, with considerable dignity.
Will hurried to agree. 'Of course. That was the word I was looking for. I don't know why I ever said scruffy.'
And he managed to say it with such a straight face that Halt couldn't help knowing that, inside, Will was holding his sides with laughter. Forty-seven The following day, before they broke camp and set out, Malcolm insisted on giving Halt a complete physical examination.
'Let's make sure you're up to all this exertion,' he said. 'Take off your shirt and sit down here.' He indicated a fallen log that was close to the fireplace.
'Of course I'm up to it,' Halt told him briskly. But then he realised he'd met his match when it came to stubbornness. The healer stepped back and drew himself to his full height. Since he was a little shorter than Halt, who wasn't the tallest person in the Kingdom, this, of itself, didn't amount to a great deal. But his air of authority added immensely to his stature.
'Look here,' he said severely, 'your former apprentice dragged me across league after league of wild country, on a half-mad horse in the middle of the night, to come here and save your miserable, ungrateful hide. Which I did, without complaint or hesitation.
'Now I intend to finish the job I started – and not let you finish the job the Genovesan started. So I intend to give you a complete check-over now to make sure you're fit again – and up to the relatively minor task of confronting a hundred-odd enemies with just two people to back you up. Is that perfectly all right with you?'
When he put it that way, Halt had to admit that he had a point. And he knew he owed the bird-like man his life. But still, it went against the grain for Halt to submit meekly to anyone's orders – as King Duncan had discovered on several occasions. He threw out one last challenge.
'And if it's not all right with me?' he said belligerently. But Malcolm matched his attitude, stepping forward so that his face was only a few centimetres from the Ranger's.
'Then I'll ask Will to report the fact to this Lady Pauline I've heard so much about,' he said. He was rewarded by a quick flicker of doubt in Halt's eyes.
'And I'll do it,' Will called from the other side of the camp site, where he had been sitting quietly for several minutes enjoying the clash of wills between these two stubborn men.
'Well, I suppose you might as well…' Halt said, and, stripping off his shirt, he straddled the log. Malcolm began his examination, peering into his throat and eyes and ears, tapping him on the inside of the elbows with a soft wood mallet, placing a hollow tube with a bell-shaped end against his back and chest and putting his ear to the other end.
'What's that for?' Horace asked. He had moved closer as Malcolm went to work and now he stood a few paces away, watching with interest, in spite of Halt's growing irritation.
'It's none of your business,' the Ranger growled warningly. But Horace was not to be deterred.
'What can you hear?' he asked Malcolm. The healer hid a smile as he answered. 'His heart and lungs.'
Horace made a small moue of interest. 'Really? What do they sound like?'
'It's none of his business what my heart and lungs sound like,' Halt began.
But Malcolm was already beckoning Horace forward. 'Have a listen for yourself.'
Halt reflected how difficult it was to retain dignity and authority when someone else was poking and probing and tapping and you were sitting, half dressed, on a log. He glared at Horace but the young warrior ignored him. Stepping forward eagerly, Horace held the end of the tube in his ear, bending to put the large end against Halt's back. His eyes widened as he listened.
'That's amazing!' he said. 'Is that boompa boompa boompa sound his heartbeat?'
'Yes,' Malcolm said, smiling. Like most people, he enjoyed showing off his expertise in his chosen field. 'It's very strong and regular.'
'I'll say it is!' Horace was impressed both by Malcolm's medical knowledge and the sheer volume of Halt's heartbeat when it was amplified by the tube. 'You're like a regular bass drum in there, Halt.'
'How kind of you to say so,' Halt said, a sour expression on his face. But Horace was still eager to quiz Malcolm further.
'And what about that great, rushing, hooooooosh-hoooooosh sound? It's vaguely like a draught horse breaking wind?'
'That's his lungs. His breathing,' Malcolm replied. 'Again, quite healthy – although that's an original description of the sound, I must say. Haven't seen that in any of my medical texts.'
'Let me have another listen!' Horace said and he bent once more towards Halt's back. But the angry Ranger twisted round on the log to confront him.
'Get away from me! Listen to your own heart and lungs if you must!'
Horace shrugged apologetically, showing him the straight listening tube. 'That's a little difficult, Halt. I'd have to twist my head right round behind my back to do that.'
Halt smiled evilly at him.
'I'm sure I could manage that for you,' he said.
Horace regarded him for a moment, trying to ascertain if he were joking. He decided that he wasn't totally sure, so he stepped away, handing the tube to Malcolm. 'Might be best if you continue,' he said.
Malcolm took the tube back, and continued with his examination. Fifteen minutes later, he announced that he was satisfied.
'You're strong as a horse,' he told Halt.
The Ranger glared back at him. 'And you're stubborn as a mule.'
Malcolm shrugged. 'People do say that,' he replied, without taking offence.
Horace, who had withdrawn to watch the rest of the examination, now stood and moved forward as Halt pulled his shirt over his head again. The Ranger looked up at him, still less than pleased with him.
'What do you want?' he asked belligerently. 'My heart and lungs have been put away for the day, I'm afraid.' But Horace pointed to Halt's face.
'The beard,' he said. 'If you decide to impersonate Ferris again, you'll need a shave.'
'Which I can attend to myself,' Halt told him. 'But if you want to make yourself useful while I'm doing so, get a few strips of leather and plait a headband like the one Ferris wore.'
Horace nodded and, while Halt fetched hot water and trimmed his regrowing beard back to a semblance of Ferris's more subdued version, Horace found some leather thongs in his pack and plaited them together, creating a reasonable facsimile of the simple royal crown of Clonmel.
Halt was rinsing the lather from his face when he noticed Malcolm carefully packing a small box with a dozen irregular-shaped balls of what appeared to be dried, brown mud.
'Are they more of those whizzbangs you were playing with?' he asked.
The healer nodded. He didn't look up from his task and Halt, stepping closer, could see that he had the box packed with bundles of cut grass, which he used to keep the mud-balls separated. The tip of Malcolm's tongue protruded through his teeth as he concentrated on his work.