"Old Street? That is a goodly distance: four miles, or is it five?"

"No matter; the day is fine and the horses are eager for their run."

"But we will not be back for our dinner! Must I go hungry on this account?"

"Come along, Pymfyd! Today your stomach is not important."

"Perhaps not to you of the royalty, who nibble at will upon saffron cakes and tripes in honey! I am a vulgar lout with a gut to match, and now you must wait till I find bread and cheese for my dinner."

"Be quick!"

Pymfyd ran off and returned a few moments later carrying a cloth sack which he tied to the back of his saddle.

Madouc asked: "Are you ready at last? Then let us be off."

III

The two rode up Sarris Way across the royal parkland: past meadows sparkling with daisies, lupines, wild mustard, flaming red poppies, past copses of ash and birch; through the shade of massive oaks where they overhung the lane. They departed the royal domain through a stone portal and almost immediately encountered a crossroads, where Sarris Way became Fanship Lane.

Madouc and Pymfyd rode north up Fanship Lane, not without grumbling from Pymfyd, who could not understand Madouc's interest in Old Street. "There is nothing to see but the road, which runs to the right and also to the left."

"Just so," said Madouc. "Let us proceed."

The countryside presently became marked by evidence of cultivation: fields planted to oats and barley, marked off by old stone fences, an occasional farmhouse. After a mile or two, the lane ascended a long easy slope by slants and traverses, finally, at the top of the rise, intersecting with Old Street.

Madouc and Pymfyd pulled up their horses. Looking back across the panorama to the south, they could trace the entire length of Fanship Lane to the crossroads, and beyond, across the king's park to the poplars beside the River Glame, though Sarris itself was concealed behind trees.

As Pymfyd had asserted, Old Street continued in both directions, over the downs and out of sight. Fanship Lane, crossing Old Street, proceeded onward toward the somber loom of Forest Tantrevalles, at this point little more than a mile to the north.

At the moment Old Street was empty of traffic: a fact that seemed to excite Pymfyd's suspicions. Craning his neck, he stared first in one direction then the other. Madouc watched in puzzlement, and finally asked: "Why are you searching so carefully, when there is nothing to be seen?"

"That is what I want to see."

"I don't quite understand."

"Naturally not," said Pymfyd loftily. "You are too young to know the woes of the world, which are many. There is also much wickedness, if one cares to look, or even if one takes care not to look."

Madouc inspected the road: first to the east, then to the west. "At the moment I see nothing either woeful or wicked."

"That is because the road is empty. Wickedness often springs into view from nowhere, which makes it so fearful."

"Pymfyd, I believe that you are obsessed by fear."

"It may well be, since fear rules the world. The hare fears the fox, who fears the hound, who fears the kennelmaster, who fears the lord, who fears the king whose fears I would not have the impudence to think upon."

"Poor Pymfyd! Your world is built of fear and dread! As for me, I have no time for such emotions."

Pymfyd spoke in an even voice. "You are a royal princess and I may not call you a witless little fool, even should the thought cross my mind."

Madouc turned him a sad blue-eyed glance. "So that, after all, is your concept of me."

"I will say only this: persons who fear nothing are soon dead."

"I have a fear or two," said Madouc. "Needlework, Master Jocelyn's dancing lessons, one or two other things which need not be mentioned."

"I have many fears," said Pymfyd proudly. "Mad dogs, lepers and leper bells, hellhorses, harpies, and witches; lightning- riders and the creatures who live at the bottom of wells; also: hop-legs, irchments and ghosts who wait by the lych gate."

"Is that all?" asked Madouc.

"By no means! I fear dropsy, milkeye and the pox. Now that I think of it, I very much fear the king's displeasure! We must turn back before someone sees us so far from Sarris and carries tales!"

"Not so fast!" said Madouc. "When it is time to return I will give the signal." She studied the signpost. "Flauhamet is only four miles distant."

Pymfyd cried out in quick alarm: "Four miles or four hundred - it makes no difference!"

"Prince Cassander mentioned the Flauhamet fair, and said it was very gay."

"One fair is much like another," declared Pymfyd. "The favored resort of rogues, cheats and cut-purses!"

Madouc paid no heed. "There are to be jugglers, buffoons, songsters, stilt-dancers, mimes and mountebanks."

"These folk are by and large disreputable," growled Pymfyd. "That is common knowledge."

"There is also a tournament of jousting. Prince Cassander may take a turn in the lists, if the competition suits him."

"Hmf. That I doubt."

"Oh? How so?"

Pymfyd looked off across the landscape. "It is not fitting that I discuss Prince Cassander."

"Speak! Your words will go no farther."

"I doubt if he will risk the lists with so many folk to watch should he take a tumble."

Madouc grinned. "For a fact, he is vain. In any event, I don't care to watch the jousting. I would rather wander among the booths."

Pymfyd's honest face took on a set of mulish obstinacy. "We cannot ride into town so free and easy, to rub elbows with the bumpkins! Can you imagine Her Majesty's disapproval? You would be chided and I would be beaten. We must turn back, since the day advances."

"It is still early! Devonet and Chiodys are only just settling to their needlework."

Pymfyd gave a cry of consternation. He pointed westward along Old Street. "Folk are approaching; they are gentry and you will be recognized! We must be gone before they arrive."

Madouc heaved a sigh. Pymfyd's logic could not be refuted. Reining Tyfer about, she started back along Fanship Lane, only to stop short.

"What now?" demanded Pymfyd.

"A party is coming up Fanship Lane. That is Cassander on the bay horse, and it is no doubt King Casmir himself on the great black charger."

Pymfyd gave a groan of despair. "We are trapped!"

"Not so! We will cross Old Street and take cover up Fanship Lane until the way is clear."

"A sound idea, for once!" muttered Pymfyd. "Hurry! There is no time to waste; we can hide behind yonder trees!"

Touching up their horses, the two trotted across Old Street and north along the continuation of Fanship Lane, which quickly became little more than a track across the meadow. They approached a copse of poplar trees, where they hoped to take concealment.

Madouc called over her shoulder: "I smell smoke!"

Pymfyd called back: "There will be a crofter's hut nearby. You smell the smoke from his hearth."

"I see no hut."

"That is not our great concern. Quick now, into the shade!" The two took themselves under the poplars, where they discovered the source of the smoke: a fire over which a pair of vagabonds roasted a rabbit. One was short and big-bellied, with a round flat face surrounded by an untidy fringe of black beard and black hair. The second was tall and thin as a stick, lank of arm and leg, with a face long and vacuous, like the face of a cod. Both wore ragged garments and tattered buskins. The tall vagabond wore a high piked cap of black felt; his fat comrade wore a low-crowned hat with a very wide brim. To the side were a pair of sacks in which they evidently carried their belongings. At the sight of Madouc and Pymfyd, the two rose to their feet, and stood appraising the situation.

Madouc gave the two a cold inspection in return, and concluded that never had she encountered a more unsavory pair of rogues.