Encomium of Day I¹

Lady Ouiser stood and, with a wave of her hand, said:

‘Let us retire inward, all of us; for it is Midsummer and the Feast of the Nativity of St John the Baptist². Let this night be one made for mischief, for masking³, for dancing, for music, for laughter and for friendship. Let us eat, drink, and make our hearts merry, all the while thinking of the splendid joys St Elizabeth felt when the babe leapt in her womb⁴, knowing that the Christ was to come into the world.’

So she summoned the servants of the house, who had been hard at work baking and brewing, cooking and cutting all that afternoon, and said to them:

‘Friends of our friends, you should not be absent from this feast. So I beg you, eat and drink as much as you like, for in addition to the feast you have served for us, I wish for you also to eat, drink and be well.’

‘Wowee!’ said a young servant. ‘Does this mean we don’t have to stand around all night during the party?’

‘Does His Highness require you to do such a thing ordinarily?’ asked Lady Ouiser.

Another servant then said: ‘His Lordship usually requires us only to stand when people enter and exit the room. As his parties often go on long and contain many people, the act of standing and sitting is in and of itself quite arduous—rather like going to Mass.’

At this, Lady Ouiser laughed, and everyone enjoyed themselves.

The feast had four turkeys, two capons, a suckling pig⁵, soups, salads, and your choice of breadsticks. This is called hospitaliano in this part of Italy, which makes you wonder why they haven’t done the same thing in the Papal States⁶.

Something called chocolate⁷ was also served with something else called sugar. The chocolate looked like dung and the sugar looked like arrowroot starch⁸. A lady named Godiva accidentally spilled sugar into the chocolate and served it as a hot drink when the flaming cheese wheels were rolled downhill. When the boys had finished extinguishing fires accidentally sparked by these flaming cheese wheels, Godiva handed out cups of this “hot cocoa” to them as a sort of collation⁹, in the manner that some Benedictines¹⁰ hand out small pieces of anise candy in return for yet another lunchtime reading of boring old St John Climacus’s writings¹¹.

The bonfires were allowed to burn all night¹² in the old pagan manner, and the ladies went out to look for herbs to stuff underneath their pillows¹³ in order to dream of the gentlemen that they would marry. The men stood around the fire and told one another ridiculous and inappropriate stories that I cannot repeat here.

When it was close to midnight, two constables arrived¹⁴ at the gate of the house and said:

‘We look for the Lord and Lady of this noble house. Are they about?’

But Abraham of Babka said: ‘You’re not selling those newfangled solar shields, are you?’

Lady Ouiser greeted them and said: ‘I am holding the place while the lord and lady are abroad on business. What news do you bring?’

The first of these constables was a man called Hercules of Brussels, but he did not resemble Alcides of the Greeks¹⁵ in any way. He was stout, firm of face, with a tiny, well-kept mustache.

The other, a man named Colombo, was a reckless and shabby-looking one-eyed man from Latium¹⁶. I say Latium because he was dressed in the lackadaisical manner¹⁷ of gentlemen from that part of Italy who usually go about town solving crimes with wisecracks and little prepossessing humor.

‘There was found a young man, of considerable height and endowment, in the nearby creek earlier today. Some of you may have seen the body.’

‘Oh, we saw it, alright,’ said Canva, fanning herself.

‘The boy did not die naturally. I’m sure you noticed the stab wounds and the blood-stained hose¹⁸.’

‘That was one of the things we noticed,’ said Figma.

‘A cordon has been set up¹⁹ around the town—’

‘You mean the guild’s still working now? Good Lord, those cordwainers²⁰, I tell you—they never quit!’

Lady Ouiser’s expression assumed one of seriousness.

‘Gentlemen, you should know that Lord Cazzo and Lady Sephora are pledged that, while we are camped here, no sin of any kind should take place among our guests.’

‘I find that qualification curious, for it seems to not have applied to persons in town. Furthermore, there is news about that this young Matteo was on more familiar terms than people are willing to say.’

‘Well, obviously,’ said Oura. ‘Why use words when your body can do it for you?’

Colombo said, ‘Beg pardon, o’course, ma’am, all’s we’d like to do is just poke around da place, if ya don’t mind.’

Lady Ouiser inclined her head and nodded.

‘My good gentlemen, as the interim host, I grant you leave that you may investigate as you wish. But know also that I will not suffer any of my guests²¹ to do sin in any way, as we are all on pilgrimage²² to see the Holy Crafting Table in Lodi.’

‘Really? Why Lodi, though? Is the Holy Crafting Table Mexican by chance?’

At this no one responded.

Hercules of Brussels then squinted at the steward and said: ‘I wish to sniff the cheeses first, Monsieur.’

And then, looking to Ouiser, he said: ‘Do not think your nobility affords you an alibi²³, Madame. Inevitably, sins of a lesser rank will undo even the most upright of maids.’

‘I think that’s already been done by the naked hung dead guy in the creek, though,’ Abraham of Babka said.

Thereupon the constables left to investigate the property, and took some men and dogs with them.

Lady Ouiser was not pale with fright, nor was she in any way undone by the suspicions brought to her, but she said:

‘Friends, let us now retire inward to sleep and commend our souls to Almighty God. Mark how, when dealing with these constables charged with keeping the peace, I did not in any way break my promise to you or to the lord and lady of this fine house. I shall charge you with a task. Think upon times wherein you or someone you loved broke a promise. Tomorrow, after we have celebrated the feast of St John, let us return to our little fountain, and tell one another of it.’

The company then retired, said their prayers, and went to bed.

Before Lady Ouiser retired, she and her maid, Truvée, opened the windows of her chamber to let the cool air in, as the house had grown too warm.

She noticed that the grassy field that led to the creek was disturbed, and that there were mud tracks and bloodstains that led from a locked chamber on the first floor. She bade Truvée²⁴ go down to see what she could find, and the kind young maid found that the locked chamber was the wine cellar.

‘How did she know it was the wine cellar, stupid?’ you may ask.

I am not stupid. Neither was Truvée. She noticed that the handprints on the handle had lees of wine²⁵. Yes, the very same lees of wine used to make méringues²⁶.

Who’s the stupid person now?

But, as I have said, the chamber was locked from the inside, so there was no way to determine then what awful thing had transpired there.

Truvée went up to Lady Ouiser and reported these things, and the house slept in peace. In the morning, Lady Ouiser and her nieces, as well as the whole of the house, heard Mass from Fr Bunion²⁷, had luncheon, took a walk, and went shopping.

When the company returned, they took their places at the fountain once the heat had abated for the day, and Lady Ouiser said:

‘Who among us shall commence the stories of the second day?’

And behold: Xerox of Sabra rose gently and said:

‘Lady Ouiser, you asked for our company to contemplate broken promises. And so I begin with a tale most tragic—it happened in the time of the Iconoclasm²⁸, when sin and darkness prevailed more than they do now—and since all broken promises emerge from the heart, I shall begin my tale thence²⁹.’