"Possibly so, but I hold it for security."
"That is unnecessary. You may give me the full total of the exchange."
Sir Pom-Pom tossed over his wallet. "Take as you will."
Madouc opened it and counted the coins. "This surely is not all?"
"Bah!" grumbled Sir Pom-Pom. "Perhaps I still carry a few odd pieces in my pocket."
"Give them here-every last farthing!"
Sir Pom-Pom said with dignity: "I will retain one silver form and three copper pennies, for incidental expense." He passed over further coins. Madouc poured all into her pouch, and returned the wallet to Sir Pom-Pom. "We shall have an accounting later," said Madouc. "You have not heard the last of this, Sir Pom-Pom."
"Bah," muttered Sir Pom-Pom. "It is no great matter. Let us be on our way. The bay mare shall be your steed. Her name is Juno."
Madouc gave a sniff of disdain. "Her belly sags low! Will she support my weight?"
Sir Pom-Pom smiled grimly. "Remember, you are no longer a prideful princess! You are a vagabond."
"I am a prideful vagabond. Keep this in mind, if you will."
Sir Pom-Pom shrugged. "Juno has a kindly gait. She neither jibs nor shies, though she will take a fence no more. My own horse is Fustis. He was at one time a war-charger of note; he responds best to a firm seat and a strong hand." Sir Pom-Pom swaggered in his new boots over to Fustis; in a single brave bound he vaulted into the saddle. Madouc mounted Juno more deliberately, and the two set off up the Sfer Arct, into the hilly region north of Lyonesse Town.
Two hours along the way they arrived at the village Swally Water and here came upon a crossroad. Madouc read the sign. "To the east is the village Fring; we shall travel this lane to Fring and there veer north, and so come into Old Street."
"It is a longer route, by some miles," noted Sir Pom-Pom.
"Perhaps so, but by keeping to the back lanes we will tend to avoid anyone sent out to impede our journey."
Sir Pom-Pom grunted. "I thought that His Majesty had ratified your quest, and with all his heartfelt blessings."
"That is how I interpret his commands," said Madouc. "Still, I prefer to take nothing for granted."
Sir Pom-Pom gave the remark careful thought, then said, somewhat glumly: "I hope that I find the Holy Grail before we need to test your interpretation."
Madouc deigned no reply.
At noon the two passed through Fring and, finding no lane leading northeast, continued eastward across a pleasant country side of farms and meadows. Presently they arrived at the town Abatty Dell where a fair was in progress. At Sir Pom-Pom's urging, they dismounted, tethered their horses to a rail at the front of the inn, and went to watch the clowns and jugglers performing in the square. Sir Pom-Pom gave a cry of amazement. "Look yonder! That man in the red hat just now thrust a blazing torch down his throat! Look! He does so again! It is a marvel! His gut must be iron, from top to bottom!"
"An unusual talent, indeed," said Madouc.
Sir Pom-Pom's attention was caught by another performance. "See there! It is finesse, full and true! Aha, did you see? That was a goodly thrust!"
Madouc, turning to look, saw a man and a woman lying on their backs about fifteen feet apart. With thrusts of their feet they propelled a small child back and forth through the air between them, lofting the child higher and even higher with each passage. The child, undersized, and wearing only a ragged breechclout, jerked and twisted desperately in mid-air so that he might alight buttocks-first on the coiled legs of the target-individual. This person, after catching the child with dexterous feet, thrust out legs to propel him back through space the way he had come.
Upon conclusion of the display the man cried out: "Mikelaus will now accept your gratuities!" The child ran among the spectators holding out his cap for coins.
"Ha hah!" exclaimed Sir Pom-Pom. "That trick deserves a farthing!" He reached in one of his side-pockets and brought forth a copper coin which he dropped into the soiled cap extended by Mikelaus. Madouc watched with raised eyebrows.
The three performers went on to another feat. The man placed a flat board two feet long on top of an eight-foot pole; the woman lifted Mikelaus so that he crouched on the board. The man thrust the pole high, with Mikelaus precariously balanced on top. The woman joined a second pole to the first; Mikelaus was raised even higher, the man controlling the swaying pole with sidling movements. The woman added a third extension to the pole; Mikelaus was raised twenty feet into the air. Gingerly he rose and stood on the board, atop the swaying pole. The woman sounded a flourish of tones on a set of pipes and Mikelaus chanted a song in a reedy rasping voice:
Ecce voluspo, Sorarsio normal, Radne malengro.
Oh! Oh! Toomish! Geltner givim.
(The woman blew a flourish on the pipes.)
Bowner buder diper, Eljus noop or bark, Esgracio delila.
Oh! Oh! Toomish! Silvish givim.
(The woman blew a flourish on the pipes.)
Slova solypa, Trater no bulditch, Ki-yi-yi minkins.
Regular toomish. Copriote givim.
The woman blew a final flourish and called out: "Bravo, Mikelaus! Your song has moved us all and you well deserve a liberal reward! Now you may descend! So then: ooops! Ah la la la! And away!"
The man ran forward three short steps, heaved on the pole; Mikelaus hurtled through the air. The woman ran below with a net, but along the way she tripped over a dog and Mikelaus, consternation on his face, struck the ground headfirst, to tumble over and over a distance of twenty feet.
The woman put a good face on the mistake. "Next time we will surely do better! Now then, Mikelaus: to business!"
Mikelaus struggled to his feet and, removing his cap, limped back toward the spectators, pausing only to kick the dog.
"Hah!" said Sir Pom-Pom. "Another fine trick!"
"Come!" said Madouc. "We have watched enough of this man capering. It is time we were back on the road!"
"Not yet," said Sir Pom-Pom. "The booths yonder look in teresting; surely we can spare a moment or two."
Madouc acceded to Sir Pom-Pom's wishes, and they walked around the square, inspecting the merchandise offered for sale.
At an ironmonger's booth, Sir Pom-Pom paused to study a display of fancy cutlery. A group of damascene daggers in carved leather scabbards caught his eye and he went so far as to inquire prices. Finally, after cogitation, he settled upon one of the daggers and prepared to make the purchase. Madouc spoke in shocked wonder. "May I ask what you are proposing to do?"
"Is it not clear?" blurted Sir Pom-Pom. "I badly need a dagger, of good quality and handsome workmanship. This article exactly fits my needs."
"And how will you pay?"
Sir Pom-Pom blinked up toward the sky. "I have kept a small reserve for just such a case as this."
"Before you buy so much as a nut to crack between your teeth, we must have an accounting. Show me your reserve."
"This is an embarrassment!" stormed Sir Pom-Pom. "I am now held in contempt by the ironmonger!"
"No matter! Bring out this so-called reserve."
"Let us be reasonable! The money is safer with me! I am older than you and neither vague nor absent-minded. No cut-purse would dare approach me, especially if he saw a fine dagger at my belt. It is only prudent that I carry the money and plan the expenditures."
"Your arguments are wise," said Madouc. "They fall short only because the money is mine."
Sir Pom-Pom angrily passed over a goodly handful of coins, both silver and copper. "Take the money, then!"
Something in Sir Pom-Pom's manner aroused Madouc's suspicions. She held out her hand. "Give me the remainder."
Sir Pom-Pom grudgingly handed over further coins. "Now then!" said Madouc. "Is that all?"
Sir Pom-Pom sourly showed her a silver form and a few coppers. "I retain only my reserve. This money at least will be safe."