‘One or two, as befits the moment. Forget not the squint and tic.’

‘And the limp, too,’ Prazek added. ‘They tilt heads as the windbag rides back and forth on a confused horse—’

‘This way? Yes! No! That way! What madness afflicts my gouty master so eager to straddle me?’

‘Dathenar! Enough of the horse thoughts, all right?’

‘They were brought to mind by our chargers, with their ears flickering to catch every word we utter. My humblest pardon, brother, I beg you. The horse, back and forth. You were saying?’

‘The king’s speech!’

‘What king? Whereof comes this king of yours?’

Prazek cleared his throat. ‘Well, let me amend that, by saying this. A king in his own mind, or indeed a queen in her own mind. It’s a crowded skull, to be sure, lofty with minarets and teetering with towers, sparkling with spires, all so grandiose as to beggar any… beggar. And see the selfsame monarch, marching this way and that up and down the echoing halls with their rustling tapestries. Why, a scion of self-importance! He wears the headdress of a high priest this moment, and a jewelled crown the next. The robes of the judge, the clasped hands of the humble penitent. The bared head of the husband and the godly penumbra of the father. Is it any wonder that he casts coy glances at his reflection in every mirror, so inviting to worship and adoration this man—’

‘Or woman,’ Dathenar interjected.

‘No, he is not a woman. She would be a woman, but not him.’

‘Pray get him and us out of his skull, Prazek, and attend to his stirring speech to the peasant soldiers.’

‘Easier said than done,’ Prazek replied. ‘Very well. Since we two are so busy, so thoroughly distracted by all the noble thoughts implicit in our noble bearing and whatnot, taking little note of peasants by the wayside—’

‘We’ve seen none.’

‘No matter. They exist in principle, I’m sure.’

‘Let’s hear this call to war!’

‘Yes, why not, Dathenar? A moment, while I compose myself.’

‘I see a week at least.’

‘My dearest soldiers! My beloved citizens! My wretched minions!’

Dathenar tilted his head back and yelled, ‘We’re here, sire! Summoned—’

‘Press-ganged.’

‘Your pardon, press-ganged into your service, as if tithes weren’t enough—’

‘You, peasant, what was that you mumbled?’

‘Nothing, sire, I but await your speech!’

‘Dearest instruments of my will, howsoever I will it – and I will—’

‘Now there’s a chilling promise.’

‘We are gathered here upon the eve of battle—’

‘Best make it dawn, Prazek, we’re nearing the hills.’