Once through the door Edmund pulled me roughly aside. The big yeoman at the threshold lowered the blade of his halberd an inch and frowned at the bastard. Edmund released me and looked bewildered, as if his own hand had betrayed him. (I bring food and drink to the guards when they are on post during feasts. I believe it is written in the Obfuscations of St. Pesto: In nine cases out of ten, a large friend with a poleax shall truly a blessing be.)