LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC- THE WEDDING - SECTION 5

 LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC

THE WEDDING - SECTION 5

The vivid recollection of that first ride’s thrill and joy to date still stirred (fired) Svein’s soul and brought prompt smile to his lips.  At present (currently) on route to town Karene, the added (bonus) excitement and delight stemming from his expected union with Teuquob bursting his heart, Svein urged Fiery Comet to equate that first time’s speed till they felt as if they were riding on air, goaded on by the wind, with the horse’s hooves hardly touching the ground.

 After several days’ ride when Svein reached Karene by mid-afternoon, he and the horse were both parched by the all-consuming heat.  Though the wind had picked up during the last hour or so and white clouds now sailed on by across the sky in speed, it still did not offer the earth any real respite.

Svein led the horse through the wind-swept streets, straight to the familiar inn, located at the far western edge of town.  The middle-aged, stout innkeeper, being notified of Svein’s approach well in advance, hurried down the steps with his hands clasped obsequiously to personally welcome Svein and invite him into the inn. 

After Svein returned his greetings with similar humility he obligingly followed alongside the innkeeper up the stairs.

Meanwhile Fiery Comet was led around to the back stables by the stable hands to be washed and fed, in short, to be well looked after.  They worked diligently, begrudging the horse nothing, knowing their efforts would be well met by a generous tip from Svein in the end.

After Svein was refreshed and had a change of clothing, he came down and was shown to a seat and promptly served a complimentary tea, the innkeeper politely inquired after his health then asked to learn of his requirements.  Once these were imparted and some funds changed hands he then rushed off at once to see to the details.  Not daring to waste any more time, Svein, forgoing lunch, left the premises and went off into the main marketplace to acquire his purchases.

In the past, keeping a low profile, Svein had always concluded his business and had departed town the following day, without any adventures to speak of.  His formidable bearing had discouraged local hooligans from accosting or assaulting him, while his quietly reserved nature had kept him from becoming the object of idle gossip among the locals who droned the gambling halls and whorehouses.  As a result, he had always wandered in and out of town without touching anyone’s lives or making a single friend or foe.  This time, however, his list was longer than usual and contained some (unusual) odd and specialty items and he could not conclude his business all in one go.

The innkeeper, with delight, had prepared for Svein’s lengthier stay upon being so informed.  Himself a respectable and quiet man, the innkeeper had curbed his curiosity all these years and had allowed Svein his right to privacy and secrecy.  Though he knew practically nothing of Svein’s background other than the false name, Audun Colden, which Svein had invented for his outside excursions, still, over the years he had developed a special fondness and respect for the youth, appreciating greatly his virtues of politeness, honesty, and the manner of speech that had marked Audun as learned literati.

After securing the day’s purchases in his room, at dusk Svein came downstairs to consume some supper.  He was led at once to a clean table in the far corner of the room, and tea and food were then punctually served to him.  It was towards the conclusion of this last course when Svein’s attention was suddenly drawn to an ornate sword handle and its sheath worn by a stranger who had just then appeared at the doorway (entrance).  By now the place was crowded by a large boisterous crowd that kept the waiters on their toes rushing to and for with orders.

From where he stood the stranger first surveyed the room, ignoring the waiter who had rushed over to invite him to an available table.  Wrinkling his nose, his narrowed eyes telling of his disdain for this place, he then somewhat reluctantly made his way over to an empty table of his own choosing by the window and sat himself down.  The stranger next impatiently threw down several gold coins onto the table and voiced his requirements. The apologetic waiter nodded, and then snatching the gold at once hurried off to fetch a jug of the best wine of the establishment, that were typically kept in the cellar, under lock and key.

As the stranger again looked contemptuously about him, his eyes full of daring suddenly fell on Svein; latter on his part not wishing to incur any undue curiosity seemingly pensive, kept his focus pinned on the plate in front of him. Subsequently the stranger’s gaze moved on to a more interesting target, the clustered heads with hushed wagging tongues that appeared to be scheming some conspiratorial, unsavory plan.

Towering well over six feet in height, with a bearing so formidable, the stranger’s intimidating presence had discouraged even the rowdy group of law enforcement officials seated next to his table from accosting him; in fact, they’d swiftly moved on further away to a new table that had just then become available.  With a continuing frown on his lips the stranger downed cup after cup of the wine, losing his temper at the slightest delay in the next supply which was kept steady to his table.  But, despite the amount of wine he had consumed, he’d remained quite unaffected and not the slightest bit inebriated.

By now most of the customers had moseyed on to elsewhere to pass the night- for no one took in sleep in this heat, leaving the dining-room half empty.  The wind had long ago subsided and had allowed the heat to increase to still greater, more intolerable levels. 

With many of the regulars (patrons) pouring outdoors for relief they crowded the streets, more so than during the daytime.  The stranger continued with his drink, his expression changing only slightly to register boredom.  He had noted Svein’s brief but interested look at his sword at the time of his entry to the premises.  Recalling that fact, he again stole a sidelong glance at Svein, who was thoughtfully sipping his tea, his void stare affixed to his cup.

“I can simply take my leave; never knowing more…Hmm. Then again, what harm is there in casual conversation…?”  When the waiter just then brought over a fresh pot of tea, Svein discreetly made his inquiries about the specific stranger.

The waiter, concealing his surprise for Svein, had never shown such interest in anyone, drawing close, imparted to Svein what little he knew about the arrogant stranger.  He told of how only twice before the stranger had wandered in to consume a meal and large quantities of their best wine, behaving with consistent haughtiness and condescension.

“Furthermore, he seemed to have an endless supply of funds, an abundant gold in his possession.” The waiter then as if just been reminded, added quickly in a hushed voice: “But both those other times he was in the company of another and from the looks of him, a foreigner also.  They are not from these parts, I’m sure of it.  Do you wish to make his acquaintance?  Perhaps I can be of some service.”

No, no,” Svein rejoined hastily, “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary… A passing curiosity, that’s all.”

A pair of other waiters, who happened to be close by, noting this exchange, craned their necks and picked up their ears to overhear the conversation.  The innkeeper suddenly appeared on the scene, boxed the ears of the one farthest back; then scolding them both, sent them scurrying back to their tasks.

“Anything else I can get for you, sir?  How about some sweet buns, a specialty of the house, to go with your fresh pot of tea?” the waiter tending Svein, clearing the spare dishes, now asked.

“Nothing further thank you; the tea is quite sufficient.”  With that Svein promptly paid the waiter the amount owed, slipping in something extra for his trouble.  Delighted, the waiter thanked Svein and turned to tend to his other customers.

Affixing his gaze outside the window, “now where have I seen that design before?” Svein inwardly queried, his thoughts reverting to the insignia, the crested eagle design on the sheath and the pommel of the sword’s handle. 

“I know I’ve seen it somewhere before, perhaps another likeness, but why is it I cannot recollect just where?” Absentmindedly he again glanced back up at the stranger and their eyes met in a mute clash.

 It was too late to turn away!  Svein smiled and nodded his head in polite greeting, which was reciprocated by the other. It might have ended there, except the stranger, after exchanging a few words with his waiter, next rose from his seat and, with bold steps, advanced towards Svein’s table.

 A momentary silence seized the room, as all present, suspected trouble as the only likely outcome from one such as him.  But, to their great chagrin, the stranger carrying a formal manner and with courteous words, duly introduced himself as Brandt Dustin then stated his wish to make other’s acquaintance, upon which he waited patiently to be asked to take a seat.

Obliged to respond favorably, Svein at once rose to his feet and, after delivering the formal customary greeting, stated his own name as Audun Colden and invited the stranger to be seated. 

BRANDT DUSTIN

Brandt Dustin expressed his thanks and took the seat across from Audun (Svein).  All those who had witnessed Brandt’s lack of deference and almost hostile manner now rubbed their eyes in disbelief, and at safe distance, huddled their heads together to exchange views and nosh rumors.

Svein was about to call for the waiter for some wine for his guest when a second waiter suddenly appeared behind him carrying a sealed jug of the best wine and two cups.

“I hope you don’t think me too presumptuous”, Brandt apologized, “but I took the liberty of ordering it before.  Please join me in a drink to mark our meeting.”  Then, without waiting for Svein’s response, he broke the seal and emptied wine into a cup, after which he, with both hands, offered it to Svein (Audun Colden). 

This being a gesture of respect and friendship, Svein felt constrained to accept it.  Thanking Brandt, he took the cup (with both hands also) and had the customary three sips before returning the courtesy to Brandt.

“Now, with the formalities out of the way, let us drink as brothers and talk without reserve.” Brandt proposed.

Svein’s polite upbringing would not allow him to show rudeness and refuse the next drink or the next after that.  In this way coerced into consuming several cups Svein deeply buried his feeling of guilt which had again arisen from this defiance of his uncle’s rule. 

Brandt, ignoring Svein’s subsequent protests and claims that he was not a drinker- pressed on Svein to consume still more.

 Though Brandt, on Svein’s insistence, drained thrice the number of cups as Svein did he showed no ill effects.  Svein, meanwhile, became aware of his own state of slight intoxication.  Afraid that he would lose control, he took smaller sips and ultimately longer and longer time to empty each cup.

 Brandt, a consummate drinker, after draining several more cups, had in the interim carefully steered the topic of conversation to the martial arsenals, then to the priceless, famed swords that were passed on to posterity through successive generations.

“Take this sword, for example,” fondling it affectionately while pretending to be slightly inebriated, he boasted, “it’s an heirloom, a priceless treasure also, with a story all its own.

 As one of a pair, it once belonged to Lord Asger Thuxur Marrog Zhon” 

He paused to gauge Audun Colden’s reaction, when none was forthcoming, bit peeved, he nevertheless continued, “Of course, you would be far too young to know of that traitor’s name.”

He again, took several more sips, a deliberate hiatus (break), and then quickly added, “But I digress, after the fall of the last dynasty, when our illustrious Sovereign gained his rightful place on the throne, the priceless pair of swords was presented to my master Haskell as a gift, amid other favors, for his rendered valuable services to the throne.”

Svein with his ardent discipline had curtailed his shock and surprise with admirable zeal; on the surface his demeanor appearing perfectly placid and well composed.  His expression had remained unchanged as he continued to listen to the strange accounts of Brandt.  Inwardly, however his soul had been set alight, after hearing the name Asger Thuxur Marrog Zhon.

 “Was that not the name on his uncle’s list before it had been so completely erased, during their recent stay at the ‘Heaven’s Gate Spiritual temple’?  What did all this mean?  Had his uncle once served under this vilified Lord?” 

Oblivious to Svein’s inner turmoil, Brandt meanwhile had continued, “My master treasured these twin swords above everything else he owned, and he took them out frequently to admire them and to demonstrate lessons with them.  Since, however, master agile as he was, excelled in fighting with only one sword, often during these special demonstrations he entrusted the other sword to his most prized pupil, Kochi.

“My master had no kin and no offspring to speak of; now trusting and being particularly fond of Kochi, he later adopted him as his own son.  That was why he was especially devastated when Kochi, without conscience, betrayed him.  When one of the gemstones on the handle of the sword was loosened, master wishing to have it repaired right after dinner, had left it outside of its locked cabinet.  How was he to know his adopted son, claiming illness, would excuse himself from the dining area early and, stealing into his room like a common criminal during those few hours, would run away with the treasured sword, never to be seen again.”  Brandt, grinding his teeth with contempt, again reached for the cup and downed its contents all at one go.

 “My master had taught him everything he knew, thinking that Kochi would one day succeed him.  That error in judgment, plus his advanced age, stopped him in the end from recovering his prized possession and avenging the wrong that was done to him.”

“None of his other pupils were of any use.  In his disillusioned state he dismissed them all and withdrew into seclusion.  After some years, finally giving in to my persistence, he took me on as his next pupil on the condition; however, that one day, when I had mastered the skill, I would seek out this villain, avenge my master, and recover the sword so that my master could be buried with the pair.  Now taken ill, he is lying in bed on the brink of death.  Since I have never seen Kochi, and the swords were the only link, my master with some reluctance, allowed me to take the second sword from his side.”

“I’ve journeyed far and wide, spared no effort in trying to apprehend Kochi, yet all traces of that villain or the sword have eluded me.  Now and again, I fear that some great misfortune might have befallen him, and that he might have been buried under earthen debris or he’s in some watery grave along with the sword; but I cannot allow myself to think of such an end.  I have taken a vow not to return till I have completed my task, and my master has given me his word to hang on to life until the day of my safe return.”  At this point Brandt fell into silence, his face showing a mixture of frustration and despair, plus something else that Svein could not clearly discern.

Just then, like a lightning bolt, it struck Svein just where, precisely, he had seen this sword’s twin.  Of course! He now recalled. 

He was no more than six years of age at the time.  While his uncle had been away on a hunting trip he had mischievously gone through his uncle’s personal belongings, then his chest.  Groping about, he had hoped to find something of interest to while away the lonely and boring hours.  To his great delight and thrill, he had then discovered this fine sword at the very bottom, carefully enshrined in several layers of silk.  He could still recall vividly the resulting fury in Stark’s face when, upon his early return, he had caught him (little Svein) red handed, playing with this magnificent sword in his room.  Barely able to lift the sword, Svein was dragging it on the floor, pretending to be a mighty warrior, vanquishing all his enemies and dispensing justice to all. 

As Svein reflected such, he’d assumed the mask of indifference, mindful of Brandt’s scrutiny, latter seeking least sign, anything to substantiate his initial suspicion.  Why else would he have bothered to share a drink and as a gesture of trust, unburden himself so elaborately to a perfect stranger?

Meanwhile Svein had played his part so remarkably well that Brandt presently doubted his prior misgivings about Audun (Svein); moreover, Brandt’s inner frustration mirrored his professed outward words.

 “I’ve even offered a great reward for any information, however slight, that would lead me to achieve my purpose, again to no avail.  No one has seen the twin of this sword or its bearer.  It’s as though they have both vanished from this world.” He shook his head, refusing to call it quits, not after he’d invested so much of his time. 

Brandt suddenly growing serious and in the most direct manner, burrowing his pupils in Audun (Svein), asked, “I will not insult you, sir, by offering you the reward money but, out of compassion and due respect for my dying master, won’t you tell me why you had shown a slight, a glint of interest in my sword earlier at the point of my entry to these premises?  Can I hope, perhaps, that you have seen the likeness of it somewhere before?”

“Now comes the truth; a brazen move” Svein’s face donned a nonplussed (puzzled) look, as if he’d not heard Brandt right.

“I would be most obliged upon receiving any information that you may have, however trivial.” Brandt obdurately (pig-headedly) insisted.

“I am deeply sorry to have caused you any false hope.” Seven, feigning regret, shook his head.

“In truth, I was drawn to it for its striking quality of workmanship, nothing more.  The crested eagle design alone is done to perfection.  I profess to know something about these arts, and it was my appreciation of it which, in this case, drew my attention.  The weapon itself, I’m afraid, is of little consequence to me, since I lack any ability in swordsmanship.”

“Surely you are too modest.” Brandt sham rebuked Svein’s claim of limited knowledge of martial arts and arms.  “Why your physical bearing alone tells of your competence and no doubt, formidable skill.”

“You do me too much honor, sir.” Svein blushed with due humility.  “I do daily exercises to keep fit and, besides my other chores, I cut wood and, on occasion, scale the mountains or hunt for game.  That is all.”

“By your words, you profess to know archery at least.” Brandt grinned.

When pressed further by Brandt to give some account of his years and background, Svein had wisely hinted at an age at least four more years older than his own and purported to be the third or fourth son of some local official somewhere, undetermined region.  He had supposedly gained some formal education from private tutors and even this bit of useless info had been relayed as insinuation, hint or suppositions under the guise of plain humility (all without the benefit of real facts or details).

He is far too clever to cave. Brandt huffed.  Though inebriated he is still exercising caution, not giving anything away.  All night long his answers to my questions have been evasive.  I know nothing further, nothing tangible about him, than when I first took this seat at his table. 

“All right, perhaps I was mistaken.”  This time Brandt did not insist.  Surely this Audun Colden has private reasons of his own for his ambiguity and professed ignorance.  Perhaps he is afraid of meeting a challenge from me.  Perhaps he is but a coward after all.

 “Then perhaps you can still be of some assistance to me.  During your journeys to and from this town, have you ever encountered a stranger, an elderly gentleman with only one arm?”

Svein’s suspicions further escalated, on the outset he made a pretense of jogging his memory, then smiling, shook his head in the negative once more.

“That is most unfortunate.” With a despondent look on his face, Brandt sighed. 

After downing another cup, he dejectedly leaned back in his chair then explained further, “I had neglected to mention it earlier, but Kochi, because of an accident he’d suffered shortly before his evil deed, had his right arm severed at the elbow.  This description was given to me as my only other way of identifying him.”  His eyes once more burrowed deep into Svein, persistent on receiving a response from the other.

“I regret that I am still unable to offer you any hope, despite my sincerest wish to do so.”, came Svein’s standard, unruffled, genuine reply.

“I was just hoping.” Brandt pursed his lips, in feigned dismay. “Unfortunately, like so many, in this god-forsaken town not a single clue has surfaced to give me scant hope.  At least in other towns, other cities, we were led to people bearing some resemblance to Kochi, to some renegade cripples with one arm.”

We?...  Svein nevertheless, curbed his inquiry. 

Was Brandt’s other companion, the one the waiter told of earlier, also in pursuit of his uncle?  For, no mistaking it, it was Stark they were after.  These facts, the twin sword, the right arm severed at the elbow all tallied perfectly. Then again, it was inconceivable that Stark would have ever consented to being the pupil of a master who was once an advocate of the usurper Sovereign.  The subsequent accounts were equally implausible and thoroughly contrary to Stark’s nature!

Svein for a brief spell had mulled over the validity of Brandt’s claims and the alleged ignominy; this lapsed judgment and the unpardonable slur, undeserved dishonor to Stark’s integrity, both angered and at the same time shamed Svein.

 Curtailing these negative emotions however, he stole a discreet glance at Brandt. 

Oh, he is shrewdly deceptive.  Even his bearing does not correspond to what he claims.  Despite this disguise of plain clothes, he looks to have grown up amidst affluent surroundings. I would venture a guess: an aristocrat perhaps?  But why concoct such an elaborate story to slander Uncle’s good name and to entrap him? Surely this was more than an expanded attempt to recover a sword or settle an old (score) vendetta.  What was Brandt after? 

Svein could not shake the ominous feeling that there were far graver consequences at stake here.  He quickly estimated the time: “Uncle has lived in seclusion for at least the course of my life, some 20 years and Brandt was, according to him, only four years my senior.  How could one so young bear such contempt for Uncle and be seeking him to exact revenge?”

For there was no mistaking it, there had been that pure, unadulterated hatred and lust for vengeance disclosed in Brandt’s eyes at every mention of Kochi- clearly a fabricated name for Stark?

Though Svein wished to pry further into this matter to learn this stranger’s true aim in seeking out Stark, he abstained in favor of caution.  He was obliged nevertheless, in carrying out this charade to its natural conclusion and though this deceptive game sickened him at heart, he intoned his sympathies and understanding for the other’s plight, adding that no offense was taken to Brandt’s persistence.

From the start, Brandt had this nagging gut feeling that, at long last, he’d been poised at the heels of his allusive prey, a good solid whiff perhaps and he would uncover him- but nothing untoward had happened to substantiate this prior hunch. Subsequently, observing the sincerity of Svein’s tone and manner, Brandt had to concede that once more, he had followed a false instinct. 

 “Why, this man before me is no more knowledgeable or formidable than the local thug (ruffian).  Now, if only Audun here was some years younger, then I may have some slight cause to persist”. Brandt nodded absentmindedly, “but he is clearly a good four years older than the one I seek!”

Suddenly tiredness weighed heavily on Brandt.  Lapsing into brooding, he reflected impatiently and indignantly on how much time he had wasted questioning all manner of denizens of this and other such detestable outposts at the far fringes of the Empire, how he had searched every city, town, district or settlement all to no avail! 

As he downed several more cups in swift succession however, his expression changed momentarily, and his lips drew a most sinister smile.  Brandt’s thoughts had reverted back to Duan, the cold, unfeeling assassin who was his accomplice, his so-called companion. 

Had he been with him at this time, this so-called Audun Colden would not have lived to see another day? 

Looking away, again his lips parted in that venomous wry grin, uncovering perfect teeth as a fleeting picture of the cut up, maimed bodies of those who were merely suspected of knowing something flashed before his mind’s eye.

 “So, what if they had proven to be a false lead?” Duan had argued the point coldly, “In the end had it not been better to have snuffed out their miserable existence than, on the off chance, let the real one escape?”

 Of the two of them, Brandt was the one better natured; Duan, totally at odds with everyone, seemed to thrive on bloodshed and pain.  Unfortunate were those who crossed paths with him.  Indeed, Duan was incapable of feeling remorse or compassion, but Brandt needed him and without him he could not realize his wish.  For that reason, Brandt had put up with a lot and had always given in to the other’s whims and incessant demands.

Svein had persisted with this discourse, hoping in all that time to uncover the truth about Brandt and his accomplice; however, Brandt was quite adept at this game of deception, and had not let on any useful info; furthermore, increasingly seen as a dangerous adversary, Svein decided now to swiftly end this fruitless exchange.

Coincidentally just then, the innkeeper came to his rescue. “Gentlemen, now please,” he said plaintively, gesticulating in part as he approached them somewhat timidly, fearful of an angry response from Brandt, “Begging your pardon sirs, but please finish your drinks.  We are way past our closing time.  See, everyone else is already gone.”

Startled from his dismal contemplation, Brandt did not take this intrusion too kindly and threw a threatening glance at the innkeeper, which sent the annoyed proprietor, nevertheless, with lowered head, scurrying away to a safe distance.

 Cursing under his breath at this wasted time, Brandt, with a wry smile, turned to address Svein and, after some perfunctory words of farewell and other such, rose to his feet and, ignoring the waiters who rushed to get out of his way, exited the Inn.

Svein, following suit, rose from his seat and went outside, for supposedly a solitary walk to clear his head, deliberately choosing the opposite direction than Brandt.

Soon he was swallowed up by the dark, moonless night. A change in weather, and the sweeping, cooling winds had blanketed the sky with ominous clouds.  Using this to his advantage, he moved stealthily, with the agility of a cat, far above the ground.

 

(END OF SECTION 5)

 

 

 

 

LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC - THE TRIP TO THE MONASTERY - SECTION 3

LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC

THE TRIP TO THE MONASTERY - SECTION 3

That evening, when the monk Fayet’s services were no longer required, as an alternative to withdrawing to his room for prayers then sleep, Fayet sought instead, to pay a visit to his friend and confidant, Muro.

MONK MURO

 It was not long before their casual conversation about this or that point of interest veered to usual contending topics.

“How you carry on!!! Give that wagging tongue of yours a rest!”  With a stern, brisk remark, Muro walked over to his night table, and withdrawing a particular parchment, then obtaining the appropriate quill pen (brush), dipped the point into small inkbottle and resumed adding few more lines that had just come to mind, to his long-standing prose, sort of elegy, that he’d been working on.

“Boy, what a strange bunch! I mean, they are so formal with each other.” Fayet suddenly blurted out, looking away from the window. He grimaced, seeing how he’d startled the other in mid-stroke of the enigmatic verse.

Muro’s head raised, he pinned his questioning eyes to Fayet’s, with a stern expression of slight annoyance, since he suspected Fayet of weaving yet another tapestry of lies to gain importance. “He’s so obvious with his not-so-subtle hints; I suppose the report can wait...”  He put the quill pen down.

“Well, let’s hear it, I haven’t got all night!” He, with irritation, snorted.  Outwardly, however he could not resist toying with Fayet; and so, abstaining from making any verbal inquiry, he again picked up the brush and purportedly (ostensibly) turned his attention back to the parchment before him.

“First they came quite unexpectedly and out of season at that, then they expect us to go all out for them!” Fayet pursing his lips ejected a peeved grunt.

“Are you still griping about that?”  Muro smiled wryly.  “I would think that, of all people, you should be the last one to air a complaint, or can it be that the old gentleman is tight-fisted with you, denying you the lion’s share of the gratuities you are so used to wringing out?”

“Why are you so bent on antagonizing me?  Really, from the way you speak one would think I have been hoarding (stashing away) a mountain of riches beneath my bed.  You know very well that I receive no extra perk, minimal that always is, until the last day of their visit when all accounts are settled.”

“Fine, fine…” Muro forgoing Fayet’s sarcasm, cast the report aside, fetched the board that had stones on it strategically placed, and on his beckoning, they resumed playing the ongoing game. When at last, after careful consideration, Muro moved the key stone to another place on board, “Hah, ha, ha….  You’ll be sorry you did that!” Fayet lifted one of his pieces, and skipping two spaces ahead, placed it squarely down with a thud, in apt retaliation.  “Now take that!” The advantage he’d gained had instantaneously cheered Fayet anew.

Muro frowned, “You caught me off guard.  My mind was elsewhere.”  Then, shaking a finger at Fayet, he warned, “But don’t celebrate your gains too soon.

“Confound it, what was it I needed to tell you? Oh yes, now I remember.” Fyeta ignored the latter’s idle threat. “Now listen, I really have a good piece of info to tell you, but it must not leave this room.”

Fayet cast an anxious glance, “Do you mind if I close the door?  What I have to say next must be kept in the strictest confidence.”  Then, without waiting for the other’s assent, he sprung to his feet and went to the door, closing and even locking it. 

Muro’s curiosity right now aroused, he looked inquiringly at Fayet when the latter returned, and once more were seated across. Delighting in prolonging the suspense, Fayet first examined the pieces on the board game most carefully.

“For Heaven’s sake, I haven’t touched a thing.  Now what was it you wanted to tell me about?” Muro impatiently demanded.

But Fayet gallingly kept his cool and pinned his eyes to the board.  Then, with deliberate slowness, he moved his piece to a strategic point.  Now, with a contented air, he swelled his chest, leaned back and smiled.  Pointing his finger to it, “First try to get out of this one,” he gloated. “I told you I would get you, sooner or later!”

Muro became distraught.  Indeed, he was placed in a most precarious position.  One wrong move and he would have to again forfeit the game.  He already owed Fayet a considerable sum, since they had always played for stakes.  He was hoping to recover some of his losses today.  As Muro wracked his brains over his next move, Fayet drew near and whispered in his ear. “The list for prayers, the elderly gentleman had been asked to complete this morning”

“What about it?” Muro stuck out his chin in antagonistic stance; then upon reflection, “Oh, have you seen the list?” he quickly asked.

“Of course not, what a thing to say, why that would be an unpardonable violation? It would land me in serious trouble, to say the least!” Fayet grumbled feigning shock, but all the same dawning smirk and winked. 

Muro, tad flustered with all Fayet’s pretexts, inadvertently placed his piece in the wrong quarter; this could have ended the game immediately in Fayet’s favor.

“Hey, you can’t do that!  Take it back; I’ll pretend I didn’t see it.  But remember, you owe me a turn.”

“Never mind the game,” Muro pushed the board aside, “I’ve lost all interest in it. Fayet, stop beating around the bush; have you, or have you not seen it?”

With a broad smirk on his face, Fayet made a pretense of dallying, and then uttered a few, unconvincing, words of denial.

 “Do tell if you’ve seen it, brother.” Muro, adapting a softer stance, entreated. “I promise not to divulge your infraction to a living soul.  Still, you’re probably pulling my leg.  His eminence would have your hide...You wouldn’t be so brazen?”  Now he cast a doubtful look at Fayet, goading him to prove otherwise.

 Fayet’s persisting, knowing smirk nevertheless reaffirmed Muro’s suspicion.

 “But how did you ever manage it?”

 “Did I say that?” Fayet stalled, pursing his lips and looking away in indignation, exasperating Muro further. 

 “Have it your way, brother.” Muro, afterthought, offered a quick solution.  “Let us say that someone else, an undisclosed third party saw the list.  What so incredible (strange) about a list anyhow, why make such a fuss over it?”

Fayet ‘s sheepish smile deleted, he ejected in a serious tone: “Now, you didn’t hear this from me, understand?” He paused long enough to receive Muro’s affirmative nod. “Ah, and that’s just it.  It is not just an ordinary list, but one that is most intriguing and highly dubious!” He was about to say more, opened his mouth, but did not articulate any.  He appeared to be hesitating.

What now? Muro almost demanded, but checking his quickly rising temper, asked latter in conciliatory tone, to please continue.  “Brother, why keep me in suspense, reeling me in like a fish, then stalling?”

“I assure you that is the farthest thing from my aim, however,” Fayet coughed, as if to clear his throat, “if I were to tell it to you in its entirety, it being a rather lengthy account, my throat would get parched, then what’s there to lessen my discomfort?  Frankly, I’m tired.  Perhaps I should leave it for now, and call on you on another day, to tell it then.”  With that, Fayet gave a pretense of rising to his feet.

‘So that’s your game. This better be good!’

“Oh no, that won’t do,” Muro hurriedly grasped Fayet’s arm to keep him down; if truth be told, he was now beyond peeved, regretting the day he’d disclosed his secret stash, the so called, medicinal brew to him. “Here, you stay put while I’ll go get us some medicinal brew.  That should be sufficient to ease any would be discomfort to you.”

“But, brother, I would not dream of putting you to so much trouble.” Fayet protested, halfheartedly.

“Nonsense, I insist you stay and partake some. It’s the least I can do.” Even as he said this, Muro was cursing him under his breath.

‘You draw a hefty price, this better be good!’ Again, he inwardly huffed as he went to retrieve a small portion of his hoard, the medicinal concoction, one he’d so masterfully adapted, through his extensive knowledge of medicine and chemistry.

The so called remedial, therapeutic ingredients, cured over time in such a way, that when ingested, it intoxicated the senses, akin to inebriated state. The only drawback was that the ingredients to this private stash, had to be carefully, in miniscule doses siphoned off-from the dried ingredients stored in kitchens or jealously guarded herbal storages- so as not to be noticed, then secretively ripened under various guises, mixed and then allowed final maturity in particular containers in such a way as to not incur suspicion or discovery.   With that much trouble, he’d jealously guarded the fruits of his labor, till that day of accidental discovery by Fayet.  Since then, he’d been a pest, every so often calling on him to extort some- supposedly in fair exchange of some vital information as latter was better positioned to obtain it, but specifically, for Fayet’s lasting discretionary silence.

Muro dawning a deceptively appeasing smile to his lips, first cleared the table of the game board, fetched some goblets (glass, cup) then going over dug up the clay flagon from one such hiding place- a seemingly innocuous flowerpot.  Brushing off the unwanted debris, he broke open the seal and poured a generous portion of the contents into Fayet’s cup. So potent was the concoction, that a single mouthful equaled a full cup of alcoholic beverage.

Fayet’s beaming face only served to annoy him further.  “How generous you are brother to treat me to your special remedy!”

That’s right, rub salt on the wound.  “Brother, you do me too much honor,” nevertheless, he grunted. “Clearly, this is but an ordinary cooling beverage, to help alleviate your discomfort.”

“Thanks all the same.” without further due, unceremoniously Fayet raised the cup to his lips, the saliva already glistening at the corners of his mouth, with ready anticipation.

Muro was the senior of the two, but his unassuming straightforward, and unbending, stubborn nature had impeded his advance in the order, and he was oftentimes assigned to mundane, menial tasks. At least that’s what it seemed on the outset; whilst Fayet with his ready wit, with his craftiness and glib tongue, quite the popular person with wide circle of friends, through his amicable deference to his superiors- especially those that allocated duties to the lower orders- had always landed himself the latent lucrative jobs.

 Tall in stature (height), with a fair complexion and gentle eyes, Fayet always donned that most likable smile and his innermost charm to melt away all contempt, jealousy and anger in his adversaries.  One could never stay mad at him or deny him favors for too long.

 “Well, as I was saying, this person in question, who had been entrusted with delivering the letter, well, he noticed that the adhesive of the seal had not dried properly.  So, taking a chance I... I mean, he carefully pried it open and peered at the contents before re-sealing it and delivering it to His Worship’s confidence.  You would never have guessed at the contents of that letter.”  He stopped to swallow some more supposed cooling beverage, and then waited for the other to urge him to continue.  When Muro did not oblige, Fayet bit disappointed, resumed, “One request was what you would expect, being for the ancestors- Nothing unusual in that, but the other three listings, well, they were most curious.  At the top of the list, instead of the usual one, of our reining Sovereign’s name, was the cryptic allusion to late Sovereign, you know, the one who was deposed.”  Again, he paused for a reaction. “Fortunately, I am gifted in such and was able to decipher it without an extensive effort, that’s how I came to know of it, in case you’ve been wondering.” He then volunteered gleefully, the effects of the drink already going to his head.

“That is most curious.” Muro was forced to agree.  “Loyalists, still existing in our midst, I would have thought that they’ve all been annihilated long ago?”

“It goes to show you, one can never be certain about anything.”  Fayet grunted. “Didn’t I promise you this would be good?  Wait till you hear the rest.  The other request was for a name I’d never seen, “Lujeling Osywie”, not even from this country.  I mean it was foreign in origin.”

“So, what,” Muro remained unimpressed.

“Well, don’t you think it’s strange, especially since they made no claim to be foreigners?”

 “Oh, you can be so exasperating!” Muro lashed out at Fayet, having reached the end of his patience. Besides, his sense, his reasoning mind was also being affected somewhat, (not yet dulled though) by his consumption of the potent brew.

“Has it ever occurred to you that maybe, despite all seeming appearances, they are perhaps some affluent merchant families or something like it after all.  Why stop there, the next thing you’ll be laying claim, I bet, is that they are not a family, that they are not even related! Besides, why don’t you just drop this entire pretense, this mocking charade?  You really are insulting my intelligence with your insistence that it was not you who peered into that envelope.  Why don’t you just come clean with me?  Or is it that, after all this time and after all your claims you still mistrust me?”

  “Well, before I hang myself further, you must first give me your solemn promise to secrecy.” Fayet growled.

“I already have done so, and more than once, I might add.”, Muro protested.

“That’s right, you did.  Well, all right then, I won’t try to deceive you any longer.  Yes, I’ll confess, it was me all along.  Now, returning to the point of the said foreign name, my guess is that they are spies and yes, I suspected all along, that they are not a family, only pretending to be one to be innocuous. I wonder how many more moles (infiltrators, plants) are out there, furtively living in our midst and relaying back vital information to, in the end, undermine our Nation.  Aren’t we strained in our relationships with our border kingdoms?”

“You have a very fertile imagination; I grant you that. Even if that was so, why waste time here, so far from the capital or the other such metropolis, where ample opportunity exists?”

“I don’t know, to tell you the truth.  That part is a conundrum to me also.” Fayet shrugged.  “Unless they are in hiding and need a place to lay low for a time.  I mean, who would look for foreign spies here?”

“Still,” Muro demurred, “why risk compromising their cover with their untimely visit here, instead of a more usual time.  And surely it would be some poor disguise: noted gentlemen with such attractive youths as his kin, spies, bah!?”

“That proves it!” Fayet excitedly interjected, “Normal concealing abnormal, and that in turn, concealing normal?  Don’t you see how perfect their cover is?  Look how much trouble I’m having, laboring to convince you of the idea.  One more thing, when the elderly gentleman bathed, I saw how his right arm was severed, a clean cut right below the elbow, as if it was caused by a sword or ax.  A surgeon would have cut the joint, and an accident would have left messier scar tissue.  I tell you, there is something suspicious about that lot.”

“And wait, till you hear more.  The third name, a non-distinctive name, but parchment held against the light revealed that there had been something else, deliberately expunged underneath; unfortunately I could not quite make out what it was, still, few bits looked like - ‘hu...rrog..Zho’.  Now I ask you, why go through so much trouble to supplant it?”

“You’re sure it hadn’t been an ordinary, innocent mistake, set to, right?”

“Why say so, you don’t believe that any more than I do.”

 Muro could no longer hold his peace, “Brother, do you take me for a fool?  Why insult my intelligence with your suppositions and spun tall tales. Why by your own account your facts are contradictory.  If these people were spies or loyalists, hard enough to be both at the same time, why would they put down actual names for their ancestors, two such at that?  Secondly, in keeping with their clandestine feat, they should have first, at the head of the list, put down our Reigning Liege’s name to deflect least suspicion instead of the deposed one, in cryptic form or not. And why would they be so clumsy as to leave remnants of concealment to be picked up….by you, whilst they made no such attempt with their obviously foreign names.   If they wanted to make a true offering to such, they would have waited until they were in safe domain of their own country; I ask you, why risk everything by doing it here, covertly or otherwise?”

Fayet’s good mood in a puff of smoke had now vanished in thin air as his head was riddled with rebellious, skirmishing facts that (other) latter had invoked; hence, he retaliated.  “Boy, you are dense.  If the truth, like a big, ugly fly, landed on your nose you would not see it and, like you are doing now, you would deny its presence.”

This was uncalled for, how could he stand by and let this brute affront him?  Not only had Fayet consumed his scant reserve, taken him for a ride, but now he would stoop so low to openly insult him in his face, by making fun of his nose!  The latter knew that, because of a recent manifest pimple (zit), this was a contentious issue with him!!!  Muro was so filled with rage that he wished he could pound Fayet into dust. But that would not do; so instead, he took a long slow intake of breath, inwardly recited the prayer of patience and took a sip from his goblet, as he forced restraint on his anger.

Obnoxious (insufferable) Fayet, meanwhile, clueless as to what he had done, with a meek smile plastered on his lips, had held out his cup for another refill.  Muro lied: “I’m sorry, there is no more, we’ve consumed it all.” and, using this as an excuse, declared his fatigue and suggested they retire for the night.

 “I think you’d better go now; I have to get up early tomorrow.” he repeated bluntly when the other refused to take the hint.  He had meant to leave it there, but this time he could not stop himself from adding, “Not all of us are as favored as you.”

“Tsk, tsk.” Fayet growled, having caught Muro’s words.  “So that’s the thanks I get for my troubles.  Brother beware of your shifting color.  Spare no caution, lest some insects mistake you for a green plant and start gnawing away at your most prominent projection…Ha, ha, ha!”  Rising from his seat he belched laughter into Muro’s face.

It was all he could do to stem the urge to strike this upstart Fayet.  And so, the two had parted as adversaries, cursing inwardly, the ground the other walked on.

The estrangement had no lasting effect however, by morrow, when the effects of potion wore off, their fury would similarly wane and Fayet, with his amicable ways, with his sleek, wagging tongue, would once again inveigle himself into Muro’s good graces.

                                                                             ~

(END OF SECTION 3)

 (Be sure to check the next post section 4, that is also the conclusion of “Trip to the Monastery”; where which a pleasant, but not altogether a surprise element, will be disclosed.)

  

 

LEGEND OF NEVETSECNUAC

THE FISHERMAN’S PRIZE

(SECTION 8)

Overlooking his father’s antics, Yoansu with a renewed zeal resumed his narrative- by now being most anxious also, in reaching the end.  

“The next two days in happy anticipation I waited for Mr. Wugan to pay me back, or rather to fail to pay me back, the sum he’d borrowed.  I had already quit my job and moved to a more comfortable lodging. Now having won enough money, in a week or two I planned to start my own business, a lucrative, competitive teahouse that would be frequented by all. Once the money came pouring in, I planned to begin preparations for the journey home.”

He’s such a scoundrel! Kaimu inwardly scoffed. Things should be that easy.

“You mean you have an established business there… you haven’t come home to stay for good?” Ensa morosely interrupted her son.

“I shall stay a while mom. And I promise I’ll frequent you both more often from now on. But I can make a much better living in town. Besides, this way I can also provide for you both all the comforts (extra amenities) of life that up until now you’ve been denied.”

“I meant no offense dad.” Yoansu had quickly added that last part in a placating tone, to allay (pacify, stem) Kaimu’s rising fury.

“We don’t care about material wealth son.” Ensa’s eyes in gratitude had nevertheless, glistened (brimmed) with tears. “I’d rather not miss you so much!”

“Don’t worry mom.” Yoansu added quickly. “My wife and your future grandson shall stay with you both to help you along with your chores. This is a better environment for them. And it will give me cause for frequent visits. Later still, to lessen the inconvenience, I shall engage workman to construct few more additions to this place.” Yoansu promised magnanimously.

 “Now, having gotten ahead of myself, let me see…. I’ll have to retrace some steps in the story.” Yoansu smiled sheepishly at his father.

“Story, hmm, a rather an apt choice of word!” Kaimu mumbled to himself as he grimaced back. Fortunately, no one had paid any heed to his wry skepticism.

 “Well anyhow, I’d left word at my old lodgings as to where I could be reached in case Mr. Yuksul Wugan called.  When it was well past the promised time, and he had not shown up, I decided to call on him instead.  I had asked the whereabouts of his home at the time I had loaned him the money.  Gaining some directions, I found the place without much difficulty.  The house was quite large and stately. Chief Stuart ushered me in. I threaded timidly with my rough sandals over the plush carpet that lined the floors. His wife greeted me at the reception room with a rather cold demeanor.

 Now the interior of the room was most handsomely decorated and it told of finer days when they must have lived in lap of luxury with countless servants running about on errands.  Presently all I could see was but a few servants. After the customary fragrant tea, I was led into an interior studio, where I saw the master of the house, Mr. Yuksul Wugan, resting on a large, canopied sofa.  I found him to be quite sickly in appearance, as though he had aged still more over time.  There was a strained relationship between him and his wife; she obviously did not approve of my being there.  When he had lost badly that night, returning home broken-hearted, he’d confessed to his wife his wager with me.   I later learned that they had argued the whole length of the night and most of the following day over this concern.  She threatened to leave him for good and, by taking his daughter with her, planned to go live with her parents.  How dare he be so heartless as to sell his daughter, for this was exactly what he had done?  She would desert him and let him stew in his own juice for this grievous wrongdoing. By no means was the wagered daughter their only offspring.  They had three others married off to lofty citizens, living in other parts of the country.  This shame would mar them also… A real loss of face this would bring to them all!”

The old Wugan had never done anything like this before.  That night he had lost his head, certain of his good fortune as augured (prophesied) by a soothsayer (seer), that he had made the bet.  Now feeling ever so foolish, he’d been stricken with remorse, especially since he had failed to raise the funds through other means.  A man of his stature, with a certain reputation to uphold, felt obliged to keeping his end of the bargain.  Hence, he’d begged his wife's forgiveness and understanding; swore never to gamble again, then with deep regret asked her to prepare their daughter, on the sure anticipation of my call. Meanwhile the shame and all that emotional turmoil taking its toll on him, he’d fallen ill. When his daughter was told of part of the truth and her imminent departure, she’d wailed bitterly and tried to kill herself. Fortunately, her mother had prevented her from doing so.”

Yoansu oozed in confidence. He knew that the elaborate narrative, with endless intriguing details would eliminate any doubt or wayward questions from their minds.

Expectantly, as the night wore on, with so much information crammed into their brains, the honest, simple folks appeared completely and utterly duped.

At least she comes from a good home. Ensa reflected.  Our grandson is bound to be someone worthy, as long as he does not take after his maternal grandfather.

No wonder she looked down on us.  A highborn girl like that will remain discontented and hard to please.  I’m afraid she will never fit in.

“Now father,” Yoansu continued, “If it were not for the considerable sum that I had loaned him, I would have forgotten about the debt.  Still, moved by sympathy to his affliction, I offered to give him an extension in time, saying he could pay me back at a future date, but he would not hear of it, and did not allow any extension.  Though, as he spoke, he did throw a cautionary look over his shoulder to assure himself his wife had not returned prematurely with the daughter to overhear what was being discussed.”  As if being reminded, Yoansu too, rose from his seat and quietly peeped into their room to reassure himself that his wife had slept through it all.  When he returned, he caught the last bit of his father's words to Ensa, “What a spineless old man, being afraid of a wife!  I suppose men go soft in the towns.”

“Not so loud,” Yoansu hurriedly cautioned him.  Pointing to the room he said, “She might wake up and overhear.”

“Have you gone soft too?” Kaimu sternly admonished his son.  “So, what if she hears me?”  Then looking away mused. “Or do you fear her exposing you!”

Yoansu, in an effort to silence Kaimu, quickly resumed his story, “As I was saying, he did not allow me to spare him from his obligation.  Now, father, I am not a heartless man, and I prepared myself to offer still more insistence on forgetting that part of the deal and deferring payment of cash till later date. But just at that moment her mother had brought her in, and I saw that she was indeed a rare beauty.  She at once captured my heart and stole all contrary words from my mouth.”

At this point Yoansu had paused for a spell as he’d lowered his head in thoughtful air. “Anyway, after seeing her I’d aborted any notion (thought) of calling off the deal.  I could not bring myself to spurn this chance which had come my way.  Still, to rest in good conscience, being brought up so decently by you both, I made the proposal of doing the right thing by her.  This granted, I then formally asked permission from the father to be united with her in lawful matrimony.  Proposing that the loaned sum be considered instead as her dowry; in so doing, I saved them face.  Mr. Yuksul Wugan was so pleased that he readily assented.”

“A shrewd move,” Kaimu interjected, “he had you save his family's honor and still kept his money.”

“But father, I was the fortunate one,” Yoansu countered, “for how else I could have secured myself such a beautiful wife from an affluent and well-respected family?”

“Respectable families do not gamble away their daughters!” Kaimu brusquely responded. 

Yoansu, for the sake of preserving peace, curtailed his disparaging remarks.

The silence was broken by Ensa’s timely intercession. “You did the right thing, my son.  Imagine, so far from home and you still behaved so admirably.  I am very proud of you.”  She had brought him up right. He had moral integrity.  She took a great chunk of that credit and wore it on her breastplate like a medal.

Kaimu glared at his incurably deluded idealistic wife.

Yoansu could not make sense of his father’s indifference. “I had to do the proper thing for them.” He therefore reasserted. “And yes, in case you’re wondering, I had more than enough funds to cover the wedding formalities and travel expenses.”

In an unbroken silence Ensa nodded her approval.  Kaimu looked away, burrowing his angry gaze on the mounted religious plague.

“On that happiest day of my life, they’d staged a generous feast for the ‘Wedding

 Ceremony’ and invited well over thousand guests.” Meanwhile Yoansu had continued. “It was a magnificent affair (social event), one that far exceeded my dreams. I only wished you two could have been there.”

How did they find the means; where did they procure all that money for such an elaborate extravaganza? Kaimu inwardly chewed on the words. Bah! Loopholes, there’s too many loopholes in your story! At this point Kaimu’s mind straying: he pondered on the question of her respectability. Who was she really? What’s with the charade?

 “After the ceremony when we formally became husband and wife, I continued to stay with them until she was fit for the journey.” Yoansu continued, oblivious to Kaimu's inner resentment.

Fit, as in pregnant?   Kaimu scoffed under his breath.

“Some of the finer gifts: the silk embroidered cloth, the jeweled hairpin, one of the wines, as well as the sweets are all gifts from the respected ‘in-laws’.  They were very generous to me during my stay with them and never made me feel out of sorts.  Overlooking my crude manners and coarse habits they made me feel as though I belonged to their class (station in life).  I confess, Tufan's mother was still a bit stand-offish towards me,” Yoansu's voice became softer here, “but Mr, Wugan was most understanding and kind. I’d stayed there you see, for Tufan’s sake.” He then quickly added.

At this point Kaimu’s mounting skepticism had turned into sheer rage, and had it not been for Ensa’s timely intercession, directing their attention to the lateness of the hour, Kaimu would have definitely blown his top. 

Kaimu was incensed, having had heard enough prevarication for one night.  Nodding his assent, he rose to go, but Yoansu had no intention of going to sleep and insisted that he was not tired in the least.  He tugged at his father's sleeve to stop him from leaving and said, “Father, let mother go to bed, but let us spend a little more time together.   I've just come home after a long absence and we still have so much ground to cover, we can always sleep later.”  Hurriedly he then poured still more wine into Kaimu's cup and offered it respectfully with both hands in an attempt to coerce him to stay.  He was counting on the fact that Kaimu had the gift of gab when with male companions, whereas he remained closemouthed with females.

He wants something! Now disposed to the idea of staying, Kaimu ordered his wife to stop pestering him and go to bed by herself, adding that he wished to converse with his son in private for a while longer, without a constant harassment (interruption) from a meddling old woman. 

And so, against her better judgment, Ensa was forced to retire.  Yet despite her fatigue she lay awake in bed, waiting for her husband to join her.

Yoansu had an ulterior motive in detaining his father and keeping him from sleep this night. With Ensa out of the way now, Yoansu felt freer to speak his mind. The whole secrecy about Jiense had aroused his curiosity; herbal pouch cast aside, after renewed bouts of drinking and pleasant exchanges of facts, Yoansu artfully then steered the conversation to the point of interest.

“Now, father,” he began with his amiable tone. “I have told you my story in detail; won't you tell me yours?  I am most anxious to learn more about her.”  Pointing at (cocking his head in the direction of) the space behind the straw curtain, he asked in repetition, without a pause. “How did she come by? How is it that all through the night she’s not uttered a single word? She seems dumbfounded when we speak yet anyone can see she is intelligent enough to comprehend mother’s sign language.  Is she partially handicapped?” For what purpose has she been kept? Then again, she is attractive enough and appears most docile…”

Get your mind out of the gutter! Kaimu wanted to bark at his son but lowered his head instead and said coldly, “Your wife must be anxious for you to join her. Why stay away?

 “She is probably fast asleep,” Yoansu protested. “But I will not be, not unless you resolve this mystery.  Please father let me in on the secret!”

 Let me string you along for a change and see how you like it. After his prolonged silence, pretending insobriety (intoxication) and a soft spot for his son, he supposedly reluctantly gave his consent.  “Very well, then...But first let us have some more wine, I feel parched this very night.” 

Kaimu had also wished to test his son’s stamina.

 

(THE FISHERMAN'S PRIZE WILL CONTINUE IN THE NEXT POST - SECTON  9)