The tablecloth was quickly changed and ale was served, along with a spread of desserts—custards, cakes, nuts, and candied fruits. Villiam was tired but hopeful now that there was some diversion. He sipped his ale delicately and grinned. He liked the flavor of ale. It tasted like his own sweat, like something rotten and private, a relief to him, finally, this flavor so uncouth. It had been exhausting bearing the burden of being such an upright man since his wedding. Perhaps he could let down his guard now a bit, he thought, looking around the table. There were no children to take offense. Only an old man and these two young stiffs. Who would believe them if they went back down to the village and complained that the lord had told a few unsavory jokes? He deserved to let loose a little, he decided. It was Christmas, after all.
‘All right,’ he began, rubbing his hands together to invigorate himself. ‘Who wants to go first?’
Nobody raised a hand.
‘I’m not playing,’ Father Barnabas said as Petra poured his ale. ‘I think I’ll go upstairs to pray,’ he lied and pushed his chair from the table.
Villiam didn’t stop the priest as he bid adieu to the guests and wobbled out of the great room. Maybe he would pray indeed. Or maybe he would throw himself from his window. Or maybe, Father Barnabas thought, passing Lispeth in the hall, he would spend his last day on Earth lying with a girl—just once before the Devil dragged him away—and discover the flesh that he had always coveted but never grabbed. Lispeth seemed available. She was walking beside him, carrying a soiled tablecloth.
‘Lispeth,’ Father Barnabas said. ‘Would you come upstairs and lie with me?’
‘No,’ she replied.
‘God would be pleased if you could. There really isn’t any risk.’
‘No,’ Lispeth said again. ‘I would rather die than lie with you.’
‘Ah, what a nice girl you are,’ the priest said, patting her on the back. ‘I was only testing your will. Have a blessed night celebrating in the cellar. I brought a very good bottle of wine down there. Please drink it. And may God keep you. Good night.’ He disappeared up the stairs.
Lispeth put aside the priest’s strangeness and continued with her labor. In the great room, the game was getting started.
‘Clod, you first,’ Villiam said.
Clod sat up straighter. He also had a cup of ale, and he sipped it calmly, waiting for the question.
‘Have you ever licked your left finger?’ Villiam asked, his face a mask of seriousness. He lifted his cup of ale and waited for Clod to reply. Clod’s face went blank as he searched his mind for an answer. He held up his left finger and licked it. He had never done so before, the left hand being the hand one used for washing. Villiam couldn’t hold in his laughter after that, so finally he exploded with a loud guffaw and his nose erupted with froth. Everyone watched him wipe his face and cough, still laughing. Then he turned around and yelled, ‘Petra! More ale!’ and looked back at Clod for his answer.
‘Yes,’ Clod said, his head jittering slightly.
‘Oh that’s good! Oh that’s hilarious! You of all people! Disgusting,’ Villiam said. ‘And very honest. That makes you the king now.’
Clod, ever the sport, turned to Jon and asked him the same question, knowing that the imitation would flatter Villiam. ‘Have you ever licked your left finger, sir?’
Villiam laughed and laughed. Jon shook his head, turning red.
‘No,’ Jon said.
Grigor stood and protested. ‘I don’t think this is very Christian,’ was all he could think to say.
‘You ask a question next. You do it, you do it,’ Villiam said, pointing to Jon and tearing up with laughter. ‘Ask your wife a question.’ Villiam turned to Vuna. ‘What was your name again?’
Vuna hid her face behind her veil, afraid to answer. Jon was mum.
‘I think we’ll be on our way. Jon?’ Grigor said, buttoning his coat.
‘Ask me! Ask me anything!’ Villiam cried, aroused by Grigor’s discomposure. ‘And sit down, old fellow. Our game has just begun.’
Grigor sat, strangely humbled by the lord’s chastisement. Villiam sipped his ale and gestured for Jon to get on with it.
‘What was your mother’s name?’ Jon asked, hoping to quiet things down.
Villiam’s face fell. ‘Is that really the question?’
Jon looked down, not understanding how he had failed.
‘We should go,’ Grigor whispered to Jon and began to stand again. Villiam stopped him.