{"product_id":"2940013745483","title":"Gates of Empire","description":"The clank of the sour sentinels on the turrets, the gusty uproar\u003cbr\u003eof the spring winds, were not heard by those who reveled in the cellar\u003cbr\u003eof Godfrey de Courtenay's castle; and the noise these revelers made\u003cbr\u003ewas bottled up deafeningly within the massive walls.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA sputtering candle lighted those rugged walls, damp and\u003cbr\u003euninviting, flanked with wattled casks and hogsheads over which\u003cbr\u003estretched a veil of dusty cobwebs. From one barrel the head had been\u003cbr\u003eknocked out, and leathern drinking-jacks were immersed again and again\u003cbr\u003ein the foamy tide, in hands that grew increasingly unsteady.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAgnes, one of the serving wenches, had stolen the massive iron key\u003cbr\u003eto the cellar from the girdle of the steward; and rendered daring by\u003cbr\u003ethe absence of their master, a small but far from select group were\u003cbr\u003emaking merry with characteristic heedlessness of the morrow.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAgnes, seated on the knee of the varlet Peter, beat erratic time\u003cbr\u003ewith a jack to a ribald song both were bawling in different tunes and\u003cbr\u003ekeys. The ale slopped over the rim of the wobbling jack and down\u003cbr\u003ePeter's collar, a circumstance he was beyond noticing.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe other wench, fat Marge, rolled on her bench and slapped her\u003cbr\u003eample thighs in uproarious appreciation of a spicy tale just told by\u003cbr\u003eGiles Hobson. This individual might have been the lord of the castle\u003cbr\u003efrom his manner, instead of a vagabond rapscallion tossed by every\u003cbr\u003ewind of adversity. Tilted back on a barrel, booted feet propped on\u003cbr\u003eanother, he loosened the belt that girdled his capacious belly in its\u003cbr\u003eworn leather jerkin, and plunged his muzzle once more into the\u003cbr\u003efrothing ale.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Giles, by Saint Withold his beard,\" quoth Marge, \"madder rogue\u003cbr\u003enever wore steel. The very ravens that pick your bones on the gibbet\u003cbr\u003etree will burst their sides a-laughing. I hail ye--prince of all bawdy\u003cbr\u003eliars!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe flourished a huge pewter pot and drained it as stoutly as any\u003cbr\u003eman in the realm.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAt this moment another reveler, returning from an errand, came\u003cbr\u003einto the scene. The door at the head of the stairs admitted a wobbly\u003cbr\u003efigure in close-fitting velvet. Through the briefly opened door\u003cbr\u003esounded noises of the night--slap of hangings somewhere in the house,\u003cbr\u003esucking and flapping in the wind that whipped through the crevices; a\u003cbr\u003efaint disgruntled hail from a watchman on a tower. A gust of wind\u003cbr\u003ewhooped down the stair and set the candle to dancing.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGuillaume, the page, shoved the door shut and made his way with\u003cbr\u003egroggy care down the rude stone steps. He was not so drunk as the\u003cbr\u003eothers, simply because, what of his extreme youth, he lacked their\u003cbr\u003ecapacity for fermented liquor.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"What's the time, boy?\" demanded Peter.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Long past midnight,\" the page answered, groping unsteadily for\u003cbr\u003ethe open cask. \"The whole castle is asleep, save for the watchmen. But\u003cbr\u003eI heard a clatter of hoofs through the wind and rain; methinks 'tis\u003cbr\u003eSir Godfrey returning.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Let him return and be damned!\" shouted Giles, slapping Marge's\u003cbr\u003efat haunch resoundingly. \"He may be lord of the keep, but at present\u003cbr\u003ewe are keepers of the cellar! More ale! Agnes, you little slut,\u003cbr\u003eanother song!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Nay, more tales!\" clamored Marge. \"Our mistress's brother, Sir\u003cbr\u003eGuiscard de Chastillon, has told grand tales of Holy Land and the\u003cbr\u003einfidels, but by Saint Dunstan, Giles' lies outshine the knight's\u003cbr\u003etruths!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Slander not a--hic!--holy man as has been on pilgrimage and\u003cbr\u003eCrusade,\" hiccuped Peter. \"Sir Guiscard has seen Jerusalem and\u003cbr\u003efoughten beside the King of Palestine--how many years?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Ten year come May Day, since he sailed to Holy Land,\" said Agnes.\u003cbr\u003e\"Lady Eleanor had not seen him in all that time, till he rode up to\u003cbr\u003ethe gate yesterday morn. Her husband, Sir Godfrey, never has seen\u003cbr\u003ehim.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"And wouldn't know him?\" mused Giles; \"nor Sir Guiscard him?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe blinked, raking a broad hand through his sandy mop. He was\u003cbr\u003edrunker than even he realized. The world spun like a top and his head\u003cbr\u003eseemed to be dancing dizzily on his shoulders. Out of the fumes of ale\u003cbr\u003eand a vagrant spirit, a madcap idea was born.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA roar of laughter burst gustily from Giles' lips. He reeled\u003cbr\u003eupright, spilling his jack in Marge's lap and bringing a burst of rare\u003cbr\u003eprofanity from her. He smote a barrelhead with his open hand,\u003cbr\u003estrangling with mirth.","brand":"WDS Publishing","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":47168927629552,"sku":"2940013745483","price":0.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0737\/7593\/9824\/files\/2940013745483_p0.jpg?v=1763589686","url":"https:\/\/shop-qa.barnesandnoble.com\/products\/2940013745483","provider":"Barnes \u0026 Noble (DEV)","version":"1.0","type":"link"}