The seneschal considered for a long time, his lips pursing in and out, before turning his attention to the pallid footman.

"And why are you still alive, sirrah?" he ground out between his big square teeth, apparently anxious to find someone to blame for the debacle.

"Sadly, Henrik here was the only other survivor of the attack," Vulkan interceded smoothly, before the petrified footman could blurt out the wrong thing, "and even though pierced with a bodkin through his shoulder and struck on the head by a mace, he continued to bravely defend his mistress until I was able to get to him and dispatch the last of the attackers."

The seneschal stared back and forth between the two, taking Henrik's catatonic expression as confirmation of Vulkan's story. In the absence of any contrary information, he was honour bound to accept the knight's statement. Sensing the seneschal's reluctant acceptance, Vulkan allowed himself some small congratulations. The explanation had been entirely plausible and in any case, very near to the truth. By praising Henrik so highly, Vulkan had effectively bound the footman to the far greater lie, that of his mistress' enravishment by Vulkan himself.

"Well, all will become clear when the countess recovers her wits," the seneschal stated somewhat gracelessly, "in the meanwhile, you would do us all honour by accepting the hospitality of the keep, I expect the King will want to hear all about at the Knight's Court this evening."

A short while later Prince Vulkan was shown to a set of chambers within one of the many towers that housed the innumerable nobles and their households. After so many days on horse back the prince was grateful for the opportunity to bathe in hot water and immediately thereafter fell into the soft bed.